#his hair swooshing when he screams WHAT
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An Angel?
om demons x reader (+Simeon, Solomon, Mephi, Raph)
wc : 2.k
warnings : more simping bois, more humor, a lot more sprinkles of suggestive comments
synopsis : a deviltok trend has the boys on their knees for you, part two: electric boogaloo
a/n : for the record, Luke was in the room while Mc was making it, cheering them on, doing his cute little “Waahhh!” // idea brought to me by the lovely [your-next-daydream] // AND, as usual, let’s not talk about how ridiculously long this took me to finish ahaha rip me-
demon ver.
<Simeon> Mc looks rather...heavenly, don’t you agree?
[attachment sent]
Intrigued, he wasted no time in clicking on the file, grinning when he realized it was one of your deviltoks. Decked out in your RAD uniform, you sat in a chair with your hands clasped together.
“Who are you?”
Smoothly, almost as if you were floating, you stood and took a few steps towards the camera with a rather shy smile.
“An angel.”
You bowed ever so slightly, flitting your gaze to the floor.
“What’s your name?”
You spun suddenly, sending your red accessory swooshing in front of the camera, covering everything from view.
“Michael.”
As fast as the transition happened, it ended; the view was cleared to reveal you— angelic down to a T and beautiful wasn’t even enough to describe you.
You were adorned with sheer, white clothing that was loose and flowy, probably swaying due to a fan that was off camera. Light blue accents were scattered here and there- including an extension piece in your hair of the same color. Sparkling gold accessories glinted under the light, but not as much as the halo that hovered above your head. It was a gorgeous molten gold tint, partly transparent with glitter floating around inside (with a few cracks decorating the outside of it). It only brought attention to the snowy wings spanning out behind you, flecks of iridescent scattered amongst the feathers.
[9 people saved a video attachment]
Lucifer
Ah. Yes. He’s not combusting on the inside, not at all.
*insert internal screaming*
Ahem. Now that his jaw has been picked up off the floor, he is immediately wondering how the fuck Simeon of all people got access to the video before him
Don’t get him wrong though, he is on the way right now- leave the door open, Mc
He has to put his marks all over your body to get rid of the fact that you looked that pretty while using Michael’s name
Possessive urges aside, please keep the outfit on
Does not care if you’re dressed up like an Angel, he will gladly corrupt you
In fact, he wants to corrupt you- let him see that pact mark of his while you look so angelic, yeah?
might be into role playing it if you’d like
Mammon
Blinks a couple times before looking around slowly; poor boy really thought he’d been yeeted back to the celestial realm for a minute there
It’s all quiet before suddenly everyone in the house (and probably outside) hears “HOLY FUCK WHAT”
You never cease to amaze him, by the devils, is he in love
The blush on his face- if he was anything other than a demon- would look severely concerning. Like no, it’s not a red beacon of light, it’s just him coming through the halls
Is creepin outside ya door practically on his knees. Please let him in. His greed is flared and you’re the only cure even if you’re also the reason
He is dying to have a diy photo shoot of the two of you in your angel fit
Step on him. Do it- it’s the perfect angle, the shot comes out beautifully and he is putting it right in his wallet once it’s developed
Will step on you in return if you ask
You’ll let him kiss all over your body, wontcha, Mc? (he’ll even be gentle with his fangs when he nibbles around that golden necklace you’ve got on)
Levi
*cue his very nervous yet giddy laughter*
This is just like that anime he saw last week called ‘Help! My human s/o just turned into an Angel but I’m a demon and actually kind of into this?!”
Seriously though, you look so beautiful, Levi was immediately down in the floor with his face covered and tail wagging
Please allow 3-4 business months before he can recover
Jk lol he’s hovering in your doorway before you you can even click on his contact
Shyly asks if he can touch your halo and wings (and ends up with his tail wrapped around you, knocking you side to side because it’s still attempting to wag)
Unlike the eldest brother, Levi practically begs you to roleplay this with him and have a cosplay photoshoot
Will shamelessly keep you to himself for the rest of the day and hiss at everyone who gets too close
Please sit on him and call him mean names while also holding him sweetly
Satan
Sign him tf up- he’s got a pen at the ready
Irony aside, Satan thinks you look absolutely stunning— straight out of a fairy tale
Irony not aside, Satan is actually so into this and craves to play it out with you
He was never an Angel to begin with, he was born a demon; just thinking about making your ivory wings turn black makes him excited
Satan understands it’s just a simple spell you’ve casted so he won’t get too out of sorts (but if you like it, then what’s the harm?)
Wants to read a forbidden love trope book and maybe act out some of the scenes while you’re still dressed like that
The hopeless romantic in him is front and center the entire time
If you think he’s gonna let you go now, you’re sorely mistaken— let his brothers try and take you away
He’s got tons of scenarios to act out if you can handle him
Asmo
That weird high pitched sound you hear from across the house that should be something only dogs can hear? Yeah that’s Asmo squealing
Posting your video EVERYWHERE bc everyone needs to see how fucking gorgeous you look
You can hear his footsteps from a mile away as he hurries to your room
He MUST see your outfit in person ASAP
Azzy. Is. So. Fucking. Down. For. This. Shit. He thinks he’s dreamed about this once actually
Please let him just examine every inch of you, he’s begging
Once again his camera is out and ready for a photoshoot and his demon form is out right alongside it
He will be keeping you for the next 24-48 hours thanks
Beel
Choked. Again.
Don’t be alarmed by the loud rumbling sound— it’s not Beel’s stomach for once, but instead a growl
He didn’t mean to make that sound but you just look so— and he just— and you— and and— A a a A A
Has that cute little blush plastered over his face all. day.
Might be tempted- or actually try- to take a bite out of your halo or something else ifykyk
Rewatches the video at least ten times because you're just. Wow. Wow. W O W.
Is now in the mood to eat some celestial realm food with you
though his appetite is half for food and half for you
Pls don’t mind his staring or the way he’s probably drooling a bit, he can’t help it :(
Belphie
“...wait, what?”
Lays there staring at the ceiling for a moment bc PHEW you got him sweating and he hasn’t even moved yet-
Manages a straight face all the way until he enters your room and sees the outfits in person
To which he is, once again, dropping right at your feet with a look of ‘PLEASE’
He needs a whole ass minute or two to catch his breath from how fucking gorgeous you look and then he needs another whole ass minute or two to scan you over again
Please sit on him
Is uncharacteristically stuttering through every sentence— how can he possibly concentrate on stupid words in these [amazing] conditions?!
Gatekeeping you AGAIN
Underneath you the entire. time.
Barbatos
*windows shutdown*
*windows restart*
…aaand we’re back ladies and gentlemen and every cool dude in between but Barbatos is still fucking astonished— absolutely flabbergasted at how badly he’s got it for you
He dropped everything he was carrying in that moment and swiftly picked it back up, hoping no one saw
Diavolo saw. He recorded the entire thing and sent it to you, zooming in on Barbatos’ blush
There’s just something primal in him that makes him want to sink his teeth into you and coil his tail around your body so that you won’t be able to go anywhere else until he lets you
Everyone be damned, Barb will be having you to himself for the entire night
Will also run his fingers along the faux wings and halo before he absolutely ruins you until the magic dissipates
He is…totally normal about the entire thing..
Diavolo
His father help him— Diavolo is so incredibly thankful for the exchange program
Is OUT of the castle at mach speed before Barbatos can even say otherwise
And then he’s speeding right back and summoning you to him instead so he can have you to himself
Mans is kneeling at your fucking feet the second he lays eyes on you
And while it isn’t ‘proper’ for someone who wants unity between all three realms to want to corrupt you—
—he does. So badly. He thinks he might even beg you for it
Also wants to take a picture of the two of you with him in his demon form (it’s the it picture for weeks after he posts it)
Cannot stop looking at your halo; please let him touch it
(If you slowly begin altering your wings to bleed black, he’s practically foaming at the mouth—)
bonus:
Simeon
*sharp inhale* . . . *yeets halo*
He deadass forgets he’s an Angel himself for a few minutes bc he’s too busy simping fawning over you
God who?? Like get tf outta the way, beep beep, archangel on a mission comin through
Is begging as soon as he steps foot through your door. Please, please let him touch you and explore— he should be ashamed with how unabashed he is but fuck look at you
Will let his own wings out just so you can compare your angels forms (melted on the spot when you brushed your wings against his)
Honestly can’t decide if he wants you to corrupt him or if he wants to corrupt you…or both at the same time
He’s not sharing you. Not now. Not like this.
You may look like an angel, and he may be an angel, but he won’t treat you like one tonight
If you do the fancy trick of letting your wings turn black, he’s completely bowing down to whatever you wish right then and there
Solomon
Kinda forgot he was immortal for a split second and wondered if he’d either died or accidentally traveled to the celestial realm
Gains his bearings rather quickly, but the hold you have on him is still very much there
And he’d like you to have a hold around his throat— what? Who said that??
His pretty little blush where he averts his eyes all nervously? YEAH THAT
He’s taken aback for a couple moments before his usual shit eating grin comes back but that blush? Still there.
Backs you against a wall, in a corner, and let’s his hands roam with a small laugh, quietly asking how you manage to make him lose composure so easily
Is so soft and sweet for a minute before his eyes darken and that SEXY smirk crawls onto his face
Plucks that halo right from above your head and tosses it behind his shoulder because how could he possibly do what he has planned if you’re an angel?
Makes your wings bloom black himself (and challenges how long you can handle him)
extra little bonus:
Mephisto
Simply raises a brow and wonders why the hell his body got so hot all the sudden
Ignores the video for a couple hours until he realizes he can’t stop fucking thinking about it
Promptly decides he’s going to go straight to you and demand how dare you invade his thoughts like this
And then promptly decides he’d rather just revert to using his hands instead when the sight of you makes his mouth dry and water at the same time
Will take it upon himself, right then, to corrupt you
Because there’s no way in the seven rings of hell he’s letting you switch sides and he’ll break the magic you’re using as proof
After though *cough cough* he will bashfully tell you how gorgeous you looked…
Raphael
Let me tell you, mans was not ready
Like if you’ve seen the video of the person with a stacked ass on the stretcher being carried by and the news reporter’s face afterwards, that’s Raphael.
Luke takes a picture of his expression and makes a meme
Won’t address it until the very next day, stiffly telling you that your outfit was very pleasing to the eye (he thinks you’re drop dead gorgeous, okay, he’s just struggling)
If you offer to show him in person, he is ascending right back home. Won’t deny, though. Like please do.
In awe for the whole experience
And blushes an alluring deep shade if you show him some ‘corruption’ tricks you have up your sleeve
#obey me x reader#om x reader#lucifer x reader#om lucifer#mammon x reader#om mammon#leviathan x reader#om levi#satan x reader#om satan#asmo x reader#om asmo#beel x reader#om beel#belphie x reader#om belphie#simeon x reader#om simeon#solomon x reader#om solomon#mephisto x reader#om mephisto#om raphael#om raphael x reader
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can't you hear that scratching (it can hear you)
baby's first microfic! im actually really proud and happy with this one
@steddiemicrofic october prompt: suck | wc: 480 | cw: none
"Babe, are you ready yet? Robin's already at the Wheeler's and we still gotta stop at the store for candy." Steve stands in front of the bathroom mirror, trying to get his hair slicked back just right, before securing Eddie's folded bandana around his forehead and finishing the look with a white construction hat.
"I think the Sinclair's are gonna do like a joint thing? I don't know, Nancy has the details, but we're setting up tables in the front yard." Steve waits for a reply, but frowns when he's met with silence. "Eds?"
He walks into their bedroom to find it empty, Eddie nowhere in sight. "Babe?" He checks the guest rooms, downstairs, the kitchen. Steve looks out the window over the sink and sighs when he sees Eddie's van gone.
"Asshole," he mutters to himself. "Could've told me he was going ahead." He checks himself in the mirror by the door and smooths down his fake mustache before grabbing his keys and throwing his jacket on.
He unlocks the Beemer and tries to ignore the feeling of eyes on him.
-
Maple Street is already packed with kids by the time he gets there. He pulls into the Wheeler's driveway and is even more confused when he doesn't see the van. Nobody at the house as seen him, either, and Steve pushes down his worry as he helps Karen and Sue stock the candy bowls.
As the night progresses, there's still no sign of Eddie. The kids come by a couple times but they haven't seen him either. Steve sneaks around the back of the house for a smoke when it gets closer to curfew. What if something happened to him on the way? He takes a nervous drag and a flash in the woods catches his attention. Immediately, he's on alert, eyes scanning the treeline.
It happens again. Against his better judgement, he investigates.
Leaves crunch under his shoes the further into the woods he gets. The hair on the back of his neck stands up, the feeling from earlier back. His stomach drops and his hands shake, cold washing over him as his eyes dart across the darkness.
He's being hunted.
He keeps his breathing under control but there's a swoosh from above and Steve suddenly finds himself face down in the dirt before he can scream. He thrashes and tries to knock whatever it is off him, desperately grasping at the dirt. Then, there's a hand on the back of his head and low, familiar chuckling in his ear.
"Looks like I win."
Steve's body goes limp with a muffled groan. The hand on his head disappears and he rolls over to see the smug grin on his boyfriend's face. Eddie's eyes flash red in the darkness and his grin turns feral, like the predator he is.
"Whadda'ya say, Stevie? Gonna let me suck your blood?"
taglist: @steves-strapcollection @scarcrossdlvrs @flowercrowngods @starrystevie @judasofsuburbia @starryeyedjanai @theheadlessphilosopher @stobinesque @vecnuthy @yournowheregirl @inairbinad @matchingbatbites @corrodedbisexual @thefreakandthehair @sidekick-hero @patchworkgargoyle @sentient-trash @wormdebut @legitcookie
support my writing 🥐☕
#cj talks#steddie#steddie ficlet#steddiemicrofic#cj writes#kas eddie#steddie fic#vampire eddie munson#eddie parks the van at wayne's and then shifts to his bat form and flies to the wheeler's#he walks around with the kids fora bit and they promise not to tell steve so the surprise isn't ruined#steve and eddie have an ongoing game where they see how well eddie is able to hunt#if he catches steve then he gets to drink his blood. bc he's romantic like that <3
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Omg pls you should write a hot, cocky slytherin Harry one shot 😭
'Hey, Malfoy!'
'Fuck,' Draco said, and walked faster. His stomach did a little swoosh swoosh and a little hoppity hop and that made him scowl so he said, 'Fuck,' again.
'I know you heard me,' said Potter cheerfully falling into step beside him, leaning in to speak quietly into Draco's ear. The hairs on the back of Draco's neck sprang up.
He walked faster still. He was very late and the library would close and Pince would charge him a late fee for Beikoff's Brave Brews - A Venture Into Modern Potion Brewing, and it wouldn't even be a fair fee, honestly, she demanded the most bizarre numbers, the bint.
'Of course I heard you,' Draco said and he did not look at Potter. No, he stared straight ahead and walked with purpose. Maybe even stuck his nose up a bit. 'My ears work just fine.'
'Yeah, not like your eyes.'
'What? My eyes work just fine too.'
'Really, Malfoy, what eighteen year old wears reading glasses?'
'It's hereditary!' Draco said indignantly, stopping and swivelling around to face him. His cheeks felt very hot. 'And look who's talking?! You've been four eyed since you were, what? Six?!'
'I don't need them to read, though,' Potter said, grinning gleefully. He was always grinning. He had such white teeth and he grinned so wide and they shone against his lovely brown skin. His eyes shone too. They were very pretty and they shone. Behind ugly glasses. Aha!
'Your glasses are ugly,' Draco said. 'They're not even very trendy. Did you take them from your grandfather?'
But Draco did not wait for an answer and stomped off with a hmph because Potter was looking at him again. Looking. Like that.
Like he thought Draco was adorable. Like he wanted to touch Draco. To hold him like he were a...a little dormouse or something, and...and kiss him and pet his head and show him off to all his horrid, Slytherin friends.
Like he wanted to swallow Draco whole.
'Malfoy?'
Draco was staring. Again. At Potter. Draco was staring at Potter with his mouth a wee tiny little bit open and his eyes were unfocused and probably glazed over.
Potter's grin was now predatory.
'Lubrication!' Draco blurted out. Practically shouted it. He then had to focus very hard on not fainting.
Potter, his eyes enormous, raised his bushy eyebrows very high.
'Beg pardon?' he asked, voice vibrating with horrible, perverted glee.
'I-- I'm on medications, Potter, I'm very sick!' Draco announced shrilly.
'Oh? What's wrong, Malfoy?'
'It's dryness!' Draco snapped. 'When the eyes aren't-- aren't wet, they get dry.' Absolutely incredible. To think of his IQ. He might as well be a Slytherin. 'And so I'm taking potions. To make them wet.'
Potter wasn't grinning anymore. He was looking at Draco very intently.
'Okay,' Potter said slowly.
'So-- so that's why they were like that, that's why my eyes looked like that just now,' Draco spoke quickly now. He had things to do, books to return, essays to write, other books to read, pillows to scream into.
'Look like what?'
'Glazed over,' Draco said impatiently. 'When the eyes get dry, they look glazed over. Eyes are very delicate, Potter, they need constant lubrication or else they can get, well, dry. Fuck. 'And itchy.' Fuck. 'And so just now when I was staring at you, I mean gazing at you, I mean I was not gazing, not gazing.' Fuck. Oh, fuck. 'I think gazing requires more and very intense looking, like in Astronomy? With stars? Through a telescope.' Astronomical fuck.
Potter's grin was back. It was so...so salacious. And evil. Really, Slytherins were all so terrible and perverted and...so bad. Bad people.
Draco's back hit the wall. What. How why? Well, okay, but only because his knees were shaking and he really, really needed the support.
Potter needed the support too, apparently, because he planted one hand on the wall. Right next to Draco's head.
