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ja3gerb0mbb · 4 months

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bloodsucker epilogue: somewhere in germany

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

word count: 2.2k

content warnings: sexual content, brief descriptions of blood

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

three years later:

warm air circled through the barn; it was finally spring in germany. quiet sounds of life filled my ears. birds chirping, the movement of the barn animals. “good boy,” i murmured to the goat at my hands, feeding him another piece of straw as i patted his head.

“i hate it when you call other guys that,” eren teased. turning to him, he was sitting on the railing to the pen, an exaggerated frown on his face. it couldn’t cover the constant comfort his features wore. a few months after we had gotten here, reality set in, and both of us adjusted to the absence of overwhelming doom that had followed us for too long. it was hard not to be constantly happy with how things turned out.

“it’s a goat, sociopath,” i reached into the ground below me, chucking a bit of dirt at him. he launched himself off the fence, walking over to me to pick me up from my kneeling position. “doesn’t matter,” he muttered, lining my head with quick kisses. “so i was stalking reiner a few days ago,” eren drew me out of my bliss.

i pushed him away so he could see the disturbed look on my face, “the fuck? why?” i shook my head in disbelief at him, but i couldn’t hold back the laugh. “he is your ex,” he lifted his brows, trying to show his reasoning.

i rolled my eyes, “are you seriously still pulling that? i’m your goddamn fiance!” i lifted my hand in the air, showing him the ring. he laughed, and i pulled my hand down to admire it again. the one he picked was perfect; i wasn’t surprised. neither of us could have kids with the vampirism; it would be just us for the rest of our lives. i couldn’t be sad at that thought; instead it made perfect sense.

“yes i am,” he protested, “anyway, he has a new girlfriend.” my jaw dropped open. i scoffed lightly, “yikes. i almost feel bad for bertholdt.” i really did. it was hard to imagine everything he did to me being useless because he never confessed his feelings to the person it mattered to. and he likely never would.

eren scoffed even harder, “i don’t,” he shrugged his shoulders. “i can’t believe he still hasn’t mentioned anything,” i shook my head in disbelief. “you really don’t need to feel so bad for him,” he approached me, rubbing my shoulder in comfort.

shrugging my shoulders, i let out a breath of air, “i know.” he scanned my face quickly, trying to gauge my emotions before changing the conversation. “jean texted. he’ll be here tomorrow,” his voice was lined with false disappointment. i couldn’t hold back the laugh in the back of my throat. “oh don’t sound so disappointed, i know you’re excited to see him.”

in the months leading up to our move, eren and jean had fixed their bond. sort of. i doubted it would ever be how it was when marco was still with them; but i was happy to see them have a semblance of a friendship again. “whatever,” eren muttered, still insecure about being excited.

“why’s he coming so early though?” none of our friends were supposed to be flying in for another week and a half. “he wants to spend some time with us before the wedding. i guess pieck is gonna fly up separately.” i nodded my head, finishing up the goat’s feed.

eren took my que, grabbing the bucket of chicken feed, and throwing the rest around their coup. the sun started to set on the horizon. our plot of land always had the best sunsets. it was hard to feel any disdain here; other than the mention of one thing. “and i heard from someone else.”

i already knew what was coming, but i couldn’t hold back the disappointed sigh that left my mouth. news from zeke. i should be thankful to him, and i was, but his name usually came with unnerving news. but i think zeke was thankful to us, too. apparently, after we left, grisha was so caught up in finding eren, it allowed him to have more freedom in his own life. grisha was less suffocating to him.

eren laughed nervously, trying to gain composure before continuing, “he’s issued an official order for my execution.” the words hung in the air. we knew it would be coming at some point, but it would make tensions higher when we returned for visits.

my steps halted on our way back to the cottage. eren turned around to face me, approaching me. i interlocked our hands, fiddling with his fingers. he continued, “the dumb oaf still doesn’t realize i ran off with you, though,” his laugh rang out around us. absolving the tension that had built around his previous statement.

“guess i played my part well at his house,” i winked at him, trying to set my emotions back into place. eren was still having difficulty, “there’s something else,” his features tensed again. i pulled on his hands, urging him to continue.

his sigh was loud, and he broke our gaze to look out at the sunset, “with his sights off of me, he’s gone back to focusing on the cult. zeke said there’s been a lot of deaths.” i pulled one of my hands out, moving it to his cheek. his head tiled in the direction of it, leaning into my palm. i stroked his cold skin with my thumb, “we won’t have to worry about that in our lifetime. it’s not our responsibility.” eren had already seen too much of that life; it wasn’t right that he still felt burdened by it.

his head shook lightly, “we could do something,” he offered weakly. “really, we couldn’t. if it’s as big as zeke says it is, we wouldn’t even have a shot at getting close to grisha. it’d be futile.”

eren thought about it for a few seconds, getting lost in my eyes. he sucked in a breath, “you’re right, i know that, it’s just hard to accept sometimes.” with my other hand, i squeezed his, “i know,” i whispered it. the wind whistled softly around us, bringing with it the sound of barn animals. the serenity of it helped to calm both of us down.

“i love you,” he whispered, leaning down to connect our lips. he moved slowly at first, pausing after each movement. his hands moved down to my waist, pressing my hips up against him. i bit at his bottom lip, trying to get him to kiss me harder.

i could feel his lips turn into a smirk before he gave in, moving his lips fervently. his hands wandered over my torso, and mine did the same, pulling at his skin with my nails as i went. a few kisses later, eren ripped the shirt i was wearing from my body. unlocking our lips, i gasped, “that was my favorite shirt, eren!” he threw it to the ground with a chuckle, “i’ll get you a new one.”

he lifted my body up, and i wrapped my legs around his torso as he carried me the rest of the way inside, leaving kisses around his neck. i could feel him getting hard beneath me. my butt hit the kitchen counter as eren let me down, fixing his grip around my waist again.

the next thing he pulled off were my pants; i lifted my hips higher on his stomach for them to pull off cleanly. “this reminds me of something,” i giggled, tugging at his shirt. he furrowed his brows, “and what would that be?” he feigned innocence.

he took a step back to slide his pants off as i undid the buckle of his belt, “just something that happened on a kitchen counter a few years ago,” i giggled again as i admired his toned body that flexed with the movements. he hummed, “i don’t remember. guess you’ll have to show me?” his hand gripped behind my neck, pulling me forward in a kiss. i bit his lip as a response.

his movements were hasty, quickly pulling back again. his two middle fingers hung on my bottom lip, silently asking for permission. i opened my mouth, sucking them in. my tongue swirled around them as his other hand slid under my body, pulling my hips out further.

his fingers slid out of my mouth, and the next second, i felt him shoving them into my pussy. “fuck!” i yelled out at the abrupt action, arching my back into him. i shot him a dirty look as i heard him laugh, his other hand circling my nipple. i brought my lips to his neck, biting into his flesh. i licked up the small amount of blood that trickled out, hearing a moan escape him at the action.

