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sokkadora · 6 months

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vanishing grace — mizu x fem!spider!reader

summary: breaking into to fowler’s castle wasn’t as easy as you’d originally thought, neither was the idea of being able to come out unscathed.

a/n: girl help! i cannot stop drawing my spidersona with mizu!!! also i think this is the longest fic ive ever written for a oneshot 💀 also this is not proofread so if there are mistakes forgive me 😭

wc: 3.9k

warning(s): guns, gunshot wound, being stabbed, slight angst if you squint, FOWLERS HEADASS, mizu being sad

from the river to the sea, palestine will be free 🇵🇸

︿︿︿︿︿︿ ✎ᝰ . . . .

You followed silently behind Mizu as she carefully counted the paces to the far entrance to Fowler’s Castle, making sure to place your feet in the dents in the snow where her feet had stepped.

The silence surrounding you two since everything that happened at Madame Kaji’s was tense. You were upset with her. Of course you were. She let Akemi get taken back into captivity and Ringo had left because of her actions.

You could understand where she was coming from, in a way. You can’t save everyone. It’s a hard truth you’d learned in your years as Spider-Woman, but you can’t help but feel like you could’ve done something.

Right before your face could make contact with Mizu’s back, your steps abruptly stopped thanks to your sixth sense. She used her naginata to brush the snow off the covered grate in the ground.

Mizu silently handed you your mask after slicing it open, and you took it from her hand softly. Could she tell you were upset with her? And if she could, did she even care? You shook it off, tugging on your mask.

She dropped down into the tunnel, water splashing beneath her feet softly upon impact. She glanced around quickly before turning back to you, holding up her arms to help you down.

You let her, trying to get ahold of yourself as her hands gripped your waist and gently set you down before she closed the grate with her weapon.

The tunnel darkened significantly and Mizu made a sudden move to keep your hand in hers as you made your way further in. She eventually found a dry enough piece of wood, wrapping a cloth around the top, lighting the cloth on fire to make a torch.

There was loud squeaking coming from your feet, and the two of you looked down to find around 5 rats staring up at you. Mizu killed one, and the rest scattered.

The two of you continued until you came across dozens of skeletons, children’s skeletons, and that was the only other pause you took in the tunnels.

“Oh my god,” You whispered, placing a hand over your mouth at the sight of a woman’s skeleton with her arms wrapped around the child’s far smaller one. You gripped Mizu’s hand tighter as she seethed, dragging you down through the tunnels.

She stopped just before the two of you could run into a door, and let go of your hand. She tried opening it with no luck. Then she leaned her weapon against the doorframe to take off her pack. She handed you the torch, and you glanced around the tunnel nervously.

“What’s the plan, Mizu?” You asked, your hands beginning to shake. Was it fear? Adrenaline? You didn’t know. But every fiber of your body was screaming at you like this was a bad idea, and you couldn’t help but agree.

“Don’t really have one,” She shrugged, picking up her lock picking equipment and kneeling in front of the lock. Your heart pounded at her dry and casual admission that she didn’t have a plan to get through this death house, but you took a deep breath to compose yourself. It was already tense enough. “You’re kind of my secret weapon if everything goes to shit.”

“We should’ve talked about this on the way here,” You grumbled as the lock finally clicked. You took it as good news for a moment before the tunnels behind you began rumbling.

They burst full with water, and you pushed the torch back into her hands. You rushed to the door handle, and began to yank on it with all your strength. It was heavy. You could easily throw a shipping container, and this was hard and rusted for you to open.

It squeezed open a crack, but it was too late. Mizu and you were quickly knocked out as the rushing water slammed you both against the door harshly, and everything went black.

You recovered a bit quicker than Mizu did, but quickly swam back over to the door to continue your work while praying that you wouldn’t drown. It already felt as if your mask was waterboarding you, even though you chose that fabric that wouldn’t do that when you made it (if you got back home to your time, you were contacting the seller). You broke the lock after a brief moment of suffocation, pulling the door open and pushing Mizu through before following after her.

There was finally a place for you both to surface, right under a grate in what you guessed was a supply room. The both of you hacked water out your lungs, catching your breath.

You pushed the grate off, pulling yourself up with aching limbs before holding out your hand and pulling Mizu up with ease. The two of you panted for another minute before she turned to you, her usually cold, narrow eyes more round and almost puppy like.

“You okay?” She asked softly as you tugged off your mask and rung it out.

“Besides being practically waterboarded in this mask?” You coughed up some more water, and she patted your back. “Just peachy.”

She didn’t respond, opting to take off her roll and check what supplies she’d lost in the process of the water slammed into her. She’d lost a lot, still panting before she wiped the water off her face with the back of her hand. She rolled her pack back up and helped you to your feet.

Making your way up the floors of the castle proved to be more physically taxing than you’d originally expected. Although, Mizu could firmly admit now that she was jealous of your acrobatic skills after you flipped and dodged through the corridor after getting stabbed through the ankle at the last second.

Finally, the dust from that flower had worn off for you and you heard grunting coming from a cell farther back in the dungeon. You quickly made your way over with Mizu behind you, gasping at the sight of Taigen. He was beaten to a pulp, a heavily swollen eye, and skin pale. The most frail you’ve ever seen him.

You stayed on your feet to keep watch as Mizu kneeled down to check on him.

“Taigen.” She sighed in relief, a small smile on her face.

He grunts, bringing his hand up to brush against the wrapping on her neck. “That's...” He groans, “That's my scarf.”

“Are you real?”She asks quietly, and he raises a brow to the best of his ability.

“I think so.”

You kneel on the other side of Taigen, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Can you walk?” Taigen grunts as you help him sit up.

“Might be slow.”He grumbles, allowing you to sling his arm around your shoulders and haul him up. He was far lighter than the last time you’d seen him after leaving him in the forest, and the hero part of you couldn’t help but worry.

“Better than you being dead,” You huffed, shaking your head at Mizu when she tried to help. She had to focus. You could handle taking care of Taigen.

You help him hobble out of the cell, turning left to follow Mizu further down the corridor to the next door and flight of stairs.

The large man that had sought Mizu out for Heiji Shindo was looming in before the door at the other end of the hall at the top of the stairs, and you could only sit with Taigen and watch as she fought the man. You webbed up Taigen’s wounds as some form of pressure as Mizu launched herself back after stabbed the explosive into the man’s neck.

She landed a few feet away from you before the explosive activated, killing the man and knocking all of you out.

When you came to, you were acutely aware of the fact you were slowly sliding off the remaining rubble hanging over the edge of where a wall once was.

Coughing, you propped yourself up on your elbow as Mizu began to stir awake and took in your new surroundings. A sharp pain on the left side of your torso hit you, and you hissed in pain before looking down to see a large scrape that managed to tear some of your suit.

You attention quickly turned to your right when a groan rang out, you turned your head to see Taigen slowly falling off the ledge.

Before you could lunge for him yourself, she grabbed his wrist and slid off with him, not having the strength to keep them both on the ground.

“Mizu!” You shouted, more than ready to dive off the side to catch both of them. When you peered over the ledge, you almost let out a sob from the relief at the sight of Mizu dangling from her sword that was stabbed into the side of the building, holding Taigen in her other hand before pulling him onto her back.

You rolled off the ledge, crawling down the wall to them as Mizu gained her footing and gripped onto the crevices in the stone and yanked her sword out.

“Give me your hand,” She seemed reluctant, not wanting to put more physical stress onto you. Your eyes seemed rounded, almost puppy like as you asked again. “Please, Mizu. I can carry the both of you.”

She reluctantly placed her tired hand into your own, surprised by your strength as you easily lifted both of them onto your back the same way Mizu had done to Taigen. You gingerly took her sword, biting the dull end to hold it in your mouth, almost snarling as you scaled up the side of the castle.

Mizu watched in admiration, and almost adoringly at how tenacious and adamant you were. You were easily scaling the building with two bodies dangling from your shoulders, and you were doing all of it just to help her. No one had ever been there for her the way you have (besides sword father), in just a few months as well.

You had found a small, wider ledge to pull yourself onto. You placed your elbow on the ledge and pulled yourself up, panting softly as you gazed in through the window. A small army of guards was grouped behind a door, waiting for the three of you, you guessed. Your spider sense rang in your ears and you grunted, turning your head back to Mizu.

“Hold on,” You grunted, shooting a hand out to spray a web to the top of the window. You yanked yourself up the web, internally thinking about how easily you did this back home. But you made it over the window just as a guard looked back, seeming to have heard you, but not seeing anything.

After finally reaching the room that Fowler resided in, the both of you watched from below a window as one of the lords stood in front of it. Mizu gingerly removed her sword from her mouth, raising her arm to throw it.

“After he starts to drop, throw Taigen in.” She rasped in your ear, and you nodded, not being able to stop the goosebumps that quickly covered your body from the warm breath on your neck.

It all happened quicker than you could really comprehend; Mizu stabbing the lord, throwing Taigen into the room, and launching her from your shoulders into the room. You followed after quickly, the sight of your spider-suit earning strange glares from the lords.

“Abijah Fowler!” Mizu shouted, holding her sword out and ready. “Where is he?” She wandered over to the table with you right behind her, gazing down at a sheet of paper with what seemed to be a war plan and a map of Edo.

Mizu quickly turned as one of the lords struck his sword at her, backing up into you to make sure you weren’t hit. When she struck back, the dull edge of her blade resting against the fat of his neck before lifting her leg up and kicking him back. He landed on the wooden floor with a harsh thud, making you wince.

The click of a gun cocking and the trigger being pulled registered in your head before she could notice it.

You launched yourself over the table at the much larger body; Fowler. Shooting a web on either side of him, you yanked yourself at him as he fired. You let out a shout as your foot made solid contact with his cheek, knocking him back as Mizu’s blade broke, the bullet tearing through her shoulder.

You scrambled onto your feet to sprint back to Mizu as Fowler lifted his head, rubbing his jaw with an unnerving smile.

“Now, what are you?”

Mizu whimpered as she held the shoulder where the bullet entered before looking at her broken blade mournfully. You quickly moved her hands, checking the other side of her shoulder to see if the bullet went through; you really didn’t want to dig one out of her. Thankfully it did, and you quickly webbed up the injury as Abijah stood, grabbed a brush to shove down the barrel of his gun.

“You see?” He states to Heiji, using his gun to push the man’s sword down as they watched you and Mizu. “No one murders so well as the British. It’s our number one export.”

Mizu growled at the man before lunging at him with her broken blade, but he quickly raises his gun and wacks her back, throwing her into the wall. Your breath hitched before you raised your eyes to face him, a rage bubbling in your stomach that hadn’t ever been before. It was new, and foreign, and dark.

But Mizu said you shouldn’t run from the dark.

“Look at you..” Abijah mocked, “No ones ever made it up half this far before.”

You let out a cry as you sprinted forward. He tried to pull the same move on you but you ducked under, kicking him square in the chest and sending him a few feet back. He kept his footing as he rose again, looking square into your eyes. Your nose scrunched under the mask.

“And you,” He squinted, watching as your shoulders rose and fell heavily with your pants. “I’ve never seen one like you…what are you?” He noticed the spider emblem on your suit and smiled in amusement. “Little spider?”

You remained silent before charging again as Mizu regained herself, and you were too caught up in your anger and attacking the man to notice his large hand coming up to grip your neck.

He dangled you off the ground, watching with a smile as you became more panic. It quickly stilled your movements, your hands beginning to shake as you clawed at his hand. His hand squeezed your throat tighter and you wheezed in his grip.

He wriggled a thumb under your mask and ripped it off, scoffing in amusement.

“Strong little thing, aren’t ya?” He commented, running his thumb over your jawline.

You spit in his face, mustering up the harshest glare you could must as his expression turned to anger.

“Fuck you,”

“Oh, darling,” He laughed, and before you could really process, his gun raised to your stomach and he shot you in the side.

Mizu watched in terror as you screamed. It was nightmarish. The most gut wrenching scream she’d ever heard, and she was sure it was just tattooed onto the inner most parts of her brain. She had been told of your past injuries when she helped you bind your chest, her hand gently running all your scars, but she never imagined that she’d be responsible for another one. Even if it wasn’t by her hands.

He tossed you over near Taigen like you were a rag doll, making your vision spotty as Mizu shouted again, but it barely registered in your head as a fight broke out and he began pummeling Mizu. Taigen had jumped in what you heard, and Fowler was beating him to a pulp above you.

Before you knew it, the three of you were soaring — no… falling, out of the window you’d arrived in, into the freezing water dozens of stories below.

——————

You felt warm.

Were you home?

No… the bedding beneath you was too stiff.

Groaning, you attempted to come to a sitting position before the familiar touch of a stub came to rest on your chest.

“Stay down,”

You opened your eyes softly, letting a smile rest on your lips at the sight of Ringo hovering above you with a wet rag. When he turned back to place the rag on your stomach, he noticed your smile, and returned it with a brighter one.

“I’m glad you’re alright,” You smiled up at him, wincing at the sharp pain as the ragged soaked the water through your wound. “Did you get the bullet out?”

“Mizu did,” He replied, his smile dropping at the topic of your mutual friend. Well, once mutual friend. “It was hard for her though. Almost made me feel bad.”

You raised an eyebrow before sighing, “Let’s not talk about that right now, ‘kay?” You raised a hand and pinched the bridge of your nose. Their beef was not yours, and while you did want them to talk it out and at least make up, you weren’t going to stick your nose where it didn’t belong. He nodded hesitantly, helping you sit up and tie on a haori over your chest bindings. “Where are we?” You asked, looking around the room.

“Master Eiji’s.”

“This is the place?” You glanced around more attentively now, after finding out you were in the house of the man that had taken Mizu under his wing. You had a weird urge to hug him, but you knew that was probably inappropriate. “Huh..”

“I made you medicine,” He interrupted your thoughts and handed you a warm bowl and rose to his feet. “I’ll be just outside. Call if you need me.”

You nodded, not bothering to watch him leave before digging in. You were starving. You probably ate it faster than you were supposed to, but it tasted good and helped you feel good. You crawled over to where the other dirty dishes were stacked, placing your bowl on top. You figured you’d ask Ringo to help wash them once you found Mizu.

It was nearing the middle of the day when you stepped outside, squinting at the sudden bright light before you began wandering into the forest. If she wasn’t at Eiji’s, she was probably doing something out there. You were surprised to see her stacking rocks atop each other from the edge of the clearing, but didn’t hesitate to keep approaching.

“What are you making?”

Mizu jumped at the sound of your voice, clearly too in the zone to notice that your footsteps were loud enough for her to hear for once. At the sight of you, she dropped the rock she gripped tightly in her hands in favor of running over to you and engulfing you in a hug.

You were stunned. Sure, skinship had become a common occurrence in your relationship with Mizu, but it’d never gotten to hugging. 'Figures. Only I’d have a situationship where we’ve kissed each other before hugging,’ You thought to yourself as you gripped onto the back of Mizu’s haori while she silently cried into your hair, holding the back of your head and shoulders like you could slip away at any second.

“Don’t ever do that again,” She scolded while pulling away, placing her hands on either side of your face. She squished your face, causing you to chuckle softly before looking up at her.

Her eyes were soft, round… she’d never looked at you this softly. At least, not while you were looking according to Taigen and Ringo. She almost looked like a kicked puppy from the amount of guilt in her eyes.

“I never should have brought you with,” She whispered, letting one hand fall to your shoulder while the other rested over the gunshot wound on your stomach with a featherlight touch. She was almost scared that she’d break you if she was any more rough. “Then you would’ve been safe with Ringo and…” She sighed shakily, dropping to her knees and resting her forehead against your navel.

Your breath hitched as her hands slid down your sides to grip the tops of your hips with shaky hands.

“and you wouldn’t have almost died because of me. You wouldn’t have another scar because of me.” She almost whimpered it out, hands gripping your hips tighter as she looked up at you. “I can’t lose you.”

Her stunning eyes held the words she couldn’t muster up the courage to say herself, and your cheeks heated up immensely before you kneeled with her, your hands coming to rest on her arms. As you gently caressed the taut muscles, you swallowed the lump in your throat as your hands came to rest on either side of her face.

“You won’t,” You whisper surely, thumbs coming up to catch her tears before they could trail down her cheeks. “I won’t let that happen, and neither will you. We’re too stubborn to die.” You smile, watching her mouth as she does the same. “And I’m too stubborn to let you push me away when I know you feel the same now.”

Mizu huffs out a soft laugh, “Was I that obvious?”

“Eh,” You shrugged, doing a so-so hand motion. “I heard it all the time from Ringo and the bozo, but never really believed it until now. Your eyes are very expressive.”

Mizu chuckles, but it’s cut off when you pull her lips down to yours. Her eyes widen before she lets herself melt into you and your sweet lips, a smile tugging on her lips as her hands grip your haori and pull her closer. You gasped at the sudden gentle yank, and she took her opportunity to slip her tongue into your mouth.

Reluctantly, after a few more moments you pulled away with a grin, running a thumb over her now swollen lower lip. Your attention turned behind you to what seemed to be a firepit.

“What are you making?”

Mizu turns her head to see where you’re looking before standing, helping you up to your feet again. Her hand doesn’t leave yours as she begins explaining, and you’re glad. You don’t want to let go of her.

She explains that she’s going to attempt to melt and reforge her sword, since sword father had no steel for her. You listen attentively, barely willing to let her go as she goes over to pick up the rock she dropped and place it in the right spot on the growing wall. She seems optimistic, in a sense as you cross your arms over your chest and watch her work.

“It’ll work,” She grumbles, mostly to herself, as if she’s trying to convince herself – to will it into existence, but there’s still doubt there. You catch it, frowning before taking a stone off the cart to help her. When you place it down, she looks up at you with a surprised expression.

“It’ll work,” You smile, “And I’ll be here to help with whatever you need.”

#mizu x reader #reader x mizu #mizu x you #you x mizu #blue eye samurai x reader #blue eye samurai imagines #blue eye samurai fanfiction #mizu blue eye samurai #zoe's works #my works

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pinknatural · 2 years

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run away with me

1. you & me

After, they sit in the car, Dean’s chest still rising and falling with breathless laughter, the corners of Cas’ mouth still lifted in humor. Cas didn’t laugh, but it’s the most humor Dean’s seen in the angel, the lightest and most happy. He wraps his hands around the steering wheel and doesn’t start the car, just looks sideways at Cas.

Cas is looking straight ahead, now, shoulders stiffening and face drawing closed. Dean remembers, all of a sudden, what tomorrow brings, and his own humor drains away. Right. Last night on earth.

Dean starts the car.

He’s not sure where he’s going, what he’s gonna do. For a minute, they drive in silence, and Dean can’t stand it, but the idea of music seems rude somehow. He tries to think of something to say, and he keeps driving.

He makes random turns ‘till he’s away from the city, driving a line into the dark of the night. No cars, no streetlights. It looks like the road drives straight into forever.

“What if we kept driving?” Dean asks.

“What?”

“You know,” Dean says. He gestures at the road before them, swallowed up into darkness. “We don’t stop. Just you ‘n’ me. Leave Raphael in the dust.”

Cas doesn’t respond, and Dean looks away from the wheel. Cas’ face is shut, brows furrowed, little line between them.

“We cannot,” Cas says. “Lucifer has risen. We can’t run from him. Even if we did leave, he would still find us. There is no escape.”

Dean knows he’s right, but it still stings. Angels don’t feel things like that, anyway, he tells himself, pulling Baby into a rough u-turn in the middle of the empty road. He drives back into town, away from freedom and back to certain death.

2. can’t wait

Dean re-wraps Cas’ hand in the hotel. There’s only one bed, but Dean’s trying not to think about it. It’s the only thing he can think about.

He pulls the bandage too tight, and Cas hisses. Dean rubs a thumb over his wrist in apology.

It’s a queen sized bed. Neither of them are small dudes. If they laid down, side-by-side, their elbows would probably brush. If they fall asleep back-to-back, Dean will probably roll over and latch onto Cas like some kind of kid seeking out their teddy bear. The thought makes Dean sick.

He releases Cas’ hand and backs away.

“Gotta go to the bathroom,” he lies, and he flees into the other room. Splashes water on his face, runs wet fingers through his hair. Get a hold of yourself, he chides, glaring at his green eyes in the mirror. God, how pathetic is he?

He flushes the toilet and washes his hands again before he goes back out, and he finds Cas curled up on top of the covers, knees drawn toward his chest, looking small and so goddamned miserable that Dean feels his heart break in his chest. Jesus.

He crosses the room and gets on the bed. Takes off his socks and chucks them in the direction of his duffel, then half-turns toward Cas.

For a moment, he isn’t sure what to say.

“What if,” he says eventually, afraid to say it. Cas doesn’t react. Dean keeps talking. “What if we just said fuck it and ran off together. Leave all this angel shit behind. Take up a residency in Canada or something.”

Dean’s joking, obviously, but he definitely isn’t. If Cas says yes…

“Angels are still in Canada,” Cas says, voice hard. It feels kind of like a stab to the heart. Cas turns, rolling over and glaring at Dean. “And Sam isn’t in Canada.”

“True,” Dean says. He swallows and looks away. “Yeah, you’re right. Stupid idea.”

Cas rolls back over. It takes a long, long time for Dean to fall asleep.

3. some regrets

“You okay?” Dean asks. Cas looks at him, startled.

“I’m fine,” he says. “Why wouldn’t I be?” Dean lets himself into Cas’ room, closing the door behind him. Cas is just standing in there, looking at the bed. Would it kill him to sit down, once in a while?

“Um, because your dickbag ex-boss almost killed you today?”

“He didn’t almost kill me,” Cas says. “He almost killed you.”

“And you’re cool with that?” Dean asks. Human weakness, Ishim said. God, Dean doesn’t want Cas to be tied to him like that. Doesn’t want Cas’ weakness to be a scumbag like Dean. But at the same time, if Cas has to have a weakness, and it has to be human….well, selfishly, Dean doesn’t really want it to be Sam.

“No,” Cas says. He doesn’t look at Dean. “I should go.”

“What?”

“The more I dawdle, the farther Kelly gets from my reach. I need to find her.”

“You’re leaving?”

“Yes, I just said that,” Cas says. He finally turns to look at Dean, rolling his blue eyes skyward.

And yeah, Dean��s not brain-dead. He understands that Kelly escaping is a bad thing, that they need to get a handle on this Rosemary’s Baby stuff, but--the words cosmic consequences keep echoing in Dean’s head. What if Cas leaves and never comes back? And Dean would never know if Cas finally wised up and bailed on the tangled, fucked-up Winchester mess, or if he died. And Dean can’t keep an eye on him if he’s always galavanting off who-fucking-knows-where.

“Don’t,” Dean says, mouth moving without permission.

“Don’t what?” Cas asks, narrowing his eyes.

Don’t go, Dean almost says. “I’m tired, man,” he says instead. “All of this bullshit is so tiring. What if instead of going after Kelly and Satan Jr, we just went and laid on a beach somewhere, huh? Just let someone else handle it. I hear Hawaii is nice this time of year.”

Cas’ whole face shifts, softens. He steps closer to Dean and lifts up his hand, cupping Dean’s cheek. Dean doesn’t lean into it, no matter what anyone says later.

“Oh, Dean,” Cas says. His voice is feather-soft and warm, no longer annoyed. Dean isn’t sure what he said to make Cas’ voice go like that, but it’d be nice if he did so he could do it again, and again, and drape himself in that soft Oh Dean forever. “I would like nothing more.”

“Let’s go, then,” Dean says. “You and me.”

Cas smiles, soft. “You’re afraid of airplanes,” he says kindly, and now that softness has turned sad, too, and Dean kind of wants to cry.

“I can handle it,” he says, pleads. Come on, Cas.

“I know,” Cas says. He smiles again, and lifts his hand from Dean’s cheek. That was a mistake, Dean thinks, ‘cause that hand was the only thing keeping Dean together. Human weakness, cosmic consequences.