Draco's eyes darted, without permission, to look at the hand. Wide hand, very big. Hairy knuckles. Bitten nails with dirt under them. So uncouth, honestly. Yuck, bleurgh oh Potter's face was very close.
Draco hugged his book very tightly because he needed comfort he needed strength Potter looked very strong, he was always flying, my god Potter's chest had to be, what, 45 inches wide?
'Malfoy,' Potter purred. He was so repulsive, honestly, whose voice sounds like that, maybe Draco should punch him in the throat. 'Are all you Ravenclaws this cute?'
Maybe Draco would punch him in the throat over his Adam's apple, his neck was really elegant actually, Potter had excellent bone structure.
'I really am curious because you're the only nerd-- er, Ravenclaw I ever look at. I mean, gaze at.'
Potter's dirty, dirty smirk, his other big hand in his pocket, ugh such a reprehensible lack of manners.
'But I can still say that, you are, by far, the cutest nerd-o-claw in the whole damn school,' Potter reached up and touched the tip of Draco's nose. 'Boop,' he said softly.
Potter had touched Draco's face. Just like that. And he had said the word "boop". His chest was definitely at least 38 inches broad, exactly 38, Draco was ready to wager and my god did Potter never get a haircut? How did one read with such masses of hair in one's green eyes all the time.
'But then you know that,' said Potter. 'You've always known that.'
Broad chest, dry eyes, very nice neck, late library book - yes good, a comprehensive list.
'I've been telling you for years,' Potter murmured with a little tilt of his head.
He leaned right in and pressed a kiss to Draco's cheek.
'If only you paid attention, Malfoy,' Potter frowned, but his eyes twinkled, 'Tut tut. Some Ravenclaw.'
Potter shook his head and backed away. Still shaking his head he winked at Draco. Then he walked off, throat bobbing with laughter.
'Later, sweetheart,' he chimed over his shoulder.
Pince was going to drain the Malfoy vaults. It really had to be illegal.
Illegal.
(Part 2)
#i have sat on this ask for three hundred years 🥲#and it got away from me i am apology#drarry fic#slytherin harry#i had to go an extra step with the#ravenclaw draco#my writing
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Stardew Rancher AU - Intro cutscene
Here's my first piece for the Stardew AU challenge.
If you want to take part too, use the #traffic stardew au tag (You can also use the banner I made). On my blog, I will be using #stardew ranchers au as well.
The writing is under the cut.
>> Next Part
I hate this life.
Jimmy doesn’t remember a day in the last year he has not thought this. He’s staring at a computer screen, as he has been for the last seven hours, when it hits him. He hates this life. In fact, it could barely be qualified as a life.
He misses nature. Running around in the grass, playing, talking to people… He turns his head around to look at the window, but there isn’t even any on the office walls. He looks around him and only sees rows and rows of cubicles with other lifeless people slaving all day. The clicking of keyboards and mouths, the buzzing of the neon lights, it’s all too much.
I can’t stand it anymore, he thinks to himself. I need a way out.
Suddenly, he remembers a conversation he had with his grandpa, when he was young, about the burden of modern life. He hadn’t really realised what it had meant before today. Jimmy, like his parents, had dismissed it as the stubbornness of an old man who was made to live in the countryside. But it must have stayed on the back of his mind, because he kept the letter.
In fact…
He opens the drawer of his desk and there it is. A fancy old letter with a fancy purple seal.
(He’s definitely not going to think about the fact that he kept it in his drawer at work and the possible implication of that. Nope.)
With shaky hands, he breaks the seal and opens it. The swoosh of the paper unfolding is the loudest sound he’s ever heard in his life.
The letter says:
Dear Jimmy,
If you’re reading this, you must be in dire need of a change.
The same thing happened to me, long ago. I’d lost sight of what mattered most in life… real connections with other people and nature. So I dropped everything and moved to the place I truly belong.
I’ve enclosed the deed to that place… my pride and joy: The Ranch. It’s located in Stardew Valley, on the southern coast. It’s the perfect place to start your new life.
This was my most precious gift of all, and now it’s yours. I know you’ll honour the family name, my boy. Good luck.
Love, Grandpa.
PS: If the Sherrif is still alive say hi to the old guy for me, will ya?
He puts the letter down and looks up at the ceiling for a second.
In all the emptiness he feels, it’s like he’s just grown wing.
🌿 loading🌿
The bus startles to a stop and Jimmy wakes up.
“Pelican Town!” The driver screams.
Jimmy looks around. There’s no else on anymore. He quickly grabs his travel bag and gets out. He says his thanks to the bus driver who just hums unhappily. Guess he really didn’t want to go that far out for just one person.
On the side of the road is just a small clearing, with broken fences and dirt path. Someone is waiting for him, though. A man with cyan blue hair and an easygoing smile.
“Hello, you must be Jimmy,” he sayswith a cheerful voice. “I’m Scott, the local florist. Mayor Grian sent me here to fetch you and show you the way to your new home. He’s there right now, tidying things up for your arrival.”
It takes a second for Jimmy to find his words. The reality of what he’s done hitting him finally. He quit his job. He moved out of his appartment. He sold his things and bought a ticket for this small town in the middle of nowhere to become a farmer.
“Nice to meet you, Scott,” he says after swallowing. “I…”
Gosh, he cannot screw this up. This isn’t like in the city. The people he meets are going to be the community he’s going to live with. He wants to make a good impression.
Scott smiles, tilting his head to the side. He looks Jimmy up and down with mischief in his eyes in a way that makes Jimmy blush a little. He must be tired.
“The farm’s right over here, if you’ll follow me.”
Jimmy nods and follows him on the dirt path until they reach an area with a… house. Supposedly.
“This is the Ranch,” Scott announces, waving his arm around to show the land that stretches before them..
The Ranch is an old building made out of wood. It looks like it’s been built in the last century. The farmland around, which was included in Scott’s gesture, is littered with some kind of forest. There are different types of trees, dead wood on the ground, bushes, and even some rocks! Is this really the farm his grandfather loved ?
“What’s the matter?” Scott asks in a light voice. He’s got his arms crossed in front of him and an air of challenge about him. “Sure, it’s a bit overgrown, but there’s some good soil underneath that mess! With a little dedication, you’ll have it cleaned up in no time.”
He turns back towards the house itself. Jimmy notes that there’s plenty of firewood on the side of the house. Someone must have stacked it for him. That thought settles in his chest, fluttering like a bird. He won’t sleep in the cold tonight, and that’s thanks to strangers.
“... And here we are, your new home,” Scott says.
Just like his words summoned him, a man opens the door and gets down the few steps of his porch to stop in front of them. He pulls the sleeves of his red sweater back to his writs and offers his hand to Jimmy.
“Ah, the new farmer! Welcome, I’m Grian, the Mayor of Pelican Town.”
Jimmy shakes his hand and introduces himself. Grian nods, seemingly satisfied.
“You know, everyone’s been asking about you. It’s not every day that someone new moves in. It’s quite a big deal.” He turns to look back at the house. “So… you’re moving into your grandfather’s old cottage. It’s a good house… very ‘rustic’.”
“Rustic?” Scott chimes in. “That’s one way to put it… ‘Crusty’ might be a little more apt, though.”
“Rude,” Grian says under his breath, his eyebrows frowning. “Don’t listen to him, Jimmy. He’s just trying to make you dissatisfied so that you buy one of Gem’s house upgrades.”
“Gem?” Jimmy asks.
“She’s the local carpenter. She lives north of the valley, near the mountain.”
Gem, the local carpenter. Jimmy tries to mentally catalogue. She makes house upgrades. He turns his eyes towards Scott. He doesn’t remember if he said what he was doing.
“Anyway… You must be tired from the long journey,” Grian says, looking back at the house. “You should get some rest. Tomorrow you ought to explore the town a bit and introduce yourself. The townspeople would appreciate that.”
He turns to leave and sees the box placed next to the mailbox.
“Oh, I almost forgot. If you have anything to sell, just place it in the box here. I’ll come by during the night to collect it. Well… Good luck!”
They are gone before Jimmy can really say anything else. But it might be for the better, because he’s exhausted.
“I’m here,” he says to no one. Maybe to himself. Or maybe to his grandfather.
Going into the house is a blurr. He barely have time to register the small table with one chair, the fireplace that was lit up for him and the bed. He just melts into the mattress and passes out.
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Flirting With Death
Summary: “Osamu,- You naughty boy. You’re so impa–” There was more than one reason why Dazai wished to die. He’d pray for it over and over again, and yet each time he’d only get a glimpse of his home before he was torn back into his mortal existence. Until next time, next encounter..
Pairing: Reader x Dazai
Inspired by Art of Seduction prompt 4: Away from home
Warnings: Hint at death/suicide (it’s Dazai- c’mon!), mention of physical hurt, light mention of drugs, light angst/ hurt-comfort.
Dazais body did not hurt.
Each breath felt light and airy; no pain from cracked ribs or gunshot wounds which reminded him of their existence. No sore skin picked, cut and prodded that screamed at him in protest. No suffocating weight over his chest, or drowsiness from drugs. Both of his eyes worked, his gaze locked onto the water; the ocean waves which gently swooshed against the beach almost touching the bottom of his dress-shoes half buried in the sand.
Inches away a little crab crawled past him; it had buried itself in the sand just in time to avoid the oncoming wave and the very real risk of being washed away by the gentle swoosh of it. After the wave retreated the little sea creature was nowhere to be seen. Was the crab even still there?
Dazai reached a hand out in the direction of where he last saw the animal- then froze as his gaze landed on the familiar bandages which stretched from the tips of his fingers and further under his coat. Around his arms, his torso and up to his neck. Without any aches and pains he hadn’t even noticed their presence. Until now. And yet the moment he saw them, he felt his mood sour. The light almost fluffy feeling in his chest was replaced with a pang of anxiety and disappointment. Their existence meant he wasn’t actually dead.
What a pity.
Dazai heaved a sigh and ran a bandaged hand through his hair. Then paused mid action as he heard steps behind him a distance away. He listened as they shifted closer, the gentle swoosh of clothes and shifting sands; sounds which sent shivers up and down his spine. Unfamiliar emotion curled in the pit of his stomach. Eyes burning, heart hammering. Each breath felt light- yet heavy all at once. Nothing hurt yet he couldn’t get enough air.
“ Osamu-”
The voice- that voice- made his breath hitch. He spun on his heel, Dazai began running, sprinting as if someone was dangling death and everything he cherished right in front of him. The cloaked figure was just a few paces- yet to him- it felt like he had run an eternity.
“- You naughty boy. You’re so impa–” the words stopped making sense in his head; his mind focused on getting closer and closer. Until he launched his body forward, threw himself and the figure awkwardly into the sand. Crawled up until he could reach, Dazai ripped the hood away just as the first tears spilled from his eyes.
It was you.
Just like Dazai remembered; your eyes, your face, your nose, your hair. You were older than your last encounter yet still exactly the same. His heart clenched painfully and he leaned forward, studied every inch of your surprised expression, salvaged each puff of warm breath on his skin. The way tears rolled down your cheeks before they dropped into the sand. His tears. He wanted to scream and be quiet; to jump up and run around the beach and to stay right there and hold you close. To be closer; closer and closer.
A quiet sob, masked by a hiccup tore through his chest. And your surprised expression took on a kinder look, lips shifting from parted and into a gentle smile. Those lips- before Dazai fully registered it, his lips wore on top of yours, messy and clumsily. An awkward combination of tongue and teeth. Not sexy at all. But he didn’t care, his heart fluttered and ached in his chest at your taste. And soared when you kissed him back, your hands moving to brush careful fingers through his hair. Finally, his mind grew silent.
At that moment, the only thing Dazai wished for was that he was dead. That he was truly and honestly dead. He had never wished for that as much as in that moment. That way he could stay here with you.
Forever.
“ Osamu you know it’s not the case-” you broke the kiss first, mumbling words he didn’t want to hear. He tried to kiss you again, to make you silent. Just another one, just one more, and just one more. An hour- a second more was all he craved. All he begged for.
Yet when you pushed him back, his body followed your touch. Flopping down beside you into the warm sand which enveloped him like a hug. Unsurprisingly it didn’t bring him any comfort. Dazai dropped an arm over his eyes. “ Why?” was all he choked out before his sobs tore through his body, his shoulders shook with every agonizing tear that rolled down his eyes. Why would you make him go back there? To force him to suffer through a human existence.
He heard you shift, felt your touch and helped you maneuver his body however you wanted. Like a doll- a puppet with its strings cut loose. Dazai felt his head land into something soft- your lap. Then the gentle thread of your fingers through his hair. They paused to massage his scalp then brushed them through the thick strands. Your scent filled Dazai’s senses, inadvertently it calmed him down until he just laid there. Salvaged the moment. Your touch was the only thing that kept him grounded.
“ You know, you’re an awful kisser” your voice, the lighthearted playful tone, made his lips tug upwards into a smile.
“ What would you know about kisses?” Dazai shot back instinctively, peeking an eye out from under his arm just to catch sight of your huff and eyeroll.
“ Enough to know you don’t kiss with teeth!”
“ Teeth? Don’t know what you’re talking about” he lied as he moved to sit up.
Dazai’s hand reached up and rested on your cheek, bringing your face closer until your forehead rested against his own. Amber eyes stared into yours, saying so much and so little all at once. Slowly Dazai blinked them shut, a sigh escaped his lips. His breath- coffee and alcohol which a boy his age shouldn’t be drinking filled your senses. A silent plea in them not to make him go back.Just once, just make an exception.
For him.
Dazai heard you sigh; yet still prayed you’d change your mind. All the while he knew you were too much of a sucker for rules to do that. As your hand rested on his cheek, your thumb brushed the remaining wetness away, he had his answer.
“Osamu, I told you we’d meet when you’re old. My love until then..” your voice made his heart clench painfully. The thought of another goodbye hurt him more than any stab- or bullet-wound ever could. The kind of ache that went beyond reason, beyond pride.
If he knew it would make a difference, Dazai would get on his knees and beg.
But he knew it wouldn’t. Not now, not yet. Leaned forward he brought his lips back to yours. He kept a hand behind your neck, massaging it with his fingers. This kiss was just as messy and inexperienced as the first one but he didn’t care. All he could think about was your taste; sweet like pomegranate, bitter like chocolate.
The feeling of you so close to him. The sensation of one hand on his shoulder, and the second one rested on top of his, fingers interlocked in the sand. Each kiss was a kiss hello, each breath between a mournful goodbye. Mixing tastes together until Dazai was certain he wouldn’t forget.
A flavor he would always seek out.
“Next time we meet you better become a better kisser” you teased, your smile shaky and not quite matching the confident tone. Eyes glossy, lips raw. Your hand shook on top of his, and Dazai gripped it tighter. Holding on, even as he felt the sensation fade.
“ I will; I promise you my Belladonna. And then I’ll teach you all about it.” Dazai’s voice was quiet, gentle, his fingers brushing your hair out of your face. Trailed out your features, under your eyes. Ghosted one final time over your lips before dropping away.
“ I’m gonna hold you to it”
The light warm sensation, the airy freedom faded into agonizing pain. Each nerve-ending, each cell screamed at him in agony. In protest. His mind was a hazy mess of drugs and sedatives that barely dulled the physical torture. And yet it could not compare to the agony in his chest- the heartache that out ached each and every physical wound on his beaten, mortal body. A body that just would not die; a body that kept getting up over and over again. Day in and day out. Much to his dismay.
“Tell me Dazai, why is it you wish to die?”
“ Lets turn that question around. Is there really any value to this thing we call ‘living’?”
Author note: I hope you enjoyed this fic or in the very least tolerated it enough not to hate me for it. I had hoped to manage to write the other prompts in the series before publishing this one but life kinda got in the way. So please enjoy this while I go get my ass kicked by school.
Until next time.
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©ravencincaide 2024. Do not copy/repost/translate or spread my work(s) without my explicit permission. If you see any of my work(s) reposted/copied anywhere else without my consent, please inform me!
#raven cincade's works#Art of Seduction#bsd hurt comfort#dazai osamu x reader#dazai x reader#dazai x you#dazai x y/n#dazai x gn reader#bsd x reader
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if fate permits
⤷ chapter thirty two: that's my girl
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marga's notes. haji, my guy, i have no words for you but i am so sorry
There’s an endless abyss of questions that sit just by the ends of your tongue and threaten to spill from your mouth as the blonde haired lad continues to lace your fingers together, as if all of these were normal, as if not even a single thing about it was supposed to be unnatural. Your heart unusually thumps louder and faster when he gently smiles and everything zones out. Albeit the crowd that starts to form as you stand in the middle of the streets, there’s serenity that’s settling within you as he holds you near him.
You want to ask why he’s compliant with your actions, why feeling his warmth on the tips of your fingers seems innate for you, why your heart screams to have his. You hold back though, scared that it may ruin this.
“Uhm…” you trail off, unsure on what to talk about after your mini-breakdown and your current circumstances. There’s a light blush dusting your cheeks, feeling giddy like you were both teenagers. How shameful, you chastise yourself.
“Let’s wait for Samu to get back,” he only says, lightly squeezing his hold of you, probably as an attempt to assure you that everything’s good. Yeah, everything’s fine– you’ve never felt better before.
You both stand there in comfortable silence, watching the passersby and feeling the wind lightly swoosh the strands of your hair. He quietly hums a tune, heart dancing (it also skips because he’s holding your hand and he’s also never felt better before).
“That’s from Cinderella, right? The live action,” you speak up, recognizing the song. Lavender’s Blue.
He turns his head to look at you, eyes brightening while he nods and replies, “yeah, it’s become my favorite.”
Your mouth forms an ‘o’ due to the unexpected words. He chuckles at your expression, “guess you never took me to be the type who enjoys sappy songs like that, huh?”
You shrug, “you can’t blame me, it’s literally a nursery song, Tsum.”