with another pump of his fingers, he drew his fingers out and slipped off his boxers. i bent down from my place on the counter, letting spit drip down onto his tip. he groaned, and i wrapped my hand around the shaft, spreading the slick with my thumb over his piercing.

his hands gripped each side on my waist, pulling me off the counter before shoving my body around and pushing my torso against the cold surface. “so pretty,” he muttered, pulling my legs further apart with his leg. he stood in between, placing his feet on either side of mine; an attempt to keep my legs separated.

i felt his tip tease my folds before he slammed his entire length in me. i let out a loud moan, “god, eren,” i grunted. he placed one hand on my waist to steady, and brought the other to my shoulder. he didn’t move as he learned down to whisper in my ear, “say my name again,” i could head the smirk in his voice, even with my face shoved into the counter.

my body lightly jostled with the grip he had on me, slamming his body into mine, “eren!” i yelled it louder, arching my back so he could penetrate deeper. “louder, slut,” he teased, moving his grip on my shoulder closer to my neck. at the nape of it, he applied pressure, keeping me pinned to the counter as he moved at a faster pace.

“eren! eren,” i started babbling as his hand around my waist reached further down, looping around my hips to rub my clit. with the added stimulation, i felt a knot tie tighter in my core. i let out more panty moans with eren’s hits on my g-spot becoming sloppier.

his body pressed further against mine, and i could hear pants of his own closer in my ear, a few drops of blood dripping down onto my upper back. his hands tied in my hair, and he pulled back on it, sending me into an orgasm. eren removed his dick, continuing to work me through my high with my clit.

i could feel a warm substance hit my back as eren lt out a final low moan. he wrapped his body around mine, moving my hair to plant a kiss on my forehead, “wait here.” i barely noticed his absence, still trying to catch my breath. i felt my knees buckle without his support, as i waited for a few minutes. my body started to heal itself quickly, and i was already ready to fuck him again.

he was back quickly, the sound of running water filtered to my ears. “c’mere, pretty,” he cooed, picking me up bridal style. he carried me to the bathroom, the room lit by candles. a floral aroma filled my nose. looking into the tug, eren had added dried flowers, “aw such a sweetheart,” i teased him. this was something he did often, but it never failed to give me butterflies.

“ugh, shut it,” he scoffed, annoyed with my constant mocking. his arms lowered me into the tub, and i moved my body forward, allowing him to get in beside me. his hands reached down to my waist, pulling me back onto him. he dunked my head in the water, running his hands through my hair, “i found the perfect destination for our honeymoon.”

i closed my eyes, content against him, “let me guess, you’re not gonna tell me?” i sighed. it was his nature to still keep me in the dark with everything he could. his chest bubbled with a laugh, jolting my body with it. “nope,” he popped the end, placing kisses on my temple, working his way down my face.

i sucked in a deep breath. i was aware of the absence of the void in my stomach. anxiety was no longer clawing at the back of my mind. with grisha finally setting his sights off of eren, i felt like i could fully settle into my fiance, certain that we could live in this calm for the rest of our lives.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

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a/n: had to reference phoebe bridgers in the title

thank you to everyone who has spent time reading this; i appreciate you! and thank you for all the comments, notes, and interactions; they really made my days, and gave me the confidence to finish this story! hope you guys like this ending, i’m not sure how i feel about it, but it’s the only one i could come up with. love yall!

#eren jaeger #eren jaeger fanfiction #eren jeager x reader #eren jaeger smut #eren yeager #eren yaeger smut #eren yaeger x reader #attack on titan #jean kirstein #mikasa ackerman

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vaguely-concerned · 1 year

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A post-Inquisition comic about Hawke coming home, because my heart has been aching since 2014 and I needed some catharsis at long last haha. I drew most of this over Christmas but I never intended it to become a longer thing as I was doing the first page, which is why Hawke's outfit changes completely after that. Huge plus of drawing with a ballpoint pen: forces you into an anti-perfectionist YOLO whatever-happens-happens mindstate, since once you've put the mark down on the page you just have to live with it. Huge drawback of drawing with a ballpoint pen: once you've put the mark down on the page you just have to live with it. Ah well, c'est la vie

Transcript of the dialogue under the cut/some corrections, because some of it got lost along the way to digital or fell victim to my terrible handwriting, and in some places I changed my mind about the wording but as previously mentioned: ballpoint pen and all that entails lmao

Merrill: Varric said you tried to stay behind in the Fade.

Hawke: Yeah, well, there’s some BIG potential in the housing market in there. Could’ve made a killing. Alas, it was not to be.

Merrill: Hawke, I — I don’t think you understand what you mean to us. Or… or if you do, I don’t understand how you could still think — how you could act as if…

Hawke: …As if?

Merrill: As if you don’t MATTER!

Merrill: We would follow you anywhere, if only you’d let us. You have to know that.

Hawke: Yes, I know. I think that might be part of the problem. Maybe you guys should upgrade your standards for who to follow from ‘the first and best person in the group with any sense of direction’.

Merrill: To guide those who are lost is an act of hellathen — a noble struggle. There is no shame in it.

Hawke: There is when what you’re most likely to lead them to is grim and painful doom. I seem to have an unfortunate trend on my hands. If one is to be regarded as misfortune and two starts to look like carelessness, I shudder to think what I’ve been up to.

Merrill: Is that why you sent us away?

Hawke: I never —

Merrill: Hawke, you are wonderfully clever in so many ways, but please don’t act as if I do not know you.

Hawke: It… was my responsibility.

Merrill: Was it?

Hawke: My fault, certainly.

Merrill: We were there when you found Corypheus too, you know. And we couldn’t stop it either. Does that make it our guilt as well?

Hawke: It’s not the same.

Merrill: Isn’t it? Do you think Bethany’s to blame as well, through blood alone?

Hawke: HAH! No, I don’t. And it’s very unkind of you to call me out on it, by the way. Rude.

Merrill: I do know you pretty well by now.

Hawke: You do.

Hawke: It wasn’t about that, anyway. Not really. It was good old-fashioned run-of-the-mill cowardice.

Merrill: I don’t believe that.

Hawke: It was. It had already been on my mind, but as that demon spoke I could no longer pretend… I couldn’t ignore anymore that…

Merrill: …Hawke?

Hawke: …that I would rather die than have to see another one of you — to have to bury one more — to fail you all yet ag—... I can’t…I can’t.

Merrill: Oh, Hawke. I’m so sorry.

Hawke: I can’t lead anyone anywhere, Merrill. I’m lost too.

Merrill: I know. I know. We all are. But —

Merrill: But you gave us the gift of not having to walk that path alone. When there was no other shelter in this world, you gave us a home. Please, lethallin, let us give the same to you. You don’t have to lead to anywhere. Just allow us to walk beside you. It pains me to think of you all alone.