Cas leaves the room. By the time Dean recovers enough to follow him out, Cas is gone, and that angel-sized hole he always leaves in the bunker seems even bigger than the Chrysler Building.

4. trap

Dean and Cas are sitting nearly on top of each other, tucked on the staircase in the map room that leads out to the front door. Somewhere in the Bunker, Sam is pretending that he’s not upset Eileen left, and Dean’s just so fucking glad to have Cas back he can hardly breathe. Cas is here and in the Bunker and they aren’t mad at each other anymore, even if Chuck is still at large and everything is shitty but it’s fine ‘cause Cas is here. And he said he heard Dean and he’s still here, so he knows what Dean prayed, in his head because he was too scared to say it out loud, and he hasn’t run away and isn’t that what Dean wanted most?

“I’m not sure what we’re going to do about Chuck now,” Cas says. Dean is so glad to hear his voice that he almost forgets to focus on what Cas is saying.

“We’ll figure it out,” Dean says. Cas turns to meet his eye. Cas is a step lower than Dean, his back pressed against Dean’s leg. He’s not really sure why they’re even on the stairs, except that Cas sat there and Dean sat with him.

“We usually do,” Cas says, smiling. Dean wants to beam like a giddy kid on Christmas. “Although sometimes we mess up worse than before.”

“Nah, we’ve got this,” Dean says. “Team Free Will. And if we don’t, well, Purgatory’s a nice vacay spot, huh?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Come on, man, you and me can take monsterland easy,” Dean says. “Third time’s a charm, maybe if we go back we can make a nice house there.”

“I thought I understood you, but you love to prove me wrong,” Cas says. Dean shrugs.

“I’m just saying,” he says. He doesn’t say that Purgatory seems kind of romantic, now. Isn’t that the first place they hugged? “If the thing with Chuck goes sideways, we can make like Dante and move in.”

Cas rolls his eyes, but in the fond way that’s like why do I like this guy, again? “Yes, I suppose if everything goes horribly wrong we can move to Purgatory together.”

“Cool, we’ll call that Plan Z,” Dean says. Cas pats his boot in a sort of condescending way, and says “Sure, Dean,” but Dean’s too busy riding high on Cas’ agreement to get offended.

5. carry on

After it all, Dean clutches onto Cas’ goo-soaked trenchcoat and gasps into his mouth; presses kisses along his jaw and refuses to let go. Cas’ arms around Dean’s back do not unlock, and he presses them close, closer, as if trying to meld them into one.

“I love you, I love you,” Dean cries.

“I love you so much,” Cas says. “More than words can ever say.”

“Don’t leave me again.”

“I won’t, I won’t.”

“Stay with me.”

“Forever.”

“Run away with me.”

“What?” Cas’ eyes are blue, blue. Dean’s fingers won’t uncurl from where they’re digging into Cas’ trenchcoat.

“You and me, sweetheart,” Dean says. “Come on, baby. Let’s get outta here.”

Here is the Bunker, here is Cas’ stained trenchcoat, here is surrounded by painful memories. But somewhere else--somewhere else, anywhere else…

“Alright,” Cas says. Finally out of excuses. “Let’s go.”

He doesn’t ask questions. Dean doesn’t have answers. Their fingers stay locked together on the bench between them, and they drive, and drive, and drive away.

#writingtag #howdy #dean winchester #destiel #castiel #deancas #wrote this a while ago but im posting it no w. whatever

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lukeevangelista · 1 year

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"Y/N L/N, welcome." Alex propped her leg up on the couch, wrapping her arm around her knee.

You brought the microphone to your mouth, "Thank you so much for having me! It's an honor to be here."

"No way! It's an absolute honor to have you here," She laughed, "There are a handful of points on this podcast where I feel like I'm actually doing something good, and literally the minute we had decided on a day to sit down, it feels like I've made it. I'm so excited to have you here! For those of you that do not know the absolute stunning human being sitting across from me, this is Y/N L/N, who has been taking the country music world by storm over the last couple of months. Today, we'll be talking about their new album, life in the spotlight, living like a rockstar, I'm sure, and some famous members of their entourage."

"This is a dream, Alex, thank you so much for having me. I have watched every episode of this podcast the day they have come out, I'm such a huge fan of your work and what you do, it's an absolute honor and a pleasure to be here. I cannot wait to talk so much shit with you."

Alex lets out a hearty chuckle across from you, "I feel like we have so much to talk about, first off, the new album," you nodded, "tell us about it."

"This album is my actual child, it's the first real album of my career and I feel like I worked so hard on it and I had so much help along the way and have met so many incredible people in the mean time. The album is called '365' and kinda commemorates what a year in my life used to look like. Obviously, it looks a little different now, but I wanted to keep the general basis of this album very raw and real. It draws a lot of inspiration from my childhood and has a little bit of a country twang that was largely popular around the 90s and 2000s of country music. I was very lucky to have some big names and some of my favorite people working on this album. Michael Hardy and both members of Brooks and Dunn helped me with this album and I got a lot of really good advice from people like Luke Combs, Lainey Wilson, Jordan Davis, Morgan Wallen, and Cody Johnson. I spent half of the album just learning and observing from people that I really look up to and I really appreciate their work and what they're coming out with. So, I'm really proud with how this album turned out, I definately think y'all should listen to it if you can," you turned to make eye contact with the nearest camera for the last sentence of your spiel.

Alex smiled, "So you're two CMA awards and a Grammy down, what's new, where do you go from here?"

"Oh god, tour hopefully. There's some stuff in the plans to hopefully do something before I'm due back in Michigan this summer." There was a grin on your face, knowing Alex Cooper had been dying to bring it up. Alex gasped, moving in her seat to sit with her legs crossed underneath her.

"I'm actually so glad you brought this up. I know we were talking about it and you said how you were kinda sick of talking about the album."

You let out a loud laugh, "Oh 100%. As much as I love this album and as proud of it I am, I do nothing but talk about it all week, and I've been doing that for a few months now, even before the record came out. I love it to death, but I'm actually kind of excited to talk about anything but."

"Speaking of Michigan, I really wanna talk about that."

"Oh please do."

"So you're obviously a big hockey fan," you nodded along, "and you've become very known in the hockey world as a fan. You've somehow fit yourself into the social circle of some very popular people."

"Yeah, I frequent hockey games quite often, and I've become of a next-gen-Justin-Bieber of sorts. I'm known kind of in whispers around the league, from what I'm being told, as a person to always look out for at games because I'm always at one. I love the game and I love the atmosphere."

"So we're all very aware that you're quite familiar with the so-called Hockey Royalty. Can we get into the nitty-griddy this early?"

"Absolutely! Yeah, as you said, and if the people watching don't know, I'm really close friends with the Hughes family and it actually started because they're fans of me."

"Oh no way! I didn't know that!"

"Yeah, so Jack is a massive country music fan, and I was doing a gig in Detriot, Michigan last summer during a little tour thing I was doing for a pre-album promotional thing. I didn't realize it until the last 4 or 5 songs that they were sitting front row with a good mob of their friends and family. It was really nice having them there, even if I didn't realize it until the end. So they were posting about being at the concert on their stories after they left, and they were all tagging me and stuff, so I saw, like, 8 or 9 guys that were at the game and I knew all of their names because I watch them play all the time. So I slide up on Jack's story, I think, his or Quinn's, saying like 'hey I'm so sorry, If I had any idea you guys were coming I would have invited you backstage after the show and we could have hung out!' I felt so bad that I didn't know they were there. And he responded and told me that they were at the lake house for the whole summer and if I wanted to come up for a week or so I was more than welcome to. They had room for me, it wasn't like I was going to be sharing a room with one of the boys or anything, and luckily it was the last stop on tour, so I had no where else to be. Jack was like, 'just bring a week's worth of clothes and something to swim in' and I told Jack, like, 'I don't have a car to drive out, like, I'm living on a tour bus, I don't have a way to get there.' So, I guess that when they had come down, they brought more than one car, so Jack offered to pick me up at the hotel and drive me back up to the lake house with them to spend the week."

"No way! and you went?"

"Hell yeah, I did. It's not every day you get invited to an event as exclusive and famous as the Hughes' Lake House! And even after I brought up how I was getting back to the airport the week later, he just went 'we will drive you back, you don't have to worry about a thing.' So I packed a bag and worked something out with my manager and I was hugging Quinn and Jack Hughes 45 minutes later."

"Who was more excited for you to go?"

"Oh, me, 1000%. I was so excited to go. I guess everyone else in the group had shipped out almost immediately after the show, so they were already there and playing video games when we walked through the door. Like, I know I'm well known, but I felt fucking famous walking through that door," Alex laughed, "I didn't even get to drop my bag before Jim, their dad, was offering to take my bags and yelling at one of the boys to show me where I'm sleeping, and how they had washed the sheets and EVERYTHING. Ellen, their mom, yelled at him like, 'the poor girl just walked through the door, at least let her take a breath!' and I told her it was fine, that this sort of stuff happens all the time, and Jack showed me to the room that they had reserved for me and let me unpack my bags and get situated and told me that they were thinking about doing some sort of midnight barbeque or something and might take the boat out that night but I didn't need to go if I just wanted to chill. I thanked him perfusely and told him I just really wanted a breather and how I needed to answer a few emails and stuff. He told me I could work at the kitchen island, too, if I didn't wanna feel left out. So I set up all of my chargers and unpacked and whatever and answered a few emails and comments and liked a few instagram stories at the kitchen island and talked with their parents and met some of the other guys. I never felt like I was more or less than them at any point the whole week. The whole group is so nice and never left me out of absolutely anything."

"And you went back, didn't you?"

"I did! I went the last 2.5 weeks of the summer, before they all shipped off to their respective corners of the continent. It wasn't my idea either, Quinn came up to me and was like, 'hey, the last couple weeks before we all head back to our cities is just gonna be the the three of us and KJ and Blanks if you wanna come back and hang, it'll be a lot less hectic.' So, I did. It was just the 6 of us for about half a month."

"They sound like so much fun," she turns towards the camera, "if it feels like I'm doing significantly less talking than normal, it's because I think Y/N has a really pretty voice and I just like listening to her talk."

"Stop it, you're so sweet-"

"No, it's true!" she turned back to you, "I love listening to you talk."

"I really appreciate it, is there any other nitty-gritty tell-all detail of the Hughes Boys and Friends? I have not slept with any of them, before you ask."

Alex laughed, "That's such a shame, I feel like that would make a good headline, 'Country Singer Y/N L/N Rates The Dick Down of The Entire NHL out of 10: Here's What You Need to Know!' Since we can't talk about the sex, may I ask you which one would make the best boyfriend? I'm assuming there's at least one that you feel like would be an exceptional boyfriend."

"Oh god, I think each of them each of qualities and personalities that would make them more than qualified," Alex raised an eyebrow at you, "would you like me to go through all of them?"

"Uh, yes please!"

You smiled, "Oh god where do I start. Luke Hughes, the baby of the group. Luke is very spontaneous, if anyone is going to wake up at 3am, say 'I wanna go wakeboarding' and do it, it would be Luke Hughes. He does stuff because he wants to and does not think about it, he's doing it for the plot and absolutely nothing else.

"Jack Hughes is very enthusiastic about almost anything. He's very energetic and will try and make the most out of any situation. If it's his turn to do laundry or wash the dishes, he's going to make the most out of it. There's music playing, he's dancing around, he's going to make even the most boring of shit fun. He does everything with the excitement of a toddler, even if he doesn't wanna do it.

"Quinn, oh Quinn. Quinn is by far one of the most patient people I've ever met in my life. He's also a phenomenal listener. He's amazing to talk to about anything because he can identify when you just want to rant about how much of a stupid bitch someone is versus when you want solutions about whatever problem you have. He will take his time to understand the situation and will listen to you and soak up all of the information you have to say. I was taking a class over the summer and he used to help me with homework and as much as I asked him to read over essays or to help me with assignments, he took the time and listened to me and was patient with me and helped me with anything I needed.

"Kent Johnson, oh god, I have to much to say about Kent Johnson. KJ is down for absolutey anything. If Luke comes out of his room at the ass-crack of dawn with the dumbest of decisions, KJ is the first to volunteer, he loves living life and he likes making memories, he'll dance in the kitchen with Jack, won't even help him, just there to dance around and sing along, he'll join in any pick up sport game someone wants to play, he'll grab a controller regardless of what's on the screen. He loves having fun and will jump at any opportunity to do so.

"Nick Blankenberg is the voice of reason in the group, team dad, if you will. He's incredibly wise and very intelligent- not like the others aren't, but Blanks has the type of intelligence that you would expect out of your older brother. He can be handed a situation from any of the other boys in the group and immedately outweigh all of the pros and cons and he has enough social awareness to outweigh all of the outcomes and say 'hey, maybe we shouldn't-' or 'what if we do this instead.' He has so much wisdom and he's so much fun to talk to.

"Um, Brendon Brisson, I think is who I'll go with next. Briss might not seem like it, but he's very philisophical. If I had to put money on who I think would be the most likely to find laying out in the grass at night staring at the stars wondering about the workings of the universe, it would be Briss. He loves learning about new people and what keeps the world spinning and society moving, he loves talking about what happens after you die and whether aliens exist or not or what it would be like to be sucked into a black hole. He's curious about everything and loves learning about people and loves listening to everything everyone has to say just because he finds it interesting.

"God, I don't know how I can follow that up, um, Bordy, maybe? Thomas Bordeleau is everyone's own personal hype man. If he thinks someone looks good, he WILL tell you. He's constantly dishing out compliments and constantly whistling at people and telling them how good they look. He always tells you when he likes your outfit or if a particular color looks good on you or if the fashion choice you made was good. He likes making other people feel confident and good about themselves. I know everytime I'm with Thomas I'm going to walk away feeling like a million dollars just because he loves making other people feel good about themselves.

"Owen Power is a gentle giant. He loves cuddling and he loves giving hugs. He's so peaceful to be around and has become such a safe presence in my life over the last few months. He always know what to say and he always knows when I'm in a bad mood.

"and last but not least, Matty Beniers. Matty is an absolute goof. If there's a room full of people belly-laughing it's because Matty is doing something stupid. He enjoys being the center of attention and he enjoys making everyone around him laugh. He likes making people happy. Matty can turn any situation into an enjoyable one, he's the life of the party and he thrives on laughter and making everyone around him laugh.

"That was a lot am I missing anyone?"

"Trevor and Cole?" Alex leaned forward a little, adjusting the pillow behind her back.

"Oh my god how could I forget them! Trevor Zegras has so much personality, he brightens every room he walks into. He's always smiling and always happy and he has the most infectious laughter. Cole Caufield is the best shit talker. Cole Caufield loves a good bit of gossip and will eat it up."

"That's beautiful. Well, Y/N I just wanna thank you again for being here, it was an absolute pleasure. Maybe we'll get to do this after every album drop."

"Oh we absolutely should! Thank you so much for having me here, Alex. I'm excited for the shit-talk session that happens after we shut the camera off."

"You are the absolute best, does this make us best friends?"

"I think it does. I'm pretty sure we're best friends."

Alex laughs, "Anyways, go follow Y/N on all of her social media, it's just Y/N.L/N, isn't it?" You nod, "Go show her all of the love, Y/N, thank you so much for being here."

"God, I love you so much."

"Girl, I love you, too!"

-💍

LOVE LOVE LOVE

SO GOOD

#soft thoughts w/ari #💍 Anon

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abusivelittlebunny · 2 years

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I hate to bother you again but. You should really finish sandman. Like everyone is unhinged, hot and gay. And i really, really wanna see more stuff with dream getting dicked down so i trust you with it <3

OK major spoil and piping hot tea warning ⚠️

Alright I finished the sandman so here's my personal and might be controversial opinion: I did not like it. I didn't hate it, but I definitely did not like it. I watched the whole thing but honestly I only started because I was in a really bad place and wanted to distract myself by watching some dumb show but the thing is that there were a multitude of things that distracted me but by how frustrating they were.

Listen, I've never read the comics, I've no idea what the discourse is about in the main tag I'm not on Twitter I don't care I don't care, this is just my own opinion and if you do not agree with it or you've enjoyed it yourself then hey kudos to you, I in no way want to take that away from you it's just that I... have beef with it. Not even beef, just frustration.

The whole show is going way too fast, they want to pack as much action and information into every single episode that it just becomes more like a too fast too spinny Rollercoaster where you don't even know what's happening before it's over which is not to say that the plotlines are obscure and deep and if you didn't catch that reference you won't get it, no, the show makes everything very spelled out and very - as we say in Hungarian - chews the food for you and spits it into your mouth. But because of this too fast pace we get no time to emotionally attach ourselves to storylines or characters at all, even Dream is a character we can't feel much sympathy for even though he's the main character because we keep cutting back and forth between different shit happening constantly. The cutting is actually hilarious to me in the first few episodes, -it was ridiculously bad - later on I just didn't pay much attention because I was mainly drawing while occasionally glimpsing up at the screen and mainly just listening because otherwise if I pay too much attention I get too frustrated. So yeah this is more of a put it on in the background and don't take it seriously kind of media.

There's also the problem of like... the acting? Besides the nonsensical storylines (like Dream said his siblings were well-aware of his imprisonment but none have come to his aid and then Death gives a speech that (for me) felt pretentious and made no sense of how she was "worried about him" and how "stupid and self-centered" Dream is for not reaching out to her after he escaped??? Then talking of how she missed him at the family dinners??? Girl literally move a piece of grain to break the fucking dust circle keeping this hoe imprisoned and don't act like he's the one selfish for being traumatized and having abandonment issues. It also pisses me off about her that she's like oh well that ain't shit dude wanted eternal life so you know what sure let's grant him that but then she takes the baby away saying yep that's all you get like. She talks like she's compassionate but does not come across that way at all no matter what music they put in on the background.)

The lady from doctor who who plays Johanna Constantine like. Cannot act for the life of her its so distracting. She has one facial expression and does not change it no matter what the context is, and in that way I sadly have to say she's a good followup for Keanu Reeves' John Constantine. Make no mistake, I find Keanu Reeves lovely, he's a great and gentle sweet person with the most beautiful face on God's green earth and I love the John wick movies he's great at action scenes, but the dearie is not a good actor. Wooden and feels awkward as shit. Same as her. Very beautiful face, very unable to act. The whole storyline with her losing a kid she adored and then her ex girlfriend just felt so horrible to watch but not because of the inherent tragedy of what we witness but because her acting makes us unable to take in that scene. The ex gf's last nice dream is of them smiling at each other on a field but the supporting actress gives so much more depth to it than Johanna who even when she should be acting outraged and concerned we get nothing from her performance nor after when she says goodbye to Dream. There's plenty more where that came from (Lyta's crying scene made me laugh she tried so hard not to show enough grief that would ruin her beauty that it just looked funny) but I had to mention her especially because she really made me want to stop watching altogether. That's not to say there's no good performances in the Sandman tho, the actor that plays Desire completely caught me off guard they are incredible: they barely had any time on screen but they're so expressive and unique and made a shiver run down my spine from just one smile and that chuckle had me screaming its like bestie is compensating for all the bad acting alone I hope to see more of them in the future.

There's also the thing that this show feels more like a collage, which is funny because in the extra episode recently dropped the writer's book that gets Calliope's powers is said to transcend and merge genres which I could feel regarding this show but not in a good way. It doesn't feel innovative it feels like ten different writers are trying to cram in their own ideas of what this show should be about and it feels like a turmix of ingredients not belonging together; the gore feels weird after the whimsical scenes, the Disney like wonder of dreamland is cut short by dwarf Cain putting a red hot poker through dwarf Abel's face for being too sweet, the discussion of loss and trauma and need for love feel meaningless when the cereal convention is shown in such a "fun" "badass" light where a p*do gets screentime with p*do jokes when he's around a kid that make you not laugh but think who the fuck let this be put on screen? If the show wasn't so crammed these contrasts might not feel so obvious but I get that Hollywood is going on 8 lines of pure coke per second and they need to put everything out in as short amount of time as possible, not trusting that these tiktok teens will keep watching if there's even a second of trying to digest what just happened.

There's also a lot of cringey stuff that just made me hurt physically, like the constant Keira Knightley pouting of the main character dude with the Bella Hadid cheek sucking in and the same Edward Cullen stare but I'm sure plenty 15 year old girls who experience this for the first time will wet themselves because they didn't live through the Twilight craze of the late 2000s - early 2010s; or most notably the fight scene between Lucifer and Dream that just made me think of elementary school girls in recess role-playing ponies that freaked me the fuck out when I was a kid. I just kept thinking yeah they gotta dnd fight because Gwendoline Christie could break that cracker biscuit twink in two with a snap of her fingers if it was a physical fight.

Contrary to popular belief I don't think racial and sexual diversity is enough to compensate for the lack of good writing, I think it's a cheap shield to shrug off criticism and dehumanizing to these marginalized groups, which is also very ironic in light of the extra episode where the crusty writer dude says that he wants to cast women and poc for his on screen adaptation and then publicize it so the studio can't back out due to the public backlash it would cause. Very self aware funnily enough. There are also a lot of very convenient resolutions to plots that have me roll my eyes back into my skull constantly but let's not get into all of them because I'll never stop complaining.

But I know you didn't come here to hear my opinion on the show itself only the emo twink in it so let's get into that.

Sure, Morpheous is fuckable, sure he's princess pretty, sure he's a bottom, but the type of bottom that is like how dare you make assumptions that I, an Endless, would enjoy a phallic object in my-kyaaa~♡ so yeah he's a pretentious little bitch that would rather die than ask for what he wants and you will not pull it out of him either you have to fucking read his mind and bear with the disappointed pout when the sex didn't turn out as he didn't fucking wish for. He's also an utter pillowprincess, if you get him into bed he'll not even raise his own legs you have to spread them for him because he's too proud to do so himself even though he loves to get his guts rearranged. I bet he secretly has a kink chamber for his own... well, dreams of what he wants to be done to him where he gets pushed around, held down, savagely taken by a very well trained dream meant to serve him in the most delicious way possible without him having to ask for it. He basically creates himself a pro vibrator rather than ask Hob to fuck his mouth like it is the source of eternal life.

Another gay I want to talk about is the Corinthian. Because he's really a great character and I do believe he's a one true dom vers. He'll rock a twink's shit to Hell and back, and you know he's all for watching as your eyes turn all blissed out when he's milking your prostate, BUT I also think he's a great powerbottom. We mainly saw him flirt with twinks but I do like to think he gets the occasional sexy big bear daddy within his charms and powerbottoms the soul out of them. I mean this stance alone is telling: sexy long legs and sweet strong thighs that'll bounce that ass up and down your dick at such a pace you're two seconds from Heaven and you haven't even tasted those milky tits yet. I mean, if evil why he milfy?