Tsum. His heart skips again at the familiar moniker.
“It reminds me of someone,” he explains, looking at you rather wistfully. Your chest starts to contract, the vein of temptation moves closer to the opening of your lips, pulling your heart, your nerves. You have to do it, you have to ask.
“About your thread, who was your soulm–”
“And I’m back! God, the queue was way too long. It’s just waffles, damn. Why do people obsess over it?” Osamu cuts you off, three packs of waffles in his hold while he rambles on, “it can literally be m…ade at home...”
There’s a stunned look plastered on his face when he comes closer to the both of you as his voice quiets down by the end of his rants. His eyes quickly flicker down towards your joined hands, but he doesn’t comment on it. Instead, he hands you your waffles, stands beside you and hums in delight, seemingly pleased with the progress between his brother and you. Hmm, I guess the queue was worth it. My matchmaking skills never fail.
“Sorry, YN. I didn’t quite catch you a while ago, what were you asking again?” Atsumu gives you a slightly apologetic look and leans closer.
The question dies within you as you purse your lips and shake your head, “it was nothing, don’t mind me.”
It’s all foolish anyway, you chastise yourself again.
You spend the rest of the morning loitering around the familiar streets of your previous home. Eventually though, you end up in the old playground where you, Osamu and Kiyoomi used to play volleyball when you were kids, at least that’s what you remember. If only your memory was not malfunctional.
You sit idly at the swing, waiting for your brother to catch up with you three as he had some work to do a while ago.
“By the way, we’re planning to have a Christmas party sometime this month. You should come, it’s like a mini reunion with some of our acquaintances from college too,” Atsumu tells from beside you, excitement evident in his voice. On the other hand, Osamu feels conflicted, would it really be a good idea to bring all the people in this chaotic fate together in one event?
“Oh, I’m not sure. I’m finalizing some stuff for the launch of my book so I might be here and there, going around places, you know? Besides, I wouldn’t want to intrude.”
“What do you mean intrude? It’ll be fun, you know the people there, anyway. They were our companions when we did the Cinderella play together!”
Osamu chokes on his own saliva at Atsumu’s words. Idiot! Idiot! This stupid idiot!
“Come again?”
The blonde realizes what he just said and frantically tries to think of an excuse. Only, there is none. He can’t take back what he said, he can’t–
“You’ve both been slipping up the whole day, you know? You have to do better than that if you want me to believe that you’re both not keeping something from me,” you casually say, “you’re not good at this.”
You stand up and face them both, eyes narrowing when both of them gulp out of nervousness. You move your gaze towards the blonde, “just who are you, Atsumu?”
The wind picks up its pace and whooshes the fallen leaves at the ground. The sand feels hot beneath Atsumu’s feet. This was not supposed to happen, at least not today. He wasn’t prepared. Because how was he supposed to tell you the truth? How was he supposed to say that he was your soulmate, the one who asked you to cut both your threads, the one who caused all this mess? How can he ever face another disappointment on your face and how will he take the picture of your loath towards him?
“Hey, you three look constipated,” a voice from behind you speaks, breaking the tense air in the playground. There stood your brother with a volleyball in his hand and a small smile formed by his lips. He holds the ball up, “wanna play like the good ol’ times?”
And yet again, fate tries to intervene.
With the tension from minutes ago forgotten, you and Atsumu team up to play against your brother and his. It’s nothing too serious though, just a game where you all try to pick up scattered memories from your childhood, laughter and giggles resonating all over the playground. When your duo scores, Atsumu gives you an enthusiastic cheer and a high five, and your heart does a flip in celebration. He looked pretty, even more so when he’s happy.
“Dude! Stop playing seriously, you can’t keep scoring when YN hasn’t even gotten one,” Osamu whines and pulls on Kiyoomi, “and you, boy, play seriously, will you?! You can’t let this airhead beat us, you’re better than that.”
The curly haired lad only grumbles about how childish Osamu was.
Atsumu cackles, “Samu, just get better!”
Another round begins and Kiyoomi lightly serves the ball. Atsumu, with how experienced he was in the game, catches the ball with ease and brings it to your direction, “YN, it’s yours!”
You jump and spike it towards the other side, laughing when Osamu is unable to receive it.
“Yes!” you shriek and turn to your partner in surprise and joy at the same time, “I scored!”
He nods enthusiastically and cheers with you, “You did! That’s my girl!”
That’s my girl…
There’s a searing ache that suddenly comes to your head, accompanied by bright lights and echoing voices.
YN, I told you to calm down….
Distorted and blurry images of what seems like a silhouette of a younger you and Atsumu quickly flash.
I love you, Atsumu…
…. Hey, why do you look emotional today?
You wince and stagger back, hand going up to clutch your head, as if it would help ease the mental pain you’re feeling. The blonde takes notice of it and comes closer with alarm and worry all over his face, “YN, are you alright? Do you not feel good?”
I love you too, YN, always remember that although I’m so shitty sometimes.
You frantically gasp for air as your chest starts to feel tight, “I… I c-can’t–”
“Uhh, guys,” Atsumu anxiously calls out to your other companion while reaching out his arms to catch you, “YN? Stay with me, hey…. shit, YN!”
The last thing that comes to your view is his panic-filled and watery orbs, Osamu and your brother running in your direction from behind him. You try to read his mouth as he tries to speak to you, but you do not hear his words. You think he was saying ‘I’m sorry for everything’ and perhaps, ‘please don’t leave me again.’
As you give in to the synchronous pain of your head and heart, you close your eyes and lonely tears escape from them. Then everything fades into black.
Maybe you were just being delusional. Or perhaps, it’s fate finally going back to your side.
After what seemed like eternity, you awoke with a gasp and sat up abruptly. What the hell just happened? It seems you were transferred to your room, the familiarity of the wall paint and decors sinking in. There’s a hunched figure by your desk, clicking on your laptop, rather aggressively.
“... Hajime? Is that you?” Hearing your voice, he sits up straight but does not turn around, his focus fixated on your laptop. What could be so intriguing in it that he won’t–
“Shit.. don’t read that!” you exclaim, immediately standing up. You feel a bit of dizziness coursing through your body once again but you ignore it and try to approach him rapidly, “those are my drafts!”
“I’ll make it remember my love for you… because it’s you… because I’m a fool for you,” he finally starts talking, an angry timbre of disbelief lying underneath his voice, “what do you even do when somebody claims to be your fated one but your soul rejects the notion…?”
He turns around and you reel back from the hate that’s swimming in his eyes, “you were never gonna believe me. You’re never gonna love me. Fucking hell, you don’t even want to try this shit with me!”
“Hajime, that’s for my book. It’s fucking fiction, idiot!” you angrily respond. All sorts of betrayal coursing through the both of you as you heave a breath– him from reading your what seems like a diary, you from him going through your things without permission. It was as if he invaded your mind and made a mess once again, leaving you all mad, confused and feeling shitty.
He humorlessly laughs at your words, “you must think I’m a pushover or something, huh?”
He turns to look down at the laptop again. your drafts are still on display. He points at it, “YN, I’m not fucking dumb. Stop lying, you’re not fucking good at it. This..? This is you. All of this is you! I’m not fucking stupid.. god..!”
Stupid gods… can’t even do… right….
The searing lights return once again. Another wave of distorted, blurry images cause you to step back and wince. There’s a continuous echo of voices that fill your ears, all familiar yet unfamiliar at the same time. Iwaizumi notices your behavior, finally calming down. You can’t hear what he was saying though, the voices were too overwhelming.
Giving it… coward and a selfish… can’t even cut…
… I love you, Ts–... don’t ever regret…
You stumble, tears welling up your eyes as you try to get used to the pain. Your efforts go in vain though, so you cry. The fight gets abandoned as he gathers you in his arms, shushing you, “hey, listen to me. Breathe. You’re okay. You’re fine, we’ll be fine.”
He repeats the words as strokes down your hair. We’ll be fine, YN.
And it’s almost as if he’s trying more to convince himself than you.
You both sat on your bed as you calmed down. He plays with your finger and doesn’t look up at you but he softly speaks, “just give me a chance.”
You stay quiet, head too busy recalling the voices that played in your head just seconds ago. You only look at his figure, guilt filling your guts when he looks back at you with begging eyes, “please, YN.”
“I’m trying,” you whisper sorrily, “I really am.”
The rest of the night remains uncomfortably serene as you eat dinner with your family. You pretend you don’t notice each and every lingering, angry gaze Kiyoomi gives to Iwaizumi. You pretend it doesn’t bother you when he calls on the spiky haired lad and asks him to talk privately. You pretend it doesn’t and yet here you were, following them to where they stood outside, in your backyard.
They’re a little far from where you were hiding though, so you only pick up a portion of their conversation.
“Why are you doing this, Iwaizumi-san?”
“I like her. Actually let me correct that, I love her.”
“Hmm. Are you sure about that?”
“You don’t believe me?”
“Not really. After all, you do not intentionally make a fool out of someone you love, Iwaizumi.”
#haikyuu x reader#atsumu x reader#atsumu smau#haikyuu smau#haikyuu headcanons#iwaizumi x reader#iwaizumi smau#miya atsumu#iwaizumi hajime
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One Day
Premise: Ethan is confronted with the fact that his father won’t be around forever.
Book: Open Heart (post series)
Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Cassie Valentine); feat. Alan Ramsey
Rating/Category: Teen. Angst.
Words: 2,405
A/N: Submission to @choicesoctober prompt "family"; I'm using @choicesflashfics week 53, prompt 3 (in bold).
Alan Ramsey woke before his alarm, not an uncommon occurrence after thirty-plus years of early mornings. But lately, his knees creaked more often than not when he climbed out of his bed. There was no denying it took his muscles longer to recover after a full day at work.
He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling and listening to the quiet around him. Every now and then, he heard creaking and settling from inside the walls of the old house. Alan was used to the silence, but he missed that long ago time when the house was a home.
There was a time when his ears would be tuned to the sound of Ethan’s heavy feet rushing down the stairs, ready to conquer the day. And when his son was older, those same feet stealthily climbed up the stairs after a night out with a girl or his friends.
Alan was loathe to get out of bed this morning. He felt the ache down to his bones, and the inky blue darkness outside the bedroom window wasn’t helping. The days were getting shorter and the air colder. He felt like calling in sick but wasn’t sure what he’d do sitting at home alone.
Deciding he’d dawdled enough, Alan shoved the covers aside and rolled off the bed. His feet touched the cold floor, reminding him that he needed to call someone to service the furnace. Typically, Ethan took care of it, but his son had been busy lately, more than usual, as he prepared for his new role.
Alan was proud of everything he had accomplished, but he wondered if this was a sign that he’d have even less of Ethan’s time than before.
Later, still feeling out of sorts, he started the truck and waited for the engine to warm up. He absently sipped coffee from a thermos as the wipers cleared early morning dew coating the windshield, and slowly backed out of the drive.
A loud honk had him hitting the brakes hard and cursing as hot coffee splashed across the steering wheel and his hand. He looked in the rearview mirror to see a black sedan zoom past, uncaring about the speed limit.
Shaking his head in disgust, Alan used a rag to wipe the coffee stains away and continued on to work.
Later that morning, when his foot missed a foothold halfway down the telephone pole, and the ground rushed up towards him, he wished he’d called in sick after all.
---
Cassie Valentine was trying to read a super-dense journal article for the diagnostic team’s latest case, but an intermittent buzzing sound kept interrupting her focus. Frustrated, she threw Ethan’s cell phone an annoyed look, tempted to chuck it across the room.
Why did he have to be forgetful today of all days? She cursed as she lost sight of the paragraph she was on and had to start over.
It didn’t help that she was working the case on her own. Tobias was on vacation, and Baz was tied up with a research project. Ethan was working with Naveen on his transition. So, their contributions had been minimal to date.
Her green eyes fired up when the sliding doors swooshed open, and Ethan strolled in nonchalance.
“How’s the research going?” Ethan asked, heading straight to his desk.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Cassie bit out. “You left your cell phone here, and the constant buzzing is driving me fucking crazy. Did you have to leave it behind today of all days? It’s not that hard to remember to take it with you!”
Ethan glanced over in surprise at her raised voice and waspish tone. “What’s got you upset?”
Cassie almost screamed in frustration, ready to tear her hair out. Instead, she snapped, “Nothing!” in a tone that implied everything was wrong and it was his fault.
She pushed back her chair, not an easy feat since it didn’t have wheels, and gathered her things.
And another thing, she grumbled, which genius decided office chairs without wheels on a carpeted floor were a good idea? Everyone knew a good chair should easily roll across the floor!
She stalked over to his desk, slammed his phone down (vibrating again, of course, in that maddeningly grating way) and marched off before she said or did something she’d regret.
Ethan watched Cassie warily through the glass walls as she disappeared down the hallway. He pursed his lips at her strange attitude and then dismissed it out of hand.
He glanced at the still buzzing phone — the vibrating tone really was annoying — and wondered who he knew at University Medical Center in Providence. Likely a consult request, he thought absently and accepted the call.
A few minutes later, he rushed towards the staircase closest to this part of the hospital. He was too anxious to wait for the elevator and didn’t want anyone to see him like this. Once he was in the parking lot, he called Naveen, tucking the phone between his ear and shoulder as he opened the car door and slid into the driver’s seat.
“My dad’s been in an accident at work,” he said when his mentor answered, grateful that Naveen didn’t interrupt with a lot of questions. “He’s at University Medical in Providence. I’m leaving now.”
Ethan started the engine and waited for the phone to sync with the Bluetooth system.
“Keep me posted, Ethan,” Naveen’s voice boomed from the overhead speakers. “I’ll come down to Providence as soon as I can.”
“Thanks,” Ethan said, disconnecting the call before backing his car out of the parking spot.
A thousand thoughts crowded his brain as he battled the afternoon Boston traffic. He breathed a sigh of relief when he cleared city limits and took the interstate ramp, accelerating with every passing minute.
Like most children, Ethan had always thought his dad would be around forever. But the man and doctor in him knew one day he’d have to reconcile with losing his only parent. Still, Alan was only fifty-seven, active and fit, and Ethan figured one day was a long way off.
He checked in on his father every month, made sure he was aware of any medications he was prescribed and took care of stuff around the house. Well, he hired someone to do it, from mowing the lawn in summer to a snow cleaning service in the winter. His dad protested at the expense, but Ethan didn’t want him doing the heavy lifting.
The last time he drove down to Providence…he racked his brain and realized it was six or seven weeks. He’d been too busy lately to visit, what with leading the team and working with Naveen on the transition and with Cassie on hers. Their calls had been brief too, just hello, how are you, sorry, can I call you back?
He was about to cross into Rhode Island when he remembered Cassie. He’d call her later, he decided. Right now, he wasn’t in the mood for an argument about whatever was bothering her. They could hash it out later, as far he was concerned.
It was an hour later when he was finally escorted to his dad’s hospital room. Sitting in the waiting room had been unbearable, but he understood these situations all too well.
He nodded absently as the on-call resident went through the litany of injuries, some of which Ethan could see for himself. Alan’s left arm was in a cast, broken in two places. There were abrasions, contusions and lacerations along the side of his neck and face, his arms and legs.
He looked so small, Ethan thought, watching his father sleeping, swallowed up by the large bed, the back raised at an angle. Lines and wires were running up the side of the bed, and a pulsometer measured his heart rate and O2 stats.
“Your father is fortunate, Dr. Ramsey. The bushes broke his fall,” the doctor droned behind him, his tone deferential upon learning his identity. “A few inches to the left and the injuries might have been catastrophic. We’ll monitor him overnight and reassess in the morning.”
Ethan placed his hand atop Alan’s through the guardrail, reassuring himself when he felt the warm skin.
“I’ll check in later in case you have any questions,” the resident said.
Ethan nodded, taking a deep breath to hold back his emotions. “Thank you, Doctor…” He turned around to look at the young man with a quizzical look. “I’m sorry. I’ve forgotten your name.”
“Doctor Nolan,” he said simply, hand on the door handle.
And with a wave, he was gone, closing the door behind him.
Alone, Ethan dropped into the visitor’s chair beside the bed and leaned forward. He reached for his father’s hand again, careful of the IV catheter. His eyes turned misty, and his mind flooded with memories from his childhood.
His dad cheering him on at hockey practice and basketball games. Those early days after Louise left and waiting for his truck to pull into the driveway, afraid that his father would disappear like she had.
Walking along the riverbank in the summer, licking ice cream cones. His dad teased him for taking his sweet time while Alan gobbled his up quickly, laughing as he wiped the sticky residue in his beard.
Being a single parent was hard, but his father had done his best for his only child. Ethan knew Alan had no regrets, but he couldn’t say the same about himself. He should have visited more, spent less of his free time working or with Cassie, or maybe he should have brought her down with him.
She had been pushing him for months for a relationship with his father, but Ethan had resisted. He wasn’t even sure why he’d been reluctant. His life in Boston, his life with her, was so different from his life in Providence. He wasn’t ashamed of it, precisely, but he couldn’t envision her in the rundown neighborhood with chain-link fences.
Should he contact Louise? Alan would want him to. He was certain of that.
Ethan wasn’t sure how long he sat there, head in his hands, lost in thought. When a hand fell on his shoulder, the unexpected touch was like an electric shock to his system, and he almost jumped out of the chair. The darkness outside the window was as jarring as the intrusion.
“Sorry,” Cassie whispered. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“What are you doing here?” he asked, clearing the gruff from his throat.
Cassie looked momentarily hurt, but then her face cleared, looking almost serene.
“Naveen told me,” she said, her gaze briefly landing on the bed. “I’m so sorry, Ethan. How is he doing? What did the doctors say?”
“He hasn’t woken up yet, but his vitals are stable,” he said, stretching his long arms into the air.
He narrated the notes he’d read earlier, summarizing what the doctors and nurses had relayed and the incident report from his father’s boss when he dropped by earlier, falling into the familiar role of a doctor and not a son.