You know, I, um — I still have that ball of twine Varric gave me. We could share it, if you want.

Hawke: That’d be great, Merrill. Thank you.

Merrill: I missed you so much. All of you.

Hawke: Even Fenris?

Merrill: Even Fenris. And his scowl.

Hawke: …I missed you too. Ah! That reminds me — I’ve got something for you! A gift.

Merrill: Oh, you didn’t have to —

Hawke: Take it as an apology for all the Wintersend presents I missed while I was away.

Merrill: A feather? Ma serannas, lethallin, it’s lovely! I’ve never seen one like this, what kind of bird is it from? Hm. It’s so big… This is going to sound so silly, but if I didn’t know any better I would have almost though it was from a griff —

…a griff…

…a…???!! :D

Hawke: Don’t worry, I’ll explain everything. Well. What tiny part of everything I actually understood, anyway. …I’m sorry, Merrill. I’m back now, I promise. And you would have made a much better Keeper than you give yourself credit for. Let’s go home.

Merrill: Oh, yes, let’s! Varric let everyone know, so Aveline should be waiting outside the city, and Isabela said she’d pick up Fenris once her ship is ready again, and — and please tell me about the griffons, lethallin, I am dying to know!

(please imagine Hawke doing a frighteningly good 'no shit there I was' Varric impression and then explaining whatever the fuck went down at Weisshaupt here, THE END)

Also some clarifications: Hawke did not kill Anders, he just feels extremely bad about and responsible for everything at all times (he asked Anders to leave and sided with the mages), and Hawke has been travelling with (Circle) Bethany the whole time since Weisshaupt, so that's why Merrill doesn't mention her. She Is Okay, Baby Sister Safe and Accounted For, please do not worry.

#dragon age #dragon age 2 #da2 #merrill #hawke #my art #this is not ship art but honestly if you want it to be I don't mind lol #my hawke is aro/ace and/or homoromantic demisexual. sort of (it's complicated)#but the friendship arc with merrill has always been special to me. so I made this about it

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softquietsteadylove · 1 year

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For the special force AU:

how about Thena putting together her Team and meeting Gil the first time? Like a little flashback?

They called her the Goddess of War.

Well, her name really was Thena. It wasn't an amazingly creative nickname. But it certainly was true, given she was known for being particularly vicious, whether it was in the field or the office. But what she lacked in social skill she made up for in sheer ability.

Gil had to admit he was surprised. He had heard about the Goddess of War, and everyone knew she was a top agent--they had to know that if they were applying to be part of her special ops team. But he hadn't heard anyone mention that she was literally the most beautiful woman on the face of the earth.

He thought that would have been mentioned at some point.

Kingo fidgeted beside him in line, "dude, she's so-"

"I don't want to hear anything about being badass."

Gil did his best to contain his laughter as Kingo's spine snapped straight so quickly he could swear he heard it.

Their new boss and team leader looked up at them finally. She had striking features, razor sharp bone structure under startlingly pale skin. Almost as pale as her whiter-than-platinum blonde hair. She leaned against the bullpen desk, "I'm no more or less badass than any of you. That is why I selected you, no?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Each of you excels in something far and beyond anyone else in the agency," she narrated, eyes scanning over them. Gil met her eyes for just a second as she passed over him. Her eyes were green. "That's why I chose you."

"Yes, sir!"

"But I can un-choose you," she tipped her chin up, and Gil was pretty sure it was almost the beginning of a smile. No one else seemed to think so, though, already quaking with nerves. "The next month we'll see if you have what it takes to be directed by me in the field. And ultimately, if I don't think you're a right fit for the team, then back to rank work you go. Am I clear?"

"Yes, sir!"

"You two," she eyed him and Kingo, "stay. The rest of you, back to work. You report here in the mornings now. It's oh-nine-hundred and not a second later."

"Yes, sir!"

"Dismissed," she looked down at the desk again, not even watching the rest of the candidates file out of the room.

Gil snuck his eyes towards the door as a few started whispering to themselves before they were even out of the room, like school children. Rookie mistake; she didn't say anything, but the boss lady made two sharp flicks of her pen on the files she had in front of her. They were already out of the running for placement on the team.

She drew herself up again, arms spread out and shoulders sharply angled, giving her a certain amount of presence. It was easy to forget that she was actually pretty normal statured as far as women went. If anything, she was a little skinny for being such a skilled fighter.

"You," she pointed at Kingo with her pen. "Sharp shot."

Kingo had both the best aim and the best actual shot record in the agency. "Yes, Boss?"

Gil nearly flinched, wondering what the sharp edged woman would have to say to the casual way of addressing her. They were a little higher ranked than some of the other agents she was considering, but certainly they weren't exempt from addressing her properly.

She raised a brow at him.

Kingo cleared his throat, "Boss...lady?...ma'am?"

"Hm," she let out singularly, but Kingo didn't get the little pen mark of doom. "You're...chatty, so I hear."

"Is that really in my file?" he couldn't resist muttering to himself.

"Yes." It obviously wasn't. "And I would like to use that to my advantage."

Gil watched the exchange cautiously. She was testing them both, that much was clear. He just wasn't sure how she was assessing them--and for what.

"How so?"

"I want...gossip."

"You?"

"I want things that aren't in any file," she clarified, keeping her eyes on Kingo. "It doesn't have to be anything sordid, but I do hope that if there's anything about any of your fellow candidates you feel I should know..."

Kingo stared right back at her. It could be a test of his loyalty, to see how easily he was turned on his own with so much as an order. But then again, it could be a test of how well he took orders. It could just be a test of if he lied on his file, for all they knew.

"Well?" she drawled.

Kingo straightened his shoulders. "Nothing worth reporting, I'd say. A friendly rivalry or two, but nothing that would distract them in the field. One is sorting out the tail end of a divorce, but he's a good father, so he hasn't let it affect his work. One of them does smoke, but I've never seen her ask for a smoke break, and she obviously still passed the fitness test."

Everything as promised; nothing worth reporting. It was both things that Thena would want to know as a leader but also the immediate promise that they wouldn't impact the team's work. They were nonstarters, as Kingo was telling her. He had both protected his fellow agents' personal affairs and reported honestly to his superior.

Again, Gil saw just this faint twitch at the corner of her - amazing - lips. He could swear it was a smile (of sorts).

"Very good," she nodded, taking the information for what it was. "Dismissed."

"Yes, sir," Kingo turned on his heel, catching Gil's eye ever so briefly before leaving as asked.

Gil was on his own.

"Gilgamesh," she murmured, looking over his file right in front of him. She nudged the papers lazily with the end of her pen. "But you go by Gil."

He shrugged.

"You can lift almost double what your fellow agents report," she looked up at him, one of her heels coming off the ground faintly. "And you did exceedingly well in your combat training and tests."

He shuffled a little in his stance, unsure if she wanted boastful confidence or sheepish modesty. "If that's what it says there."