Dream: Corinthian you were my greatest creation I had so much hope for you, you disappoint me greatly-

Corinthian: says the bitch that can't ride nor suck dick so he makes up noncon scenarios for himself where he doesn't need to do all the work 💅

Dream: 👁👄👁

Corinthian: btw how big is Hob's dick or will I get to suck it before you? He might want a bottom that tells him exactly what he wants and two extra holes to stick that dick into-

Dream: SILENCE-

Corinthian: see I can suck dick while maintaining conversations and having a sippy from my drink at the same time-

Dream: BE UNMADE BITCH-

Corinthian: you just mad I can get dicks in the waking world and not make myself dildos out of sand-

Corinthian: *gets unmade*

#ask rambles #sorry this got too long and more of a rant #the sandman #morpheous #the corinthian

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xfindingtrouble · 1 year

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♫ for ellis!

allies or enemies - the crane wives

[ the words I speak are wildfires and weeds / they spread like some awful damn disease / I swear I didn’t mean what I said / I swear I didn’t mean it ] [ Remember when I could tell you not to smile when you were mad? / And you would always crack, and we’d both be laughing in the end / Now you’re not so quick to forget ] [ I’ll admit I’ve had my doubts / But I want to be let in not out ] [ All is fair in love and war / but I can’t fight with you anymore / this will be the death of me ]

this song specifically makes me think of ellis & astoria during the blight. ellis is holding a grudge because he feels betrayed & lied to. he finds out the girl he loves was witholding a huge secret from him, shaking up his perception of her entirely & so he lashes out. he's rearing up for some kind of war between them while fighting the draw he's always felt towards her, the love that isn't going to go away with a little bit of hurt. ellis can't decide if he wants to hate her or love her, but he knows it's not the same & that is scary to him. she's a constant that has always been in his life, his favorite person. he wants to share candy & coffee & dreams with her but fo the first time he wonders if she is going to be his future.

he's petty & often spiteful but there are still these moments where they indulge in being known, in knowing one another, they slide back into that old familiarity but ellis fights it every step of the way. there are moments where he conflicts himself beause it feels better to be comfortable until it's not anymore. until he remembers she is a mage, until he remembers she is someone she never showed him. so there is this sense of familiarity that he fights because he thinks they are starting from scratch when in reality they know one another better than anyone else in the party ( aside from his sister, of course ) He yearns for that time when she could look at him & he'd crack a smile while he cannot look her in the eyes without feeling conflicted.

distance - ajj

[ And I know this won't last forever / But god damn it, it feels like forever / Since we've been together / Till we'll be together again ][ And it's harder to be yourself / Than it is to be anybody else / I wish that I were someone closer to you ]

ellis imposes distance between them during the blight & then wallows in the feelings that come with that. his actions have consequences & the consequence is that he keeps astoria at arm's length, while yearning for a time that has already past. there is an overhanging sense of dread, uncertaintly, panic. all while juggling his blooming feelings for morrigan, who he percieves as walking rebellion which is so alluring to him. he opts to be with someone he doesn't really know when again, the person who knows him best is right in front of him. the person that loved him already when he is aching for that love. but he is actively denying himself that comfort because he wont let go of his grudge. he wont stop wallowing. that's what i feel this song really touches on for them in my mind i know.

also it's worth noting that he looks at her as though she's betrayed him when she was protecting herself the way she had to. he would have been a liability, he would have probably gotten her in trouble by not keeping his damn mouth shut about her secrets. he wallows, goes through the motions, does what he has to in order to survive but it doesn't quite feel right. there is the lurking sense that they might re-establish trust (subconsciously he knows he is not gonna live without her in his life ) but there is still this sense of dread, time passing slowly, loneliness even when he's not alone.

he projects the trust he wants to have in astoria into morrigan. he then proceeds to eat shit about it & complain about how it tastes.

us & them - pink floyd

[ Us and them / And after all / We're only ordinary men ][ Me and you / God only knows it's not what / We would choose to do ][ It was only a difference of right and wrong, innit? ]

this makes me think about the time directly after the blight where they are sort of floating around the obvious, recovering from the Horrors. there is still a dreaminess to the draw they have to one another, something quite literally undeniable. things haven't gone the way they expected to or wanted them to, but at the end of the day they still exist as a unit. even through all the complications, they still persist at one another's side. there is so much death around them, senseless violence & they find this familiar love in one another that helps them survive.

it's not what they expected, it's not what they chose, but it's them. this also leaves a disconnect between ellis & everyone else who didn't live through it all. to him, there is ellis & astoria & then there is everyone else, if that makes sense? there is so much conflict around them. there is the aftermath of the blight as well as the events of awakening & witchhunt. there's so much violence, horror & gore & it's relentless. they're only people, but they are people together if that makes sense? they have to navigate not only the horrors but the people who survived it all. they have won the battle, but they weren't the only ones fighting it? there are consequences everywhere & separation between them & everyone else. they help one another navigate the aftermath while still dealing with the implications of all that has passed.

touch me - the doors

[ Now touch me, babe / Can't you see that I am not afraid? / What was that promise that you made? ] [ Now, I'm going to love you / 'Til the heavens stop the rain / I'm going to love you / 'Til the stars fall from the sky / For you and I ]

ok ok ok so hear me out. when they finally break under this mutual attraction / love for one another it's explosive, exciting, cathartic. for every promise they made to one another in the past, there is now a place for them in reality. there is such excitement in the ability to finally just love one another, complications aside. i also thought that this song could allude to them really reveling in this passion that has been brewing for so long, there is no reason to beat around the bush anymore.

they survived, they've changed, they're not the same but they have seen the change happen in one another. thye now know not only the people they presented to one another growing up but also the people they saw each other become in the face of the Horrors. but they're alive, they're together, why not embrace it? ellis is ready to love astoria until the stars fall from the sky. also that line specifically made me think fo the because of the Stars. also it's worth noting that after resisting the instinct to love astoria for so long, it's like a dam breaking in ellis. all the love that has built up for astoria over the years now has a place to go & he probably gets over-excited but i think it's a mutual thing. they finally get to indulge. which i will get to in the next song also

sunshine of your love - cream

[ I'll be with you darling soon / I'll be with you when the stars start falling ][ I've been waiting so long / To be where I'm going / In the sunshine of your love ][ It's the morning and just we two / I'll stay with you darling now / I'll stay with you 'til my seas are dried up ][ I've been waiting so long / To be where I'm going / In the sunshine of your love ]

i mentioned this in the song prior but again, when ellis finally gets to be with astoria it's like a dam breaking. this is something he's waited his entire life for, something he's always known was going to happen. even when things were complicated & he didn't trust here there was still the looming sentiment of ' this is my forever person ' even if he fought the instinct. but now there's no reason to fight it.

now he can hole up in a room with her all day, breaking every piece of furniture there owns. now he can really bask in this connection they've developed together & he's all in. they're past the breaking point, now they get to lay in the sun & face the bullshit together. this is a love that has persisted. this is a love he is going to enjoy. plus the sex is sooo bussin. astoria is his favorite person & is madly in love with her. he wants to be will her 'till the sea's all dried up.

movement- hozier

[ You are a call to motion / There, all of you a verb in perfect view ][ When you move / I'm put to mind of all that I wanna be / When you move / I could never define all that you are to me ][ When you move / I can recall somethin' that's gone from me / When you move / Honey, I'm put in awe of somethin' so flawed and free ]

after a lifetime of knowing astoria, he still can't put to words what she means to him. but she knows him & he knows her. every ay, passing kiss, endless night - it's all still exciting to him because it is with her. astoria makes ellis want to be a good man, she makes him want to be good to her even if the rest of the world can eat shit. she is a piece of him that has always been there, changing on her own terms but consistently his.

when she is named inquisitor, when she is named the herald of andraste she herself acts as a call to action. action that he wouldn't have taken ithout her at the head of the inquisiton. he may have stepped up with more selfish reasons, surrounding the false calling ( which ellis thinks is real ) but because it is her, it is second nature to follow her into the fray. i will note, however, that he probably focuses on her instead of what he thinks is an incoming blight. she probably stays at the center of his attention & he moves at her command because she is the only leader he'll realy answer to. this is not only because of the love but also because she inspires him? If she is changing the world, he wants to do it with her... the rest can wait.

i do think he would have joined her at haven, after some thought. i don't think he would want his wife to face this impossible situation on her own, even if she is strong enough to he wouldn't want her to die because he wasn't there if that makes sense? but she is flawed & free & is a hero again. she's always been holy to him, so it's not that strange that the rest of the world is beginning to see her that way too.

honorable mentions: like real people do - hozier, take on me- a--ha (MTV unplugged), your heart is a muscle the size of your fist - ramshackle glory, i don't want to know - fleetwood mac, wedding song - hadestown, creature - penny & sparrow

#softersinned #comment cards ( answered. )#was this supposed to be only 5 songs?? yes!#am i a coward??#also yes but i love music #& i love Them

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mistress-ofmagic · 2 years

Text

Around the realms in 80 days chapter 7

Pairing: Reader x Loki

Story summary: You have fallen through a portal during the convergence into Asgard and come face to face with Thor, and his brother Loki. With no way to return, you must travel with the two men and their hoard of asgardian soldiers to get back home. Things get from bad to worse when you have to share a tent with the god of mischief himself.

Notes: Okay listen, don't kill me and please remember at this is is a SLOW BURN. We have more to come for Loki and Latte, and remember that at this stage neither of them are aware of their feelings yet...

warnings: language and sexual content

Read this story on a03!

find all parts to this story on Tumblr here

You realised you must have fallen back asleep at some point. When you woke, you felt a lot better, the pain in your head having disappeared and your bones ached less. You shifted, and slowly sat up, stretching your arms and legs.

“Mortal.” The dreaded voice hit you like a tonne of bricks.

You looked over to the writing desk to see Loki sat looking at you.

“Better?” He asked.

You glared at him, and didn’t bother responding. You had no desire to talk to him.

Loki smirked, “Sulking little girl?”

You tried to bite your tongue you really did but he was seriously irritating you. You sat up straighter,

“Sulking? Why would I be happy seeing you after you took an attempt on my life?”

Loki had the audacity to roll his eyes.

“Are you hurt?”

“What?”

“Are you in pain? Are you bruised? Are you on deaths door?”

“ Well…no but that’s beside the point.”

“Then you cannot say I took an attempt on your life.”

“You’re literally gaslighting me!” You yelled and jumped out of the bed.

Loki looked unimpressed,

“Gaslighting?” He said carefully, copying how you said it.

“Trying to manipulate me into thinking how you acted wasn’t as bad as it was!”

“Mortal if I wanted to kill you, you would already be dead. Please sit back down you are still recovering and I would hate it if you ruined all the work I just did.”

“What work?”

“The work I did healing you.”

Erm what?

You were stunned for a second and continued to stare and blink at him. Loki looked far too pleased with himself for your lack of words.

“Thanks I guess.” You mumbled.

“You guess?” Loki looked at you incredulously.

“One good thing doesn’t make up for treating me like shit!”

Loki stood up, drawing himself to his full height and stared down at you. You took a step back instinctively, not wanting a repeat from earlier, however you held your glare and narrowed your eyes to match his.

“I am…” He began.

“A god and a future king, I know, your highness, you’ve told me. And I’m a lowly mortal etcetera etcetera but it’s not exactly an excuse to constantly act like a dick towards me.”

“I healed you, you ungrateful, wretched…”

“I know and I said thank you didn’t I? But it still doesn’t excuse your behaviour.”

You didn’t know why you were suddenly feeling so brave. Maybe it was something to do with being threatened by him already today and then nearly beaten up by a troll. Loki’s eyes flashed murderously, and for a second you thought they had flashed red.

“Interrupt me again girl…”

You held your breath for a second and waited for him to finish his sentence. There was a noise outside which distracted both yours and Loki’s attention and the next time you looked back at him his eyes were back to a steely blue. Maybe you imagined it.

Loki sighed,

“You’ve become increasingly loquacious during your trip here. Not everyone would be so lenient. I will not tell you again, try to be less spirited while you are here.”

Lenient? This is what he called lenient? Constantly insulting and threatening you? Also you noted, if you hadn’t known better you would have thought Loki’s mouth had quirked slightly.

You opened your mouth, ready to fight back again when Fandral entered the tent.

“Have I not told you to stay out of my tent?” Loki glared at him.

Fandral ignored him.

“My lady, I came to see how you were faring?”

“Better, thank you.” You beamed at him. It was nice to have someone who could hold a normal conversation with you without purposefully irritating you.

He smiled down at you.

Loki stepped in front of you blocking your view of Fandral.

“Was there anything else you needed?”

You rolled your eyes, and stepped back out from behind Loki.

“I was wondering if the lady would like to come and pick out a dress for tonight?” He aimed at you.

“No, she’s resting. Goodbye.” Loki opened the tent for him.

“She looks okay to me.” Fandral glared back at Loki.

If there was one thing you hated, it was being talked about as if you weren’t there.

You spoke up, “Actually I am feeling better, how long have we got before the feast?”

“Ah hour or so.” Fandral smiled at you.

“Maybe I should start getting ready then.”

“Good idea my lady! Come, Lady Yrsa awaits for you.”

You shot a glance at Loki, who looked for a moment as if he was going to say something but decided against it.

“Where are we going to look for my dress?” You asked, once you had followed Fandral out of the tent.

“Lady Yrsa has asked to speak to you, I believe she is going to provide you with one.”

You furrowed your brow slightly but said nothing. Loki’s warning was running through your mind, and as much as you disliked him, he was probably right in some ways. Best to keep your head down and not die.

Just a few weeks, just a few weeks.

“What was that?” Fandral asked.

Oops, you didn’t mean to speak out loud.

You cleared your throat, “Er - nothing. So what kind of thing will be happening tonight?”

“Well, there will be food of course, and probably dancing -“

“Dancing?”

Fandral looked at you, amused.

“Yes, dancing. Do you dance on Midgard my lady?”

“Not really.”

I mean you had danced in clubs and had once taken a salsa class in University with a friend for a laugh, but you doubted that was going to be helpful here.

“Ah, it is no matter. I’m sure you will pick up the dances quickly.”

“There are specific dances?” You asked, panicked.

If things weren’t worse enough now you had to learn some alien dances. You thought perhaps maybe you would prefer to take the troll on again.

“Well, yes.” Fandral looked confused. “Is there no dancing at all on Midgard?”

“We dance I guess, although for most people it’s just sort of jumping up and down and waving your hands around rather than a routine, unless you dance as a hobby and go to classes and stuff.”

Fandral looked fairly horrified at this. “Jumping up and down and waving your hands around? That is dancing on Midgard?”

“Yep.”

“Why?” He asked curiously.

“Erm-“

Much to your relief, you didn’t have to answer because you had arrived at Yrsa’s door. The lady herself stepped out.

“Ah, Lord Fandral and the mortal! Come in.”

Taking a deep breath you followed them in. You arrived in a rather spacious sitting room, with two, two-seater sofas and a large wooden table. The balcony curtains were open, letting you know it had just started raining again.

“Thank you for coming.”

You smiled weakly,

“Thank you for having me.”

Yrsa clasped her hands together, and said delighted, “How sweet!”

You tied to keep your face still and not form a scowl, but this was proving difficult.

Fandral seemed to sense you weren’t feeling entirely comfortable and stepped in,

“So, you said you had some dresses…?”

“That’s right! I asked my maids to find some dresses that could fit the mortal.” She looked down at you and smiled.

I have a name, not that anyone seems to use it, you thought.

“Girls!” Yrsa called, and three young girls came out from the door to the left.

“Please show the mortal her dresses and get her ready for the feast tonight!”

One of the girls grinned at you,

“Come in here mortal.”

You gritted your teeth and walked over to the next room.

The next half an hour or so was spent with the girls doing your hair and makeup. They seemed sweet enough, and even though you felt like an oversized doll, you let them play makeovers. The girls chatted between themselves as they did so, and you listened quietly.

“I heard you had a run in with a troll? Is that right?” The girl who looked the youngest addressed you eagerly.

You nodded. “He came into the room. Luckily Thor - I mean the princes were quick on the scene.”

“That must have been scary!” She squeaked.

“You are lucky the princes cam so quickly to your aid.” The maid with the curly brown hair spoke.

“What is it like travelling with them?” The youngest one asked excitedly.

You mentally laughed, but thought for a second. You realised you should probably not rant about how irritating Loki was, you didn’t want to get hung for treason or whatever the punishments were here.

“I’m very lucky they have let me travel with them.” You settled on.

“Which one do you think is the best looking?” The youngest asked again.

“Liv” The eldest who was yet to speak reprimanded. You suddenly recognised this maid as the one that had come in to alert Yrsa about the trolls.

“I personally think Prince Thor is better looking” Liv continued, “But Gro here thinks Loki is better looking.”

The girl with curly brown hair blushed.

“This is a silly conversation.” The eldest spoke again, as she continued to play with your hair.

“I can kind of understand why people find Prince Loki attractive, I suppose he has that whole dark and mysterious thing going on, but Prince Thor is more handsome and charming.”

Liv suddenly lowered her voice, “Although, it is said that Lady Yrsa may marry Prince Loki, Lady Audhild said it is her best chance of getting into the royal family.”

“Liv that’s enough.” The older maid said sharply.

Liv shrugged and shot the maid next to her a knowing look.

At her words your stomach clenched slightly although you weren’t sure why. Maybe you still recovering from earlier.

Interesting. You supposed the maids did not take you seriously enough as to not bother hiding their gossiping around you.

“Here mortal, we are finished!”

It was nice to see yourself wearing makeup and having your hair done again, made a change from wearing old clothes and looking like a drowned rat.

“Thank you.” You said honestly.

“Now you get to choose a dress!” Liv stated, clapping her hands together.

Gro went over to the wardrobe and opened it up.

“Feel free to pick whichever you like!”

Now this was more like it. You had always been obsessed with pretty things. There were many beautiful colours and fabrics it made it difficult to decide which dress you wanted to pick. You finally settled on a pale blue gown with dark blue ornate patterns along the trim and down the sleeves.

The girls helped you into the dress, which made you feel kind of uncomfortable. I’d be a rubbish princess you thought, there is no way I would enjoy being dressed every day. Although you thought you could get used to the outfits.

Finally, once the girls were satisfied, you were allowed to re-enter the main room.

To your surprise, Loki was sat on the sofa enjoying a cup of tea and chatting away to Yrsa, they had not seemed to notice that you had entered.

Gro cleared her throat. They looked in your direction and Yrsa stood up.

“Aw look! Well done girls, you have made look presentable for this evening.”

Cheers Yrsa, you thought and mentally rolled your eyes.

She smiled sickeningly at Loki,

“Come, let us go and join the feast.”

Loki smiled back and held out his hand for Yrsa to take.

***

You had been at the feast for an hour by now and you were wondering if you could find an excuse to leave. The best thing about the evening had been the food. Asgardian’s new how to cook clearly. Your altercation with the troll that afternoon had left you ravenous, and you had happily scoffed as much bread, meats and cheese as you could. Unfortunately, then the eating came to and end and people were dancing. You however, were stood with your back against the wall, as far away as the dancing as possible.

Dismally, the topic of you being a mortal had come up during dinner which was far from ideal, especially when Ylva, Yrsa’s annoying younger sister had joked that there was no point in giving you the good wine since you would probably die in a few years anyway. You were about to argue that if you were lucky enough to live your full lifespan you would live for a lot longer than a few years but Loki had glared at you, as if reminding of you not to speak up and you abided.

When you went to sit down to eat, Audhild, Yrsa’s mother, who hasn’t been present at lunch, had asked Thor and Loki wether you were allowed to sit at the table.

The icing on the cake however, was a thinly vailed question from Yrsa herself around whether or not you were basically some sort of pet of Loki’s and that’s why you were sharing his tent with him.

That one was pretty mortifying, you hadn’t particularly considered the implications of sleeping in Loki’s bed; what that might signal to others. Especially to others who consider humans to be a much lesser species, and one where being a sex slave wasn’t out of the question.

Overall, it had not been a great evening to a thoroughly shitty day.

You picked at the sleeves of the dress miserably and stared at the ground, wishing you could disappear through it.

A pair of black boots appeared in front of you. You continued looking down, staring at them.

“Having fun, mortal?”

Slowly, you dragged your eyes up a green and black ensemble to the face you had grow tired but used to seeing.

“Loads.”

“Would you care to dance?”

You eyed him suspiciously, having had enough of his games for today.

`’No thank you.” You turned away from him.

Loki stepped so that he was in front of your gaze again.

“Come on, why not?” His eyes gleamed.

You rolled your eyes,

“I don’t know how to dance.”

“I can teach you.”

You huffed, “I’m good.”

“You know, as a prince of Asgard, I’ve danced all my life. In fact I’m practically known for it, I didn’t win first place doing the Wyvern Whiz at Vanaheim’s inter realm contest when I was 350 for nothing.”

“I don’t want to hear about your whiz.”

Loki ignored you and continued “ I’m perfectly equipped to teach you how to dance. Or perhaps you’d rather hear some more about my dancing escapades…”

“Fine Gene Kelly, I’ll dance with you.”

Loki grinned and held out his hand,

“May I have the honour.”

You scowled and took it.

“I understand that reference you know, I met Gene Kelly once.” Loki said as he led you to the dance floor.

“Erm what?” You asked distractedly.

You couldn’t focus. His hands were a lot colder than you had expected, and they were incredibly smooth. It felt like touching marble. You panicked that your hands might feel gross and sweaty in his, and had the sudden impulse to pull them away.

“Are you even listening to my story mortal?” Loki asked, pulling you out of you musings.

You looked at him blankly and he rolled his eyes at you.

“Right, now, put your hand upon my shoulder.”

“What? No.”

“You are so irritating, I’m trying to teach you to dance. We cannot dance if you are sanding 5 feet away from me.”

You gingerly stepped closer and put your arm on his shoulder. He adjusted it slightly.

“There, that wasn’t too difficult was it. Now, relax and let me lead you.”

You tried desperately to match your movements to his, and stared, concentrating on your feet.

“You need to look up.” Loki whispered,

“Hm?” You furrowed your brow as you stepped the wrong way again.

You felt fingers under your chin pulling your head up until you were looking up at him. You tried to move your head away so you could stare at your feet again but he shook his head.

“Look at me while you are dancing, it will make it easier.”

“But then, how will I know if my feet are doing the right thing or not?”

“You need to feel the music as it moves through you.”

The only thing I feel like doing is leaving.

Loki starting to tell you another story, one which involved another creature you’d never heard of before and hoped to never meet, and Thor and his friends making fools of themselves. Soon, you had forgotten about what your feet were doing completely, focusing instead on Loki’s story, and they way his eyes crinkled when he was amused.

“May I have this dance with the lady?” A deep voice from beside you appeared.

You turned to see Fandral bowing slightly and holding his hand out to you.

Loki raised an eyebrow at him and was about to open his mouth when Yrsa appeared.

“Ah your highness.” She giggled girlishly which took you by surprise. “Shall we leave your mortal pet and have a dance ourselves?”

You inwardly rolled your eyes, and let go of Loki’s arm and hand.

Fandral smiled at you and whisked you away to the other side of the room.

“I thought you said you couldn’t dance!” Fandral said as you tired to remember where to put your hands.

Dancing with Fandral felt different. He was warmer, for one thing, you could feel a dampness on his shoulder, he also seemed to move quicker and more energetic, and you struggled to keep up.

There was slightly less talking with Fandral, and as you moved around the room you became more conscious of the other dancers. Thor was dancing with Ylva, who blushed and threw her head back as she laughed. You turned at the right moment to catch a glance at his face which seemed pleased if not confused. Volstagg had somehow found more food, and had a leg of something in one hand and a pint of ale in the other.

When you passed him, a young lady was asking him to dance and he looked so distressed about his decision to leave his food and dance or not that you laughed out loud. Fandral laughed too, confused about what was funny. This caught the attention of Loki and as you passed him, explaining to Fandral what had made you laugh, while keeping the insane pace Fandral seemed to insist upon, you thought you caught a quick look of irritation.

After a while, you needed to stop to catch your breath and quench your thirst. You left Fandral who quickly found a new, willing partner and went and stood by a table. As you drank, you noticed that you had lost sight of Loki.

It was getting late now, you had danced for longer than you had thought and the exhaustion of the day was catching up. You scanned the room one last time for Loki and then decided to head back to the tent on your own.

You made your way out of the castle and down to where the tent was currently set up. You dragged your feet along the ground, looking forward to getting back into Loki’s bed.

As you got closer you started to realise that something was wrong. You could hear noises when you had hoped to be leaving them behind. The moon was bright that night, allowing for a pool of light to illuminate the ground. That’s how you saw it, the shadows of two people fucking within, reflected from the bright light against the tent.

#loki x reader #loki #loki x you #loki x y/n #loki laufyson #loki smut #loki reader insert #loki is a little shit #tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston x reader #loki x female reader #loki x ofc

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hobidreams · 3 years

Text

november 1869.

to remember what has been lost; to protect what still remains.

pairing: joseon king!yoongi x reader genre: drama. words: 2.4k contains: descriptions of blood/death, a reckoning.

moonlit throne index. this is drabble 26. start from the beginning?