“I wish you’d called me,” Cassie said softly, and then she shook her head before Ethan could respond. “Never mind.”
She nodded at an overnight bag on the floor just inside the entrance. “I packed you some clothes, underwear, toiletries. I figured you’d want to stay until Alan is out of the hospital. I wasn’t sure if you keep a change of clothes at your dad’s house, but it couldn’t hurt to be prepared.”
Ethan felt ashamed for not getting in touch with her himself. He’d meant to do it after he arrived, but it had slipped his mind. And yet, he’d managed to speak to Naveen and convinced him to stay in Boston.
He stared at the bag and thought he was an ass for taking her for granted.
“I’ll leave you alone,” she said, taking a step back as she turned to leave. ���Let me know when he wakes up and how he’s doing.”
Ethan grabbed her hand before she could leave and reeled her into his arms, locking her against him. He framed her face between his hands and tilted her head back to meet his gaze.
“I’m sorry, Cassie,” he said, his blue eyes remorseful. “I should have called you as soon as I heard, or at least from the road. I kept telling myself I’d do it shortly, but it slipped my mind.”
“It’s okay,” she murmured. “You had a lot on your mind.”
“It’s not okay,” Ethan countered vehemently. “No excuses. You should have been my first call.” He brushed her lips tenderly. “I want you to stay. Please. I can’t do this without you.”
Cassie relented, the stiffness in her body dissipating as she leaned into him and her hands slipped around his back.
“I’m sorry, too, for snapping at you earlier,” she said, kissing the underside of his jaw. “I was irritated by my lack of ability to solve the case, and I took it out on you.”
“There, you’re all better now,” Alan whispered hoarsely from the bed.
Ethan let Cassie go and stepped toward the bed. He placed one hand on the pillow as his father struggled to sit up, his hands failing to find purchase.
“Easy, Dad. I’ve got you,” he said, pressing a button to adjust the bed and helping Alan get comfortable.
“I’ll get the doctor,” Cassie said, leaving them alone as she rushed out of the room.
“Dad, I…” Ethan swallowed hard against the lump forming in his throat.
“I know, son. I know.” Alan squeezed his hand lightly. “I was careless.”
He started coughing, wincing at the pain. Ethan quickly grabbed the water jug and poured water into a paper cup. He stuck a straw through the top and held it up for his father to drink.
“We can talk later when you’re feeling better.” Ethan lowered the back of the bed slightly. “Just rest for now. Doctor’s orders,” he added, forcing a smile.
Alan settled back on the bed, wheezing slightly from the exertion, and closed his eyes.
“Don’t make the same mistakes I did, Ethan,” he said weakly. “Don’t take the woman you love for granted.” He paused to catch his breath. “Love is fragile in the best of times. But when things are hard…”
“I won’t,” Ethan said, understanding what was left unsaid. “I promise.”
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All Fics & Edits: @bluebelle08 @coffeeheartaddict2 @crazy-loca-blog @genevievemd @headoverheelsforramsey @lucy-268 @jamespotterthefirst @jerzwriter @lady-calypso @mainstreetreader @peonierose @potionsprefect @queencarb @quixoticdreamer16 @rookiemartin @socalwriterbee @tessa-liam @trappedinfanfiction
Submissions: @choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics
Ethan & Cassie only: @cariantha @custaroonie @hopelessromantic1352 @mrs-ramsey @youlookappropriate
#open heart#ethan ramsey#open heart choices#ethan ramsey x mc#open heart fanfics#open heart fanfiction#alan ramsey#choices fanfics#choices fanfiction#choices fic writers creations#cfwc fics of the week#ethan ramsey x cassie valentine
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Slipped Away
It’s Steven’s birthday and Greg is thinking about his mom. But, that won’t get in the way of their fun day out in Delaware.
⭐️💎 ⭐️💎 ⭐️💎 ⭐️💎 ⭐️💎 ⭐️💎 ⭐️
He missed her… He missed everything about her… Her smile, her laugh, her curiosity about Earth. Everything….
He misses his girlfriend dearly.
Greg Universe sighed, and checked his phone — It was August 15, Steven’s Birthday. Greg looked up at the ceiling of the wooden beach house. He looked at his phone, his wallpaper was of him and Steven with the Crystal Gems. Greg sighed again, he opened his phone went to his camera roll, and found a file titled “Rose.” Greg’s finger hovered on the screen, He pressed it and then saw videos and pictures from his VHS tapes that he and Rose recorded together.
Greg saw his favorite one. That was the day that She was going to have a baby with him. When his girlfriend told him that she and Steven couldn’t both exist, he was devastated. He wanted to be with her for the rest of his life. He wanted to grow old with her — well, she couldn’t age because her body was just an illusion. Greg didn’t understand Gem stuff, and he probably never will but….
He knew that he missed her a lot. But, at least he has Steven. He smiled as he sat up, the man looked up at his loft bedroom, the half-gem was sleeping peacefully in bed. Steven was kind enough to have him stay over the night for his birthday tomorrow. Steven, Amethyst, Connie, Lapis, Paradot, and himself were all going to go to the arcade together.
Greg saw a video, he read the top of the screen that said August 2, 2000 9:42 PM. He clicked on it and started to watch it.
“Hey, you wanna dance?” Greg asked her. Rose smiled and walked towards him. Rose was nine months with Steven. And they were trying to spend as much time as possible.
Greg smiled as he set the camera up on a tripod. He walked over to her, wearing his Jordans that he got at a thrift shop. Rose had a pair of Jordans too, but the Nike Swoosh was hot pink — just like her hair color, and the rest of the shoe was white. They danced to the music of ‘Your Beautiful’ by ‘James Blunt’
Greg and Rose both kissed after the song ended. Greg put his phone on the charger and tried to get to sleep.
⭐️💎 ⭐️💎 ⭐️💎 ⭐️💎 ⭐️💎 ⭐️💎 ⭐️
“Hello, people of YouTube!” Steven Quartz Universe said, smiling, it was eight in the morning in Beach City, and his laptop was playing Sonic The Hedgehog 4 music. He dressed in shorts, walked to his dresser, and picked out a shirt, he picked out a white Metelacia T-shirt, slipped it over his head adjusted it. He clenched the fabric softly where his gem was placed and smiled, he ran down the stairs with his camera and got started on breakfast.
“Okay… Let’s see—“
“STEVEN!” Amethyst screamed in his ear making the boy jump a few feet in the air. Literally.
“Ah, Amethyst!” he yelled. Amethyst laughed as she saw the half-gem boy float down to the ground.
“Happy Birthday, dude!” She said. Steven smiled and hugged his friend. “You excited for today?”
Steven nodded.
Amythest saw the camera recording. “Ohh! your vlogging for YouTube!”
“Yeah! It’s a birthday vlog thingy,” he said as he continued cooking his eggs. he put them on a plate and ate them.
Just then, the screen door opened. It was Connie, Steven’s best friend. Steven ran up and hugged her. “Happy Birthday, Steven!” Connie said.
“Thanks, Connie!” he said happily. “Hey, where’s Pearl and Garnet?” she asked.
“I don’t know.” Then, he got a video call on his laptop, the music lowered as his MacBook Pro started showing an icon. Steven ran up the stairs, sat on his bed, and picked up his laptop, he saw that it said ‘Paradot’ He smiled as he clicked the green Accept button.
“Hey, Paridot, Lapis. What’s up?”
“Happy Birthday Steven!” Both Lapis and Paradot said.
Steven smiled. “Thank you,” he said.
“Hey, I’ll see you at the party.”
“Okay! we're having it at the arcade right?” Lapis asked the boy.
Steven nodded. Then she hung up after exchanging goodbyes. Steven walked downstairs and got a text from his dad.
Grab a pair of shoes, Schtu-ball.
Steven sent a thumbs up emoji and went upstairs grabbed his white and red Jordan’s and tied them with a pair of socks. He went downstairs, Connie was sitting in the kitchen with Amythest, talking. Greg walked in.
“Happy Birthday, Schtu-ball!” he said, Steven ran up to him and hugged him. “Thanks, Dad!” Greg smiled picked him up and spun him around. Steven laughed as he was being spun.
“You kids ready to go?”
“Yeah!” the three of them said.
⭐️💎 ⭐️💎 ⭐️💎 ⭐️💎 ⭐️💎 ⭐️💎 ⭐️
Steven was in the front seat of his father’s mid-1970s Dodge Tradesman, Amethyst and Connie both sat in the back then they got going. Greg put it on his iTunes and then picked out a song called 'Lonely Day' by 'System Of A Down.'
"Such a lonely day, and it's mine
The most loneliest day of my life
Such a lonely day should be banned
It's a day that I can't stand"
Greg and Steven sang the lyrics to the song, Steven opened the window and put his hand out, the smell of the sand and the salty beach air hit his nose as they drove.
"The most loneliest day of my life
The most loneliest day of my life
Such a lonely day shouldn't exist
It's a day that I'll never miss
Such a lonely day, and it's mine
The most loneliest day of my life"
Steven turned to his father, he was curious why they didn’t go to the arcade like they planned to.
"And if you go, I wanna go with you
And if you die, I wanna die with you
Take your hand and walk away"
The solo kicked in, they listened to it. Then someone broke the silence. “Yo, G. Why aren’t we going to the arcade?” Amethyst asked. Connie looked at the back of the driver’s seat. Greg smiled and said nothing, Steven was wondering that too.
“Daaaad! Why aren’t we going to the arcade?”
“You’ll see soon enough, Steven. It’s a surprise.” Seven nodded, stars still in his eyes as he sat there. Can’t help to contain his excitement for this trip.
"The most loneliest day of my life
The most loneliest day of my life
The most loneliest day of my life
Life
Such a lonely day, and it's mine
It's a day that I'm glad I survived"
⭐️💎 ⭐️💎 ⭐️💎 ⭐️💎 ⭐️💎 ⭐️💎 ⭐️
They've made it to the Bowling Alley located in Pike Washington Delaware–Pleasant Hill Lanes was their party destination. Steven had birthday parties here since he started growing up at eight years old.
“Dad! Where bowling?!” Greg smiled and ruffled his fluffy hair. Steven smiled and stepped out of the van. He got a text from Pearl that their table was ready. Steven smiled as he saw the place.
The half-gem boy's eyes sparkled as he saw a spacious bowling alley with a large open area and various seating options. There are multiple rows of bowling lanes, some of which are lined with green pins. A total of six bowling lanes can be seen in the scene, each one having its own set of pins and bowling balls.
The room is filled with various furniture pieces such as chairs, couches, and tables. In addition to the bowling lanes, there are two couches placed at different locations within the space. One couch is situated closer to the left side of the room, while another is located near the right side. There are also several dining tables scattered throughout the area, offering a comfortable setting for guests to relax and enjoy their time.
“Where are Pearl and Garnet?” Connie asked.
“Pearl texted me that she was at lanes one and two,” Greg said. Steven ran to lane one to see the pale-skinned gem setting up. “Pearl!” Steven said, running towards her.
“Hello! Steven! Happy Birthday!” Pearl said, hugging him. “I can’t believe that you're fourteen!” Steven smiled and looked around, there were balloons, plates, and chairs decorated with a Transformers and Sonic The Hedgehog theme.
“Everything looks great, Pearl!” Greg said. She gave them a thumbs up.
“Who’s coming?”
“Sadie, Lars, Sour Cream, Onion, Kiki, and Buck,” she said, reading the names off her clipboard.
“Ugh, you look like a high school teacher holding that, dude.” Amethyst rolled her eyes at her.
“Amethyst!”
“What?! you do!”
“Hey, has anyone seen Garnet?”
“I asked her to get some food for the party,” Pearl told the man. Greg nodded
Steven looked at the arcade. “Amethyst, wanna play at the arcade?”
“Okay! Yo, Greg, can you give us some cash!” She asked, Greg nodded, pulled out his Batman wallet, and handed them twenty dollars.
“AWESOME!” Both Amythest and Steven both said, both Gem and Half-Gem ran to the arcade.
Then, Greg saw Garnet walk in holding veggie platters in her hands. “Hey, Garnet. What’s up?” Greg asked. Connie stood there, Greg noticed this. “Connie, you okay?”
“What? Yeah! I’m fine I’m going to play with Steven and Amythest.” she said, walking off.
Greg, Pearl, and Garnet were setting up. Garnet was opening up plates and napkins, Pearl opened up the veggie platter, she tried not to gag and cringe in disgust from the sight of food, and thinking about people eating it. Greg stared at her.
“Pearl, you alright?”
“Yeah yeah! I’m fine! just the sight of food makes me…..” she couldn’t finish that sentence.
Geeze… she’s so dramatic. Greg thought to himself, as he looked at his phone, Steven’s cake was ready to get picked up. He was going to a special bakery in Delaware to retrieve it.
Greg grabbed the keys to his van and he walked out of the building. He unlocked his van sat inside and turned it on, the engine hummed to life as he drove to the bakery.
He was at the bakery, A woman walked out with his cake. “Here you go, Mr. Universe.” Greg smiled as he paid for it. He grabbed the box and went back to his van.
⭐️💎 ⭐️💎 ⭐️💎 ⭐️💎 ⭐️💎 ⭐️💎 ⭐️
He drove back to Pleasant Hill Lanes and went inside. Steven, Connie, and Amythest were still playing in the arcade, Sadie was now there with Lars, Sour Cream, Onion, Buck, Kiki, Lapis, and Paradot.
“Hey Mr. U! Where’s Steven?” Buck Dewey asked the older man, who was holding the box.
“Oh, he’s in the arcade, let me text him,” he said, putting the cake down pulling out his iPhone 5s from his pocket, and texting him. The blue iMessage bubble pops up. Steven read it and typed back. OK, I’ll be there now. he texted.
The half Gem ran with Amythest following behind him. “Hi guys!” he said cheerfully.
“Hey, Steven!” Sadie waved. Lars stood there, and Sadie elbowed him in the stomach. “Ow! What was that for?”
“Tell Steven Happy Birthday!”
Lars grumbled. “Happy Birthday, Steven…”
“Aren’t you like…. Ten?” he asked.
“He’s fifteen, Lars!” Sadie hissed.
“Okay, jeez! so-rry!” he said, Sadie smiled and handed a gift bag to Greg. “Thanks, guys,” he said, putting Lars' gift bag on the table as well. The young Gem Hydrid smiled at them, Sadie smiled and ruffled his hair. “Happy Birthday, little dude!”
“Happy Birthday, Steven! Paradot and I got you a gift,” she said, handing him the bag.
“Thanks, guys.” he smiled
Lars sighed and tried to smile. “Happy Birthday, Steven.” he sighed, wondering why he was here. And why did Sadie force him to go, he wasn’t friends with a… Tenth grader — or, fifth grader, in Lars’ opinion.
Then, Kiki, Buck, Sour Cream, and his little brother Onion walked in. Lars was about to scream when he saw The Cool Kids here.
“H-Hey guys, what are you doing at this lame kids' party?” Lars asked. Sadie glared at him.
Sour Cream stuffed his hands in his pockets and looked at Steven. “Hey, Steven asked us to come, he’s pretty awesome. Give him a chance.”
“Ugh, whatever…” he said, crossing his arms.
Steven walked up to the counter to get bowling shoes. He grabbed his shoes and put them on, he strapped the velcro to his shoes and then stood up. Sadie grabbed some bowling balls for them. Steven put everyone’s names on the screen.
“Hey, Pearl aren’t you playing with us?” Steven asked, putting his name on the board. “I am fine, Steven. Plus, I’m not wearing those… Disgusting bowing shoes. Everyone puts their feet in those.” she cringed. Amethyst rolled her eyes as She put on her bowling shoes, then she walked up to the screen to put her, Garnet’s Lapis’ and Paradot’s names in.
“Alright, we're all set, Sadie you're up first,” Steven told his friend. Sadie picked up her ball and rolled it down the lane. Steven looked as the pins crashed. Steven saw that she got a strike.
“Nice job, Sadie!” Steven said. Encouraging her. Sadie smiled and sat down, Lars went next.
Picking up his bowling ball after sticking his fingers into the three holes, he rolled it down the lane. His ball went to the side.
“Why?!” Lars said he got another chance, he got it but it was two pins. “You gotta be kidding me! Steven, did you rig this game?!” Lars asked picking the boy up by the shirt.
“Lars! put him down!” Sour Cream said,
“Put him down, dude!” Kiki told him, glaring at the taller boy. Lars sighed and put him down. “Sorry, Steven,” Kiki said. Steven smiled. “That’s alright! I know he was just kidding around!” the Half Gem said as he went next, Steven picked up his bowling ball and threw it, his friends cheered as he got a strike.
“Way to go, Steven!” Kiki said from the other lane, Steven blushed and walked over to his friends, Buck was up now. Kiki, Onion, Amethyst, and Garnet were on the other lane.
Kiki saw Garnet go. She got a strike as well. “Nice, Garnet!” Kiki said. They played two rounds before they had lunch.
Greg returned with pizzas in his hands, Steven grabbed a slice. So as his friends and Amethyst. He grabbed a slice and sat next to his son.
Amethyst smiled and put a hand on Steven’s shoulder. Steven’s friends all sat and talked, except Lars.
“This is awesome!” Paradot exclaimed as she saw her name up on the screen, Lapis and Paradot took two turns each while all of them were eating. Once they were done, Garnet pulled out the cake and she opened it, The fusion removed it from the box and Steven stared at it in awe with stars in his eyes.
The birthday cake is a very unique and creative design, with a green and white fondant cake as the main base. The cake features a large, multi-layered cake decorated with various characters from the Sonic The Hedgehog video game series, including Sonic, Shadow, Tails, Knuckles, and Amy Rose. The characters were placed around the edges of the cake, giving it a whimsical and playful appearance.