She tilted her head, flipping his file closed. "Why do you think I selected you for this team?"

She had just listed one of his biggest assets as an agent, so why ask him? He had been asked to join countless special divisions since becoming an agent, thanks to his size and his strength. Everyone from homeland security to infiltration wanted him.

Gil looked at her--really looked. Her eyes were actually quite expressive, despite the facade she put on. There was no hiding what was in them and that beautiful colour. And he was pretty sure he knew what she was really asking. "My great sense of humour?"

There!--a real smile!

He brightened (he was never any good at hiding what he was feeling). "Is that a laugh?"

"No."

"Almost," he murmured, which he was pretty sure would have gotten him kicked out if anyone else were present for it. But they weren't, and he wasn't. He lifted his eyes to hers again. "I'll get you next time."

Her ice cold glare melted a little and he was pretty sure she did actually think he was at least a tiny bit funny. Maybe amusing, at least. "No one will believe you."

"I'll just have to try harder," he grinned to himself, setting his shoulders again. She resumed the cold, polished mask required of a team leader. But he could still see the very human warmth in her eyes. "Is it because of the cat thing?"

Her eyes sparked, even if her face was as still as a statue.

How had no one ever noticed this before? She was way easier to read than people thought. Or maybe she was deliberately letting him read her just to test him. Oh well.

"That stray cat that got caught in the tree outside of the main office?" Gil repeated, standing by his statement. "I spent all morning trying to get it down. I didn't call in my lateness and got suspended for a week without pay just because of some stray?"

"And you were asked why."

So, that was the reason. He smiled, "poor thing was scared. I couldn't just leave it there."

Another real, almost gentle seeming smile crossed Thena's face. She tilted her head at him, "that was the statement you gave. It's not attached to your suspension notice but I asked around for it."

Kingo must have told some higher up he knew would be close enough for her to hear it.

"That is the reason I chose you," she said without the forced sharpness of her tone. It was actually a lot softer, even higher than she could make it seem. "Because you cared so much for a strange animal that you couldn't abandon it. Nor did you contest your suspension--which you could have."

"Yeah, but I had a new cat to take care of."

She caught it right away, but it had happened, clear as day: she laughed.

Gil felt something rattle in his chest as she pinched her lips together and pretended to look down at her papers again. His life belonged to her, now--no questions asked.

She looked up at him, offering a sleekly shaped eyebrow with the remains of her smile, "congratulations."

"I don't know what you're talking about," he shrugged, and he didn't really consider making someone laugh something to gloat about anyway. "No one will believe me, sir."

She nodded, her smile remaining. "You and Kingo will be my leads. You'll report here at 0800 and I will tell you how the rest of this week will go."

"Yes, sir, Boss," Gil offered a smile--just a small, sheepish one.

"Don't test your luck," she advised him, back to keeping her smile very much in check.

It seemed she really couldn't control that one little corner from twitching upward, though.

"Yes, ma'am," Gil nodded and took his leave. Maybe joining the special forces would turn out to be not so bad.

#Thenamesh Special Forces AU #oooh I really like how this turned out #this is how it happened #I know I get to decide that but this is how it happened now #Gil immediately able to get a smile out of her #and deciding #this is my reason for living now #and Thena here thinking she's the unrbreakable Goddess of War #enter one (1) cute guy who's good at cooking and she's done for #Gil tells Kingo he got her to smile #and if it were anyone else Kingo would be like no way #but he knows Gil and he's like...really?#Gil's like yeah I think she's actually really nice when she wants to be #no one else ever gets to see this side of her though #I wonder why...

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fireflyhwufanficwriter · 6 months

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My thoughts on Dr. Stone’s S03E05 (“Science Vessel Perseus”)

(Safe to read for anime-only folks.)

My thoughts after watching Season Three, Episode Five:

01. Poor Kaseki… with all the rain that's made contact with that wood, it's probably expanded in ways that are detrimental to building the ship… :(

02. I don't want a miniature yacht! I want everybody (or almost everybody) to go! :O

03. Whatever Ryusui wants, Ryusui gets! If he wants to turn one million yen a month into an even larger fortune, then that's what he'll do! :D

04. It's interesting how Francois' outfit has more serious colors in the past - like it's a reflection of the difference in vibrancy and life between Francois' past employers and present employer :)

05. Working hard is a great look on Ryusui! :D And Francois gazed at him so admiringly XD I'm guessing the reason he didn't volunteer to build a model ship before was because they were already constructing a ship before Ryusui was depetrified! :)

06. Ryusui used Senku's word - exhilarating! :D

07. Suika has a lot of faith in Senku and Ryusui! :) Hmm, I didn't know before this that Senku's outfit had layers… I learned something new about him today! :O

08. Oh, we're still at paper, then? XD But anyway, this episode's title is "Science Vessel Perseus!" :D

09. Minami's creating the Kingdom of Science Photo Diary! :)

10. A casino… Ryusui sure has his priorities! XD

11. A pantograph… :O Aww, Suika drew a small Senku and the thingy drew a large Senku! :)

12. A 50-kilogram pen for the jumbo-sized version… They really did need power! :O Nazka Lines? Those are in… South America, right? Aww, Taiju drew a medium, more detailed Senku and the thingy drew a humongous, also detailed Senku! :D

13. …I didn't even remember this ship building roadmap until they showed it to us again XD

14. They need time… the most important resource of all :O

15. Kohaku loves winter sports! (Although they make her look blurry XD) Senku's making chocolate! Ukyo taught Suika and the other kids how to read! Nikki has cute writing, and Senku has… less cute text he wants to include with the photos XD

16. Hmm, Senku looked a little older after that lathe conversation… or is it just me? :O

17. How long would it take to find and utilize wild silk moths? But however long it took, they did, it and Ruri and Kohaku like the results… especially Kohaku, who looks all blurry in the photos again! :D And Suika was hiding with the other watermelons! :)

18. One year to build the ship… and a Season Two callback about how long a year can be! :D

19. Minami knows everybody, and will miss everybody… and may even feel a sense of responsibility towards those she chose to be revived… It's a tough position to be in… :(

20. Francois really thinks of everything in advance, even photo timers! :O

21. On September 10, 5741, the kingdom of science completed the Perseus sailing ship! :D

22. Senku and Suika are next to each other on the platform as the Perseus is being launched into the sea! And Kaseki's so happy about the grandest project of his life being completed! :)

23. I wish they had explained more about Perseus and Medusa, and why it's the perfect name for the ship! Maybe in the next episode? Although Chrome seems to get the reference, so maybe the story was told before this moment :D

24. Oooh, this is a new, epic-sounding song! :O And we have the world exploration team, and the humanity development team! :O

25. Senku has a great point! Imagine putting EVERYBODY on the ship… only for it to sink and doom the future of humanity XD