Before Queen Jeonghui’s tomb, you stand with hands bowed in reverence, mind laden with warm memories as sticks of incense burn above your fingertips.

“We all miss you, daebi-mama. I hope you are resting well,” you murmur, letting the smoke mingle with your breath in the air as you bow, deeply. “Happy birthday.”

A little ways away, the single guard that accompanies you is also offering his thoughts to the raised, grassy mound that the queen lies beneath. You’re glad it’s Myungho to come with you today. He’s a good man, one who allows you as much freedom as possible. He understands your need to escape sometimes. Nearby, the horses you rode here are grazing on the field, quietly snorting as their tails swish from side to side.

As you look upon the tomb, you wonder wistfully if mother has found the queen in the spirit world. If they’re playing the game of janggi they so loved in life, when both could find the rare time to continue their decade-long (friendly) rivalry while indulging in cups of strong, dark tea. The thought brings a smile to your face even as fresh tears fall at the remembrance.

In your peripheral vision, you see a swish of fabric, the sign of someone approaching. You give one last bow and slot your incense in the traditional tray, realizing it must be time to leave before it gets too cold and your limbs begin to freeze even under the layers of clothes. You must go back eventually, you know it, but that doesn’t make it easier.

But when you turn, the man that stands beside you wears royal robes — the scarlet fabric and golden dragons unmistakable.

“Jeonha?”

The king’s face holds only sorrow as he holds matching incense in his hands. Staring straight ahead, he bends into a bow, dipping his head repeatedly low, low, lower until he’s almost on the dying, waterlogged grass with it, the lit grey tips flickering in the wind as they are nearly doused from the force of his movements. He bites his lip hard, so hard he draws blood as he punishes his own legs with the bows but he doesn’t stop.

You watch him with emotion clinging to your throat, but you swallow the questions you want to ask as you swipe at your wet cheeks. Why are you here? Why did you change your mind? How are you? Are you okay? All these impertinent questions are for you, to satisfy your own curiosity, and that’s not what he needs right now.

Quietly, steadily, you wait until he has finally stuck in the incense in the memorial ash. You wait until he opens his eyes, red-rimmed as they are, and finds your gaze.

“I… decided at the last moment,” he murmurs. “You… were right. I had to see her.”

You nod. Think you understand everything else he means as well, even if he’s left it unspoken. “Me too.”

“She would have liked that you’re here.”

That simple sentence threatens another wave of nostalgia and longing. You let it pull you under. Sink yourself into it. The mourning, the grief. And the love. The love that was there. The love that still remains, the traces of it held in you both. Your fingers twitch with a sudden, daring want to take his hand. To meet your palms and find the warmth and the life pulse that beats so closely, so resolutely just beneath the surface despite all this pain and all this loss. If you could just reach out. If you could just take another risk…

“Jeonha, run!”

The scream comes from the hill behind you. You both whirl.

The head of the royal guard comes running over with his sword drawn. His teeth are grit, hair blown from the wind that sweeps through the grass, rippling. His blade is already stained with a color that makes your stomach lurch at the implication.

“Hoseok— What’s going on?” The king yells back.

“Rebels! An ambush. We don’t have enough men!”

These few seconds are all the warning you get.

An incredible roar of voices comes exploding up and then you see them. The thick crowd of men that come surging over the hill, fighting their way towards you. The unforgettable clatter of metal on metal desecrates this once-sacred ground. Your legs go soft as you panic, scrambling. You’re trying not to watch as guards and rebels alike are cut down, but the enemies are steadily advancing still. What should you do? Where should you go?

“Myungho, get the horses!” The king barks out. But one look at the steeds tells you that they’re frightened, rearing back as men descend upon them. They’re off, running away on instinct to preserve their own lives while damning yours.

“Jeonha, what are your orders?” Myungho’s grip on his weapon is tight.

“Go. Help Hoseok.”

“Yes, jeonha!”

But as the battle wears on, the dread in you only grows. The king’s men are skilled, but it seems there were only a few to begin with. They are overwhelmed by sheer numbers, yelling for jeonha to escape but he doesn’t move. You don’t know what to do. You are at a complete loss, standing beside him with fingers growing steadily numb. You have to do something. You— You can’t just let it end here, at the hands of these men bellowing with violence and anger and pain.

“Jeonha, w-we have to run,” you stutter, forcing yourself to move, tugging at the fabric of his robes. But when you look back at the opposite side, your only escape route, a throng of rebels come scattering across the grass. Cutting you off; rendering you helpless.

“Myungho, cover the rear!” Hoseok spits out as he takes down another three by himself, the quick whip of his blade reflecting a beam of sun. But even he, with two other guards in front, cannot hold all of them off, though there are less of the rebels now that remain standing.

Caught in the middle, you can only watch your allies strain and sweat. In your heart, you promise desperately that you heal them in the end, if only they will hold on now.

With an awful cry, one of the guards hits the ground and a rebel uses that chance. Breaks through the line of defense and charges right towards you both.

“Fuck the king!” He yells, his face smeared with dirt, his sword raised as his bare feet trip upon the grass but he just keeps coming somehow and you have no weapons and you have no shields but the very first instinct, the most primal one you have is to throw yourself in front of the king and take his pain for him and—

Hoseok dispatches the rebel from behind just as you move a single step forward.

“You…” The king’s voice is hoarse. His eyes are wide with shock as he stares at you, at what you just did. Then he’s shoving you aside and stooping to pick up the abandoned sword from the ground.

You realize what he means when he sweeps up his sleeves, adjusts his grip on the worn handle. “Wait, no, jeonha, you cannot—”

“Stay behind me.”

“I cannot allow you to—”

“Do not argue with me.”

Again, he leaves you with no choice but to watch his back.

Fear pounds away in your body like a thousand drums, thunder booming through the pulse of your clenched heart in your ears as the king takes a first brutal swing at an enemy. Somewhat out of practice against the towering man, he’s shoved back by the sheer force of the clash, feet skidding across the wet grass but he refuses to yield. Stubborn as he always is, he rushes in again only to be pushed back. Again.

The king tilts his blade, slices it quick only to have one sent right back at him, barely missing his shoulder by an inch. He doesn’t even flinch as he stands firm. Adapts in the moment and tries a new strategy, a new tactic that has him spinning, robes fluttering in the winter air as his shuddering breath comes out in a puff of white and ends in a fury of red. And again. And again until finally, finally, only the strongest of the rebels remain standing with the few allies you left, along with your brutal, bloodied king.

Before you, all the men are panting, open mouthed, every last one of them desperate for a victory that spells the doom of the other.

“Come on then,” the king goads, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand in a show of nonchalance even though he’s obviously fatigued. “Attack.”

“You little shit!”

This man is enormous, easily a head above the king and he’s strong, muscles bulging from his torn tunic as he thrusts the sword ahead with surprising speed. The quick rush of air slices through two layers of robes, splitting the dirtied fabric open as the king narrowly escapes without a new scar. But his return stab doesn’t meet a mark and he’s slow on the rebound, steps lost some of the agility he had at the start.

Please. Please, you beg to whatever god may be listening, don’t let him die. But that rebel seems to have an endless strength as he forces the king back, meets him blow for blow for blow and you are so worried, terrified you’re going to see his last moments like this. Like this you will have been with him until the end just like you once stupidly wished. You’re so caught up you don’t realize what’s going on behind you.

“Su-uinyeo-nim! Watch out!” Myungho’s voice cracks as he cries your name, but you turn too slow. Myungho’s on the ground and the rebel that beat him is sprinting towards you, savagery in his scowl, his crude axe already suspended in mid-swing, just a few more steps, just one more shove to land right across your heart and you, you who has never held a weapon before in her life, you who has lived to heal and mend instead of hurt, what can you do right now but die?

“No!”

The scream is hoarse, a furious sound matched with a rush of robes that whip past your own.

You peel open your eyes in time to watch the king take the axe blow meant for you with his left arm. Despite his bark of pain, he swings with his right in exchange and it’s enough. The rebel falls, his axe plummeting uselessly beside him. Then the king falters too, sword clattering down as he finally drops to his knees.

“Jeonha!” You scramble to him. “Oh god, oh god, jeonha, why did you do that— Jeonha, how could you do such a thing? Jeonha!” You part the stained robes, stomach churning at the raw sight of his sacrifice. “We need to fetch you help. You need medicine, oh god, oh god.” This is panic like you’ve never felt it before as you look around, as if some miracle could occur, as if it hasn’t already occurred by the fact that you’re both still alive.

To one side, Hoseok is alone, gasping hard with the enormous rebel lying prone beside him, evidently having finished him off. Myungho has a gash running down his side, but he’s crawling towards you both still with a hand pressed to his wound for pressure. There is no one else. You have to do this on your own. You have to calm the hell down.

Using the nearby sword, you force yourself to focus and stop shaking as you cut strips of the inner layer of your skirt. You have to save his arm even as nausea swims in your mind, nerves making you want to empty your stomach.

“Hah...” The king’s chest lurches as he struggles for air. His eyes are hazy but he manages to fix them on you, as if to ground himself. “You’re… safe?”

Nodding frantically, you start to wrap the cloth around him, willing your fingers not to slip. “I-It’s deep, jeonha. Your wound is so deep.” You’re quietly sobbing as you tie the makeshift bandage to stop the worst of the bleeding. How could he be thinking of you at a time like this? It must hurt excruciatingly so, yet he is still trying to be strong.

Beside you, Hoseok is carrying Myungho’s weight, using the extra cloth to help his ally with his limited medical training.

“…Hoseok.” The king sucks in another long breath. “They… Those rebels were peasants, weren’t they?”

“Yes, jeonha… I think they were.”

He accepts this knowledge silently as you finish your preliminary treatment, but lack the resources to do anything else. You stare at the fresh red seeping through the flimsy cloth and hope desperately that it will be enough for now, until one of you can return to the palace and gather reinforcements to take you home. Feeling your fingers stop, he immediately tries to move his arm but winces, bites his lip at the sudden jolt.

“Don’t move, please,” you instantly say.

The king huffs a long, exhausted sigh as he sinks into the ground. Lets the tension seep out of him, though likely not by choice. His dark eyes flicker to the tomb briefly before they slide closed, the scar ever slashed startlingly crimson across the right side. Despite his best attempts, he is still winded, depleted. Human, after all. After all of this.

You brush matted strands of light hair away from his forehead, and pat at the drops of sweat that linger and prove how hard he pushed himself to fight. He shifts into your touch like a stray animal, allowing you take care of him for once without argument until his breaths even some, settling only in your arms.

“It seems it’s been a long time,” he says softly after a moment, his eyes remaining shut.

“Since?”

“Since I’ve protected someone.”

Your pulse catches. Blood thrums through you as you whisper, “but you did.” Your voice is viscous with relief, and gratitude. “You did.”

Only now do you dare to reach for his hand, to lend him some of your strength, even though you have seen again just how much of it he already holds in himself.

Wrapped in your warmth, he squeezes back just the once. Lets you know he is here, he is here, he is here with you still.

a/n: because i could never forget the way he wielded that sword in the mv. so... how you feel about our king now?

#ficswithluv #btsghostie #yoongi x reader #min yoongi #bts imagines #bts scenarios #bts angst #yoongi angst #historical au #moonlit throne #rain writes #things only continue to shift don't they?

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kar-krashew · 3 years

Text

my someplace is here [AO3]

Five times Alec gay panics at a bus stop (ft. umbrellas, jackets, and a bus driver who really isn't paid enough for this).

rated: T

for @rainyhuman and @peachygos (ily!)

This is so cliché and over the top and I have absolutely no regrets <3. Sometimes (always) Alec is a himbo who is in love and his actions reflect this entirely. I don't control these things.

One.

Alec Lightwood doesn’t believe in love at first sight, but the man across the bus stop is absolutely gorgeous, and he’s twirling in the rain like a goddamn movie cliché, and Alec’s first thought is holy shit, so maybe Alec Lightwood is an idiot, and love at first sight is definitely a Thing.

Alec’s second thought is that the man is an absolute maniac— because really, the dude doesn’t even have a coat on— but Alec’s the one with an insane urge to kiss a stranger in the middle of the street, so, whatever; They’re probably both maniacs.

Alec’s third thought is that he’s about to miss his bus. Shit.

—

Two.

For the record, Alec does not usually walk into bus stop poles while staring at his phone, nor does he usually yell out “Ow, shit — !” if the aforementioned event does happen to occur. He does, however, end up doing both of these things at once a week later, and the stifled laughter behind him informs him that someone at the stop has definitely seen him, and he’s never going to live this down, ever.

“I’ve personally found that walking around an obstacle tends to be much more effective, darling,” the someone says, and Alec supposes that was called for, but hey, rude. He looks up to face the speaker, preparing himself to be offended, and—

Oh.

It’s the beautiful stranger from last time.

The man smirks at him from the bench, drenched again, and God, he’s even prettier up close. Brown eyes, smudged eyeliner, water trickling down his neck, with a tunic open down to his navel and pants that look painted on— Alec’s brain is short-circuiting.

“Hit your head a little hard there? Or do you just see something you like?”

“Huh?” Alec glances up from where he’s been staring at the man’s collarbones.

“I asked if you saw something you liked, pretty boy,” the man repeats.

Alec opens his mouth, presumably to say something that would be considered appropriate and normal in this situation, but he somehow misses his own memo and instead stammers out: “I, uh, I have an umbrella.”

He prays the rain will have mercy and just drown him on the spot.

The man’s brow quirks upwards in amusement. “Excuse me?”

Alec, unfortunately, is still alive, so he must now suffer the embarrassment he’s managed to cause himself and find a way to explain whatever has just come out of his mouth. He ducks his head, trying to avoid eye contact as he speaks. “If you want it,” he elaborates, “I have an umbrella I can give you.”

The stranger just looks at him for a moment. Alec’s sure he’s going to be told to fuck off (which would be a perfectly understandable reaction and probably have been his own in this situation) but after another second, the man defies all of his expectations and grins, so wide that it steals a little of Alec’s breath away.

“Handsome and chivalrous, I see. Do you make a habit of offering your belongings to strangers?” the guy asks. “Besides, I’m sure you’ll need it later. Perhaps you should rescind your offer, I promise I won’t harbor any grudges.”

“I have a coat,” Alec insists, “and you’re. . .” —incredibly attractive, doing things to my brain function— “more in need of its services.”

He’s not really sure why he’s so adamant about this, especially since the man is right: he will be needing the umbrella later, but his pride’s involved now, and he hasn’t really been thinking things through for the past ten minutes anyway. He might as well argue about his dumb umbrella with a beautiful man at a bus stop.

“I suppose you’re right,” comes the man’s response. He taps painted nails against his chin as he hums. “I’m not in much of a position to refuse, now, am I? Though, I doubt I’d refuse any position with you involved,” he winks. “But, yes, if you’re being serious, I shall gladly accept your umbrella.”

Alec blinks. He honestly did not think that argument would’ve worked. (He chooses to ignore the blatant innuendo to preserve his sanity for now.)

“Well?” the man prompts.

“Oh! Yeah, sure.” Really, the whole zoning-out-while-staring-at-the-hot-guy thing is going to become a problem very fast if Alec keeps doing it every two minutes. He gathers his thoughts enough to fumble with the umbrella in his hand and give it to the man, who accepts it with a graceful flourish.

“I’m Magnus Bane, by the way,” the man offers. “I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced.”

“I’m Alec. Lightwood. My name’s Alec Lightwood.”

Magnus holds out a ring-covered hand from where he’s sitting. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Alec. Short for Alexander, I presume?”

“Yeah,” Alec nods. He reaches out to shake Magnus’s hand, adding, “but no one really calls me that.”

Magnus’s smile turns into something incredibly flirty, and Alec can feel his cheeks heating up. “I like to be special, Alexander,” the other says, “and it suits you far better.”

Alec’s not really sure how to respond to that, because the way Magnus says his name is doing things to him, and that, combined with the fact that he’s still clutching Magnus’s soft hand in his own, is probably going to give him a heart attack. He’s about to say something decidedly stupid about Magnus already being special and perfect and amazing when the bus saves him from humiliation and pulls up next to them.

Alec releases Magnus’s grip to awkwardly gesture at the vehicle. “I should really. . . you know,” he trails off, and Magnus blinks at him for a second, surprised.

“Oh, right! You should get going, places to be and all that.” He waves his hand through the air dismissively. “I’ll return your umbrella to you next week, same time?”

Alec smiles dopily as he nods. “That sounds great.” He takes a step back. “I’ll see you soon, then?”

“Of course.” Magnus gives him a little wave. “It was lovely to meet you, Alexander. Safe travels.”

“Thanks, uh, you too.”

Having to walk home in the rain is so worth it.

—

Three.

Izzy laughs at Alec for the entire week when she finds out why his umbrella’s been missing, then makes it worse by telling Jace, who gives Alec an incredibly long-winded speech about umbrellas as metaphors for protection during sex or something. He also deigns to throw a condom at Alec’s face when he leaves to get the bus, which sends Izzy into another bout of cackling laughter.

They’re both assholes, and Alec is never going to cover for them at family dinners ever again.

So he’s scrolling through his phone at the bus stop, trying his best to ignore the increasingly obscene texts his siblings are sending him, when Magnus shows up, bright and beaming and decidedly dry this time, though he’s still not wearing a jacket despite the cold.

And dear lord. If Alec thought Magnus looked gorgeous while soaked in rainwater, this is something else entirely. Gold-streaked hair, unbuttoned shirt, immaculate matching eyeshadow— fuck.

“Alexander!” Magnus greets. He sits down beside Alec on the bench, and grins as he hands over Alec’s umbrella. “Finally a little dry, hm? Though I might’ve underestimated the cold and left my coat back home.”

“Yeah,” Alec says. “Not that you were wearing one when it was raining.” He’s trying his best not to stare at Magnus’s mouth, but the man is very close to Alec’s face right now, and he cannot be blamed if his gaze slips a few times, okay? He’s only human.

Magnus shrugs, drawing Alec’s sight to his shoulders instead. “Coats are irrelevant, anyway. I haven’t worn mine all week, so I might as well continue the trend,” he remarks, and Alec snorts.

“I don’t think that’s as impressive as you think it is. You sound like a petulant toddler. How have you not had, like, five colds by now?” he says. Magnus feigns a pout in response, and Alec stifles a laugh.

“Such cruelty, Alexander!” Magnus replies, “Ah, I suppose I’ll just have to suffer the elements until I’m finally back home again, since no one seems to harbor any sympathy for me. Woe is me, and all that.” He tightens his hands around his biceps, rubbing up and down to warm himself up while sighing dramatically, and Alec, well,

Alec gets a really stupid idea.

“Do you want my jacket?” he asks. “I won’t be out in the cold for that long, and I’m wearing a much warmer shirt than you are.”

Magnus’s lips part in surprise as something conflicted flashes behind his eyes. “I—” he starts, then clears his throat. “I wasn’t being serious, darling. That’s your jacket.”

“Is that a no?”

There’s a moment of silence before Magnus shakes his head. “No, it’s not. I, uh, I’d love that.”

Alec beams, and Magnus clears his throat again. “You’re horribly trusting of someone you’ve only met twice,” he says, voice a little strangled, but Alec just shrugs as he begins to wrestle the black fabric off of his shoulders.

“It’s just a jacket,” he explains, leaning closer to drape it over Magnus, “Even if I never got it back, at least you wouldn’t freeze to death on your way to wherever you’re headed.” He fixes the lapels dutifully, and smiles to himself. “Besides, you’ve already given me my umbrella. I trust you.”

“Is that so,” Magnus answers weakly, which prompts Alec to look up from his fiddling, and oh wow, their mouths are so close to each other’s.

If Magnus inches in just a little bit closer, then they’d—

They’d—

“Um!” Alec jerks backwards, face flushing, “Yes, uh,” he stammers, trying not to look overwhelmed. It’s not going great, because moving back means that he’s now being treated to the sight of Magnus in Alec’s jacket, and he’s having some issues thinking properly right now. It swallows Magnus’s wrists almost entirely and looks far too plain for his expensive printed shirt, but fuck. It’s possible that Alec didn’t think this through.

Magnus opens his mouth, hopefully to tell Alec to kiss him but also probably to tell him to fuck completely off for whatever move they almost pulled, but the bus suddenly turns the corner and pulls into view, cutting him off.

Alec’s not sure whether he’s relieved or furious about this.

“Next week, then,” he ventures. Magnus blinks at him slowly, then nods.

“Yes, of course,” he smiles softly. “Next week.”

—

Four.

“Remind me again, why your presence is necessary today?” Alec grits through his teeth, tightly gripping his umbrella as the rain pours down on them. Izzy punches his arm, not even looking up from her phone as she does so, where she is no doubt giving Jace a play-by-play of Alec’s every action as they walk towards the bus stop.

“Because I’m never one to miss out on good blackmail content,” she replies, which is true. She’s got about four folder’s worth of content of “embarrassing shit Alec has done” on her phone, most of it consisting of his painful attempts at being straight in high school, and Alec’s pretty sure she’s started a fifth, probably titled “Alec’s horrible attempts at flirting with men,” which isn’t that much better than the straight one. Alec is debating turning around and just walking to his destination so that his sister won’t be able to gain more content for her virtual blackmail folders, which is exactly when Magnus comes into Alec’s field of vision.

Alec freezes in his tracks. Holy shit.

Magnus is standing in the center of the street again, drenched from head to toe with his head thrown back . The streetlights illuminate him from above, highlighting the curve of his neck and the colored streaks in his hair as he laughs to himself, staring up at the stars.

He looks ethereal. Alec’s never been one for the romantics, but he’s pretty sure this is what poets mean when they talk about true love and angels and immortal moments in time.

“Oh, he’s hot,” Izzy whispers approvingly. Alec agrees, because, obviously, but he pretends he’s unaffected and straightens his face.

“He’s probably freezing,” he says instead. Izzy rolls her eyes— she gets that from him, he really should stop doing that— and then, before Alec can stop her, calls out.

“Hey! Hot Umbrella Guy!”

What the fuck.

“Are you insane?” Alec hisses. He was trying to look nonchalant and not like the totally lovestruck idiot he is, but now Izzy is waving at Magnus like a maniac and Magnus has noticed them and is walking towards them and Alec is going to die. He’s going to write Izzy out of his will and then he is going to collapse into a heap of embarrassment and gay panic right here, and it’s going to be his sister’s fault.

“Relax a little, hermano,” Izzy replies, and before Alec can provide her with an alphabetized list for every reason he cannot relax, Magnus is already standing before them, smiling as water trickles from his hair.

God, he’s beautiful.

“Hello, hello!” he greets. Alec suddenly notices that Magnus is wearing Alec’s jacket, which is, well. Something. (Izzy is never going to let him live this down, and also Alec is having a very hard time thinking any thoughts.)

Magnus seems to notice Alec’s wandering line of sight, following it and glancing down, eyes widening. “Oh my god, I was fully intending to return this to you, I’m so sorry. I got a little distracted. I’ll have it cleaned and returned to you next time, I promise,” he explains. Alec shakes his head.

“No worries,” he manages, cutting himself off before he says something even stupider like “it’s yours forever” or “marry me” or something, and Izzy snorts from beside him. Alec hates her.

“Thank you,” Magnus says, then turns to face Izzy, “And what may I call you, dear?”

“I like him,” Izzy declares, in what Alec assumes is meant to be a reassuring whisper but instead ends up being incredibly loud, “I’m Izzy, Alec’s sister. And I assume you’re the elusive Magnus I’ve heard so much about?”

“Izzy,” Alec warns. Magnus smirks and shakes her hand.

“The one and only,” he confirms. There’s a mischievous sort of glint in his eye as he glances back up at Alec, and Alec’s not sure how he feels about Magnus and his sister already getting along so well, but he’s sure it can’t lead anywhere good.

“Well, Isabelle,” Magnus says, “If I asked him, do you think your brother would join me for a dance?”