Additionally, there are several smaller cakes placed throughout the arrangement, each one decorated with a different character. A small cupcake is also visible towards the bottom left corner of the cake. The cake stands on a dining table, surrounded by various items such as cups, bowls, and plastic bottles, creating a fun and festive atmosphere for the birthday celebration.
In the middle, in yellow fondant, it said ‘HAPPY 14th BIRTHDAY STEVEN’ Amythest had to get pushed out of the way by Pearl. “Amethyst! down! we have to sing Steven Happy Birthday!”
“Oh, right…” Amythest said. Greg pulled out his iPhone and pressed record.
“Happy birthday to you!”
“Happy birthday to you!”
“Happy Birthday Dear, Steven!”
“Happy birthday to you!”
“Happy Birthday, my handsome half-gem .” Pearl said hugging him and kissing his cheek.
“Ahhh! Gem coodies!” Steven rubbed his cheek trying to get Pearl’s spit off. Amethyst laughed.
“MY HANDSOME HALF GEM!” Amythest laughed even harder. Lars also laughed, Steven blushed and leaned onto his chair. Garnet put a comforting hand on his shoulder. Steven looked at her, he smiled, and Garnet rubbed his hair. Steven blew out the candles and everyone cheered.
“Let’s eat some cake!” Amethyst said. Greg smiled and cut a piece for Steven, everyone got some, except for Pearl and Garnet. Steven ate his cake, everyone was having a good time. Greg saw the pictures taken on his phone, he walked to Steven.
“Pearl, can you take a picture of me and Steven?” Greg asked. Pearl took his phone from her and took a picture of both of them, then. Everyone got into the picture and an employee took the group photo of them.
Steven’s family.
⭐️💎 ⭐️💎 ⭐️💎 ⭐️💎 ⭐️💎 ⭐️💎 ⭐️
Notes: If you like it, I appreciate your reviews and support, this is my first SU fanfiction! I don't know if I did well at all actually.
#fanfiction#steven universe#Steven#rose quartz#greg universe#garnet#amethyst#Pearl#Bowling#Washington#Deleware#system of a down#Lonley day
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halfling
boromir son of denethor ii x half-elf!reader
summary: despite being half elf, the mortal man of gondor becomes a necessity in your life to keep you away from harm.
warnings: black cat/golden retriever pairing, 10th walker reader.
°°°
You were sure this was how you'd die. Embarassingly hanging from a tree branch, your pinkie finger holding on to it with all it's strength, an apple bitten in your mouth like a monkey that never learned how to swing.
Your thoughts cuts off violently as your finger finally slips.
Screaming through the apple, your eyes press close as you swoosh down from the large tree, expecting a hard landing that would probably cost you a cracked skull or a broken spine. You heart felt as of it it had jumped out of your body when you finally stop falling. Your body being caught by the familiar arms of your friend instead of the hard ground of grass.
One of your arms instinctively wrap around Boromir's neck while you chomp down on your apple and caught it with your free hand.
"Oh Boromir!" You gratefully sang out, mouth still full of the apple. He had his repetitive frown engraved on his face as he glare daggers at you. "You never learn, do you halfling?" He asks sternly, though you knew he was teasing. You hummed as a response and shook your head at him, continue your apple eating as he walks faster with you in his arms, trying to catch up with the rest of the fellowship.
When you're done eating, you gently slide off him, his hand however remaining at the small of your back in a protective manner as the both of you finally gets closer your companies.
When the fellowship has come to a stop, it was understood that you would all be resting for the night, you look up towards the darkening sky as Boromir walks away to help gather wood for the fire, stealing glances at you from the corner of his eyes.
You were standing at a distance from the hobbits, face glaring up, eyes focused on the faint outlines of the stars that were already showing. He slips up a small smile before snapping his attention back to the woods, setting the fire up.
Your eyes remain on the sky, watching the clouds moving on as the dark begins to envelope your surroundings. You shut your eyes tightly when a burst of wind flew in your direction, basking in the breeze.
It was nice to have the sun out of the way finally, you were sure that if falling down a tree wouldn't kill you, the heat would've.
But now that night has come, the air starts to chill and the fire's enough for warmth.
You don't flinch when you felt Boromir's hand on your shoulder, already hearing his footsteps nearing you seconds ago.
"Will you eat some food the hobbits' brought or will you start perambulating around the forest again until you go missing." His deep voice, though clearly a jest, still sends a shiver down your spine.
You snap your eyes open and looked behind towards him. "I think that apple has quite filled me up for now, and I'm sure the little ones need the energy more than I do."
His face explodes into a grin as he shakes his head before moving his hand from your shoulder to your wrists, pulling you gently with him towards the group to sit down. "Oh do I know that."
You let out a short laugh as you sat down in between him and Gimli. Legolas quirks an eyebrow at you. "What are you two laughing about?" He muses.
"Oh just her inability to behave without adult supervision."
You glared at him with a frown plastered on your face and he doesn't bother to hide how much he doesn't care as he laughs loudly.
Aragorn and Legolas joins in as Gimli makes a quip about how he once found you hanging by your hair from your room's window outside an inn.
"That was one time-" You hissed. "Oh yes I remember that, I had to pull her back up by her hair!" Boromir exclaimed, the memory coming back to him.
The conversation gets worse when the hobbits joined in and Merry and Pippin decides to make a bet on how long you'd be able to survive without getting caught in a tree or disappearing in them.
Aragorn's face was flushed red as he clasp his palms over them, trying to stop laughing. Half of these men were drunk and having the time of their lives bringing up your embarassing moments.
Except Legolas, who was happily leaning againts a tree watching you suffer for their amusement.
"Oh, this isn't fair, what about the time Pippin almost fell into a hole?" You attempted.
"He's a hobbit, holes are his natural habitat anyways, what your excuse halfling." Boromir retorted, earning a smack on his arm from you. "Oh you should be glad everyone's not as boring as you, captain. I'm keeping you busy with my-"
"Impetuous acts? Monkey-like behavior?" He hides a smile when your mouth hangs open, offended.
"I was about to say, productivity."
Gimli snorts, cuddling his sleepy body closer to Legolas, ignorant to your glare at him. Legolas gives you a grin, agreeing with the dwarf.
"Don't worry dove, I quite like being kept busy." He says, leaning closer towards you with his voice lower than earlier.
"Good, because you'll be doing it for quite a while I suspect." You respond with a smirk, the quarrel forgotten.
When his face reaches inches away from you, his breathing, a sound so loud and clear to your pointy ears, you feel your smile slowly disappearing as your heart threatens to jump out your chest.
"Good." He smiles, pecking a kiss on your nose before moving away to lie down and turn his head from your speechless self.
#boromir son of denethor x reader#boromir son of denethor ii#boromir son of denethor#boromir x reader#boromir#boromir lotr#lord of the rings fanfiction#lord of the rings fic#the lord of the rings#lotr x reader#lotr#lotr fanfic#legolas x reader#aragorn x reader
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A Feeling So Peculiar
Elain Appreciation Week, day 7 - Free Day
Hi friends! Long time no see:))))
I've been extra busy with life and med school, but this fic has been brewing for some time now, and what better moment than @elainarcheronweek to share it? This is part 1 of what I endearingly call the Healer!Elain story. It's officially my first fic with a Taylor lyric as a title and I'm very proud!!!
Anyway, here is this fucking thing <3
(1)
A ghost slides through the flaps of a tent into its cold, vacant interior.
The space is cramped, a rough bed of furs, a small table filled with piles of heavy tomes, ink-splattered journals, and clothing. The heavy smell of mold, grass, and candle wax permeates the air, almost tangible like dust through a shaft of yellow light.
There’s a slight tremble to the hands which reach for the half-burned candles sitting sadly on the far end of the table, lighting them with slow, feeble movements, the only survivors of a dreadful day.
Hands that are not blue and translucent, but pale and corporeal, numbed from the cold but filled with blood.
The ghost doesn’t contemplate any of it, set in her chore. There are things to be done, still. It is night and she’s gone inside. Yet it repeats, a loop inside her mind, there are things to be done.
A swoosh of breath sparks a coal-smudged piece of timber which quickly develops into a sickly fire. It barely warms the minute space. It’s necessary, nevertheless. Like her, it does its job.
Tent.
Light.
Wash.
Lay.
A book with its spine cracked allows a weary mirror to lean on it, a lonely figure moving through it. The specter in the mirror finds a copper bowl, frigid water inside, a ring of humidity staining the book cover used as its resting place. A smudge of soft pink and crimson reflects on the rust-speckled surface. A braid of what used to be bright brown hair lays limp on a tired, curved spine, brown eyes with deep purple half-moons underneath - the only hint of color on once flushed features.
Her face remains impassive as her hands dip a cloth beneath the icy surface tinting the water brown.
The amount is insufficient to wash away the grime and blood of the day, but Elain will not leave her tolerably cold tent for more, so she makes do.
Alone she lingers in her chair, the only creature inside, water dripping from her hands and drawing patterns in the dirt powdering her arms.
An image intrudes her mind, for a few seconds. Warm tan hands bringing a deep bucket of water they would heat themselves with a careful touch. She thinks of the thankful smile she’d give for it. She wonders, the thought whispered like a swish of butterfly wings, of what his face would say as he cares for her. Maybe his scar would reflect firelight just so, and she would forget where she is and allow herself to blush. She welcomes it, for the minute it sparks until the next when it fizzles.
As predicted, the water is only enough for her arms and face. Once, the disgust alone would be a reason to risk outside, maybe dare the nearby stream, or else sleep would escape her stench, running away with a hand plugging its nose.
Elain plops down on her pallet, fur covers warming her body, her tight muscles consoled by the rough structure beneath. It is in no way comfortable, only it’s reliable and quiet. One of the best tents in their camp, the one privilege the High Lady’s sister has, if only because it is the only one to be had.
Most importantly, it doesn’t die or spray contaminated blood into her face. It does its job as it is, with all its faults. It stays still through the night and belongs to her.
There’s sleep to be had. Poor, fitful sleep. But it does its job as it is.
Tomorrow, she knows, she’ll immerse herself in the unforgiving cold from the stream, and a faerie will emerge, dress, and present herself to her duties at the main healer’s tent.
There’s always work to be done.
(2)
The first time Elain sees a healer, there’s a woman screaming. Loud, painful bellows that have harried maids coming in and out of heavy wooden doors with buckets of steaming water, clean and in turn, bloody towels. Nesta holds her shoulders, small fingers digging absently into Elain’s clavicles through her pink cotton nightgown. Barely a year older than Elain, yet she sees such wisdom in her eldest sister’s eyes, as if Nesta knows all the secrets of the universe at the soft age of 7. There’s no place in Archeron Hall Nesta could go where Elain wouldn’t follow. They’re supposed to be asleep, but there are no dreams to be had during a storm like the one that has been pouring down, soaking the garden soil into swimming pools for frogs and threatening to bring down even the wisest and sturdiest of oak trees.
Soon, there will be a deafening quiet, quickly followed by a babe’s booming cries. Elain thinks it just like the noise that sounds right before one of her father’s ships is about to leave the shore, taking fairy dust and bright-colored jewels to the continent, where they will be sold to queens and wizards. She knows it because Nesta is always explaining the world around them to her.
It’s Feyre, born in the bleak hours of the night, lighting tearing down the sky like a claw through silk.
Their governess catches them, huddled by an alcove, spying on the birth of the smallest of them as if they are as inconspicuous as flies on a wall.
“Come,” she demands, a small smile on the tough line of her lips, “Your sister awaits you.”
It’s the only time a healer was the bringer of fortune and good news.
(3)
Madja had her fingers pressed around Elain’s wrist.
The ancient healer’s brown eyes were focused on the time counter ticking on the wall, steady knobby knuckles cradling Elain’s palm.
If Elain had feeling in any part of her body, if even a single inch of soft, hollow skin wasn’t as numb as a reflective glacier tip, she would have been able to feel her own heartbeat fighting against the High Lord’s favored healer’s fingertips. Her wooden eyes, however, remain filmy, like coffee sat still cooling outside for too long.
The bedding should have been the downiest she ever felt, the warm hug of a thousand sheep who only survive in the mountain range closest to Dawn Court. Called Woolen Peaks, because during spring one would be hard-pressed to find a stretch of land free of the bleating creatures, also known for secreting iridescent mucus from their blue snouts. A sea of endless white.
Elain should’ve loved to have known that, should’ve giggled, and maybe even requested to see such charming animals.
Once, she might have.
There were no sounds in the bed chamber but those of instruments being enclosed in a lovingly used leather bag, which promptly vanished into the fold between worlds for later use.
“I believe tea is in order” Madja said in the rough monotone of age, voice traveling through the air, her gaze watchful like a wise tree, leading Nesta and Feyre to exit the sunlit room.
Elain was profoundly grateful for the silence, the stillness of her mind, her whole being stripped down to understanding the heat around her, registering the passage of time solely through decoding the illumination, no previous knowledge guiding her thoughts, images of old folded into drawers, only an amalgam of threads in her mind, the fear to pull at any of them curbed, until any will was pressed so flat it vanished into particles. The effort, like stopping water with a barrage of hands, to tune out rhythmic drumming in her ears.
There were the dreams, of course. Sad. Unavoidable. Drenched in foreign sentiments that left her dizzy and breathless, trembling through the aftershocks of a rumbling earth no one else seemed to notice. Those came and scrambled her meticulous system of calmness. Elain, in her excruciating bouts of clarity, hated them with a strength her strange body found unfamiliar, hated how they made Nesta look as though she was watching a duckling swim into a waterfall through a looking glass. How they made Feyre’s face contort into hopelessness.
Hated how they made her see.
Those are not mine; she’d plead silently on particularly violent nights; I would know, I once would have known.
Elain closed her eyes and searched for the wall of dark swirling steel delimitating her mind. The ivy branches were nearly covering every inch of cold metal now, blooming in sleepiness. Her closed lids allowed the sun breaching the skin to paint her vision a newly comforting shade of red.
Red had always been Nesta’s color. Nesta’s dresses, Nesta’s fire, Nesta’s anger. Or the insubstantial maroon of the fire in her family’s frozen cottage, the violent crimson of the carcasses Feyre brought home. Those had never awakened thoughts of safety before. Protection, maybe, like a cage made of thorns and spikes. But never the safety of a hearth, of burgundy crackling fire.
Now, when her thoughts gently explored the unknown paths in her mind, red would forge itself into crisp Autumn leaves. Bergamots and warm skin
Elain buried herself deeper into the covers.
She left before contemplating any of it.
⠀
(4)
There is a house on a land that is surrounded by ivy-covered iron walls.
A wrap-around porch cracked open by vicious thorns that sprout from the ground, the rotten wood gouged open, foliage like teardrops on every crack, splinters shimmering on air, spores in the wind.
A felled roof, with a mighty willow trunk through it - a stab wound on a soft, white underbelly - warms the rain inside in a mother’s embrace, a shroud of dark green moss slipping from the gable into the stillness inside
The front door is open, a beckoning hand of wispy white smoke so thin one wouldn’t be sure whether it is only a trick of the pressing nebulous light.
If a breeze like the grey finger of an ancient hand were to curl around it and move the hinges in a half-moon motion, a woman would be seen on the inside.
She is tucked upon herself, sleeping on disintegrating wool and dye, the remnants of a beautiful rug. The slope of her waist breathes up and down like the rolling of a hill.
The room around her is filled to the brim, clocks covering an entire wall, some pointers spinning madly onto themselves, some turning with the patience of a grandfather reading a book to his lineage.
Rain, it reads on the chipped blue label of a numberless clock, a hand circling in a rhythmic tick, a mass of angry black clouds where midnight should be, the drawings changing around the wheel from April showers to jolly drizzle.
There are rusty gardening tools beneath a boarded-up window and opened sacks of humus bleed into the abandoned floors. Unnervingly arranged dead seeds form a stream towards the shadow beneath a hand-painted chest of drawers.
An open portmanteau rests on the wall framed by rays of moribund light squeezing through rickety walls; lavish ragged dresses and dusty stuffed bunnies swimming within; pink baby shoes and over-washed underskirts having a tea party at the bottom.
Lined-up novels on bookshelves lay on top of each other in the comfort of touch, interspaced with torn childish letters in alphabetic order. A tiny cloak made of velvet hangs on a chair as if a visitor dropped by for tea.
A precarious chandelier hovers watchfully over the lonely sleeping woman, unsafe chain links repaired with strong white threads that spread unevenly on the whole ceiling.
Guarded by an unnatural radius of clean floor, a white gown lies.
Sewn to perfection, beaded with gleaming pearls and the most delicate of laces. Impeccable seams, regal lines.
A dress made mindful of love, of promise. A dress fit for a future princess.
A rumble of thunder shakes the house as the pointer in the blue clock approaches woeful clouds.
Next to it, a black clock with eight bent lines shooting from the sides of its mechanism box moves from sleepy lids to the daunting indication of bug wide eyes in a resounding clang.
Come see, flurry black bodies with milky white eyes descend on long lines of silk hanging from the ceiling. Siblings, mothers, and children crawl over the mold, spidery legs fortifying supporting beams, the walls, covering memories in a shield of white.
Come see come see come see come see
I do not wish to open my eyes; she mumbles.
I do not wish; she rolls to her side; her nightgown catching in the shards beneath.
I do not want; she covers her face with a feeble palm.
I do not feel; she insists.
You must, the wind howls, rattles her clothes, scrapes down her skin. Your house is dying.
The hearth coughs soot, black and filthy like a diseased lung.
I do not see; she screams, eyes sewn shut, tears fighting to slip through the sutures, cracked fingernails pulling at the roots of her hair, weeds from soil. I am no longer this body.
The unstoppable hand of time reaches midnight.
Storm water slides down the walls in a furious current, washing away the grime and dislodging all the clocks. Those crack and splash onto the rising puddles on the floor with various clangs, cuckoos flailing madly in their springs before falling into final silence.