26. Ryusui's a very thoughtful, caring captain to think of what harm an unwilling sailor can do to a ship's entire crew! :)

27. Oooh, the boarding of the ship has begun… cue the opening song! :D Senku, Chrome, Kaseki, Yuzuriha, Ukro, Francois, the power team (which includes Kohaku! :D)… Kinro, who only boarded when called because rules are rules! :) And… Ginro… XD Senku's very considerate to point out that the humanity development team will be doing important work as well! :D

28. That's Kohaku, taking other people's safety very seriously! :) Strange how she didn't know about Hyoga and Homura being on the ship already, though… who got them on there? Taiju and Nikki? Oh, interesting that Kohaku used the word "Japan!" The modern era folks must have explained more about the world to the Ishigami Village folks! :D

29. It's a huge risk, but a very smart move at the same time. This way the most powerful warriors will be watching over the most powerful enemies… :O

30. Hahaha, Gen was trying to speed things up before his name got called XD And Kohaku comes to a realization about Gen's way of saving face :)

31. And they've set sail! The humanity development team looks like they're really going to miss the world exploration team! :O

32. Kohaku's pretty understanding of Ginro's point-of-view! :O And speaking of Ginro… What an incredibly underhanded by clever plan! XD He even used his knowledge as a person of the water to do it right! But, since Senku and Ginro collaborated on his entry into the Grand Bout, he knows how Ginro's mind works… :D

33. So, was Kinro about to thank Senku because he had the tiniest of hopes that Ginro would do exactly this? In any case, Ginro's "decision" to chase after them is a huge morale booster for the world exploration team! They're even dancing in a circle around him! :D Although… poor Ginro… because of Senku and science, Ginro's underhanded, clever plan completely backfired… XD

34. Senku's eyes were shining as he talked about where they would go next - to the island where his father and the others started the new age of humanity, and where the Hundred Tales were born! :O

35. And that's Episode Five! :) I think I liked it more than Episode Four, because this one had more interpersonal interactions, whereas the previous episode was more technical. I know what's coming up in the next episode - whose title is "Treasure Box - and it's going to be a lot of fun to watch! :D

https :// fireflyhwufanficwriter . tumblr . com / MyDrStoneEpisodeMangaThoughts

#dr stone #ishigami senku #kohaku #dr stone kohaku #dr. stone #dr. stone kohaku

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det-loki · 3 years

Text

poison & wine pt. eight

You give me love, give me love Until it breaks my back

warnings: angst, blood mention

pairing: detective loki x fem reader

word count: 2,162

A/N: close to the end! sorry for the delay

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 ⌽

The car ride over to Bob Taylor’s house was uncomfortably silent. David’s hands gripped the steering wheel till his knuckles were white, jaw clenched as he stared ahead.

“When are we going to talk about everything? We can’t keep running on autopilot.” You broke the silence as Loki’s jaw ticked, his hands tightening around the wheel.

“Let’s just focus on this case, okay?” You hated when he did this. He silenced himself, avoiding everything until it simmered over, emotions exploding out of control. You remained silent, deciding it was better to not add more fuel to the fire.

You arrived at the house which was covered with various cars and forensic teams. You got out of the car quickly, tugging your coat tighter as the wind chilled through you, following David as he talked to Rich, who was a part of the forensics team and running point on the scene.

The brown dying grass crunched under your boot clad feet as you walked up to a marked off area in the yard, two analysts working to uncover two kid sized department store mannequins that had been buried with their heads caved in from the frozen ground.

Rich looked at Loki as he spoke, “I just talked to our lab guys, and they told me that all the blood that we sampled from the plastic containers- pig’s blood.”

You moved from the yard to inside in the kitchen, mazes still littered across the walls. Multiple people were inside the home, taking pictures of evidence and booking it. Listening to Rich continue to speak, “It’s like he’s play-acting. I mean, case in point. Except for the few items I.D.’d by the Dovers and the Birches, all the kids’ clothes that we found still had the tags on them. And that maze book that we found, he made it. Photocopies, pictures from this book that we found in the attic. Ex-F.B.I. agent wrote that.” You wondered who would go through the trouble of doing all that, but you had to remind yourself of the case you were dealing with. Nothing was ‘textbook.’

You looked down at the red and black book in the evidence bag as Loki read the title out loud, fingers grazing over the cover through the plastic of the bag, eyebrows furrowed, ‘Finding The Invisible Man.’

“Yeah, it’s about a theoretical suspect that he believed was responsible for a bunch of child abductions. It’s totally discredited, I guess, but I read some of it.” Rich explained to both you and Loki as you rocked on the balls of your feet.

Loki cut Rich off, “Taylor- Taylor was abducted when he was a kid. He ran away after three weeks. And the capture drugged him on some sort of LSD/ketamine cocktail.” When you and Loki learned of the use of the ketamine cocktail, your eyes darted to each other, a silent understanding between the two of you. Broken, forever; everything connected in this shit town you called home. Loki continued speaking, “He never remembered. They never caught the guy.”

“Okay, so...he read the book and decided he was taken by the invisible man. Now he’s doing his best imitation, right?”

Rich stared at Loki, waiting for a response, “Yeah, he was doing his best imitation. He killed himself last night.” Loki turned away, walking away from you and Rich, stopping in the doorway to study the mazes on the wall as Rich turned to him, “How did he do that? I thought he was in custody.”

“It’s a long story.” Your response was short, voice cracking with exhaustion, details weren’t needed. Your hands were still stained with red, you constantly felt the need to scrub them raw under hot water until they bled. The urge hit you again last night at home in the shower, sending you into a crying mess on the shower floor, scaring David when he heard your sobs through the door. He was worried about you. And himself, you two were getting bad again, the feeling was familiar, similar to how you felt after the funeral. Indescribable pain.

Loki turned to you, asking for the map Taylor drew as he stepped closer in your direction. You take it out of your coat pocket with a gloved hand, handing it to David who snatches it out of your hand. He pointed to it aggressively as he spoke to Rich, “Hey, Taylor drew this. It’s a map to the bodies. It’s a map to the bodies and we found the same design on a pendant that we pulled off that corpse the other day. There’s a connection, okay?” Loki spoke with growing intensity as Rich looked at him dumbfounded, obviously lost with Loki’s explanation.

“The connection is that it’s the last maze in the book.” Loki scoffed at Rich, upset with him for not understanding the point he was trying to make. Rich continued, “I did it. It’s unsolvable. There’s no way out. Your corpse is another wannabe who read the book.” Loki had spent hours trying to find a way out of the maze, each failure feeling more and more doomed.

Loki stormed away from him, “What are you saying to me, Rich? What are you saying to me? What are you saying? That-that this guy is a fake? You’re saying the girls are still out there somewhere?” Here was the one big difference between you and Loki. You had hope the girls were still alive, maybe you were ignorant, but you weren’t ready to accept the fact that two little girls were dead. Loki was coming to terms with the fact that they might be dead, his hope was dying out. Loki’s voice rose, your fingers digging into your palm as he spoke, “How did Bob Taylor get those clothes? How did-how did the parents positively I.D those clothes?!” At this point, Loki was yelling at Rich, looking at him expectantly.