Alec chokes. “What?” he splutters. Magnus turns his grin to face him.

“If I asked, Alexander, would you join me for a dance?”

“I—” Alec starts, staring down at the hand Magnus has outstretched in front of him. There are so many reasons he should say no, and so many reasons this is a bad idea, but also the most beautiful man Alec has ever seen is holding his hand out for him to take, and what else is he supposed to do? “Yeah,” he says. “Sure.”

The first thing Alec notices is how soft Magnus’s hand is in his as he pulls him out into the rain, laughing as it hits his face again, and Alec can’t help but laugh along even as water soaks into his shoes and drenches into his socks. There’s something so childish about it; giggling and spinning in an empty street without any music, holding hands like toddlers, and Alec wouldn’t have it any other way.

“You’re thinking too much,” Magnus murmurs, then he tilts his head back and closes his eyes. “It’s about being in the moment.”

Alec smiles. If only he knew, all he’s thinking about is this moment: how the water catches in Magnus’s lashes, how he’s humming something entirely off-key under his breath, the way he presses against Alec’s chest. Fuck. Alec’s known this man for three days, and he’s halfway in love already.

He closes his eyes against the rain, too, and smiles at the thought: loving a man like Magnus Bane.

Yeah, he could get used to that.

—

Five.

When Alec reaches the bus stop today, Magnus is nowhere to be seen and Alec’s jacket is sitting in a bag at the bus stop with a little post it signed with the letter “M.”

It’s fine, Alec tells himself. Magnus is probably just busy with something else, and this has nothing to do with the fact that Alec froze up awkwardly when Magnus kissed him on the cheek last week, to the point where Magnus had to nervously laugh it off because Alec was too busy panicking.

It’s a flimsy argument, but it keeps Alec from losing his mind for about fifteen minutes until the bus pulls up early and Alec realizes that this is it. He’s not going to see Magnus this week— maybe not ever again, if Magnus has decided that Alec’s gay panic is not worth his time, and Alec wouldn’t even blame him.

God, he feels so stupid. If he hadn’t acted like a complete idiot last time, then he would’ve at least had some closure.

“Sir, are you getting on or are you waiting for another bus?”

Alec blinks, glancing up to see the bus driver raising her eyebrow at him. “Right, sorry, give me just a mo—”

“Alec!”

It can’t be.

“Alexander!”

Alec spins on his heel, turning to face whoever called his name, and oh my god, it’s Magnus. He’s running up to the bus stop, waving frantically, and Alec is overcome with such a large wave of relief that he forgets that the bus driver’s been waiting for him for like five minutes now and he climbs off and runs towards Magnus, only vaguely registering the sound of the bus leaving without him. He doesn’t even care; Magnus is standing right in front of him, panting heavily but still so beautiful and perfect, and Alec would walk home everyday if he got to see Magnus because of it.

“Alexander,” Magnus huffs, gathering his breath. He absentmindedly reaches out to grab Alec’s shoulder, and Alec immediately wraps his arms around his waist to stabilize him. “Oh lord, one second, I ran all the way here.”

“I thought you were gone,” Alec says, still holding onto him. “You left the jacket and I thought—” he trails off.

Magnus frowns. “I’m so sorry,” he says. “I thought I’d made you uncomfortable last week and didn’t want to make it worse, but I didn’t realize how rude not showing up would be. I know you probably don’t feel the same way but perhaps we can still be friends? I can be completely professional about it, though you seem to have just missed your bus—”

Alec grabs Magnus’s tunic (because he’s still not wearing a jacket, Jesus Christ) and kisses him.

Magnus blinks at him when they pull away. “Oh,” he says, a little breathless, and Alec smiles.

“I don’t want to be professional about it,” he admits.

“Oh. . .”

Magnus still seems shell-shocked, so Alec makes a move to let go of him, shifting his arm away from Magnus’s waist, but then Magnus leans back in and presses his mouth back to Alec’s and oh, nevermind then.

Alec’s not sure how long they spend there, kissing like handsy teenagers under the roof of the bus stop, but he’s aware of a few cars passing (and possibly another bus), so he’s not ignorant of the fact that it’s definitely been a while when they finally pull away for more than a second. Magnus is staring at his mouth when they part, though, which is not helping Alec’s resolve to actually have a conversation about this.

“We should talk,” he manages, and Magnus nods, still staring at his mouth.

“Right,” he agrees. “That would be a wise course of action.” His eyes flick upwards for just a moment, and something flickers behind them before he beams. “My place is two stops away, if you’d like to talk there. Perhaps we can wait for the next bus together, since we seemed to have missed the one I usually take? It might take a while, though.”

Ah. Alec swallows back a grin of his own. “Of course,” he replies, “I don’t suppose you know any way to keep us busy till then?”

“I’m sure I could think of something.”

(The bus comes late, and they still somehow almost miss it. Alec refuses to take any blame for this.)

—

+ One.

Alec Lightwood didn’t believe in love at first sight, but the man standing at the bus stop is smiling softly at him as he approaches, twirling an umbrella between his hands as he waits, and Alec’s first thought is holy shit, so maybe Alec Lightwood was an idiot, because what else could it have been?

“Hello, stranger,” the man says when Alec finally reaches the stop. He glances down, taking in Alec’s rain-soaked button down and slacks, and grins. “Forget your umbrella back home?”

Alec laughs. “My coat, too,” he agrees. “I got distracted this morning.”

Magnus hums, leaning in to kiss the rain off of Alec’s mouth, and Alec smiles into it, tasting the faint wax of lipstick and the salt of the rain. “Must’ve been a pretty good distraction.”

“Yeah,” Alec says. He leans in again, because he can. They have time. “He is.”

Magnus’s lips have got a lovely little tilt to them by the time they pull away, tint slightly smudged from Alec’s attention, and he’s never looked more beautiful, even with the dingy lighting of the shitty bus stop they’re standing under.

God, Alec loves him. He feels a little stupid with the feeling, and he can’t help but step back out onto the rain, holding out his hand.

“Hey,” he murmurs. Magnus’s eyes light up with understanding. “Care to join me for a dance?” And sure, Alec’s shit at dancing, and sure, they have to get on the bus sopping wet minutes later, but they’re both giggling like idiots and clutching the umbrella together between their intertwined hands and Alec’s got a little ring box in his pocket just waiting for the right moment, so what else matters?

They’ll probably have to invite the bus driver to the wedding, though. It’s only fair.

#my writing #malec #malec fic #magnus bane #alec lightwood #i totally forgot to post this here but its fineeeee #also if ur that anon that @'d me ab the phrase gay panic im literally gay <3 thank u

113 notes · View notes

salemwritesxx · 3 years

Text

our days together

↳ paraplegic Bakugou x hero Reader

summary: Snippets of Bakugou’s and Y/n’s lives, including a proposal.

w.count: 2.5k

content warning: fluff, baku in a wheelchair

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

“Oi!”, you called out and laughed, “You cheater!”

“Phh, yeah right, not my fault you’re so slow.”, Katsuki also laughed as he rolled across the field and threw the basketball – getting it in effortlessly and with that, winning the little game.

Turning around with his wheelchair, a big smirk on his lips, he approached you, who was sitting on the ground and panted, and then stopped in front of you.

“You know, I know I’m like… really fucking hot, but like, you cannot always collapse whenever you see me.”, he teased you with this shit-eating grin on his lips that made you snort and roll your eyes in a playful way.

“Okay, how about this? One more? And the loser has to cook dinner?”, you asked and stood up, immediately meeting Katsuki’s ruby eyes staring at you with that glint in them.

“Okay. But don’t cry into my chest when you lose, okay?”, he grinned and rolled away to get the basketball, your “Yeah, yeah, you and your big mouth, be cautious or I’ll roll you off a hill.” making him laugh.

If anyone would have listened, maybe they would have been a little taken aback by how you talked to each other, but the truth was, it was harmless bickering and teasing. Never would you have hurt your boyfriend in any way, shape or form and both of you knew.

“Hah, fat chance.”, was the last thing he said before throwing the ball into the air for one last game.

Rolling through the big, automatic doors, Katsuki was gasping a bit as he had rushed into the hospital as fast as he could with his wheelchair, until he finally reached the information table and he could ask for “L/n Y/n” completely out of breath.

“May I ask who you are?”, the nurse asked back, since she didn’t want any stranger into a hero’s room and even though Katsuki wanted to snap and growl at her, he gulped down his rage and took a deep breath before he said, “Bakugou Katsuki. Y/n is my boyfriend.”

“Ah.”, she then said and smiled, “Yes, yes, L/n-san had mentioned you briefly before they had to bring him into the surgery room.”

“Surgery?”, he barely croaked.

“Yes, he needed surgery as both of his bones in his arms were broken. He is already in room 193 and should be awake.”, she said as if she was talking about the weather, even though it sounded horrible that both your bones were broken to the point you needed surgery.

Thus, he only nodded and with a quick “Thank you.” he rolled away and into the next elevator.

Bakugou had found out barely an hour ago. You had your night patrol, hence why you were admitted to the hospital at around 4 a.m. while Katsuki was asleep at home in the warm bed. To say he felt awful was an understatement. He was sleeping soundly at home, he literally had to pee at around 7 a.m. and being in a wheelchair, he was definitely awake enough to notice his phone vigorously blinking, but instead he chose to ignore it and went back to bed. All while his phone was silently going crazy from the texts and phone calls your friend, that was on the patrol with you, had left with your phone on Katsuki’s.

And now it was 11 a.m., because he was stupid and a lazy ass and he hated himself for sleeping in. Hence, when he had looked at his messages and the voice notes that were left on his phone, he panicked. Bakugou called his mother right then and there to come pick him up, not caring if she had to work, because this was an emergency and he didn’t have a car, let alone a driver’s license. He had never needed one until this day.

Once the ping signaled him he was on the right floor, he rolled outside and looked around to search for the rooms 160 to 200 and in the end, even after asking a nurse because my God that hospital was just way too big and confusing, Katsuki found room 193.

As he opened the door after knocking, you sat there, one arm in a cast and staring at the TV, looking bored and a little uncomfortable, however, the moment you saw him, your face lit up, “Katsuki!”

The two other patients in the room also turned their heads to see who was intruding.

Thankfully, you were on the bed closest to the door, hence he only pushed himself a little further until he faced your bed sideways and he could put his breaks on to scoot a little closer to the edge of the wheelchair so he could lean on your bed.

“Y/n, I’m so fucking sorry I didn’t come sooner.”, he immediately grabbed your free hand to squeeze it, ruby eyes lightly shimmering.

Though you simply shook your head and leaned in to rest your forehead against your boyfriend’s.

“It’s okay. I even told them to not contact you because I wanted to call you myself. I’m sorry they made you panic.”, you also apologized, thumb soothingly drawing on the back of his hand.

“No, you don’t understand!”, he barely whispered, “I was awake at 7 because I had to piss. I could have been here … far sooner, instead. My fucking sleep was more important, I didn’t even look at my phone, even though I knew you were out on a patrol, I should have… I should have looked. It was going off like crazy, but I just turned it around… What if it would have been more serious? What if… you were on the brink of death and instead of coming here as quickly as possible, I just slept at home and I wouldn’t have been able to say goodbye?”, he deeply sighed, feeling awful and just… terrible for being such a shitty boyfriend.

However, once more, you shook your head and then let go of his hand to bury it in his hair instead, softly massaging his scalp and pulling him in for a soft kiss, just to mumble against his lips, “It’s okay. Don’t think about the “what if”, Baby. I am here. And I only had a broken arm. And you are here now too, so… isn’t that the most important thing?”

And slowly, Bakugou nodded and wrapped his arms around your neck.

“I’m just so… so fucking relieved you’re okay.”, and with that, he leaned in to connect your lips.

“My, my, young love.”, made both of you however wince and turn around to look at the elderly woman who was snickering behind her hand and looking at the TV again, both of you then blushing lightly but also smiling at each other.

“Ah!”, when he suddenly heard a small sound from his pocket, Katsuki pulled his phone out. “Oh shit.”

“What?”

“It’s Mom. She says if I don’t come down immediately she is going to rip the nurse to pieces because she won’t tell her your room number for security reasons.”, which made him playfully grin again and you snicker.

“Then you should better go and help her confirm she is welcomed. I don’t want Mom to rip the staff to shreds.”, you snorted and giggled, once more showing how close Katsuki’s family was to your heart since, after so many years, it was natural to call Mitsuki and Masaru Mom and Dad as well.

“But… don’t you think she can wait juuust a little bit longer?”, Bakugou grinned and put the phone onto your bed, before pulling you back in for another kiss, letting Mitsuki wait for just a few moments longer while he was simply relieved you didn’t have a horrifying accident while out on patrol like he once had.

“Seriously, where are we going?”, Bakugou asked once again when you opened the car door, his eyes blindfolded.

“Shh, will you shut up already?”, you giggled and leaned in to peck his lips, making him wince, then grin a little. “It’s a surprise, you don’t want to spoil your surprise, right?”, you softly took his arms and positioned them around your shoulders.

“But I don’t feel so good when I can’t see. I feel like a doll being dragged around.”, he then sighed when you picked him up and carried him over to the wheelchair, this time letting you handle everything in order to not ruin the surprise.

“I know, Baby. I promise, it’s over soon, just this once, let me surprise you. Trust me, okay?”, you gently squeezed his hands and then placed them into his lap.

“You know I trust you with my life. As if I would let anyone else blindfold and carry me around.”, and even though it was true (he did trust you with his life) Katsuki’s heart was still hammering wildly in his chest, being a bit nervous, but also excited. He didn’t like being so helpless, since he wasn’t. He could very well take care of himself, though Bakugou was also okay with letting you lead him this time even if he was a bit uncomfortable, he wanted to be surprised by you.

Another soft peck against his lips later, he heard you shutting the car door and then, he felt a soft push, telling him you were now starting to walk.

“You can probably already tell where we are, right?”, you snickered and Katsuki frowned for a bit as he took in the surroundings, smelling the salty air and hearing seagulls and waves in the background.

“The ocean? You don’t want to drown me, do you?”, he snorted and laughed, which only got him a soft flick against the back of his head as you said, “Don’t say that. If anything were to happen to you, I would go crazy.”, which successfully made him close his mouth and blush a little.

For a few moments, you walked in silence and pushed him along, Bakugou waiting in anticipation, wondering what you were going to show him. A sunset?

“Okay… We’re here.”, you put his breaks on and then walked around his wheelchair to kneel down in front of him, “I’m going to take off the blindfold, okay?”, and once he nodded, you reached out your hands.

Once the fabric wrapped around his head was loose and gone, Katsuki blinked a few times before looking around, a soft smile immediately sneaking onto his lips as he watched a beautiful sunset and the waves and ocean glistening.

“What do you think?”, you asked with a hushed voice while gently taking his hands and squeezing them, still kneeling.

Slowly, he turned his head, ruby eyes sparkling as he gifted you one of his rare smiles whilst quietly saying, “It’s beautiful. But that’s not everything you wanted to show me, right?”

“Haha, how did you know?”, you shyly chuckled, though Katsuki simply squeezed your hands and said, “Your hands are shaking.”

And even though he didn’t want to think about, Bakugou has always been a pessimist, looking at the worst case scenario, which could be you bringing him to a beautiful spot to watch the ocean just to break up and softly tell him you couldn’t be together. Though, even he knew that would be a bit of a reach and yet, when he could feel your hands shaking, he inevitably got a little anxious himself.

After a few seconds of silence, you then looked up, your e/c eyes shimmering a little and a soft smile on your lips as you whispered, “You know I love you, right?”, Katsuki immediately nodding and welcoming your lips as you had leaned in to kiss him, just to mumble an “I do. And I love you, too.” back.

Letting go of one of his hands, Bakugou watched when you pulled something out of your pocket, just to feel his heartbeat increase when it was a small jewelry box, his mind racing.

“We have been together for almost 6 years at this point.”, you then started and looked at him again, “I love you. And with every passing day I love you more. Back then, I was just barely out of High School when we met, my friends had urged me to not see you again, because they were embarrassed on my behalf that you were in a wheelchair.”

“Fucking asshats.”, he growled and clenched his teeth.

“Ha, you can say that again. Safe to say I ignored them and looked for new friends afterwards. Because if I would have ever listened to them, I would have never got to know you. I would have not been so happy. I know you sometimes feel like a burden to me, even if you try to conceal it by joking.”, and that was certainly true as Katsuki instantly blushed a bit and glanced to the side, feeling called out.

“But, Baby. I hope you know I have never once thought you were a burden. I love you. And if you ever need me, I will help you, even though I know you can handle yourself all alone, because you are so amazing and strong, you can count on me – always. And…”, then you finally opened the little jewelry box, his eyes already dangerously glazed, “if you let me, I want to be there for you for our whole lives. As your husband and best friend. I want to make many more memories, I want to experience growing old only with you, that’s why… Will you marry me, Katsuki?”

Gulping lightly, he had to look to the side for a few seconds, before turning back, a small tear already dripping from his eyes, hence why he quickly wiped them away, chuckling an “Oh fuck!” in embarrassment and to hide his feelings, just to nod and whisper, “I will.”

“Katsu…”, smiling brightly and with your own little tears shimmering in your eyes, you took the ring out of the little box and slipped it onto his ring finger, fitting perfectly, thus you wrapped your arms around him, Bakugou’s arms also immediately slung around your shoulders as you hugged and kissed him.

“I love you. I love you so much.”, mumbling it against his lips, he chuckled and held on even tighter, whispering sweet nothings back, only to softly gasp when you suddenly grabbed him around his hips and pulled him up, almost looking like you were both standing, though you were holding his weight securely.

“Oh fuck, don’t let me fall.”, he croaked under tears yet still with a joking undertone, though you very seriously answered him as you pecked his lips and quietly muttered, “I would never. I am here to catch you, always.”, which made him tear up again as he teasingly punched your shoulder and mumbled a “So cheesy.” though capturing your lips in the sweetest kiss afterwards while the sun had completely disappeared behind the horizon eventually.

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

@salemwritesxx || do not repost, edit, modify or translate my works

writer’s note: a very sad headcanon of mine is that Bakugou, barely 2 years into his hero career, gets paralyzed due to a villain attack and is bound to a wheelchair ever since. i don’t use this headcanon often cuz well, it’s just really sad :( but for today, i thought my headcanon’ed paraplegic baku deserves a little happiness <3

#salemswriting.#bakugou katsuki #bakugou x male reader #bnha x male reader #bottom bakugou #bakugou x you #paraplegic bakugou

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whenisitenoughtrees · 4 years

Text

i picture it, soft, and i ache

He cannot love Patton.

But god, does he want to.

It doesn't take Janus very long to fall in love with Patton, when it comes down to it. It takes him far longer to accept it, and to allow it to grow.

Content Warning: brief, non-graphic depiction of a panic attack

(ao3 link)

(podfic by @titheinironside)

It’s unbelievable, how fast he falls.

He prides himself on his rationality, his pragmatism. He’s no Logan, of course, but it has been a very long time since he allowed his emotions to get in his way. Over the years, that has cost him so much-- his relationship with Virgil, his ability to trust and be trusted, any moral compass that he may once have possessed, among other things. But he has never regretted it, not once, because his primary directive is to help Thomas, and if he has to play the villain to do so, so be it. Lord knows none of the others see the world for what it is, are willing to do what it takes to ensure Thomas’ success.

But the scene is like this: time passes, Thomas begins to listen to him, and one day, Patton smiles. He doesn’t know at what, doesn’t know why, because he wasn’t paying attention until now, but Patton smiles, wide and bright, and in that moment, Janus would do anything for that smile to be directed at him.

In the next moment comes realization: oh.

In the next few days comes denial: no.

Because above all else, he knows himself, knows what he is built for and what he is not. He is not built for this love, all-encompassing and brilliant, not built for this depth of devotion. His very being is defined by his loyalty to Thomas and Thomas alone, his ability to use and discard the others at will as long as Thomas will benefit. He is a snake and a liar, cunning, selfish, cowardly, and he has spent his entire existence pushing away the possibility of anything else.

He cannot love Patton.

But god, does he want to. Patton burns like the brightest star in the sky, moves like the gentlest breeze on the warmest summer day, laughs like the freest dancer on the greenest field, and Janus is caught in his orbit, hopelessly entranced, hanging off his every word. The first time Patton touches him skin to skin, a graze against his forearm, causally, in passing, he has to excuse himself and stand in the center of his room for hours to catch his breath. His heart races too fast, and his entire arm feels as though it has been set alight, and all he wants is for it to happen again.

He is in too deep, sinking too quickly. He is at the bottom of the ocean, and even as the pressure of the water overhead crushes him, even as the darkness swallows him whole, he cannot bring himself to fight for the surface. If this is drowning, then he will drown and be grateful.

He cannot love Patton. But it is far, far too late for that.

“Wow,” Remus says, impressed against all odds. “You are a gay disaster.”

He groans. “I don’t know why I expected you to help me,” he mutters, and Remus shrugs, entirely unapologetic.

“You know I don’t do the whole romance thing,” he says. “Not my department. Have you tried, uh--” He scrunches his nose, and Janus knows that whatever comes out of his mouth next will be truly ridiculous-- “telling him, maybe? With, um, roses? That’s romantic shit, right? But you gotta take all the thorns off so that he doesn’t prick his thumb and blood doesn’t go spurting everywhere--”

“Please stop,” he groans, and that is the end of that.

Tell Patton. Absurd.

And he cannot tell anyone else. Cannot ask for help. He can tell Remus because he trusts Remus, to the extent that he trusts him to be exactly what he is, no more and no less, and Remus trusts him in the same way. But in general, trust is a foreign concept to him, once known but long lost, like returning to an old favorite book and realizing that the words have faded beyond all recognition.

But that’s alright. He is used to being alone. He has been alone for so long that he barely remembers what honest companionship feels like, and that is part of the problem, isn’t it? He has built so many walls around himself, walls that only he is ever allowed to breach, but here is Patton, waiting outside the gates and asking to be let in. Not demanding, not threatening; he brings no battering ram, no armies. Just himself, and his smile, and flowers in his hair, and that has more effect than twenty armies could.

He wants to open the gates. But the chains are rusted, the keys long lost, and that does not even take into account the danger of it, the danger of allowing himself to love another. Thomas is his priority, but what happens to him when that changes? What does he become? And what does that say about the worth of every action he has taken to lead him to this point?

Can he love? Is he capable of that unique vulnerability? He doesn’t think so. Love and trust go hand in hand, and if he cannot manage one, the other will evade him. He’s dancing a waltz meant for two on an empty stage, stumbling over his own feet because he has no one to catch him.

“You need to stay away from Patton,” Virgil tells him, eyes dark and clouded over with years of betrayal.

“Oh?” he asks. “Why is that?”

Virgil snorts, kicking away from the wall he’s leaning on. He approaches him slowly, deliberately, and the threads that hold Janus in place are invisible, intangible, but there all the same. A spiderweb capable of holding a serpent fast.

“Don’t think I don’t see the way you look at him,” Virgil says, and fear lands heavily in his chest. “I know everyone’s all eager to accept you and have you around these days, but I know what you are. Whatever you’re planning, leave him out of it.”

“Ah, yes,” he replies. “You know what I am, just as I know what you are, Virgil. I wouldn’t throw stones.” He pauses. The words fall from his lips bitter-sharp, and he doesn’t want to be saying them, not like this, but it’s a habit formed from years. There was a time when they were happy, once, but they spoiled each other, and nothing is left of that shared past but a handful of wilted promises and bridges burned beyond repair.

Virgil snorts and shoves past him.

“Out of curiosity,” he says, and Virgil stops, “how do I look at him?”

Virgil turns and stares. “What?” he demands, and Janus knows that it was a mistake.

“Nevermind,” he says, and moves to walk away, but Virgil grabs his arm, hard enough to bruise, and holds him in place. For a minute, he says nothing at all, and Janus is left to search his face, the anger in the tightness of his lips and bewilderment in the tilt of his head.