The bookshelf cracks under a stretch of ceiling that collapses, books losing themselves from each other, weeping in their solitude as they drown in now waist-deep water, loose papers with family drawings (Mum, Dad, Nesta, Me, and Feyre) soften and rip, the colors bleeding and blending into undistinguished blobs of ink.
Seeds of all shapes twirl wildly in whirlpools, and a window box of dead flowers floats aimlessly in the chaos. In the aquatic graveyard beneath them lays a dress of snow, pulled until it is trapped below the floorboards; a bunny covers itself in an old velvet cloak, lingering tragically hopeful underneath the hand-painted dresser.
Cobwebs are unwoven by each violent raindrop, supporting beams breaking like bones.
The woman stands limply in the midst of it all, eyes unseeing, unaware of the fatal torrent around her.
There is a cause to her silence, just as there is a cause to a collapsed house.
I am made of fear, she mulls under the debris, quiet in the wreckage, silent in the aftermath
There’s nothing else for me but forever.
(5)
The House of Wind’s library was the biggest private collection Elain had ever seen. Rows upon rows of carefully curated stories, some ancient with cracking leather covers, tell-tale signs of use staining the spines, dented with the accumulated pressure of readers’ hands. Other books seemed new, the residual smell of press machine oil and ink lingering on the pages, spines unbroken.
Nesta had smuggled romance books from their old village’s dusty bookstore for years, kept them below a loose floorboard in their cottage, discreetly wrapping them in old, moth-eaten clothes to prevent damage. Nesta had cherished those books, had wished for them, and would come into a nasty mood when it was time to return them to the store to avoid the wrath of a deceived salesman with the law by his side.
Old habits die hard, Elain discerned, as her sister slipped a pocket-sized, pink-covered booklet into the folds of her dress. Even with permission to own the piece, Nesta still chose to take it for herself like a criminal. Never conceding, never compromising.
Elain eyes remained unmoving while she made her inspections, the unbending lids to the husk which sheltered her thoughts. She had been counting the organized shelves, internally categorizing books within her eyesight.
83 with single-worded titles, 6 – 12 letters.
102 with double-worded titles, the first being predominately articles.
329 with three words in the title, a maximum of 27 letters.
A small fold in her brow flattened into the clear glass of her forehead, all the muscles in Elain’s face relaxing as the shallowness of her research settled her bones.
Elain was perched on the window’s nook, manufactured lightness to her sentience, while Nesta was lounging straight-backed on a velvet armchair, both hawk-eyed towards their worries. Biscuits grew stale and tea turned cold in gleaming silver trays between them.
There was one volume, Elain noticed, with undisguised and not yet restrained annoyance, which clashed horribly with her elegant system of grouping books by minimalist names. There’s control in succinct titles. There’s calmness in brevity. No space for subterfuge, for mazes or threads leading to somebody else’s memories, eyes not of her own.
A raging woman made of flame, screaming screaming screaming-
One blink of cavern-like pupils.
514 publications with respectable construction.
Not that one, though.
Norton’s Concise Manual for Swift Diagnosis and Treatment of Battlefield Injuries
First, it blatantly lied. There was no brevity of title or length, the heavy-looking tome glaringly thicker than a closed fist. A deceiving book. Elain’s head moved to the side, instinctually, the skin of her neck folding into the unpracticed movement.
A deception not even attempting to remain cloaked. What a disagreeable structure.
No balance, no harmonious restraint.
11 words in the name, what indisputable distaste.
70 letters made tiny to fit into its obnoxious shelf back.
Elain wanted it gone.
(6)
The guest room was soft, like the lingering feel of worn leather.
There was light everywhere, reflecting from mirrors and vanity vials, bleaching the dark wood floors. It created the most delightful shapes under her eyelids if she gazed out the window just right.
Incandescent.
Perfectly blinding.
Elain could stay inside all day, motionless above uncreased bed linens.
Frozen in the armchair with a book resting in peace on her lap.
Unless, of course, it was night.
There was nothing uncovered beneath revealing starlight.
No cave, no shelter, only the stoic awareness of a seasick mind.
Melting snow; ethereal crestfallen swans; the breakage of a woman who would have never begged; a lake so deep it is bottomless.
Bottomless black eyes, all-seeing, swirling, a current so strong it is the hands that push you down, down into the whispering voice that loves you while killing you.
The shards of porcelain on the floor were still beautiful, if only someone mended them.
Elain grabbed each one and placed them delicately on a tray, using a finely made doily to sweep the warm tea spilled on the floor
She padded slowly down the stairs, nightgown dragging around her feet.
Broken china rested on the kitchen countertop, Nuala would take care of it, see to it with the loving touch of an artisan who was ageless and immortal.
Elain reached for the multicolored leaves inside a mason jar under the window, setting them inside the copper pan with boiling water over the stovetop.
Only her hands, if she blinked, started to wither with age, and a black box of fury appeared between them-
The coolness of the counter beneath her young, translucent fingers.
Her mind stalled for half a second, hesitating, unsure, then searched until it found it.
Anger for the unpalatable book.
Elain had something to do.
⠀ ོ ⠀ ོ ⠀ ོ ⠀ ོ
Libraries are known for their solitude. A place for reflection, for diving deep between words, for biting into a book and spitting out a seed-shaped thought.
Elain walked barefoot on the soft expensive carpet beneath her feet. Sangravah patterns, she noted, not quite sure of how she had known so.
The book still stood where it always had, after Navigation for Beginners (3 words, 23 letters). It was just… there. Like its existence wasn’t a disrespect to the Mother herself.
Her eyes narrowed and her nostrils flared, clumsy and irritated hands grabbed the dark blue cover and, unprepared for its weight, let it fall with a muted thud.
The pages fell open, a warm invitation, into the carefully drawn figure of a lacerated spleen. ( when the pages fell open, her eyes couldn’t help but see)
Mindful of the spleen’s vascularization, a Concentric Mending Spell (page 278) must be placed using the middle, ring and little finger, pinpointing the magic into the gash and closing it quickly thus avoiding fatal hemorrhagic shock. The healer’s pointer finger and thumb must only locate the laceration, while the palm concentrates the spell, and the latter three fingers expel it. Previous use of whole-hand magic in repairing interior cuts has led to unwanted tissue adherence and is advised against when in treatment of internal organ damage (see Index for Whole-Hand Magic).
Elain blinked once, then twice.
Smoothness replaced the furrow in her brows and with a short tilt of her head, Elain brushed back her golden curtain of hair with an absent hand as she ran the pad of a curious finger along the lines, her knees completely pressed down on the rug.
Those instructions sounded nothing like the healing she had experienced from Madja.
The ancient fae had only felt her, placing her palms on either side of her head or using unfamiliar copper tools to measure some information she deemed important but escaped Elain’s logic. Madja had moved her hands over Elain’s body as she had once seen a Child of the Blessed do over a clear glass orb during a town square fair.
A quiet, expanding bubble of pressure grew from the pit of Elain’s belly until it lay underneath her skin, soft light shimmering behind once dulled, wooden eyes.
The intricate directives from the book were precise and sure, based on wisely curated knowledge and the pure need to guide those who could be good to others. Save them, even.
Elain held the book kindly in her hands, resting it on her arms as she skittered over to her room in fastened steps so as not to attract unwanted attention.
Under the shy rising sun of the following morning, a side lamp - a friend to a sleepless, captivated woman in a sunlit room – rested with its oil completely burnt.
(7)
The townhouse was empty when Elain woke up.
It wasn’t an unusual occurrence, most of the house’s occupants were busy, political figures with a multitude of urgent daily tasks.
Not that Elain was particularly aware.
She had been furtively reading every healing book she could get her hands on, and the more fascinated she became, the less she seemed to register the comings and goings of the routine around her.
She could barely help it, could she? It was an entire world she was becoming privy to. It had never occurred to her as a human to be curious about such things. In fact, she doubted anyone in the Human Lands had any notion of the delicacy and potency of Healing. The healers back home had to rely on herbs, cold or warm wet cloths, and wishful thinking to cure someone, if they were even able to achieve such a feat.
Not home anymore, she would think, instinctually, and remember the towering walls she longed to be housed within, of luxurious balls, of blue eyes so bright they were sapphires, of a simple band of iron on a delicate finger.
Elain turned to her books.
Mending charms, diagnostic spells, potions. Instruments with the most varied, peculiar purposes. Special needles could be used to draw blood, and expertly assembled lenses could reveal what lay within it. Armbands imbued with magic could indicate the strength of a patient’s blood pressure.
The body was made of such intricate systems, which worked together magnificently to perform delightful, orchestrated functions. She was mesmerized by all of it.
Elain had also taken to helping in the kitchens as well. Nesta and Feyre tended to worry and watch Elain much more closely whenever she stayed in her room too long, and it was exponentially harder to read what she wanted when they were around.
You shouldn’t concern yourself with these things, she feared they would say, the shadow of a winged male behind them. Maybe you should try reading something else, something with nicer pictures, or lighter stories to ease your mind.
Those kind words, seemingly thoughtful advice, and concern would dwindle her precious books one by one, and then she would have nothing again.
Elain hated it too, how they were always looking at her with disheartened gazes. Not only her sisters but of all the Inner Circle. They never understood anything of what she had to say, would never credit any of her thoughts. Even the fox twitched its nose and bent his head to the side with confusion - on the occasion his face wasn’t drenched in pain and longing.
But she had tried. She had told them of the changed woman with feathers set aflame. Warned them of the tempestuous owner of the onyx box, only for it to fall on seemingly deafened ears, her speech only another line added to Feyre’s forehead, another bolt of iron in Nesta’s spine, another worry for someone else had to deal with.
Only Elain could see, and for that, she remained invisible.
The dough flattened smoothly under the roller; Elain’s arms loosened into the motion. The floured surface of the worktable was crammed with little jars of sugar and jams, multipurpose cloths, and an open cookbook. She would finish her pastries, leave them resting on the windowsill then hurry upstairs. Hopefully, her sisters would see them and take much longer to search for her, allowing Elain to have the afternoon she was carefully crafting for herself.
With the soft ding of an egg-shaped time counter, Elain took out a tray of perfectly golden crusted squares and placed them on the cleared table.
There was, if she was honest, a soothing quality to baking. The gentleness of each step lulled her mind and made it easier for her to tune out external and internal frictions, focusing only on the motion of her body.
As she dried her hands in her apron, pastries gleaming with homemade poisonberry jam, Elain heard the soft padding of boots down the hallway, a slithering shadow curling around the doorframe and disappearing as quickly as it came.
With haste, she fled the kitchen and went to her room to find the singularity of calmness.
⠀ ོ ⠀ ོ ⠀ ོ ⠀ ོ
Dinner was a loud affair, as it always was, so Elain waited until they were all overtly satisfied and tipsy to approach her sister in the drawing room. The looming threat of war had yet to diminish the utter happiness Feyre’s return had on Rhysand and his friends.
Feyre was sprawled on the couch, the spot next to her newly vacated by a stumbling Mor, who had claimed the need for beauty sleep.
“How are you feeling today?” her sister asked, her long fingers dragging lovingly over Elain’s arm. A caress she is sure her sister would have never allowed herself to even try, if it weren’t for the drink-induced fog on her mind.
“Just fine,” Elain said, and then with the planned drop of her chin and the openness of seemingly unsure eyes, she continued “I was wondering if you could call for Madja again,”
Fey sat up in alarm, which could attract Nesta’s piercing, preoccupied gaze, so Elain hurried to add “She mentioned some sort of sleeping draught the last time, I believe I could make good use of it,”, watching the other side of the room with the corner of her eye to make sure Nesta was still in her hushed conversation with Amren.
“Oh,” Feyre visibly relaxed, and some of the tension harbored between Elain’s shoulder blades loosened. “Of course, I can send for her,” her youngest sister confirmed, and the tight fist of anxiety in Elain’s gut released its tight grip, replaced by tentative anticipation.
“I’m so glad you’re taking care of yourself.”
⠀ ོ ⠀ ོ ⠀ ོ ⠀ ོ
The calendar on the wall indicated the start of the weekend.
I believed it Monday still, Elain thought to herself.
She was sitting in the living room, having a late breakfast by the window.
An odd sight, the antonym of the barely acknowledged empty chair below early sunlight, collecting the friendly conversation around. There was no one else to notice so.
Feyre had told Elain the previous afternoon – while hurriedly moving down the hallway, rushing outside for some appointment she didn’t even consider explaining - that Madja would come to the townhouse at ten o’clock in the morning, and that she would try to join the appointment, but was unsure if she would be able to.
Nesta was, as she so often was those days, in Amren’s apartment, strengthening her magic. Elain thought she’d heard why that was but couldn’t remember.
Maybe a dream, then.
Distantly, something in Elain longed to also have that privilege. A tutor, someone to guide her in learning this well of uncharted territory inside, but that consideration was swiftly swept under a sodden rug.
A knock on the front door had Elain on her feet, shaking her head as if staving off an unseen fog.
It had been considerably hard, trying to maintain herself awake. She had reached and held so strongly to the absence of her mind that it had become nearly impossible to keep herself lucid on the rare occasions she had wanted to. There was a particularly interesting book on the history of Healing Magic, thankfully written in the common tongue – unlike a large part of the Medicinal Section in the library – that had Elain repeatedly dozing off, either proverbially or literally, in the same way, she had gladly done numerous times. Before it had been a welcoming state, the static of nothingness, but it was consuming her now in a way she hadn’t understood, glad as she had been for the reprieve from her life.
These epiphanies often came and went like waves. Sometimes she would allow the ships to go in with the high tide and return with small storytelling orbs of white light. Sometimes the boats would be swallowed whole by the tyrannical sea, drowned to the bottom until only a clear empty surface stretched on, the reflective glow of crystal spheres crushed in the sand below.
Now, she wanted something more.
There were things she wanted to know.
Madja stood on the front steps in her healer robes. The magic surrounding her was cool and soothing, the relaxing breeze on a perspired forehead. Elain wondered if the old fae is the type to enlighten a room simply by standing in it.
Elain ushered her into the already prepped sitting room, an open notebook, its pages organized in scribbles, sat on the arm of the host’s armchair.
“You seem to be in better spirits,” Madja began once they were both comfortable sitting, pleasantries exchanged. “But I was called in to see the need to prescribe sleep medication.”
“I asked my sister for your presence, yes” Elain stammered. “I have questions, and was hopeful you could aid me in finding the answers,”
Madja sipped her tea with steady hands and eyed Elain with a look she had seldomly encountered directed at her.
Interest.
“My time is yours, Lady Elain.”
The leather-bound notebook was humid from the sweat in her hands, some ingrained sense in her mind making the back on her neck pinprick and her knuckles curl as if afraid of a straight ruler.
“Well,” she breathed in once, then blinked. “In most medical texts, there are numerous examples and experiments on healing fae bodies. I found in one of Joseph Norton’s books many references to the need for quick healing, done with moderate care, and modest effectiveness rates yet high survival chances. Practices are much more rudimentary than the ones from Annabelle Rite’s manuals. She maintains through all her works the extreme need for balanced, methodical, time-consuming procedures, which allows her to utilize whole-hand magic with minimal side effects, and it seems so curious to me that she would even attempt to do so with so many predecessors discouraging it so deeply...”
She shook her head again, blushing – truthfully! - in a fashion she hadn’t for years,
“But I am unsure of why would fae people even need healing practices, if there are entire collections dedicated to explaining the varied ways in which the body heals itself, at higher rates than any other known species. Wouldn’t the spells muddle the body’s own magic? It sounds unnecessary, why isn’t it enough?”
Madja settled her teacup down and laid back further in her armchair, eyes crystalline and lips tugging at the side for an aged smile.
“It would depend on what sort of injury we’d be discussing. Internal bleeding, for instance, if small enough will be dealt with by the body’s own magic. It is noticeable in the evolution of hematomas, as they change colors as the blood is reabsorbed and the blood vessels are restored. Now, when internal bleeding comes from blunt trauma – falling from a high distance, for example - the body would not be effective in healing itself quickly enough. The simplest reason for that is, as much as some try to state otherwise, faeries aren’t perfect. The healer’s job, in this case, would be to work with the patient’s own natural healing magic, potentialize and organize it to ensure they would be able to regain all their functions. It can often, in presentation, be much more complicated. Norton’s protocols would be a particularly safe choice, seeing as they prioritize promptness, and in high-risk situations, those are inevitably what a healer with a multitude of variables to solve will likely tend towards.”
“A stab wound, on the other hand, is much more critical, and with hemorrhage comes the diminishing of the natural magic. Then, suturing charms or manual stitching might be required with the danger of losing the patient completely if not done in proper haste.
Rite’s protocols, I’ve found, are much more appropriate for long-term care. You seem to have read her book, so perhaps you may remember that most of her case studies and examples center around lasting injuries or chronic illnesses. I’ve seen impressive improvements in previously immobile limbs, once from almost permanently dormant to near full range motion from her Wavelength Spells.”
“Mind Injuries, which differ greatly from both, are perhaps the most elusive sort of healing. It tends to be intuitive, and it takes considerable skill to allow the healer’s magic to run unbound in the patient’s body without any harm, and an even greater amount to ensure recovery.”
“I would add that Faeries, High Fae or otherwise, tend to see themselves as infallible due to their perception of immortality, but healing magic and healers came from the tested and true knowledge that there is much frailty in being fae, to the utmost displeasure of the others of our kind. A healer’s job, as I’ve discovered, lies in giving them a second chance.”
“Oh,” Elain said still flushed, and resisted the urge to press her palms to her cheeks.
She could barely believe she had dragged this female from her prior, likely much more important engagements to come and explain to her the seemingly most logical and obvious concepts she had ever heard.
No wonder no one took her seriously if even with the amount of literature she had consumed in the past days (weeks? or months?) she couldn’t make sense of the most common of concepts.