“That I can’t reconcile.” He walked past you and then Loki as Loki snaps at him, “You can’t reconcile that?”

“Just keep knockin’ on doors, lookin’ in windows.” At that, Rich disappeared through the doorway.

Loki stood across from you, hand trailing through his hair, head snapping in your direction as you spoke, “Loki, maybe he’s right. The girls might be out there somewhere, we-” You stopped talking as Loki pulled out his notepad, flipping through pages quickly, obviously looking for something in particular. He flips to a page and stops, “The window.” That’s all you needed to hear before running to the car.

The car stopped abruptly in front of the Dovers, sending you lurching forward against the dashboard, Loki’s door already open, feet on the ground and running. You followed him quickly, approaching the back of the house, staring up at the second story window that Grace Dover had said that had been opened the other night. Loki looked around before jumping the chain-link fence, crouching down under the window, looking for footprints or anything disturbed. He takes a pen out of his front coat pocket, balancing it in his fingers as he reaches into the bushes, pulling out a pink sock teetering on the pen. The same sock Keller positively I.D.’d as Anna’s.

You were out of breath as you ran to the car for an evidence bag, your body too tired for the physical exertion. As you reach inside the glove compartment, your phone buzzes in your pocket. Answering it, your stomach dropped as Detective Chemelinski’s voice spoke in your ear. Joy Birch had been found.

The hospital was cold as you entered, a chill running through your body, but not from the chill of the air. You hated hospitals. The elevator dings as you and Loki arrived the pediatric ward, doors sliding open and you wanted to puke, your throat raw and scratchy. It looked the exact same as it did when your little girl died here, same beige paint on the walls, the same as the rest of the hospital, only difference being the sickly bright yellow sun painted on the walls. The smell of antiseptic burned your nose, the fluorescent lights already starting a headache to pound in your skull. You pushed your emotions down as Loki exited the elevator, you trailing after him through the halls.

“I said nobody’s allowed in that room but her family.” Loki barked orders to officers as you rounded the corner. Keller Dover came into view, David yelling out for him as he took off down the hall away from you. “Where you goin’?

You stopped in front of Grace, “Where is he going?” She only shook her head, she had no idea. You took off running, multiple officers trailing you as bystanders stared at the scene unfolding in front of them.

You and Loki took off down the hall after him, telling officers to not let him go. Bolting outside you see Keller’s truck slam over the parking lot median and on the highway, speeding down it. Loki and you turn back, sprinting for the car to follow him, your breaths coming out in clouds in front of you in the cold air.

The tires screeched as Loki sped through the wet pavement of the parking lot; Loki pulled onto the highway, muttering to himself, “I got you now, fucker. I know where you’re goin’.”

The car pulled aggressively into the driveway of the old apartment building, Keller’s truck nowhere to be found. Loki slammed his hand down onto the steering wheel, “Fuck!” You jumped slightly at his outburst, adrenaline pumping through your views despite the feeling of pain in your entire body. He exited the car quickly, you following, your boots splashing through the muddy puddles as you advanced toward the boarded up building slowly.

Above you, you could hear muffled screams, you and Loki reach for your guns as you near the door. Loki kicks the door open with a bang, entering the building with his gun drawn. Your heart was in your throat as you crept through the first floor, heading up the stairs towards the sound of muffles screams and banging. Your pulse was racing and your vision was blurry, exhaustion nipping at your heels every step you took, threatening to take you down.

The screaming got louder as you got to the top of the stairs, wailing piercing the air. Your boots creak along the floorboards, you approach the room the screaming is coming from and the air escapes your lungs.

You see a boarded up area, the boards vibrated as whoever was behind it banged against it. You stood back, letting Loki enter as you reached for your radio and called for backup. Loki pries at the wood, it doesn’t budge at all, mocking you. The wailing continues, Loki calls out to the person, telling them to hold on. You clip your radio back onto your jeans and turn to look for anything to pry off the wood, not wanting to waste time by running back down to the car.

You see a crowbar lying against a wall, and you thank god as you grab it, the metal heavy in your hand. Loki grabs the crowbar from you and begins to work his way through the wood. The minutes seem to drag by, each second longer than the last.

“Hey, just hold on for us in there okay?” You talk through the wall as Loki finally gets the panel off revealing a sight that shook you to your core.

Alex Jones. Badly burned, bruised, bloody and beaten. He looked terrified, eyes wild with panic, whimpering in pain as he coward away from your gawking stares.

You stood next to Loki as Alex was taken away by EMS, O’Malley stood in front of you, “Someone needs to notify the aunt and we need to get an idea of where Keller is.”

You spoke up next to Loki, “I’ll tell the aunt.” Loki looked at you with a confused expression as O’Mallley nodded and walked away.

“I want to be the one to tell her, I’ll be fine, Loke.” You could tell by his expression that he was unsure about you going alone.

“Babe, if this is some karma thing for her-” It wasn’t. At least you didn’t think it was. Your little girl couldn’t be saved. You accepted that fact even if it tore your heart apart, forcing you to move on.

You interrupted Loki, not allowing him to finish his sentence, “Don’t. It’s not. Find Keller, I’ll tell Holly. I'll text you, alright?”

Loki nodded curtly as he handed you the car keys, he’d get a car from the station, an uneasy look spread across his face. He didn’t have a good feeling about letting you go alone, but he knew better than to hold you back from doing your job.

Little did he know that he would regret letting you go in alone more than words could describe.

tag list: @lexie-wayland @whew-oh-em-gee @winterlavenderskysworld @buck-this-nasty @heeyirenee @pinkpunkdynamite @eleventhdoctorsangel @multiyfandomgirl40 @thanossexual @speedybonkuniversityzine @booklove103 @curly-q3 @msfarr88 @glittrguts @space-helen

#detective loki #detective loki fanfic #detective loki fanfiction #detective loki imagine #detective loki x reader #jake gyllenhaal #jake gyllenhaal x reader #jake gyllenhaal imagine #jake gyllenhaal fanfic #prisoners #hugh jackman #fanfiction #angst #poison and wine

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ragewerthers · 3 years

Text

Relaxation Therapy

Summary: Iwa has gotten himself so caught up in his paper that he feels he doesn't have time to relax. Luckily his boyfriends know just the way to get him to listen to reason. A little relaxation therapy is definitely in order!

A/n: Hello there!

This is written for a prompt sent to me from @lady-namo!

She asked for:

'matsuhanaiwaoi? iwaizumi is really, REALLY stressed by whatever and they try to relax him. actually i don't mind how exactly you do it, i'd just be happy with teasy af mattsun!'