Then, realization dawns, and Janus wants to be anywhere but here.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” Virgil says. “You… I can’t believe you.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” he says, tightly, coolly.

Virgil laughs, and it’s the sound of a predator pouncing. “Yeah?” he challenges. “I don’t give a damn what you feel, or what you think you feel. You’re a fucking liar, and a fucking liar is all you’ll ever be. You’re not capable of giving him what he deserves.”

They are standing so close to each other, a distance of inches, but he has never felt farther away from him. What they once had is lost, but in the space between breaths, he allows himself to mourn its death, hating himself for the weakness all the while.

“I know,” he says.

Virgil scowls, dire warning in the shadows on his face, and releases him, stomping away. Janus watches him go, and he aches.

A moment later, Patton pokes his head around the corner.

“Is everything okay?” he asks, eyes pinched with concern. “I thought I heard arguing.”

I want to kiss you, he doesn’t say. I want you to hold me and never let go, he doesn’t say. I want to love you, and I want you to love me, please, would you love me? he doesn’t say.

“It was nothing,” he says. “We’ve sorted it.”

Patton doesn’t seem convinced, but he lets it be. Janus watches him go, and he aches.

No one ever told him that love would hurt. He supposes he should have guessed it. Nothing that is worth having ever comes easily, and even though his breath catches every time Patton walks into a room, even though his heart tries to burst from his chest every time Patton deigns to glance his way, he doesn’t think he would trade this for anything. He can barely remember a time before this, before this love crawled into his chest and took up residence.

He takes whatever Patton will give him, laps up the crumbs like a starving dog. He accepts every offer of dinner, every invitation to watch a movie or play a game, even though all the rest of them barely tolerate him at best and openly hate him at worst. He’ll endure Virgil’s scorn, Roman’s enmity, Logan’s dismissal, as long as it means he can stay by Patton’s side. And Patton, at least, seems to like that he’s there, and most of him screams that it can’t be trusted, that there must be an ulterior motive, because that is the way he has thought about other people for nearly three decades and it’s so hard to try to change that. But he also knows that Patton doesn’t work that way. No matter how foolish it may be, he is genuine and true. Everything that Janus is not.

He entices smiles from him, teases laughter, and rejoices in the fact that it is him that draws these responses. It is all he will ever have, all he will ever be brave enough to take, and it is more than enough, more than he ever expected he could receive.

He cannot love Patton. But he does.

Roman corners him one day, and he lets him, because he has no idea why Roman of all people would seek him out. Things are better between them, but not by much, and Roman himself is still fragile in an odd way, as if saying the wrong thing one more time will prompt a total collapse. Janus has wanted many things from Remus’ twin, but never that.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” Roman says, through gritted teeth. “But, you and Patton.”

He blinks, taken aback. He told Remus, but Remus wouldn’t tell Roman. Virgil figured him out, but even after everything, Virgil still knows him well enough to read him, so that is no shock. Roman, though, barely manages to make eye contact with him on a good day, so he couldn’t, shouldn’t know, unless he is being far more obvious than he thought he was. That thought alone is enough to send an icy tendril of fear down his spine.

“What about me and Patton?” he asks, and hopes that his voice doesn’t shake.

Roman sighs, and his next sentence comes out as if it takes him a great effort to say. “Look, you make him happy, alright?” he states. “I don’t get it, and mostly, I’m scared that you’re just manipulating him, but for some ungodly reason, he actually likes having you around. So what I’m here to say is that if you hurt him, if this all turns out to be for some kind of scheme of yours, I will stab you through the heart and leave you pinned to the ground for the crows to eat. Do you understand me?”

His mouth goes dry. “Perfectly,” he rasps.

Roman looks at him, and then nods. He walks away without a sound, and Janus tries in vain to steady his nerves.

What was that?

You make him happy.

You. Make him. Happy.

Happy happy happy.

His face feels odd. He brings a gloved hand up to feel his cheek, and he realizes he’s smiling, wide and unrestrained like he hasn’t in years.

He makes Patton happy. He makes Patton happy.

He makes Patton happy.

He doesn’t know why, doesn’t know what he does. He can coax out smiles with a bit of smooth talk, bring out laughter with a well-placed pun, but those are both momentary, fleeting things. The idea that he makes Patton happy implies something that goes far beyond moments, implies a lasting fondness and a desire for his company, and he doesn’t know why. He doesn’t know why, and that is a problem, because if he doesn’t know why, he doesn’t know to keep doing it.

Eventually, he works up the courage to ask, and Patton stops in the middle of rolling out his cookie dough.

“Why do I like to hang out with you?” he repeats. His eyes are very blue behind his glasses, like the vastest sky. “It’s because you’re you, silly.” He grins, bubbly and vivacious, and dabs a bit of flour on Janus’ nose. He sticks out his tongue instinctively, and Patton coos at what he calls a ‘blep’ and what Janus calls ‘something that he will deny ever happening so please stop bringing it up.’

“Besides,” Patton adds, more thoughtfully, “we’ve spent so long not being friends, and that was mostly on me. Now that I know how great you are, I don’t want to waste any more time. You’ve been trying so hard all along, and I couldn’t see that.” He grabs Janus’ hand, and he has to stifle a gasp. He can feel the human side of his face heating up, and hopes against all hope that Patton will not notice what must be an obvious blush. “I want to know you better now.”

“Oh,” is all he can say, all he can squeak out between teeth that are too tightly clenched. Even through his glove, Patton’s hand is so very warm, and his hand is tingling at his touch. “Um, I suppose I want to know you better, too,” he adds, stumbling his way through sincerity, and it must be the right answer, because Patton beams.

It’s like standing in sunlight, squinting up at a cloudless sky, in a instant of warmth and light that will last forever. Night will never fall and rain will never come down, and the sun will burn bright until the end of time, and so will he.

That evening, he has a panic attack in Logan’s room.

It starts in the hallway and comes out of nowhere; one moment he is walking to his room, and the next, he is leaning on the wall for support, doubled over and gasping for breath for no reason that he can see. But he happens to be standing near Logan’s door, and he must be loud enough for him to take notice, to come out and lead him somewhere safer, less exposed. He would be more grateful, if his lungs would cooperate.

Logan counts and measures his own breaths, and eventually, he finds himself able to follow the rhythm. He is shaking and sweating and crying just a bit, but the panic eases little by little, leaving him pressed up against the wall, Logan sitting nearby but not touching. He is familiar with the motions; he walked through them for Virgil, once upon a time. He has never been on the receiving end.

“Would you like to discuss it?” Logan asks, when he no longer feels as though his lungs are being constricted by iron bands.

He contemplates what triggered it. He thinks it was nothing in particular, really, nothing but a sudden sensation of being overwhelmed by everything all at once, his feelings and the endless possibilities open before him, a looming, uncertain future. It is as though he is walking a tightrope over a precipice, and the slightest mistake will send him tumbling into darkness. The thought makes his chest clench up again, and he breathes out slowly and deliberately.

“Not particularly,” he manages, and Logan accepts the answer with a nod.

“Very well,” he says, standing and walking to his desk, where he sits down and opens his laptop. “You are welcome to remain here for as long as you would like.”

He considers the offer. It’s far more generous than he expected. He didn’t think that Logan liked him very much. And it’s a nice room. Calming. There are stars painted on the ceiling, an accurate representation of the night sky bathing the room in a soft white glow.

“Thank you,” he says, and for a long while, the two of them sit in silence, Logan typing at his laptop and Janus just breathing, existing. He appreciates it, this comfortable silence, carrying no demands or expectations.

Could Logan help him, he wonders? Perhaps not; Logan barely ever bothers to recognize his own emotions, much less those of someone else. But then, Logan is calm and rational and most importantly, capable of respecting privacy, and perhaps that is just what he needs.

He needs something, of that, he is certain. Panic attacks are a new development, and not one that he wants to continue.

“Logan,” he says, “may I ask you a question?”

Logan swivels in his chair to face him. “You just did,” he points out, “but yes, go ahead.”

He takes a deep breath.

“What is love? If you had to define it, that is.”

He tries to keep his voice level, to reveal none of the importance that the question holds. It is the most open he has been about the subject, besides ranting to Remus, and he trusts Remus in a way that he has not learned to apply to anyone else. But he needs to know, needs to understand, and Logan is his best option for a definition. He will answer, and he will not push. Emotions are not his department.

Logan frowns at him, eyes oddly piercing. “I may not be the best side to go to if you are experiencing difficulties with this matter,” he says. “However, scientifically speaking, love is the emotion produced when certain neurochemicals, such as oxytocin, are released in the brain. I do not generally concern myself with the intricacies of the topic. Emotions are hardly my area of expertise.”

Janus sighs, leaning his head back against the wall. It is just about the answer he was expecting. He’s not sure that it helps. He doesn’t think he can reduce his feelings to chemicals. Not when he thinks he would do anything to keep Patton happy, save putting Thomas at risk.

“Is… there anything else I can answer for you?” Logan asks, and Janus meets his gaze. He seems oddly hesitant, and Janus is certain that he has overplayed his hand, but he is too exhausted to regret the decision. Something needs to give, something needs to change.

“No, that’s all,” he says. He makes no move to leave, though, content enough to linger in a place that sets order amongst his disordered thoughts, realigns the nonsense into reason.

“I am no expert,” Logan says, “so you are certainly free to disregard this advice, but I have been informed that… discussing one’s emotions with their object tends to be helpful in alleviating stress, if nothing else.” He is floundering, grasping at straws, but the clumsy attempt at help is genuine, and rather than annoyed, Janus finds himself endeared.

“Thank you,” he says, smiling slightly. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

And he does. Oh, how he does. Once considered, the possibility won’t leave him alone. He watches Patton, spends time with Patton, and wonders what would change if he let the words slip past his lips.

The trust that Patton has extended him is extraordinary. No one has ever looked at him like Patton does, like he cares about him because he is himself and not because of the function he provides. Patton uses his name so easily, like it means nothing, and he knows that names do not have the same significance to those in the light as they do to those in the dark, but he still feels a thrill every time he hears it, because Patton was the first to use it. Was the first to accept the hand that Janus offered, in desperation and the burning need to be heard for Thomas’ sake.

He threw himself off a cliff with only the impossible hope that someone would catch him. And Patton did. Janus can’t go back to the way things were before. He won’t risk losing all that he has gained. And if that is selfish, well. That much is expected of him.

“Do you wanna help me cook dinner tonight?” Patton asks.

He’s in the common room. It’s still a novelty, the ability to be here. Depending on who sees him, he garners the odd distrustful glance, but no one ever demands he leave. It’s refreshing, and more than a little delightful, not that he would ever admit it.

He shrugs. “Absolutely not,” he says, rising. “I despise cooking. Why would you even ask that?”

Weeks and months ago, that would cause Patton to withdraw, would send hurt flashing across his face.

Weeks and months ago, Patton wouldn’t have asked at all.

But now, Patton giggles. “Great,” he says, and from anyone else, Janus would take that to be sarcasm, but as always, Patton means it. He always means it, when he says these things.

Janus follows him into the kitchen, staring at his back and thinking about how different they are. How Patton is good and he… is not. It’s an oversimplification, of course; he knows that very well, better than anyone else, knows that morality is relative and painted in swatches of grey, but still. It never used to bother him.

Patton is making a stir fry, evidently, a new recipe, and sets Janus to preparing the rice as he chops vegetables. He chatters on about everything and nothing, about a dog that Thomas saw yesterday, about the cute barista that Thomas managed to hold a coherent conversation with, about how he managed to beat Logan in Scrabble the other day to everybody’s shock, how he thinks he’s almost got Roman convinced to take him on a quest in the Imagination. A lot of it, Janus already knows, but he is happy to listen to Patton talk, interjecting with dry comments at appropriate times to draw out a laugh or teasing scolding or an exaggerated gasp and a swat at his arm.

And all the time, Patton smiles. Brightly and genuinely.

He’s so caught up in it that he almost doesn’t catch the slip in time, almost doesn’t see Patton’s knife waver too close to his finger as he relates his adventures with a puppy that Roman conjured for him (“--and it almost peed on Logan but I stopped it before it could. Logan still wasn’t happy, though--”). But he does, and his hand darts out to grip Patton’s wrist, halting the knife’s motion before he can give himself a nasty cut.

“Careful,” he murmurs.

“Oh!” Patton says. “Thanks, Janus.” He laughs. “Guess I wasn’t being sharp enough.”

He smiles at the pun, and for a second, he lingers, feeling Patton’s wrist under his fingers. He’s wearing his gloves, but the warmth shoots up his arm regardless.

Then, he realizes that Patton’s face is red.

Ah. He’s made him uncomfortable.

“Apologies,” he says, and pulls back. He expects the incident to fade into the background, forgotten, expects them both to move on without comment.

He doesn’t expect Patton to drop the knife on the cutting board and take his hand in his.

Janus stares. Patton’s face is still red, red like a tomato, and he refuses to make eye contact. Janus feels like he’s frozen, feels like his heartbeat must be audible to the entire Mindscape and probably Thomas too, feels like he wants to run and feels like he never wants to let go.

What is happening?

“You don’t need to apologize to me,” Patton says. He looks at him, finally, and his blue eyes are shining with an emotion that Janus dares not name.

He opens his mouth to reply, but his throat is dry. He clears it, several times, and he wants the ground to swallow him a bit, because surely his infatuation is obvious, is written all across his face. Surely, Patton will see it now, will release his hand and let him down gently, kindly, because that is the type of person that Patton is. Gentle, kind, someone that he loves helplessly and hopelessly and will continue to love until the stars go dark.

“I’ve been thinking,” Patton says softly. “Could I hug you?”

He is wordless, powerless, breathless. He nods. Patton releases his hand, but he only has a moment to mourn the loss of contact before Patton’s arms are wrapped around him, before he is tugged against Patton’s chest, held tight and safe and close, and it is as though every nerve has been lit on fire. He gasps, and his own arms latch onto Patton’s back and do not let go. It is an effort to keep it down to only one pair.

He is so warm. He doesn’t think he has ever been this warm. Even half a dozen heat lamps couldn’t compare to this, this heat and this pressure and this security.

He is trembling, too, and hopes that Patton doesn’t notice.

“I realized that I hadn’t ever done it,” Patton says. “I didn’t know if you would want me to, or if you would like it? But I wanted to see. Are you… you’re shaking, are you okay?”

He moves as if to pull away. Janus doesn’t let him.

“Please don’t let me go,” he rasps. It is too raw, too vulnerable, too honest, and it gives far too much away. And it’s selfish, too, wanting to take so much of his attention, his affections, when he cannot possibly feel the same way that Janus does.

But he doesn’t care.

“Oh,” Patton says, something new in his voice, something like surprise but not quite, and Janus can’t place it but he doesn’t care as long as Patton will keep holding him, because this is all he’s ever wanted, even if it can’t last. “Oh. Oh, honey, I won’t. I won’t, I promise. I won’t let you go.”

Janus buries his face in Patton’s shoulder. Patton rubs soothing circles into his back, and he thinks he could melt.

“You wanna tell me what’s wrong, sweetheart?” Patton murmurs.

He was never built for this love, never built to hold it. Against all odds, he has, though, has held it and nurtured it and allowed it to grow. And perhaps that means that he is not what he has spent so long thinking that he is, that perhaps he can be more. He has held this love and now it is spilling over, seeing the light for the first time, and perhaps the light will reveal it to be ugly and twisted and dark, but he will take the risk if it means he can touch the sun.

“I’m not meant for this,” he says softly, and Patton hums.

“Not meant for what?”

“Caring.”

His voice breaks. Patton makes a small, choked sound and steps back. Janus is forced to let him go, and already, his body is yearning for the contact again. There is only a foot or so between them, but it might as well be the Grand Canyon.

Is this where it ends? Has he broken their friendship?

God, he’s become so melodramatic.

But no, Patton reaches out, caresses his face, caresses the left side of his face, his hand cupping his scaled cheek as if it’s no different from human skin, and Janus feels as though the ground has dropped out from under him because no one, no one has ever touched him there, like this.

“You deserve all the care in the world,” Patton tells him fiercely, passionately, and… he meant it the other way around, meant that he’s not built for caring about others, but to see Patton like this, so determined to defend him even from himself…

Janus kisses him. His lips are as soft as he always imagined they would be.

He only gives himself a moment before drawing away. Patton is staring at him, face slack with shock.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. His lips are tingling, his body on fire, his emotions bared, and he can’t stand it.

He isn’t built for this, and surely, Patton can see that.

But then, Patton steps closer.

“You don’t need,” Patton says, “to apologize to me.”

And Patton kisses him. Gently, but insistently, asking for an answer but not demanding. And it takes a few seconds, a few long seconds in which he comprehends nothing and too much all at once, can barely wrap his head around the concept of Patton kissing him, but he answers. Answers, and answers, and answers. Answers, and pours everything he has, everything he is into the answering.

They pull back, eventually, and Janus opens his eyes. Patton’s lips are red and swollen, his eyes bright.

“Not unless you didn’t mean it,” Patton says, and it takes him a moment to figure out what he’s talking about.

“I don’t think I’ve ever meant anything more in my life,” he replies, and swallows. “It terrifies me.”

The honesty is excruciating. Is this what love does?

He already knows the answer to that.

“Then let’s be scared together,” Patton says. He reaches out and takes Janus’ hands in his, intertwining their fingers. His yellow gloves stand out against Patton’s skin, and for the first time in a long time, he wants to remove them, to take them off and have skin to skin contact, regardless of the vulnerability that will bring. Not tonight, maybe, but soon?

Patton kissed him.

“That is,” Patton says, “if you want to.” He pauses, and when he speaks again, his voice is even lower, even softer than before. “I really, really like you, Janus.”

He looks at him. Really looks. Patton is nervous, fidgeting, unsure of his answer despite the fact that Janus kissed him first, despite the fact that Janus has been pining, has been burning so long that he has forgotten how not to. But his words ring clear with honesty, and Janus doesn’t think he has ever been this happy, nor this scared.

He can love Patton. All he has to do is say yes.

“Not at all,” he lies. “Why would I?”

And he tugs Patton back in. The kiss is tender, sweet, and Janus doesn’t know how to do this, doesn’t know how to allow another in, doesn’t know how to open up, to trust, to let himself love unabashedly and without restraint. For Patton, though, he is willing to do anything, anything at all. It’s a waltz meant for two, and perhaps the stage isn’t so empty after all.

Against his lips, Patton is smiling at him. So, he smiles back.

He can love Patton, and Patton can love him, and maybe, just maybe, he can believe that everything is going to be alright.

1K notes · View notes

5lazarus · 3 years

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The Old Gods of Serault

Wanderingly aimlessly through life after death, Felassan is offered a series of bad choices. Imshael guides his way through. A @black-emporium-exchange gift for RosellaWrites. Read the other works in the AO3 Collection here! Read the story on Archive of Our Own here.

Death, Fen’Harel has always said, is but the next adventure, which is the wonderful sort of thing immortals say but do not truly mean. Felassan, being dead, is mostly bored. There is not much to do when you are sundered from your body. Felassan drifts across Thedas and wonders: why the fuck did the Forbidden Ones lose a whole war for this. He sorely misses his physical form.

In the Crossroads he attempts to get Briala’s attention from his place stuck between Fade and Waking Plain, but alas! The People are sundered from their own senses since Fen’Harel raised the Veil. She does not notice him. He amuses himself for about a week, following her around. Then she picks up a new lover, this time thank Mythal not a human, and he decides it’s time to leave her alone.

In the Dales he runs into Mihris. She spits on him and shoots him with lightning, which hurts, and laughs when he screams. He can taste the ozone in the air as she readies another thunderbolt, which would surely shatter the last remnants of his spirit-consciousness. For all that he misses his body, he likes being around to watch things happening.

Felassan thinks fast, and then moans loudly. “Oh!” he cries. “Do that again.”

Mihris lowers her staff. “By the Dread Wolf, you like that?”

Felassan moans to hide the laugh building in his throat. “I just want to feel alive again!” It comes out more plaintive than pleading, but it does its job. In disgust Mihris leaves him, and prays that the Dread Wolf takes him.

“Been there, done that,” Felassan says to her back. “Nothing to write home about.” That is, of course, a lie, but a dead man has his pride. Besides, having no flesh, he is no longer concerned with the demands of the flesh. He sighs, considering what joys he has lost, and moves on.

In Serault he has more fun. The Veil is thin there, so it is easier to interfere with daily life, and Felassan has always enjoyed being a public menace. He whispers revolution in the very exciting dreams of the Well-Read Pig-Farmer. He makes the shadows dance in the Serault glass the Scornful Sorceress attempts to unlock. She has the taint of Mythal in her, he notices: poor soul. However much she plays at making eluvians, she will never have control over where they take her.

In the workshop, Felassan remarks, “Don’t worry, da’len. The Dread Wolf will set you free, and you’ll live to complain about it.” She does not even look up. Mortals are so very dull sometimes. The interest lies, of course, in how they grow and change, over countless generations. Felassan hadn’t been as interested in the petty wars of the dwarves and men as Fen’Harel had been, and it is funny in a deadly sort of way that this is the hill he chose to die on. He looks at the Scornful Sorceress and murmurs, “Come on. Be a little more fun.”

She gets herself banished from Serault but runs off with the glassworks anyway, and Felassan laughs the whole while, following her trail into the Applewood. The Tirashan has always been weird. The apples guarding the outskirts are new, and not nearly as intoxicating as the ones Sylaise’s people cultivated, but still Felassan trails a hand through the leaves and the giddy red fruit. He can almost taste them. He cannot, of course, so he sits down next to Mythal’s odd daughter and watches her chomp down on apple after apple with vicarious enjoyment.

“Oh, you’re going to make yourself so sick,” he says, amused. “Too much knowledge, da’len. You can’t binge it like that.”

The Fade-memories of the Applewood take her at once, and she shrieks as she begins to hallucinate through all the different hunts. Felassan watches for a bit. The memories leave her sensible enough to drink and shit, and once she begins to recover, he wanders deeper into the woods. Fade-touched fruit has always been used for initiates; the Scornful Sorceress seems to be tripping over rituals that will always overwhelm her. It is a shame that the preparation has been lost. It means the knowledge is gone, too.

Deeper in the woods the Veil thins, and Felassan begins to feel skin again. The leaf litter of the forest is springy under his feet. He draws in an impossible breath. The air tastes hungry, sucking greedily at his lungs. He flickers, aching, and then shakes his hands out. There is another person’s will at work here, threatening his thoughtform.

“Hey,” he calls into the deepening woods. “Who’s there?”

Imshael comes sauntering out of the twilight. He wears the body of the Seneschal of Serault: hair close-shaven, face unremarkably middle-aged, the frame fleshy but not in the way. Felassan groans. He likes Imshael, he really does, he’s always enjoyed partying with the Forbidden Ones—but it’s better when sacrifice is codified. This age ignores all their laws, and Imshael is happy to exploit those loopholes.

Imshael cocks the body’s eyebrow and says, “Dread Wolf got your tongue?”

Felassan says gloomily, “A fucking lightning strike.” He does not tell him that Fen’Harel is still too weak to banish and disintegrate spirits in the Fade. He likes Imshael, he really does. He’s always enjoyed how the disembodied spirit manages to claw his way through history, better than the rest of them from Arlathan, really. He respects the impulse for chaos—but the wanton destruction, the entrain-arrangement, and general lack of empathy? If Fen’Harel deems it necessary to disintegrate the will that is Imshael, Felassan will not complain.

Imshael says, “Tut, tut. Serves you right for believing the Old Wolf’s lies. This age is so much meaner than when we were young.” He stretches the body’s grin a little too wide for its face, pulling the edges of its mouth back as if he had stuck fishhooks in the corners. “I love it. People are so much more desperate than they were under Mythal’s justice. And there are so many new ways to entice them—not just the old ‘power, riches, virgins’ trick, I can offer them ‘lost knowledge.’ Like crop rotation.”