How could she think— How delusional she must have been to even consider herself able to understand such a complex subject –
“Thank you, sorry for taking up so much of your time.” She made herself say, prying her stiff knuckles from her notebook, five crescent moon shapes on the once plain black leather cover. Her teacup clattered mortifyingly on its plate as she moved to pick it up, brown eyes irreflective.
“That was quite refreshing, Lady Elain. I haven’t had a chance to mull over healing in such a long time… Most of my protocols are so inherent to me, I find myself doing them instinctually.”
Elain wouldn’t learn this about herself for many years, but her ears twitched most daintily, disturbing some strands of her golden-brown hair.
“That is very kind.”
“There is a Healing Program here in Velaris if you find yourself with time. It is mostly lectures and debates. There is a selection process, but from what I gathered, you’ll have no problem enrolling.”
“I want,” she whispered, half dazed, teacup clutched tightly in her hands.
“If you believe I could… Yes, Ms. Madja, I want it.”
✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿
Thank you for reading! I would LOVE to know what you feel about it ;)
I'm working on part two, if you want to be tagged to find out what sort of crazy shit imma put my baby Elain through, let me know.
Special thanks from the bottom of my heart to @bittermuire and @sunlightsage for being the sweetest most supportive and most amazing beta readers I could have asked for! You mean the world to me :)
#elain week#elain archeron#elucien#if you squint#you guys i love this one ok#elain archeron fanfic#elucien fanfic#elucien fanfiction#acotar fic#ana writes#i went full nerd mode on this#elain archeron week
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Alright, how about one more request for your 1k event? Let's go one of each list! How about 15 and 34? Thank you!
Of course!!!
15 “What I fear the most is to close my eyes and never see you again.”
34. “Why do you keep pushing people away?”.
TW: Hurt/comfort, a bit angsty.
WC: 1.2k
You clutch at your cloak, shivering, the night chilly breeze swooshes down the spiral staircase, ruffling the unmoored strands of your hair like wild tendrils lashing on your face. Great! Someone must've left a window open. Your breath condensates in little clouds before you.
The nippy air was biting your skin you couldn't sleep. Even under three layers of wool, your bones ached, and you couldn't stop moving around on your creaky bed. The fire in your room was smoldering to a weak crackle, so you venture to the kitchen to retrieve more firewood and kindling.
The torches perched on the walls are quiet and still once you take the last turn — the sneaky wind whistles in the opposite direction — and a sluggish warmth consoles you. The acrid smell of musk peels off the cobblestone and the floor, coated in dew, feels slippery under the soles of your boots. Despite the solitude and the merciless night, your spirits are unaltered. Time served you well to patch up your beaten heart after he wrenched it out and squeezed it in his hand. You misunderstood. That’s what he said, and then, unruffled by the catastrophe he had elicited, he put the empty cup down and walked out. It’s been weeks, and yet you don’t feel ready to face him; whenever his face sneaks in your head, you can’t help but feel a twinge in the chest.
Your hum falters when you reach the communal kitchen. the door is ajar, and a slice of dancing light seeps through the gap.
As you push the door, you notice the cracks and the flaking paint that have been there for years. The door is old and heavy, and the screaming hinges make him turn around. You see the expression on his face change as he realizes that he's not alone anymore.
Your heartbeat quickens at the sight of him. You clear your throat and fiddle with a frayed thread of your cloak, avoiding his fervid gaze. "I didn't know you'd be here," you say, trying to sound casual while your mind races with thoughts of how to escape. You'd rather freeze to death than be in the same room with him, but you can't leave now. You're trapped.
The silence that follows feels like an eternity. You feel the weight of his gaze on you, those gray eyes that seize you under their spell, and you can't help but wonder what he's thinking.
There’s nothing much left between the two but an empty space and the air dense with millions of misunderstandings. Blood rushes about like untied chains flogging in your head. “Good night”, you breathe, but his voice refrains you from turning around.
“Hold on.” He says, tearing from the counter, and your vanquished body is impelled. Your muscles and nerves and every fiber ignore the commands from your brain and plug to your heart. Because no matter how much you’ve told yourself you hate him, nothing can deceive it.
A piercing shrill bursts through the night, and you drag your eyes to the feverish stove, the wall behind mottled with years of soot. Levi reaches out for two pewters. Then swerves around the island and fetches the kettle. The spicy aroma is inviting, filling every corner. The smell impregnated on him. The scalding water hisses against the walls of steel as he pours it, deliberately crafting his art.
You swallow your pride and pad toward him. “Thanks,” your eyes scoot around as you moisten your lips. “I wasn’t planning to stay, though. I need woods for my fire.”
“When will you stop avoiding me?”
“When you stop being a jerk.” You snap, but he only grins, making your blood sizzle with fury.
For a while you remain silent as the nature sounds drown your mesh of thoughts. Bare tree branches scratch the walls like claws on a chalkboard, the windows rattle against the fluting wind. You both rest against the counter; a chasm splits you apart.
“You hurt me, Levi.” You finally parse it. You gaze down to your feet, blushing. “At least you could’ve said something, I don’t know, like you only liked me as a friend or that you didn’t like me at all. You’re right, and my brain threaded the cues in the wrong way, blinded.”
“You didn’t misunderstand.” Levi scrambles in his head while his chest tightens into a knot that snatches his breath. Suddenly the air is heavy and stuffy. His fingertips twitch, so close to yours yet so far. He himself had built the wall between the two, and now, he doesn't know how to knock it down.
“Then why?” Your eyes sting with tears. “Why do you keep pushing people away? What are you so scared of? I’d never hurt you, Levi.” Your lips fumble and tears stream down your cheeks, joining paths at your chin before they splash on your cloak. "I would never."
“You’ll never get it, Y/N.” His voice crackles, but you don’t want to see his face. “You don't know what it's like to lose everything you love the most.” His arms ache to hold you. His lips yearn to feel yours pressed against his. But more than that, Levi wanted to be. Be with you. Be next to you. Feel the peacefulness of your nearness wash over him and settle his soul. But keeping you away is for your own good, and for his too.
“It’s a mechanism of protection. I see.” You mull over his philosophy. How much pain do they have to inflict on you to make you scared of love?
Levi blinks away his tears and closes his eyes. And those scenes he fears the most flash inside his head, so lively the panic of losing you courses through his veins. He swallows the lump in his throat and opens his eyes. His hand rest dangerously close, and little by little it gravitates toward yours.
“What is your biggest fear, Levi?” you delve while your eyes are still riveted to the floor. Your knees feel weak, in the brink of collapsing.
The steam has waned, and you know Levi hates his tea cold.
“What I fear the most is to close my eyes and never see you again.” He confesses in a shaky whisper, as if his own voice burned his throat and he were ashamed to admit his true feelings.
A spool of sobs and wails break your shell, and your legs give up. But his reflexes are faster. He grabs your hand and pulls you toward him, holding you so tight in an embrace that puts your pieces together. Your heart beating against his. It would be so easy to melt together, sink his lips against yours, and seal the night with a feeling that would make pain disappear. He knew it would disappear. But a little voice inside of him warns him of everything that can go wrong, and he hesitates for a moment, looking down at the ground from the tightrope.
He mutes the voice and goes for it.
Your lips taste like salt.
He was right, you hold the power to make pain go away.
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could we get a fic where old videos of Spencer being abused and tortured as a child surface and the emotional fallout (relapse maybe? w/ self harm, starving and dilaudid) and comfort from the team esp. morgan and hotch?
CW - CSA, self harm, eating disorder, drug addiction
I totally forgot about Hotch, Sorry 😬
The investigation that had started by Spencer thinking his dad had killed Riley Jenkins, had now led them to a man named Gary Micheals.
“Listen, we already know you raped and killed Riley Jenkins,” Rossi said, wasting no time, “Your DNA was a match and we found pictures, and home videos. Do I even have to guess what is on those videos?” Rossi paused meaningfully. He watched with satisfaction as Gary shifted and gulped, panic setting in his eyes.
“But,” Morgan cut in, “there were signs of long term abuse. If you tell us what was going on, if anyone else was involved, we can make a deal.”
Gary was silent for a moment, eyes glancing between the two. He swallowed hard and soothingly rubbed his closed fist with his other hand.
“There were a few guys in our circle,” Gary muttered, “We got pictures and… stuff for each other. Got most of the vids from William Reid.”
Morgan and Rossi turned to face each other so fast, you could practically hear the swooshing of the air. They locked eyes before turning to the one way window mirror, where they both knew the rest of the team, including Spencer stood.
Spencer felt his stomach drop, he clenched his teeth to stop the tears from falling and his panic breaths from coming out. Because he knew what was on those videos, he had known what were on those videos since he was a little kid. He, of course, didn’t know Gary had them. But he knew.
The rest of the team's eyes were on him, no one knowing what to say. Hotch cleared his throat, knowing Spencer wouldn’t want attention on him right now.
“Were we able to find something to watch the videos on?”
“Uh, yeah,” JJ replied, her voice somewhat distant as she pulled her eyes away from Spencer, “they have a TV and VHS player for us to use.”
Hotch nodded, “okay, let’s go.”
Spencer reluctantly followed after the team, his throat closed and dry and he knew if he tried to speak he wouldn’t be able to.
*
Spencer looked down at the floor as the video played on the screen. He tried his best to contain his panic as he heard the little boy on the video cry as he was violated, scream as he was whipped, and finally sniffle as the torment finally ended. He only hoped the team wouldn’t put the pieces together. Wouldn’t think William was evil enough to not only use his own child, but allow his sick group of friends to as well. But then the voice of his father on the tape said three words that made him freeze.
“Good Job, Spencer.”
*
Morgan glanced over to Spencer’s desk, where he was writing in a file with his hair falling in his face. Ever since the case a few weeks ago, he had been distant and closed off. The team had all tried to approach him, to help him deal with the trauma and the old wounds that had been opened by the discovery. But Spencer had only shut down more.
Morgan wished more than anything he would have seen the signs. How cases with abused kids affected Reid deeply, how he was skittish and jumpy, he had even seen scars all over Spencer’s back when he walked in on him changing his shirt one time. Spencer had told him they were from Tobias.
The entire team was worried. Spencer was snappy, he had lost weight. None of them wanted to admit it, but it was scarily similar to those months after Tobias Hankel. But, as Morgan watched Spencer he made up his mind. Spencer had been through so much and he had survived. He wasn’t going to watch Spencer suffer alone again, he wasn’t going to make the same mistake again.
*
“Hey, pretty boy,” Morgan called after Spencer after work, jogging to catch up to him “I’m going to give you a ride home.”
“No thanks, Morgan,” Spencer mumbled, his face downcast and his hand scratching his elbow.
Morgan swallowed, before resuming his cheery voice, “too bad, come on.”
*
Morgan glanced at Spencer as he drove. He was closed off, tightly clutching his bag to his chest.
“Reid… I really need to talk to you.”
Spencer tensed even more than before, “why,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.
Morgan sighed, pulling the car over on a small empty road, “because I know you’re not okay.”
“I’m fine,” Spencer said, his voice shaking.
“No, you’re not, kid,” Morgan plainly said. He bit his lip in hesitation, “let me see your arms.”
Spencer’s eyes flashed up, panic in them. And he leaned away from Morgan.
“Listen, I already know you’re using again. Show me,” Morgan firmly demanded
Spencer’s face crumbled in a mix of sadness and shame. He turned his head away and held out his left arm.
Morgan took his arm gently into his hands, his heart sunk at how frail and thin it felt. “Have you been eating?”
Morgan blinked back tears as Spencer shook his head. Morgan slowly rolled up his sleeve to his elbow. He stared at Spencer’s arm in horror. He expected the track marks, but what he didn’t expect was the cut, scratches, and bruises that littered his little brother’s arm.
“Spencer, why?” he whispered.
Spencer blinked back tears of shame “because I’m so dirty and horrible. And now you know.”
“No,” Morgan’s voice broke, “no, you’re not. I would never think you were dirty. Something similar happened to me, you know that. I would never judge you.”
“But, it wasn’t your fault. I let multiple men touch me, so many of them…” Spencer trailed off, a far off look in his eyes. “I let him tape me.”
“You didn’t ‘let them’ they raped you, Spencer.”
Spencer flinched at the word.
Morgan tilted Reid's head up, “I’m going to help you.”
Spencer’s eyes finally met Morgan’s, his tear stained face filled with confusion, “why? I’m just a stupid junkie.”
Morgan shook his head, devastated, “No, kid. You’re my little brother and I love you.”
Morgan slowly pulled him into a hug as he felt Spencer sob against his shoulder.
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This is the Rook crackfic where we're keeping up with tradition and making the title way too long for no reason whatsoever. In this Rook crackfic I will...
part 5 part 4 part 3 part 2 part 1 Valentine's Day (but it's August)
gender neutral reader
warnings: this is not that serious, crack
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romantic
"Rook, must you really go...?" you ask your boyfriend. You have spent together a very enjoyable afternoon at Ramshackle. Now, however, with the fall of the night sky and rising of the moon; your lover needs to depart... unfortunately.
"Je suis desole mon amour, but I have to go." he places a hand dramatically over his chest "But fear not, for tomorrow we shall meet again." and with a smile and a wink the hunter bows to place a delicate kiss upon your hand.
When he resumes his upright posture you share an embrace. And then it's time to leave.
You sigh as you see him depart from the warmth of the, now, less dilapidated building you call home and you wave him a last goodbye for tonight. You might call him later.
"...Y/N..." Grim joins you in the doorway "Do I really have to take the medicine...?" he asks, giving you his best, uh, puppy? eyes, but no! You are steadfast in your decisions!
"It's the fastest way to get rid of your stomach pains." you reason.
"But I don't wanna!" what a stubborn cat monster your adopted son is!
"You will take that syrup if it's the last thing you do!" you warn and Grim yelps as he makes a run for it.
Oh, well... you'll just have to catch him. It's not that hard considering you've learned a thing or two from your amazing boyfriend.
And as you go up the stairs you can't help but let you mind wander... 'When will my hunter return from tonight's adventure? I hope he has fun playing with Yuu..."
platonic (Is Yuu the hunter or the hunted?)
This is it. This is the end.
The final confrontation is upon Yuu. The prefect might need to fight the "beast" in his own territory. And even if they fail... at least they will be forever immortalized by the video camera in Ace's hands...
That is if the video doesn't become some sort of lost media... maybe that'll start a conspiracy theory. Yuu wouldn't be opposed to it.
The prefect looks at their two companions and solemnly speaks:
"If I die, Deuce, I leave all my mortal possessions to you... aside from my throwing knives, bury me with those." Yuu says, before correcting themselves. "Wait! No, burn my corpse on a pyre! That's a cooler way to go!" they give a nod and a smile to their bewildered friends.
"Umm, Yuu... I don't think the Headmage would approve of that..." Deuce says uncertainly.
"What I wanna know," the redhead of the group interrupts "Is why I'm not getting anything?!" he asks in indignation. "I'm the one filming you anyway!" Ace complains again.
"What do you mean you're not getting anything?!" Yuu snaps at the redhead "You're get the money from the video!" they say in exasperation.
"Oh..." is the only thing the two companions can say as they look at one another.
"Wai-" Ace begins again only to be shushed by the prefect.
They gesture wildly, bringing a finger to their lips and crouching slightly.
Silence
Rustling leaves.
A crow croaks in the distance.
Yuu could swear it sounded a lot like Crowley... maybe he found the copies...?
Anyway! There's no time to be distracted! The prefect has a hunter to hunt!
SWOOSH
An arrow barely misses Yuu. They look in the direction of their assailant.
Swoosh! and another arrow goes between Ace and Deuce, embedding itself in a tree trunk. The duo lets out a scream. Damn it he's come for you!
"Take cover!" the prefect barks at their companions "I'm not having you on my conscience!"
"What the hell, Yuu!" Ace starts again "You didn't say he'll shoot at us too!"
"Prefect, on this one I'll have to agree with Ace." Deuce joins in.
"I never said you'll see the morning unscathed!" Yuu retorts "Now run!" and the three make a break for the forest.
.....
"How long do you think it will take him to find us here?" The blue-haired boy asks.
"Not much." is the prefects answers. "I need to get his hat to win this..." they mutter.
"Why are you so obsessed with getting his hat?!" Ace almost screams.
"Because I can't behead him and display his head on a spike, so I'll settle for the hat."
Blanc stares.
"All right. I'm out!" the redhead declares.
"I'll go too... sorry, Yuu." Deuce adds.
'Cowards' the prefect thinks, but they don't stop the two. At least they have one of those cameras you can strap to your forehead. It'll do for a nice first person pov.
Swo-
Yuu catches the arrow before it can pass them.
"Oho!" comes a surprised chuckle from the foliage. "I didn't know you could do that! Beauté!" the hunter shows himself.
He gives a small round of applause, but to Yuu it sounds mocking.
"Are you approaching me?!" the prefect straightens their posture and slightly parts their arms in a "welcoming" motion. "Then I shall make it a worthy challenge!" and with that they produce a few throwing knives from their jacket, readying them at the blond.
"Marvelous!" His voice is as gleeful as ever. "Then I shan't disappoint either!" and he narrows his eyes.
And they lounge at one another! What a spectacle to be witness to! Arrows and knives keep flying, both skillful evaders of danger. Neither seems to gain the upper hand...
Until!
ending
An axe separates the two. It embeds in the grassy field where the battle has been happening for the past few minutes.
"Rook!" Y/N shouts, jogging lightly towards their boyfriend. "And Yuu!" they shoot a glare at the prefect once they reach the two. "I don't feel like patching up either one of you, so your little play date will have to stop for now."
"Ah... very well, mon ange." the hunter gives.
"But!" the prefect tries to argue.
"No buts! Do you want me to hunt you down like I've had to do with Grim?" Y/N scolds.
"...no..." Yuu answers dejectedly.