This was so much fun to write as I've never gotten to write these four before, but they are ridiculous and amazing to write banter between! I hope that you enjoy it, my friend!

You can also read on AO3 at: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28599321

Enjoy! :D

Word Count: 3937

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

Iwa growled in frustration as he ran a hand through his hair, staring hard at the readings laid out before him on the kitchen table.

If this civilization wasn’t already lost to history, he would be cursing the ancient Minoans as the texts he looked over spoke of them. How dare they be so god damn interesting that he decided to write his history paper on their mysterious disappearance? How dare they lure him into trying to read through dusty old texts that only offered up the same three conclusions each and every time?! Three conclusions does not a paper make!

With another deep growl he let his head fall to the table with a resounding thud that he immediately regretted more than the Minoans existence. His pen had been in just the perfect spot for his forehead to land against, sending a nice little shockwave of pain through his forehead and making him reel back in his chair with a shout. Sadly the force that he’d pushed himself away with was enough to send said chair tilting backwards at lightning speeds and his life flashed before his eyes.

Sadly the only thing his mind supplied was the Minoans.

The bastards.

Squeezing his eyes shut he waited for the cold, hard impact of the floor, but soon just found himself suspended mid-air.

Slowly, almost fearfully, he let his eyes peek open only to be met with the amused and gentle smile of Mattsun.

“Issei?” Iwa said a little dumbly, having thought his boyfriends were still out of the apartment for a grocery run. When Oikawa was involved this usually meant that the trip could last hours and it felt like they’d only just left a few minutes ago. Oikawa shouting something sassy from the hall, Hana rolling his eyes and Mattsun promising that they wouldn’t lose Tooru… again.

Now, it seemed, they had all returned just in time to see the Minoans attempting to take him out with his own pen.

“The one and only. Appears we didn’t get back too late for me to be your knight in shining armor, Hajime,” the taller man said lightly, ducking down to press a careful kiss to the red line already starting to appear over Iwa’s forehead.

“What was that thud we heard when we came in, Iwa?” Hana called, carrying in at least four grocery bags collected on his arms and trying to carefully place them on the table and avoid Iwa’s work.

“Yeah, Iwa-chan! Mattsun literally jumped the sofa to get in here when he heard you yelp,” Oikawa said with a teasing smirk, putting his own single bag of shopping right on top of Iwa’s work and spreading out his papers even more.

Matsukawa quirked an eyebrow at Oikawa before carefully setting Iwa’s chair back down on the floor.

“This coming from the man who literally elbowed Hana in the face trying to unlock the door when we heard the commotion in the hall. Don’t act all cool and collected now,” Mattsun teased, watching as Oikawa’s ears tinged red and he puffed his cheeks out into a pout.

“I did no such thing! I know Iwa-chan is more than capable of handling himself in any situation,” Oikawa huffed, turning around and heading back toward the living room to drop off his coat, scarf and shoes.

“I thought he was going to cry,” Hana whispered to Iwa as he passed by with a few frozen pizza’s in hand, apparently deciding to put away their frozens before taking off his things. Though he also seemed incapable of dropping a kiss to Iwa’s brow before continuing on and making the man's cheeks warm up more at all of this attention. Though the thought of Oikawa blubbering in the hallway did make him chuckle a bit.

Soon Iwa felt a strong hand lightly starting to massage the back of his neck and the chuckling instantly quieted down into a soft hum of content. Closing his eyes, he tilted his head forward reflexively, feeling the way Mattsun’s hand worked its way up to his hairline before soothing gently circles back down toward his shoulder.

“You still didn’t answer the question though, Hajime,” Mattsun said softly as he watched Iwa slowly melt in front of him from the simple contact. “But if I had to guess, I’d say this paper is putting up a fight?”

Iwa gave a little nod, though he tried to stay as still as possible to enjoy the gentle attention he was receiving. “The Minoans have decided to haunt me from their graves. But be careful what you think of them. They’ll attack you with pens and tipped over chairs,” he grumbled, getting a little snort from Hana who was somewhere near the cupboards now.

“They also seem to be able to turn your muscles into nothing but knots and stone,” Matsukawa murmured softly, bringing his other hand up to start massaging along Hajimes shoulders properly and earning himself a deep groan of pain and contentment. “Why don’t you take a break? When the ghosts of dead civilizations start to attack, it’s usually a sign you need to take a step back.”

“Did I hear that right? Iwa-chan is allowing papers to attack him now?” Oikawa cooed as he came back in, grabbing one of the other grocery bags and the table and carrying it to the counter. “That’s what turned Issei into a track star?”

“And you into a panicked mother hen?” Hana teased, getting a swat to his arm with a bag of milk bread Oikawa had moments before had cuddled to his chest like a gift from heaven.

Iwa blinked his eyes open to give him a little half-hearted glare. “No, Shitty-kawa. I just… got a little stuck in my thesis and it got away from me a bit. But I’ll still conquer this paper. I just have to focus more,” he mumbled before giving a little whimper as Mattsun’s fingers kneaded deeper into the muscles of his shoulder.

“Hajime, I can actually feel your muscles coiling up again as you speak,” Mattsun murmured in his calming baritone. “I think it would do you some good to take a small break with us. Just a little breather to get your thoughts refocused?” “I can’t,” Iwa said quietly, a little scowl starting to reappear over his features. “I only have a couple of days to get this all sorted out and I know that if I keep going I’ll be able to break through this little writer's block I have. I’m sorry, but… maybe later once I get some thoughts on paper I can take a break with you all.” Leaning forward slightly, Iwa gently broke the wonderful contact of Mattsun’s hands from his shoulders. He could hear a little exhale of air from behind him as he picked his pen back up and knew that wasn’t what the man had wanted to hear, but it’s what he needed to do. Reaching forward he began to try and reorganize his papers from the mess Oikawa had made of them.

“Oh Mattsun-kun. You should know better than trying to get through to Iwa with gentle words,” Oikawa said as he drew closer to the table.

“Yeah, Mattsun,” Hana teased from his spot by the sink, turning to watch with a little smirk playing over his lips, his arms crossed over his chest. “You know that Hajime is only just slightly less stubborn than Tooru.”

Iwa grumbled at that, hunching his shoulders to try and ignore his boyfriends talking about him as if he wasn’t there. ‘ Now where did that pen go? ’

“I mean… you’re not wrong,” Oikawa chuckled and Iwa could hear him moving around the table to stand next to Issei. “But… if there’s something I’ve learned about our sweet Iwa-chan it’s that there are better ways of getting your point across.”

Sadly, Iwa was now starting to get back into what he hoped was a groove for this paper and didn’t notice the shared look between his three ridiculous partners.

“That’s right,” Mattsun said, his voice still sounding measured even as the hint of amusement tinged his words.

“Gentle words aren’t enough,” Hanamaki agreed, his voice sounding closer and making Iwa hunch more into himself. God, why didn’t he grab his earbuds to drown out these idiots ?