Felassan says, “You know about crop rotation?”

Imshael shrugs.

Felassan begins to laugh. Of course Imshael doesn’t know about crop rotation. Felassan doesn’t know anything about crop rotation. They’re spirits now, why the fuck would they know about crop rotation? He says, admiringly, “By the Dread Wolf, you are such a dick.”

Imshael says, “I don’t even need to try anymore. With your old master breaking out of the Fade, I just get to kick back, relax, and let the choosers come to me.” He forces the left eyelid of the corpse he inhabits to twitch a wink; the muscles pull at the distorted smile. Imshael lets the face relax. “Bodies—so many choices, so many little muscles to twitch! How did you handle it, having one all the time?”

Felassan says truthfully, “I didn’t think about it much.” He misses the choices he could make, to stretch his legs by the fire in the heady woods at night, to stick his fingers into loamy soil and smell the hungry earth, to edge his teeth along another person’s bottom lip. He places a finger where his lips once were, but of course he has no fingers anymore, just his own thoughtform.

“Careful,” Imshael says, dead eyes glinting. “Too much thought and you’ll break.”

Anxiety laces through him, because thought is all he has and thought keeps him whole, and in the worry he feels himself disintegrating in the old wood of the Tirashan. The scent of apples grows stronger, alcoholic, sick fermentation in blood that he no longer has—and then he remembers: Imshael is fucking with me. He wants to strike a deal. All that I have are my choices; Imshael shall not take those away. Flurrying into himself, Felassan stretches out his edges and feels the forest shift around him. The Tirashan is older than he is. The wood whispers: mine.

Felassan says, “Is that why you stuck yourself in that body? To keep the Tirashan from taking you? I quite like the Applewood, actually. Feels a bit like home.”

Imshael says, “Home that eats us alive, yes. Some of the old gods still linger, my friend.” There is a smile in his voice but he leaves the body alone. “Fen’Harel isn’t the only big thing coming. You can feel it, can’t you. That’s what drew you to the Applewood. What was once lost is no longer Forgotten.”

Felassan really has had enough of egregious poeticisms. He says, a bit testily, “What do you want, Imshael? Why are you here? Are you saying I was drawn here? Nothing compells me.”

Lacing roots ground him and the woods expand with one earthy exhale, and even Imshael’s body react electrically as the leaf litter wraps around its ankles. The Horned Knight eases out of the old tree.

Felassan breathes, “Daern’thal.”

The Horned Knight inclines his head and says, “One aspect.” The Forgotten Ones were driven to the edges of the map long before Fen’Harel raised the Veil and threw the world into catastrophe. This aspect of the old god, Daern’thal, has found refuge in the Applewood. Felassan is afraid. He would have been afraid even if he had a body, even if the Veil had not been raised. He never met the gods without Fen’Harel to protect him. Imshael is an interesting substitute.

Daern’thal has chosen the shape of a wooden man, echoing the humans who have driven his worshippers into the shadows of the glens. Halla horn bursts from his forehead. Rather than deal with the issue of mortal mucosity, the Forgotten One has placed eyes of fish scale and snakeskin into the indentation of his sockets. Thin bands of fungal mycelium bind his limbs together. Lust stirs in Felassan’s heart. He can make himself a body like that, if only he could learn how.

Imshael smiles.

One does not refuse an invitation from a god, even a Forgotten One. Felassan pushes against Imshael’s receptical’s shoulders, testing the electric nervous system of the dead flesh, but Imshael pushes against him.

“Only room for one,” he says flatly. “Unless?”

“Nah,” Felassan says. “I’m good here, thanks.” He follows the shambling corpse to the hall of the Horned Knight, a round tower in a narrow glen, dark and wet with green.

“Heartwood Court,” the Knight says, and bids them enter. The upper floors have partially collapsed into each other like dominos after they have been flicked, and Felassan stares nervously at stars glimmering between the leaves of the flowering roof. Of course, these mortal worries are beyond him. Wood and stone can do him no harm. At the center, indeed of the heart of the hall, grows a great tree, whose autumn-colored canopy provides some cover. Felassan sees a star twinkle, and then burn out: not enough.

The grass shines, dusted with shards of an old mirror. The Horned Knight has laid blankets of moss over toppled pillars, a facsimile of a great table. His servants gather, enthralled to his Will. Moss grows within their eyes and flowers bloom from their skin, patterned in the same tattooed ropes of the vallaslin.

Felassan touches the plush moss and is surprised when the moss pushes back. The Veil is thin here. He sits, suddenly ravenous. Daern’thal has hacked his way from the Void and back into the Waking World and made himself a body of earth and scale. If he can learn, he can stretch again. He can taste. He can bite. Imshael settles next to him, monstrously smug.

Felassan says, “You did this on purpose.”

“You’re welcome,” Imshael says. “Consider it a thank-you gift, for making sure I didn’t waste my time tormenting little Mihris. Here, it’s so much more fun. Subtler choices to make, with a much longer reach.” Their arms brush. Felassan starts at the touch.

He says, desire in his voice, “The Veil is very thin here.”

At the center of the great table the Horned Knight arranges himself, in a throne hewn of apple-wood. Glorious smells intoxicate the air: meat fresh-roasted over a well-loved fired, basted in its own blood. Saliva comes to Felassan’s mouth, and he swallows and licks his lips. Silent servants shuffle woodenly by the table, bearing a grotesque boar with its death scream still echoing in its mouth. Imshael reaches for the apple in its mouth and plucks it out. He offers it to Felassan.

Felassan says, “No. Not yet. No.”

Imshael smiles. “Not yet. But soon.” He lays it between Felassan’s hands, slowly gaining solidity. Felassan clenches his fists. Imshael is looking at him up from through his eyelashes. It would have a more charming effect if the body he occupies weren’t clearly dead.

There are rules of hospitality that must be followed. One does not eat before one’s host. Imshael wants him to; Imshael enjoys violation, the breaching of taboo. Felassan likes the bend and breach too, but it is easier to navigate in the Fade, where everything is up for debate. He watches his host. The Horned Knight burns with the old fire of the Forgotten Gods. The Veil warps around him, and the discordance of the waking and the dreaming syncopates into the beat of a living, muscled heart. Daern’thal figured it out. He lives, without a body, a thing of muscles and spells. He does not need to will every pump of blood. Imshael and Felassan gaze upon him with mutual lust.

“My guests,” he says. “Old countrymen from a country that exists only in our worst dream-rambles. Imshael Choice-Bringer I know has poached in my wood these two season. Small prey I grant him.”

Felassan sneaks a glance at Imshael. The corpse looks sour.

“Small prey,” Imshael rumbles. “Oh, we’ll see about that.”

If Felassan had a consistent face, he would grin at that. He does like Imshael, after all. Who else would think to take on a remnant of a Forgotten One, in his own hall? What is he going to do, offer him a choice?

“And you, Slow Arrow, dropped from the Dread Wolf’s quiver, broken but undecayed. Piecemeal but awaiting restoration. Unbodied the both of you. Living not-death, I welcome you the same.”

Talk why do you do like that, Felassan thinks. Not even Solas got that bad. A flash of anger runs through him, and he is surprised to see his hands clench, and then they are gone. The moss lays undisturbed on the ruined pillar that is the table. He smells the dinner, he does not smell it. One does not need sensation for an appetite. He hungers. Imshael smiles.

Out of the corpse’s mouth Imshael says, “You’ve guarded the Tirashan well against the Evanuris and their lapdog. A shame this hall’s in ruins. What happened? Don’t you miss your temples?”

“The People worship us enough,” the Horned Knight says calmly. He carves a slice from the spit and places it on a golden plate. “Those the Evanuris would have seen erased have writ themselves large on the landscape. I am, in eternity, lord of these woods.” He has started speaking subject-verb-object again, Felassan notes. He is irritated. The Forgotten Ones were always easy to wind up. Then he realizes—

“What meat is that?” Felassan asks faintly. “Boar?” He hopes it is not halla; even the most degraded of their descendants still hold their kin sacred.

The Horned Knight’s fish scale eyes gleam in their own dark fire. He repeats, “The People worship us enough. They understand sacrifice, how to wear and tear ’til blood seeps into the Dreaming and yanks it awake.”

The Horned Knight passes the plate to Imshael, who passes it stiffly to Felassan. He catches it, flesh rapidly outlined, and places it onto the moss-tablecloth. A servant across the room smiles vacantly; the same moss that adorns the table covers her eyes. Onion flowers dot down her face in the slash of an X. Her skin is coated in red ochre. She does not taste of the Tirashan. She stinks, but not terribly, of Mythal. It is the Scornful Sorceress, Mythal’s troublesome little daughter. That means there is a limit to the Horned Knight’s reach; while he can eat and he can drink, he cannot smell. He does not know the presence of other gods.

Imshael and Felassan look at each other for a long moment. Wordlessly they agree, and let the girl be.

The Horned Knight cuts himself a prime slice and takes a bite. His teeth are the spiraling arms of living crinoids, tearing at the cooked flesh. His tongue is a flash of autumn leaf.

Imshael whispers, “Well? Aren’t you going to eat?”

Felassan whispers, “Aren’t you?”

“I don’t have a digestive system anymore.”

“Well, I’m dead. I don’t either.”

Imshael says, “Do you really think Daern’thal is living? Death eating death. How much of him is simply the Tirashan’s mycelium? Sacrifice won’t keep you whole for long.”

The dryad servants sway in time with the rustle of the leaf-wind. A woman with willow for hair pulls out a bone flute and begins to play. Richly the notes come like a sunset, winding around him like a drink. He is hungry for a body. Daern’thal has one. Perhaps he can share. It is about time he begins killing gods, rather than letting them kill him.

Imshael says, “Good choice.”

Felassan says fondly, “Get the fuck out of my thoughtform.”

The Forbidden One laughs, a rictus of death. The sacrifice steams on the plate over the altar. Neither of them eat. The servants are singing now, in the tree’s breath. First a rumble comes deep from their throats, then the rising chorus of sun and sugar, salt and carbon, bark and heart’s wood. They sway like young birches in the bite of winter’s breeze. He knows the steps and would dance it, if he had feet.

“Dead man’s shuffle?” Imshael offers.

Felassan says, “No.” He can do better than piggybacking off a decaying corpse, tricking mortals into giving up their form and discarding them as soon as they begin to rot. He watches the Horned Knight eat. It’s horrible, but it is living. He says, “I want that body.”

Imshael says, “Good choice.”

The Scornful Sorceress is not quite swaying in time with the others. The moss covering her eyes is thinner. A flower has fallen from the X-shaped vallaslin. Quick, Felassan thinks. Quick. Make your choice before it’s made for you. Don’t be like me.

The Horned Knight says, “My horn. Let us drink, and trade a story for a story, a boon for a boon.” The living wood comes forth bearing a lyrium-laced drinking horn in the shape of a silver halla, legs folded. Around the rim a scene is wrought, of a dying god clawing his way out of the Void to return to the Tirashan. The god becomes the wood, his body woven by the network of fungal decay that keeps the hivemind of the trees living and speaking. He says, “I was a spirit and I was a god and once I was a mere elf, running to the shelter of a Tirashan. The woods took me into their heart. Daern’thal made this horn, to safeguard against the Old Wolf’s tricks. I drank from it. We persist. What are your stories, my countrymen?”

Imshael says, “I refused to be limited by the boundaries of a body. A singular outline defers choice. I am Opportunity and I am Envy. Without a body, I can be both. The choice is yours.”

Felassan says, “Yes. I was the Dread Wolf’s Slow Arrow, the last-ditch plan he broke. I lost my body, but where there is thought, there is form. I am still living. I will persist. What do I need to do, to drink from that horn?”

Imshael smiles. The ochre woman is not even swaying at all.

The Horned Knight says, “You may drink of it only if you stay to the truth of your name. The Veil is breaking. Old magic returns, beyond what we have hidden in the Applewood. I grant you both this life if you stay true to it. Remain Imshael, the impossible choice. Stay the Slow Arrow, which flies the course.” The bark-cut mouth twists into a smile, fossil-teeth bared. “But know this. Once you drink of it, you are of it. The Tirashan has its due. You may remain distinct, but the mycelium persists. You are Felassan, but you will become the Tirashan too.”

Felassan pushes away the plate of flesh. He says, “Would I be able to leave the woods?

The Horned Knight smiles again. He says, “We know what is to come. What is to say that in the end, there will be anything but the woods?”

Fen’Harel is coming to break every chain. Fen’Harel is taking down the Veil and restoring Arlathan and its dark woods. The time of the quicklings is coming to an end. Slow magic, eating away at life, survives, neither flora or fauna.

Felassan says, “No,” and the ochre-servant snatches the horn from the Horned Knight’s wooden hands and sprints out of the hall, shifting into a massive bear. Imshael cackles with laughter. He says, “That’s no choice at all. Careful, there. You’ll put out Imshael out of a job.”

Imshael smiles. “And that’s no choice at all.”

#the old gods of serault #dragon age fanfiction #dragon age fanfic #da fanfic #the last court #the masked empire #felassan #imshael #mihris #morrigan #the horned knight #felassan/imshael #horror #comedy #fanfic

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eeveecryptid · 3 years

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※ SHIT YOUR LOCAL ENBY HAS HEARD: FRIENDS & FAM EDITION

a thrilling saga of shit i’ve heard over the years from friends and family, as well as some dumb shit i’ve said, myself. may include nsfw material. feel free to change names/pronouns/etc.! more ‘shit i heard/said’ starters!

" just casually spills all your shit." "your hair is autumn, you bleed pumpkin spice." "i can’t believe you're sexually attracted to plankton." "i'm an adult, i'm the oldest person in this house.” "---yeah, you're a dinosaur.” "don't make me shake my fist at you!" "oH NO, IT WAS MORE EFFECTIVE THAN I THOUGHT!” "you wound me right in the baratiddies." "you can't threaten me, i'm not looking!" "oh no, it's jammed --- and peanut buttered!" "they know how to get to his/her heart and his/her pants." "try and keep a low profile now that you've, like-- murdered a bunch of people while protecting my food." "is that a knife in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?" "I DONT CONTROL THE DICE." “i dO N' T CO N TR OL TH E E G G S.” "gIVE ME THE CLUES, BITCH." "(name), GET OUT OF MY ASS!” "don't you face at me in that tone of voice." "joey mac/(name) has a jawline for days that could cut glass." "i got possessed by (name) because i saw (name) and went ‘oh that’s a dADDY’." "don't grow up, guys, don't do it, it's not worth it.” "i don't have college, i have depression!!" "bandit and cinders snatched my heart, odd snatched my uwus, aND YELLOW AND RIVER SNATCHED MY ASS, CAN I GET AN AMEN--" "who needs pants when you're drunk as a skunk?" "cause of death: pussy." "does 'sharkboy and lavagirl' exist in the twilight universe, and if so, does everyone just look from sharkboy to jacob and just be like ‘bruh what the fuck’?” "dID YOU DRAW A D I C K ON YOUR PASTRY--" "we all need a lap to sit on, and a shoulder to cry on." "i read the second one as 'i don't steal sluts'.” "no-one's dead, nothing broke, iT'S F I NE!” "IT'S OVER ANAKIN, I HAVE THE THIGH GROUND.” “give a man a fire, and he’ll be warm for a day. set a man on fire, and he’ll be warm for the rest of his life.” "if you're not at least a lil’ bit gay for your friends when they get a haircut, are you really friends, though?" "that shit hURTED." "this is harder than my dick!” "songs that get white people - and (name) - turnt." "technically speaking, another term for 'sugar daddy' could be 'glucose father'.” "it's not that your mom doesn't love you, it's just that she's kind of a bitch.” "i don't like that my first thought upon pulling these dayquil pills out of the package was just 'ah yes, big and juicy'.” ". . . i heard 'big and goosey'.” "the hills are not alive with the sound of music, they're dead with the sound of me wheezing while walking uphill in the cold.” "i would've kissed bill directly on his eye mouth thing.” "hate is a special kind of love you give to people who suck.” "make sure you hang up your stocking so cupid can leave heart-shaped candy and pieces of cardstock with pictures of Cars 2(TM) characters.” "the joke flew over his/her head just like everything else because s/he's tiny." "i've had this poster for like, sixteen years--" "that's longer than i've been mentally stable." "sir, are you aware that you're a rat?" "aladdin is the real tiger king." "(name), i am begging you, you dumb fuck---" “oh god, chucky’s indian--” "hard times for covo the clown, he's just on the corner selling face masks, balloons, and crack-- oh and meth." "it's fine to eat if you're nOT A COWARD-- SALMONELLA WHOMST?" "i just want to pee, you monster, leT ME PEE!!" "don't trash the highways, trash Canada instead." "it took me almost a year, but i now know (name)’s love for graham crackers and i can exploit it." "my words go fast to make up for the fact that my tiny legs cannot." “i hate how, in my head, it just sounded like hank hill was possessed or voiced by matthew mcconaughey.” "gross encounters of the third kind, if you will."

#ask meme #sentence starters #indie rp #inbox meme #rp meme #rp ask #rp ask meme #askbox meme #askbox starters #rp sentence meme #sentence starter meme #rp sentence starters #inbox memes #indie starters #rp inbox meme #stuff aspen has heard

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op-sheepy · 3 years

Note

ok so I'm particularly interested in

Bellamy Law

Law and Bible stuff

Law is a substitute kindergarten teacher

shichibukai applications

reverse hanahaki disease (?? do u spit out flowers when your nemesis walks by?)

if you feel like elaborating on any of these!

This is gonna get long and I actually contemplated posting them separately but would that have been more work? Yeah, that felt like more work so for anyone interested, check under the cut. :D

---------------------------------o

Bellamy Law

Hm… This would be an attempt to explore the parallels and contrasts between Bellamy and Law. I've always found it fascinating that the former was a foil to the latter.

They both come from well-off towns in the North Blue.

Bellamy left because of boredom. Law had no choice because Flevance.

Both ended up seeking Doflamingo because of his notoriety as a pirate. Both admired him initially

Doffy favored one over the other though. Bellamy always sought his approval but was never really part of the inner circle Doflamingo cared about.

Law got the dubious privilege of being part of the family despite being absent for so long. Even offered one of the highest seats by Doffy's side for seemingly nothing.

Law had no trouble turning his back on Doffy once he realized the man's nature. Bellamy tried to stick to his principles until the end despite admitting that he new he was wrong.

Bellamy can (and did) quit piracy after his ordeal with Doflamingo. Having the option to live peacefully, perhaps a return to his previous life (the one he considered boring). Law can't do that quite as easily what with his Devil fruit and his reputation.

I thought it would be interesting trying to explore what Bellamy was thinking. Did he hear the Donquixote Pirates talk about their missing 'family'? Did he get to see Doffy be amused at Law's rise as a Supernova while he kept being reminded of his own status? Did Law save Bellamy partially because he also saw what he could have been had Corazon not saved him?

On principle, Bellamy should have hated Trafalgar Law. Does. Bastard even saved him without him wanting it. But there was something about the shadows haunting those eyes and Bellamy started to wonder.

He had heard the family talk about Law before. The child personally taught by Doflamingo, chosen to be his right hand. Never was he compared to the man because Law was just obviously better. Smarter. Stronger. Bellamy was ever just an uncouth thug.

He was allowed to 'borrow' Doflamingo's symbol while Law had an empty seat waiting for his return–a seat Bellamy had wanted enough to risk everything for.

Maybe he had resented, Trafalgar Law for carelessly rejecting the things he had that Bellamy had always desired. In the end too, Trafalgar Law did prove to be better. He'd done as a child what Bellamy had trouble doing even as he was now.

But having been given the chance to observe the other man as they all recovered, he wondered, perhaps for the first time, whether despite Law being better than Bellamy, Bellamy had had it better–barring the poor life choices.

---------------------------------o

Law and Bible stuff

This is just me wanting to know how many biblical parallels and themes I can draw from Law, the Donquixote brothers, the characters associated with them, and his backstory. Honestly not sure whether this would become a fic and in what style or I'm gonna give up and just make it a post.

Not gonna elaborate on them much but here are the ideas in more bullet points (yay):

Law gets familiar with all four horsemen of the apocalypse: conquest, war, famine, and death. He even survives them.

Law is like the son in the parable of the prodigal son to the Donquixote pirates. Except the themes are inverted.

Doflamingo and Rocinante -> Cain and Abel

Ope Ope no Mi -> Granting eternal life by sacrificing one's own life

Gods descending or living among humans. Also, Homing and his family being prosecuted for other people's sins.

That scene where they were hanged by their arms outstretched looks like a crucifixion. Also, Rocinante was on the right while Doflamingo was on the left. Similar to how the penitent thief was on the right and the unrepentant one to the left.

Flevance being considered a paradise with walls/fences/gates and somewhere Law cannot return to.

In the panel where the Donquixote pirates are seated at the table, there were thirteen of them with Doffy at the center. Same as The Last Supper

There are a lot more of these (David and Goliath, Solomon, Jonah, Job, etc.) but I kinda lost the notes and some are more visual so I can't really explain it too well. This would is a drabble series to emphasize or highlight the parallels so no proper snippet for this one.

---------------------------------o

Law is a substitute kindergarten teacher

Originally an idea to get around most of the Heart Pirates being nameless but evolved to include other characters as kids. Chopper is a kindergarten teacher and he convinces Law to take over his class for a week because somehow Law has the qualifications to and free time. Naturally, he wasn't able to say no.

Unfortunately, despite not being terrible at handling children, Chopper's class is filled with menaces. Also, despite not being terrible, Law can still be awkward so...

"Mr. Trofao–fargar—"

"Trafalgar."

The kid—which one was this one again? Shit, he should really get them name plates or something—scrunched up his face and tried harder, "Tar-pal—"

"Law. Just call me Law."

"Mr. Low"—eh, close enough—"can I go to the bathroom?" Wide imploring eyes stared up at him.

"Sure, go ahead." Law gestured towards the exit of the classroom with his head.

The kid just stared expectantly at him and he tried to suppress the need to narrow his eyes.

"Is there… anything else?"

"Mr. Chopper always comes with me to hold my hand."

Really?

"Mr. Chopper isn't here. You should practice doing it on your own now." He said after a deep inhale.

"But the monsters might get me…"

"No, they won't."

"You don't know that."

"I do." Before the kid could open his mouth again to argue, he added, "Besides, children taste terrible so you're safe."

The kid looked stricken and took a step back from him. Uh oh. Glistening eyes, wobbling lower lip… "Alright! I'll go with you." The kid did not look reassured. In fact he looked like going alone with Law was the last thing he wanted to do. Guess, he kinda implied that he ate children didn't he? Oops.

Well, the kid needs to go and he's not going to be cleaning up after him if he wets himself.

Law glanced at the rest of the children. It was Arts and Craft time and they seemed preoccupied enough. Still, Law doubted Chopper ever left these kids alone–already he could see some of them glancing up at him, waiting for him to leave no doubt to cause trouble. That Monkey kid in particular looked extremely suspicious.

He stood up from his crouch and clapped twice to get everyone's attention.

"Alright. Fall in line. Single file."

There was some grumbling and questioning directed at him. "What's going on?"

Law shrugged. "You're all going to the bathroom."

---------------------------------o

Shichibukai Application Forms

Crackfic where the World Government and relevant parties review various Shichbukai Applications. Most submitted by the pirates applying themselves, some produced by their own staff. They discuss and debate. As well as judge pirate resumes.

She scanned the document. Terrible format, really. If you fail to impress within the first page, you've failed entirely. There just wasn't anyone promising enough in this batch of applications or any of the other ones before. The last one had been that clown. "Apprentice to the Pirate King," was a pretty hefty credential.

"Oh, how about this one? Three years experience pillaging, and they even listed all the towns they looted." One of the newly transferred administrative staff said.

"None of these are worth considering at all. You know, when Mihawk was asked to submit his application, he hadn't bothered with all of this. He just sent us a card with his name on it and the title "World's Strongest Swordsman," underneath."