"Then, it's time to go." they give a push towards Ramshackle to the prefect. "And I'll see you tomorrow for out date, Rook!" they give a wink in the direction of the hunter who just as happily returns the gesture by blowing a kiss. The prefect makes a gagging sound only to be met with Y/Ns cold stare and they gulp.
......
As the two reach Ramshackle, Y/N speaks again:
"You know... if you just wanted a hat we could've just bought you one." they lightly tease and Yuu tenses up, cheeks growing warm.
"I don't-" they try to protest only to be cut off.
"Sure you don't!" Y/N teases again, entering the building with a light chuckle, followed only by a grumbling prefect.
.....
The next day, after Rook and Y/N leave for their date, the prefect finds a present with a new hat inside and a small note from a certain hunter.
Yuu supposes that weird stalker isn't that bad after all.
....Most of the student body begs to differ.
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an: Thank you everyone for sticking around to see this story finished! I hope you all enjoyed it and had fun!
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I compilled my Post-V3 Headcanons into one block of text because I'm so not normal about it.
And so time passes.
You call Maki every day. She moved back to her hometown so you usually only get to see each other through the screen. At some point, you decided to pretend to be normal teenagers. It's what the three of you have been encouraged to do by your therapists. So most of the time you don't talk about anything relevant. Just movies, TV, books. Maki mentions to you the massive collection of unfamiliar YA novels decorating the shelves of her old room. You make a joke that at least she gets to experience reading them for the first time again. She only huffs. You can tell she’s trying to come out of her shell and make friends at the new school, to stay open and generous, because that’s what he would have wanted her to do, but it’s still hard on her. And so you call her every day and she never misses a call.
Himiko seems to be doing OK, surprisingly. Her mother was apparently the super strict and demanding type. She never approved of her spending so much of her valuable time watching Danganronpa and now that Himiko can't handle nearly as much work as she used to, you assumed her mother would be even harder on her. But she somehow came around over time. Himiko tells her about Tenko and Angie constantly and explains her spells and potions (and magic tricks) to her in great detail. And her mother listens because she likes seeing her daughter being truly passionate about something again. You and Maki agree that if your previous lives were truly all just fiction, there’s no reason why Himiko couldn’t have been a real mage once. Sometimes lies can be helpful.
Your mom never calls you anything other than her son. She says she loves you no matter what but sometimes you see the hint of hesitation in her eyes when she remembers what you’ve been through. After all, she watched the game transpire live. You talk together about it. She can never understand but she tries. You tell her that you’re sorry, for what it's worth. Sorry for going out and almost getting yourself killed. She says that she thought she lost you forever but you came back. "Different, but you did!" She cries with you on the couch, gripping you tightly in a hug. She bought you a new hat because you started wearing them again.
It gets hard. Seeing the billboard signs about the premiere. Hearing the theme music on the radio. Facebook shows you ads for Kaede figurines. You notice cosplayers congregating in front of your house every couple of weeks. You dyed your hair back to black, Himiko too, to not stand out. Your mom doesn't know what name to use for you and you can't help her choose. She calls you by your previous name sometimes, the name plastered on all of the Danganronpa fan accounts you still have access to. The one on all the black-and-white notebooks that Maki helped you pack into boxes and move to the basement. You don't want to throw them away for your mom's sake. Most of the time she just calls you honey.
You have wild dreams. There’s three kinds. The first ones are those that your therapist encourages you to talk through. In them, you see red everywhere (not magenta). There is the crunch of Kirumi’s torn body hitting the ground, the swoosh of Kaede's body in the air as it is dragged around on the piano keys, the cracking of fire coming at Gonta from the flamethrower. And everyone’s screams, anguish, pain: the tragedy of the lost lives and the destroyed minds. And so many people are watching and nobody comes to help you. You beg to be let out again and again and they just laugh. Those dreams have you wake up in cold sweat, terrified, barely catching a breath.
Then there's the other kind of dreams. Nothing violent happens in those. There’s just a white room, two chairs and a boy that looks exactly like you. He mumbles, giggles, cries, exclaims, monologues, serenades you and he simply never stops talking about Danganronpa. He says he misses his shows, his online friends, says he's bored and he begs you to talk to him, to stay there with him, to help him out, but whenever you see him stand hunched in front of you with that delirious smile, your voice disappears. Those dreams leave you shaking and crying, not knowing what is real anymore. The only feeling you are sure of in those moments is the regret in knowing that you will never be given a chance to understand the person you once were. Maybe there is nothing to understand but it still feels like another loss.
And of course, you dream about your friends. Sweet dreams that break your heart anew each time you wake up. Kaito, Kokichi, her. In spite of that, these dreams are your favorite. You rewatch scenes from the show over and over while subconsciously trying to memorize every sentence they uttered in the game. At one point, Himiko has to stop you from ordering a copy of the original script, containing unused lines. Sometimes lies can hurt. You alternate between wishing they could be here with you, wishing they had another chance at life, and being glad they didn't have to go through this.
You listen to Kaito’s voice lines the most. His grandma was reported to have died recently. The news was announced as a little tidbit in the same article in which they ranked Top 10 Heroic Kaito Moments. You did the complimentary “Which Danganronpa Character Are You?” quiz and you got someone called Chihiro. In a V3 quiz, you were assigned Kaede. You’d like to think that the outside world could never know your friend like you did but their description of her personality is so spot on it makes your heart ache. Even those figurines look more life-like than Angie’s sculptures. (Maybe you should look up what people thought of Kokichi, maybe it would help you understand him better. At least retroactively.)
You've discovered that you can apparently draw pretty well. Team Danganronpa must have left that skill intact from your fandom days. You had thrown away all the promotional materials for V3 pilling in your room. The only pictures of your friends you still have left are those that you drew yourself from memory. (You don't want to look at official character art for reference.) Your therapist advises you to maybe take those drawings down from your bedroom walls, says it's not healthy. You explain to her that Himiko, Maki and you are the only three people in the whole world that remember these people as real people, with real lives, so it’s important to not forget. The therapist doesn’t say anything to that.
You've heard that the final season’s head writer (and Tsumugi's actress) is working on her own stuff now. In spite of the mixed reviews for the finale, she got applauded for her writing in the season as a whole, especially for the underlying motives, intricate character interactions and of course, audience participation that V3 brought to the franchise. She is supposedly sitting in a director’s chair somewhere now, developing her own anime on the other side of the country. They won’t let you see her or let you know her real name for safety reasons. ‘She simply did her part in the show, she just did her job!’ they say.
Not like you care anymore. The only part of the Danganronpa world you still care about are the people who came from it. Ironically, Maki and Himiko feel like the only real people in your life right now and you suppose that is right for the time being, at least until you learn to be a part of the world that wanted you to die. In spite of that, you made it out. Again, it's not easy and it may never be. But just as before, you depend on each other, you cry together, you laugh together. The days are quiet and time passes slowly, but it does pass. Everything passes in the end. The three of you stand outside holding hands and remember those who gave their lives so you could be here now, basking in the warm spring sun, free of the fate you were created for. And together, for your friends and yourselves, you live on.
#some of my post V3 headcanons#I thought it left my mind already but I sat down to write out some general notes today and yeah! it was a lot#I wish the V3 survivors a safe and painless recovery- always#danganronpa#drv3#drv3 spoilers#ndrv3#ndrv3 spoilers#txt#danganronpa spoilers#💜#shuichi saihara#himiko yumeno#maki harukawa#kaito momota#kaede akamatsu#post game#post game shuichi#pregame shuichi#I love you V3 ending with all my heart#Ill post this on ao3 later too because I guess it belongs there too
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the winner is mongrang x reader. But a big twist to it.
___________________
MONGRANG X READER.
____________________
you were a pretty girl. grown into an age of when provinces and masters were under the hands of you. it sickened you to the point of when being under the hands of a master had you become a true realist. your mother.
Your village. control is one thing to use in such displeasure and dangerous acts. but the echoing screams of enslaved people that didn't fall under the rule. were tortured and taken into executions. but you didn't want to be controlled since we supposedly humans with an immune system controlling us. us as humanoid meat covering our soul like an apple with worms inside of it. you batted your chinese fan to let the air swoosh to your makeup embedded face.
ignoring the time, going out at night to see two opposites argue with each other. but these two opposites had a different power to them. one was crazy and mentally unwell. and one used and took women into his room to have a great time fucking their pussy for free.
That was mongrang.
your face turned disgusted by the mere presence of his face inside your head. like a VHS tape you broke before but still continuously played the footage. he was a red flag.
had the beauty of women give him motivation and happiness enough to satisfy his needs. but he had an enemy that isn't like that at all. and it kinda fascinated you about these two beings.
Jaha lee.
He is an extremely insane but handsome young man who rules a clan. doing usurpation upon the previous leader. they were both hot, but your taste for men is halfway ruined by booze-drinking older men.
Without respect and with a disgusting stench to them. Reaching to get a hot beauty to benefit their lives. but it doesn't work that way.
you ordered pho and sat down with your hanfu kissing the wood of the benches. you looked around the town in your vision. Booze, wine, beautiful men with evil in them, and women that rests their naked body onto many men. a fabric of DNA shared too much.
the bowl of broth and noodles went across your nose. standing you down. trying not to eat it unprofessional. It's ridiculous to be proper for the public eye.
Eat like a pig? Get judged and get called piggy.
eat proper? You are such a true lady.
you scoffed. reaching to your chopsticks to the pool of broth in the bowl. gender is such a stupid hassle to come across. Why do I need to pay attention to how I eat, and why do i need to do it just for the nonexistent stares of humanity's issues and problems? confusion struck your mind when you ate it properly.
you saw a man with long light chocolate colored hair sit across from you. the stares of the women when directly at you, like you interrupted their need to fangirl at the beauty of a man. Even the girl right next to him shot you a stare of such disrespect and thoughts of "why is she sitting with this bitch?"
he tried talking to you. with his beautiful eyes attempted to struck your heart. it's like a video game. It was blue. and it was pretty. but also multiple questions had to wash over your brain.
"what is he doing here?"
'Did he see me when he fought with that jaha guy?"
"Men are such rats. Why is trying to talk to me?"
his deep voice cleared it all like clouds.
"I believe I met you 2 months ago. I thought you were pretty. But I don't know why you decided to avoid me."
you chewed the meat from the meal.
"Get to the point. why are you talking to me?"
"I wanted to take you on a walk. to try and get to know you better.. despite your hatred for men."
"You... want to take me out?? You answer in a tone of rejection. he seemed kind, but inside of all, that kindness is a red flag.
"ahaha. I didn't mean to upset you. but come here. I need to tell you something."
"You have already done. now. leave my sight. I need to go home anyway. " That sentence hit him hard like a knife. since he really wanted to talk to you after his fight with jaha. but so mysterious to disappear right after their destructive fight.
the pervert demon reaching for a hand of such mystery.
"Wait." he grabbed your hand. right when he did. you scoffed in disgust. thinking about how many many men tried to get with pretty women. and then try so hard to reach for their pretty plum lips.
"let me go."
"Please talk to me. if you don't want to. Then I respect your answer. but please??"
the whispers and stares were directly to you again. like you split a drink or spilled pho all over your hanfu. it was judgemental and sour. but you had to suck it up and act accordingly to the most beautiful man in this town.
"Fine. fine."
He then grabbed your entire body and flew away in so much speed. It was so surprising. a pervert with such power. and a pervert that shit his man to a man with insanity on his toes. ahh. such misfortune. it was the lake he washed himself with.
the shit particles in this beautiful river. way to mess up beauty in nature.
"Did you bring me here to flirt with me like you insufferable men always do during your lives or to make me your girlfriend?"
"it's not like that at all. those women I hung out with back there is only using me for reputation and money... sick of it."
"very surprised of one person that sticks their cock inside women."
"Do you want me to be honest or not?" his entire personality changed. like he got revamped. always having motivation towards women, but it's much different from you than before.
"be honest."
"Your beauty caught me off gaurd when I was fighting that maniac. it wasn't like usual when i saw women in general. you actually had a unique personality when I saw you. all I'm saying is that. I don't know much about you. But I want to know more about you."
"tch typical." You turned your head from the face of what he's saying is genuine. but it actually made you feel something from that. you only had spoken to him in such a rude attitude. even when he spoke to you back then. so. Maybe give a chance?
"I dealt with men from all across China. when I traveled through our land. from the shanxxi province to the Shanghai province. It's not that different anymore coming from you. so please...I don't need to deal with one more."
"You are actually the woman that I was in need to speak with. you are the woman that I wanted to know more about. it was a urge at the point. but now that I have finally got you , this is what I get in return?" his words flinched you a bit. the more he spilled what he felt. the more you felt that feeling waiting to be leaked out.
"I'm sorry, mongrang. But I don't know how to feel.. I feel like you are the same as all the other men. and I'm afraid. I'm afraid that every man that I date with cheat on me or betray me with a girl that I don't even know. I don't want to suffer through that.."
he leaned on the railing to his hair, morfing like little brown webs. a shade of pink starts to come closer to color your face with it.
"I can understand you. many of us...I guess we either don't know our boundaries or don't respect them. I'm so sorry you don't want to suffer through that. many of the women back there is a bunch of whores anyway. but... you are so different from them. that's why I chose to talk to you. but in hiding since girls like to start drama." his expression turned dim and genuine. his blue eyes looked to the nightsky. seeing a good amount of stars.
"..maybe in the future. we can't see the sky like this anymore. The stars disappear and form into nothing but a black sky."
".....ahh fuck it. mongrang."
"Hm?"
you went so close to his face. with pink marking your face so much that your skin wasn't adapting.
"I don't know if I can rub off this feeling. but it's been bothering me ever since we got here. look. I don't know if you are one of them. or a red flag. but if I date you. Then you better not have many other chicks taking the DNA off your lips."
"So, are you saying you like me?"
"I don't know, but if I do, then maybe that's why my body moved on its own to yours."
"You are a peculiar woman with a lot of mystery behind you. and I love it."
your lips turned intimate, and his felt soft. tasting every ounce of his mouth and every bit of flavor of the pervert demon. he rubbed his hands to your waist, pulling you closer into the kiss. and even deeper as it seems.
"Ah..ehm. yeah. I don't know how to explain myself in terms of love."
" It's fine.. I loved it."
(My hands hurt ghfnfnfn)
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My husband is a sea lion?!
Driving on the rocky road in your quaint little coastal town of a place called Seaford, rolling hills swooshing by and the soothing sound of crashing waves could be heard as your carry on your drive. Whistling a soft tone to the music you had on shuffle glancing over at the expensive bags you were carrying home. Some moments fidgeting the shiny rock on your finger not containing the smile that broke through. Truthfully, today was the mark of your second anniversary with your husband ,Kaelan.
Remembering like it was yesterday, a dark night of crying on the bench for getting stood up for the upteenth time. Only getting asked out as a dare because you were deemed the “chubby“ or “fat“ girl. You never let it get to you before always wearing the curves and shape of your body with pride and never letting it dampen her spirit.But tonight you had felt that the guy this time was different. “hi, pretty mamas, whats a woman like you doing by herself?“ there he stood at 6’5 in a gray track suit with shaggy hair in his face. He slides onto the bench next to you after not getting a response.
“you know I should call the police?“ he lets out a long whistle looking over for your eyes to meet on directly. Watching you look at gim confusingly,“ because you stole my heart.“ letting out a snort and soft giggle at his corny joke. He smiles proudly, “if you give me your number i can promise to make that smile never falter.“ and the memory fades as you pull into the driveway.
Gathering the various of bags from
the floor of the passenger side and enter the cozy cottage. Closing the door you noticed an unusual silence that hung in the air. Curiosity mingled with concern, as you call out softly for kaelan only to have your heart drop at the sight of his abandoned clothes in the hallway. Breaths turning heavy and emotions raging wild. Slowly turning to anger as you dig through the hallway closet and find a baseball bat. Creeping to the door you let it creak as you inch it open ready to see thw sightnof another woman in your bed accompaning your husband. Yet nothing laid there but rose petals in shape of a heart and a gift bag. Inside was a jewlery box containing a necklace. Making your heart flutter. The sound of water splashing broke you out of your heartfilled trance. Seeing the bathroom door a jared. Rushing toward the bathroom dragging behind the baseball bat in your loose grip. Not expecting a scream to escape her body.
There, you find sitting in the bathtub a sea lion splashung water on its skin happily and merrily until it heard your scream making it use ita fins to cover its body with haste. Seeing yourndeath grip on your wooden weapon swinging it at him. “wait,y/n-“ it jumps out the tub as you scream louder at it being able to speak the human language. It slips and slides on the bathroom floor dodging you making you become a heaving and huffing mess. Before watching you in fear watching the scene of slipping occuring in front of it.
Groaning in pain you feel the back of your head to make sure no bleeding occurred. Only to feel a pillow placed underneathed you and the same ocean critter standing before you as its black doe eyes look upon your person in worry . heart racing as you came to a startling realization. Your husband, the man yoh had adored for years, was not who you thought he was. He was a sea lion, hidden beneath a human guise, waiting for the touch of water to reveal his true nature.
“kaelon?“ she asked after her revelation.
The critter nods its head and the feeling of
Confusion and disbelief washed over like the waves crashing against the shore behind the house . How could this be? How had you never noticed? Questions flooded your mind, and a mix of emotions swirled within ypu. But amidst the shock, an unexpected warmth filled her heart.
When you gazed into the sea lion's eyes, you witness fear, love ,and vulnerability. You saw the same soul you had fallen in love with, now wrapped in a different skin. And in that moment,you couldn’t speak a word Or question.
An:// im going to make a chapter page and banner for it later on <3 but how do we like it so far? It’s my first story like this 🥹🙏🏾
#x chubby reader#x plus size reader#oc x y/n#oc x self insert#oc x you#oc x reader#x reader#x fem!reader#x y/n#x you#x self insert
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