The staff perked up. "Oh, there was an application like that." There was scramble and some shuffling before a plain white card was produced. "Here."

"'From Trafalgar Law'. What does this even mean?"

"Well, it did come with a big box..."

---------------------------------o

Reverse Hanahaki Disease

(?? do u spit out flowers when your nemesis walks by?)

Haha. At first it was going to be that way (because it is hilarious) but the inflicted would probably choke to death too soon. Or if both enemies had it, they'd end up just coughing flowers at each other until they stopped being enemies.

The version I ended up going with was that this variant of Hanahaki, instead of afflicting those with unrequited love, affected those in denial instead. The reverse part comes from the original idea that this would usually happen if you somehow fell in love with your nemesis (someone you originally hated). So it's not the thought that the other person can't love you, it's that you can't accept that you love that other person. You get cured by confessing to the person sincerely.

This is actually another KidLaw (surprise!). And the flower coughed up directly represents the person they're in love with (I went with Oda's flower representation for them because I found it funny for plot)

So the idea is that, you get sick but you don't automatically know (maybe) who it is because that's part of being in denial. Kid and Law have many enemies after all. In this story they both get it though not exactly at the same time and not known to the other.

He survived Amber Lead Syndrome only to be killed off by a stupid flower disease that apparently knows more about his own feelings than he does.

He glared at the petals. Tulips. Red.

An image of a cocky grin and a shock of red hair flashed through his mind and—nope. That's not right.

He coughed harder, tears stinging his eyes with the effort. More flowers. Now he has enough for a bouquet.

Alright, he was a doctor. He could do this. Differential time.

First, which variant does he have. He doesn't particularly feel unloved or hopeless. There wasn't anyone he wanted in particular to love him. Ok, nothing. It was maybe safe to say he had that other variant.

Which was stupid because Law had many enemies and he hated all of them.

And cue the racking coughs. More red. He was very familiar with that particular shade.

New theory. This was a new variant that somehow makes you sick when you think of the person you hated the most.

Yes, that had to be it. He thought as he all but collapsed on the floor from the sudden paroxysm.

I knew this was gonna get long. :) Oh well...

Thank you for playing. :D

#One Piece #One piece fanfiction #wip game #trafalgar law #donquixote brothers #donquixote doflamingo #donquixote roci #donquixote homing #donquixote pirates #one piece bellamy #bellamy the hyena #eustass kid #kidlaw #trafalgar d water law

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whump-tr0pes · 3 years

Text

Honor Bound 5 - 15

Honor Bound 5 - 15 (Public Execution/Torture) - @badthingshappenbingo

Requested by anon

This is a series. Start here, continued from here.

This is a sequel to Honor Bound, Honor Bound 2, Honor Bound 3, Honor Bound 4, and the prequel Vera.

AO3

Content warning: forced nudity (shirtless only), death threats, intentional mis-naming, caning, blood, suicidal thoughts (to escape torture), dehumanization (of someone not present), sex mention

“N-no,” Gavin rasped as the guards dragged him to his feet. “No, no, no no no…” He yanked against their hands, nearly out of his mind with panic as they dragged him to one of the cells. They threw him to his knees in front of it and forced his arms out in front of him. Tears blurred his vision and he thrashed against them.

His heart pounded in his chest as he remembered the agony of the cane – the fiery sting of the blows, the dull, crushing ache of his bruised ribs for weeks after. Sweat prickled on his skin as he strained against the guards, whimpering as they held his wrists against the icy bars and securely zip tied them there.

“N-no,” he sobbed, his chest heaving with panicked breaths. “Schiester, no, sh-shit, if you’re g-going to kill me please just kill me, please…”

“There is no if, Gavin Stormbeck,” Schiester said evenly. “Your death in not in question. As I’ve told you, you have already been sentenced. Your remaining time on this earth serves as penance for your crimes, since I cannot kill you twenty— Well. How many playthings have you killed?” He wrenched Gavin’s hand back with a vicious grip on his hair.

Gavin whimpered wordlessly through his teeth as Schiester craned his neck back. The plastic zip tie cut into his wrists. The three guards stood back, behind Schiester, watching impassively.

Schiester jerked Gavin’s head back further and Gavin cried out. “How many?” Schiester growled.

“Please, please, twenty-three!” Gavin sobbed. “I’ve, I’ve k-killed twenty-three playthings, please…” He felt every single one of those deaths, like knives in his heart.

Schiester released his head and stepped back. Gavin sobbed against the bars. “I’m assuming that means you’ve killed more than just playthings, Gavin Stormbeck,” Schiester spat. “God knows how many—”

“My name is GAVIN URIAH!” Gavin roared. The basement echoed with his broken voice until it faded away to stunned silence. Gavin could barely breathe as he quivered on his knees, waiting for the pain. Waiting for a bullet in his head.

Gavin shivered as he felt, more than heard, Schiester take a step closer. He flinched as Schiester placed his hand gently on the back of his neck. Gavin swallowed nervously as Schiester slid his hand across his throat and tilted his head back, pressing his thumb and forefinger in on each side of his windpipe – a warning, and a threat.

Schiester clicked his tongue and leaned over Gavin. “No, it’s not,” he murmured, his voice smooth as silk and deadly quiet at Gavin’s ear. “Your name is Gavin Stormbeck. You were born a Stormbeck. You killed people as a Stormbeck.” Gavin’s stomach lurched with terror as Schiester’s hand closed, just slightly, around his throat. “And you’re going to die a Stormbeck. Right over there, on my gallows.”

“P-please,” Gavin whimpered. Tears ran the corners of his eyes and back into his hair. He shuddered at the cold on his bare skin.

In one smooth movement, Schiester released Gavin’s throat and stepped away. “What was it I called this back in January? Meager justice?” He laughed once, a cold, cruel sound. “I should have dragged you from that fucking family kicking and screaming and put you to death that day in the sight of the entire north. People should know how Gavin Stormbeck meets his end. Still. This is the cost of my work. It goes unnoticed, unthanked, and uncelebrated.”

Gavin glanced back behind him and sobbed desperately as he watched Schiester strip off his coat and hand it to one of the guards. Another guard passed a long rattan cane into Schiester’s hands. Schiester took his stance behind Gavin, adjusting his grip on the cane.

Gavin ground his forehead against the bars in front of him. His breaths were coming so fast his fingers were starting to go numb. “Please,” he whispered. “Please, please, please, please, please, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

“Ah,” Schiester scoffed. “There it is. The Stormbeck son is sorry.” He wound his arm back and brought it down on Gavin’s bare back with a snap.

Gavin screamed. Fire shot across his back, piercing down into his very lungs. He slumped against the bars, gasping for breath, his head spinning with the pain. Before he could draw in a full inhale, the cane struck him again.

Gavin wailed against his arm and yanked against the zip ties on his wrists. He sobbed and clenched his hands into fists as he strained, desperate to break free. He rocked forward with the next blow. His scream rent the air of the basement.

Another strike. There was nothing to hold on to. At least if he could clutch at the bars he could hang on until it was over, but he couldn’t twist his hands enough to reach them. His hands remained clenched, and empty. Sam wasn’t there to take his hand and guide him through the pain, like before.

Another blow. Gavin scrambled against the floor, frantically trying to push away the pain. He froze with a scream when Schiester struck him again.

Schiester hits harder than Isaac and Gray did.

Of course, he would. Even through the agony of the lashes in January, Gavin had known Isaac was pulling his punches. Gray struck harder than Isaac, determined, perhaps, to spare Gavin further punishment. Or maybe Gray really did hate him, then.

The thought shattered under another lash. Then another, and another, and another.

Gavin panted, and his throat burned with thirst, a weak pain compared to the fire on his back. “H-how…” he croaked. His voice twisted in a scream as Schiester struck him again.

How many is that? Gavin’s mind was a cacophony of pain. His entire body went rigid as the cane came down on him again. Sweat poured down his back, dripping down his temples, stinging in his eyes. His mouth gaped open as he gasped for breath. He saw a flash of white as the cane came down again.

“Sch-Schiester, please, I— ahh!” he cried with the next blow.

How many? His head spun.

Brilliant pain split his mind with the next blow. He shivered as his sweat and blood dripped down his back, wetting the waistband of his pants. His stomach churned with the sickly metallic smell of it.

He sobbed with abandon with the next lash. His voice was a twisted, broken thing to his own ears. It echoed off the walls and pierced into his brain. He screamed himself hoarse with the next.

Through the roaring in his ears, he could hear Schiester breathing hard behind him. Schiester grunted as he swung the cane again. Gavin felt his flesh split under the blow.

“Isaac, please,” Gavin breathed. His throat was too tight to make a sound. “Isaac, please, please, Isaac, please…”

For a moment, the blows stopped. Gavin sobbed with relief. It couldn’t be over, surely it wasn’t over? He thought that was maybe twenty. Maybe. He turned his head to look behind him, shaking like a leaf.

Schiester stood with the cane at his side, staring at Gavin with bemusement. There was an ugly flush on his cheeks, and his eyes shone in the cold, sickly light overhead.

“What are you saying?” Schiester said as he arched an eyebrow.

Why couldn’t Isaac have just killed me after we escaped? Gavin thought with despair. I begged Vera to kill me. I begged her.

Gavin wet his lips and heaved a sob. “N-nothing,” he croaked. His throat felt scraped raw with his screams. He could distantly hear his blood dripping on the floor. The smell was thick in his nose, chasing away the very memory of Isaac’s smell.

Schiester wound up and struck Gavin again. Gavin screamed against the bars of the cage.

“What are you saying?” Schiester ground out, punctuating the words with blows. Gavin gasped and sobbed against the pain.

“I w-was…” Gavin’s lips trembled, and he sagged against the bars, dizzy. “I… please, I was—”

The cane struck him with a crack that reverberated around the room and was swallowed by Gavin’s scream. “N-no, no, please, I-I—” He threw his head back and screamed with the next blow.

“These all count, by the way,” Schiester said softly. “I’m not an unfair man. Now. What were you saying?”

Gavin’s skin was slick with sweat. “I… w-was begging… Isaac.” He whined and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to conjure up Isaac’s face. The pain shoved all other thoughts away.

Schiester barked out a cruel-sounding laugh. “Begging his plaything,” he muttered. “Unbelievable.”

“H-he’s not my plaything,” Gavin whispered. He braced for another crash of pain. It didn’t come. He heaved a sob.

“In my experience, playthings that are released never return to the world fully human,” Schiester sighed. “But take comfort however you like. You can pretend the man who fucks you loves you of his own accord.”

Shame flooded through Gavin. He loves me, he thought. Or… he did. He doesn’t love me anymore. I’ve broken that. I’ve ruined it. A tear streaked down his face and he whimpered weakly.

I love you, but you can’t keep anyone safe.

Sorry things had to go this way, but I got what I wanted.

That would break Isaac. Right now, a hundred and thirty miles away, Isaac was awake, burning with hate for Gavin. He knew it.

Gavin’s shame blasted apart with the agony of the next strike. His torn and broken skin seared with pain as Schiester brought the cane down hard again. Then again, harder. Harder.

Gavin writhed and twisted against his restraints. “Please!” he shrieked. Blood smeared on his wrists, looking almost black in the cold yellowish light. Again, Schiester struck him, and again, and again.

Gavin’s chest heaved as he sobbed. “P-please, please, no, please…”

A guard cleared his throat. Gavin had forgotten anyone else was here. “Sir, should I gag him, or—”

“No, let him beg,” Schiester replied. “We always let them beg, Ziegler.”

Another blow. Gavin’s head spun dizzily. His hands were numb. He wasn’t sure which way was up.

Another blow. Gavin slumped against the bars, his head lolling. His wrists strained against the zip ties. Gavin gasped and screamed and blinked sweat out of his eyes. His back was on fire. Every breath was agony. The world was ripped apart by another blow.

His body shuddered with the next strike. He flinched, blind with pain, his blood roaring in his ears. Schiester lashed him again, and his throat made a broken, animal whine. He couldn’t feel his lips. The room seemed to tilt around him.

He wondered, faintly, if they would keep beating him if he lost consciousness. If they would break his body with the cane, even if he wasn’t awake to feel it. Somehow, he doubted he could escape that way. His eyes rolled back and he prayed for oblivion.

He jerked with another strike. He shivered, hot, cold, shattered. His muscles quivered with strain as he struggled against the restraints. Sweat stung the broken skin of his back.

“Pl— Ahh, pl-please…” he mumbled through numb lips.

“We’re almost finished, Gavin Stormbeck,” Schiester said gently. “Card, please fetch his other restraints.”

“You mean… Yes, sir.”

Boots clicked on the cement floor. Gavin couldn’t tell where the sound was coming from. His voice broke his scream with the next strike.

Gavin’s stomach heaved at the next spike of pain, and he gagged. The smell of his blood clouded his mind. He tasted bile.

As Schiester struck him again, a black spot appeared in the center of Gavin’s vision. He blinked, his eyes wide and unfocused, swimming with tears. His blood felt like fire in his veins. His heart hammered wildly in his chest.

“Fainting again are we, Stormbeck?” Schiester mocked. The sound seemed to reach Gavin from far away. “Ah, well. I’m not surprised to discover you cannot withstand what you dish out.”

I don’t hurt people anymore, Gavin thought dizzily. His shoulders ached as they twisted. He hung to the side, the zip ties cutting into his wrists. His sweat-soaked hair stuck to his temples. His vision was blurred with tears, growing darker with every passing moment.

A slap rocked his head to the side, and he cried out weakly. He saw stars when he closed his eyes.

“That didn’t wake him up at—”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m almost finished. I said fifty lashes. I didn’t require him to be awake.” Schiester seemed to be breathing hard. Gavin felt a flash of pain, heard a scream. Tears streamed down his face.

His throat felt torn, with his next broken scream. The lights above him were fading. Is someone diming them on purpose? He jerked as the cane came down on him again. He couldn’t breathe through the pain.

At the edges of his consciousness, he felt an encroaching blackness. He’d felt it before, when Isaac beat him in the square all those months before. He clawed away from the pain, writhed when Schiester struck him again. He choked on a scream as fire flashed across his back, but fading, fading. As if he was sinking under the surface of a lake. His head spun, his mouth gaped open as he desperately gasped in another breath.

A red slash of pain cut across his vision again. Then Gavin’s eyes rolled back, and he felt nothing.

Continued here

@untilthepainstarts, @womping-grounds, @free-2bmee, @quirkykayleetam, @walkingchemicalfire, @inpainandsuffering, @redwingedwhump, @burtlederp, @castielamigos-whump-side-blog, @whatwhumpcomments, @cursedscribbles, @whumpywhumper, @stxck-fxck, @omega-em-z-02, @whumps-the-word, @justwhumpitwhumpitgood, @justplainwhump, @moose-teeth, @whumpywhumper, @finder-of-rings, @inky-whump, @thatsthewhump, @orchidscript, @insanitywishes, @this-mightaswell-happen, @newandfiguringitout, @whumpkitty, @pretty-face-breaker, @cinnamonflavoredhugs, @pebbledriscoll, @im-just-here-for-the-whump, @endless-whump, @grizzlie70, @oops-its-whump

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athys-obelia · 3 years

Text

of swords and rubies

synopsis: on athanasia de alger obelia's eighteenth birthday, she sits in the ruby palace awaiting her father's present - a sweet little mandate sentencing her to death. the news his personal guard arrives with, though, is quite the different from what she expects.

character/s: athanasia de alger obelia, claude de alger obelia, felix robane

part: one / ?

warning/s: mentions of death / execution, poisoning, tlp!claude is a shit dad, tlp!felix supremacy

|•| ruby palace |•| 10:45 am |•|

"a visitor from the emperor's place, your highness."

lilian york's voice has always carried the same gentleness. for as long as she can remember, athanasia has heard softness, music, safety, in lily - the voice of a mother. the realisation, long overdue, hits her as she inquires after her mysterious guest. i've never addressed lily as such, have i?

the brunette tries for a smile. "it is his majesty's personal guard, princess, sir felix from the robane duchy. i have hannah showing him to the visitors' lounge - perhaps the knight comes bearing good news?"

the blonde princess smiles, nodding hopefully. it's all she can do for lily, she guesses, the woman who cared for her like one of her own. just as lily's smile never dimmed once during the past eighteen years, athanasia supposes she must now return the favour.

but lily never saw her father's eyes that night.

lily hadn't seen his stance harden at the mere sight of her.

the malice, the poison in claude de alger obelia's voice wasn't directed at lily.

so lily couldn't possibly know. for all athanasia knows claude could be in his study, spinning a roulette wheel to decide how to have her executed. he'd want her gone by the earliest, she assumes, probably before jennette can wake and intercede for her - or evidence is found towards the actual culprit.

either way, if the least she could do was comfort lily somewhat with a little, hopeful smile, then the smile would be priority.

|•| ruby palace |•| 11:00 am |•|

"sir," athanasia greets, recoiling as the knight grins at her. she'd heard stories of the atmosphere in the imperial palace, the deceptive, snake-like nature of noble court - surely, with a father so prominent in both politics and obelia's military, felix robane was one to be vary of.

and - being her father's personal guard would require being similarly ruthless and cunning, would it not? this smiley knight could always be the one poisoning her father against her behind their backs.

"to what do i owe this pleasure?"

the redhead attempts lightening the mood with another bright grin. "greetings to the star of the obelian empire. may the gods' blessings be with you, princess. today, i have come as a messenger regarding his majesty's wish that you join him for breakfast-"

"-wh, what? no, i... i'm not going anywhere with you."

felix robane's natural smile falls. "what is it, princess?"

athanasia steps backwards in defense as the knight tries comforting her, a trembling hand raised to cover her mouth. "y-you can tell his majesty i won't...won't be joining him."

"but, princess-"

not daring to move her eyes from the redhead, athanasia reaches for an hourglass resting on the mantle beside her, holding it up in defense. "go back. go and tell the emperor to send me the death warrant himself. there's no need to build such a roundabout way of-"

felix grimaces. "you may be misunderstanding the situation, prin-"

"-don't 'princess' me. if he has the guts, have my father tell me his decision himself. you can't force me to leave. i won't, i won't be led out of my home with you pretending as if everything is fine."

the knight holds up his hands in surrender. "you have the higher status of the two of us, your highness, i wouldn't dare pushing you into anything you do not like. i'm afraid you cannot refute the emperor's word, however. but...but if your highness has questions, i can promise to answer with complete honesty."

"how can i trust you?"

felix taps his chin in thought. "as a knight, my value is measured not by my skill, but the trust put in me by those i am pledged to. my oath is to the obelian emperor. you, princess, are his majesty's heir, so as along as your commands do not undermine the emperor's, you are included in the oath."

athanasia blinks, studying the knight. he seems to be curling into himself so as to not be percieved as a threat. she watches his careful movements, irate. "i read a book once..." she starts, feeling self conscious all of sudden. do i sound like a madwoman?

felix robane nods eagerly. "i was told the princess was an avid reader."

she flushes, glaring at her lap. "...anyway, in the book, the king's sister married a traitor, and because they were technically royalty, he couldn't just kill them under charges of treason. so instead, the king had their food poisoned."

athanasia watches the subtext register on the knight's face. "your highness...no, i- his majesty has no such thing planned. i can assure you - the matter is actually quite the opposite."

"...is it?"

he stares at his lap before looking up at her determinedly. "i can't say i know how your highness feels about your father, but...he needs you right now." felix sighs softly, "as you know, her highness the princess jennette hasn't yet regained consciousness. this makes you his majesty's most favourable heir."

athanasia stares at the hourglass in her hand before setting it down. interest piqued, she eyes the fidgeting knight. "why would you bring this up, sir robane, and to me of all people? is the emperor perhaps...ill?"

the look in the redhead's eyes is more than enough confirmation. athanasia grips the arm of her seat. "he has been having the strangest migraines ever since...well, a little after your debut, actually. except lately, these headaches seem to be weakening him. quite a lot."

a cold sweat creeping up her neck, athanasia downs a glass of water before turning to the distressed knight. "i assume you want my assistance in hiding this from the nobles. since jennette isn't here."

"essentially, yes." he nods once more. "with all the commotion surrounding princess jennette, both the nobles and commoners are watching the palace diligently. the factions are too divided - of course, a large portion of the nobles support princess jennette as your father's heir, most of them being blood purists, while an equally large believe you are more competent, having been raised in the palace. regrettably, it isn't just the nobles - we have a delegation arriving at the palace soon enough to settle matters regarding the southern territory. we cannot afford weakening his majesty's image, not right now."

her eyes flicker to the obelian coat of arms on felix's shoulder, and the sigil of house robane embroidered on his cloak. "i don't suppose i have much of choice in the matter - but since urgency of the situation affects my country, i doubt i would've refused anyway. but, sir felix..." she pauses, studying his expression, "my father's palace doesn't garuntee my safety. so i must call on your oath as a knight now."

"of course, your highness." hesitantly, as if he held a china doll in his hands, felix murmurs, "it can be a chance to get closer to his majesty, too. er - that is, if only your highness wishes it to be."

nodding, athanasia stares at her hands. "...perhaps."

|•| emperor's palace |•| 3:00 pm |•|

with her father's stare scrutinising her every move, she bows deeply in greeting.

his gaze is different, athanasia notices. the malice is gone. the hatred has dissipated.

now, as if she were a complicated math problem, claude de alger obelia stares her down, a spark of challenge alight in his eyes. "don't worry your head too much about it," he starts, "i haven't called you here for any special reason."

"...i see."

he tilts his head curiously, studying her reactions still. "oh? what's this? no declarations of love today? no pleading for attention? you're strangely quiet for someone so full of demands."

she fidgets with her dress, a deep red blooming on her cheeks in embarrassment. "i apologise if my words troubled your majesty."

claude nods slowly, eyes tracing her unkempt hair. "you overestimate yourself, princess."

athanasia inhales sharply. what does he want?

"felix's method of conveying information is a bit... exaggerated, at times," the blonde emperor says, watching her grimace under his stare, "i'm here to clear up any misunderstandings he may have unknowingly planted."

"ye, yes?"

claude's hand lands on his sheathed sword. athanasia blood freezes as he pulls it out, slowly, eyes not moving from hers. "i'm assuming you've been told of the council being held tomorrow. it will be your unofficial entrance into politics, so i hope there won't be any...mistakes. you'll need the nobility's support."

she nearly snorts. you wouldn't hesitate in burying anyone who dared look jennette in the eyes, i'm sure. still, athanasia tries smiling - lily always smiled whenever she was unsure of what to say, after all - and lets go of her skirt, nodding. "there won't be any."

the last time she spoke to her father, she'd known that whether or not he decided on mercy, she wouldn't be talking to him again. thus the courage to empty her heart, lighten her shoulders. now... now, athanasia didn't know what to think. how to act.

she flinches when he speaks, hands tracing the edge of the blade lightly. "do think this sword is important to me, athanasia?"

an odd warmth courses through her at the sound of her name. or was it because of the voice, the owner of the voice? she honestly couldn't tell. "your majesty..." athanasia swallows - what's the right answer? - "i would assume so. i'm no knight, of course...but, a sword is effective for both defense and offense in battle. and i hear your majesty's swordsmanship is unrivaled in obelia, so...yes, i think."

she watches claude draw in a long breath, staring at the weapon. "it's interesting that you think so. but at the end of the day, the sword is just another weapon, isn't it? i can always have better ones at the flick of my wrist."

"your...majesty?"

a drop of blood runs down the emperor's finger as he runs it along the edge of the blade. "it is useful, isn't it? at least...as long as i decide it is. a simple tool's value will always be decided by me, after all."

cold dread settles into athanasia's bones. "i...i see, sire."

nodding approvingly, claude de alger obelia places the beautiful sword in her hands. "happy birthday, princess."

#wmmap #sbapod #who made me a princess #suddenly became a princess one day #claude de alger obelia #athanasia de alger obelia #anastacius de alger obelia #felix robane #felix robain

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