“That’s right,” Oikawa’s voice purred, making the back of Iwa’s neck prickle slightly. “Hajime needs to be persuaded out of his bullheadedness…,”

“Pfft… you’re one to talk, Trashy-kawAHAHA!” Iwa startled as he felt two strong hands send a couple quick squeezes against his lower ribs, making him jolt out of his seat and sending some of his books and papers tumbling down to the floor. Turning around he saw Oikawa’s hands still extended forward, Hana and Mattsun flanking either side of him with twin looks of mischief and determination on their faces.

The world seemed to pause in time for a few heartbeats as Iwa’s eyes looked over the three of them… his mind racing to catch up with what was happening when all of a sudden the moment of stillness was broken with two words.

“Get him.”

Hana and Mattsuns smiles turned devious as each of them took flight. Taking off from either side of Oikawa to race around the table toward Iwa and looking for all the world like those evil winged hell monkeys the wicked witch of the west had sent off after Dorothy.

Though to be fair, Oikawa’s accompanying menacing cackle would’ve even sent a shiver down that witch’s spine! Iwa instantly turned and ran out of the kitchen and toward the hall, his heart beating thunderously in his chest as he realized what sort of doom awaited him if he were caught.

“Fly my pretties! Fly!!!” Oikawa cried from a little further down the hall as Iwa heard Mattsun and Hana slowly starting to catch up to him as they neared the living room.

Oh yeah… Oikawa was never allowed to watch the Wizard of Oz again!

“Get the hell away from me!” Iwa called over his shoulder, only hearing a rumbling laugh far closer than he expected.

“Sorry, Hajime… not gonna happen!” Mattsun called back, his fingers just brushing the back of Hajime’s shirt and making Iwa yelp as he raced around one side of the coffee table… only to find the pair once more splitting up to give chase.

“Damn it!” Iwa shouted, though he was surprised to find the barest hint of a smile tugging up at the corners of his lips from this stupidity! “Kn-Knock it off! I’m trying to get some work done! OOF!”

Iwa had glanced behind him for only a second and that was apparently all it took for Oikawa to make his grand entrance, quickly catching Iwa up in his embrace as he attempted to make a break for it toward their bedroom.

“Oh, what have we here?” Oikawa cooed in that far too smug voice, practically bearhugging Iwa to his chest. “Why... I think it’s someone in desperate need of a study break!”

“I told you! I don’t neheheed a breahahahak! AH! Stahp it!” Iwa instantly bit down on his lower lip as growly giggles already started to bubble up from his chest. Oikawa’s fingers dug lightly into that spot under his lower ribs making his legs already feel like jelly as his body tried to twist away from the tingly touch. “Was that grumpy and sassy Iwa just now?” Hana teased as he and Mattsun drew closer.

“M’nahahat!” Iwa giggled despite his best efforts, a little yelp escaping as he felt a third hand reaching up to lightly tickle against the side of his neck as another hand began to squeeze near his hip.

“What was that, Iwa-chan? Did you just say you weren’t being grumpy? Because I’m positive I heard you trying to defy me and not take a break,” Oikawa murmured back dangerously as Iwa tried to weakly swat at the hands seeming to come at him from all angles.

“Stahahahap it! I… I hahahave to gehehet back!” Iwa gasped out between giggles, soon finding himself being lifted off the ground as another pair of arms wrapped around him.

“Oh no. I think you are in desperate need of a bit of relaxation therapy,” Mattsun said softly, seeming to be the one doing most of the lifting now before Iwa found himself unceremoniously dropped onto their sofa.

Before he could sit up he found Oikawa already straddling his thighs, Mattsun pinning his wrists overhead and Hana settled on his calves.

“And if I remember correctly, a little bit of laughter can go a long way in helping someone relax,” Mattsun teased. The look in his eyes instantly making Iwa try to wriggle his hands free from the former blockers grasp.

“No! R-Really! You guys don’t have to do thi-HIHIhihihis! Hahahana nohohoho!“ Iwa gasped out as he felt the light scribbling of fingers against his arches, his legs trying to weakly kick out, but with Oikawa and Hana both settled on his lower half he knew he wasn’t going anywhere soon. Oikawa turned to catch a glimpse of Hana’s focused attention on Iwa’s poor feet, chuckling at the reaction it was already causing. Turning around he caught Issei’s eyes and gave him a devilish smile as he listened to Iwa’s giggles already bubbling up so sweetly. “Well, Mattsun-kun… we can’t let Hana have all the fun. We need to be here to help our sweet, Iwa-chan too!” he teased, his fingers sneaking under Hajime’s shirt to start lightly fluttering along the sides of his tum, just barely scribbling as they moved lower and lower toward his hips.

“NO! NO nahahahat my hihihips, Tooruhuhuhu!” Iwa squeaked out, his body already starting to shimmy side to side in the hope to block some of what was to come. “Oh, Hajime,” Mattsun crooned in his deep voice. “I think you have so much more to be worried about then just your hips.” Iwa only had a moment to try to register what Mattsun was saying before he felt the man's fingers settling on one particular rib on his left side. His eyes instantly widened and he began to squirm more as he knew what was coming. “WaitwaitwaitwaAHAHAHAGAHAHAD! NOAHAHAHA!” Iwa instantly cried out as Mattsun began massaging and vibrating his fingers deeply against that particular rib. Years ago he had cracked it during a match and a bad collison and somehow upon healing it had managed to become far too sensitive to even the lightest touches. He regretted ever letting these bastards find out about this particular weakness!

“I think Iwa is really enjoying his study break! Look at how big he’s smiling!” Mattsun called over Hajime’s laughter, bringing his hand up to flutter against one of his exposed armpits and making the poor man try to tug his arms free once more.

“Look at that sweet blush! Oh Iwa-chan I wish I had my phone to capture this!” Oikawa crooned softly, his hands moving to settle into the little dips of Hajimes hips, his thumbs starting to rub deep, quick circles right against the hyper ticklish spot and nearly sending himself and Hana flying off the sofa with the way Iwa jolted.

“NO PLEHEHEHEASE! I CAHAN’T! I CAHAHAN’T!” Iwa cackled wildly as Oikawa’s thumbs found a rhythm that had him bouncing what little he could on the sofa. His head was tossed back against one of the throw pillows and his entire body felt like one giant sensitive spot. Hana snickered from where he was lightly tracing his fingers over Iwa’s socked arches, making the man's toes curl and his feet twitch from the light contact. “Can’t what? Escape? We know that already, silly Iwa,” Hana teased, finding a nice little spot right in the center of his partners arches that seemed to make the poor guy shriek. “Oh! I think I definitely have the best spot!”

Tooru huffed from his spot on Hajime, looking down at the mans face already turning pink from laughter. His own hands had paused as the light tickles to his feet from Hanamaki seemed to be driving him into hysterical giggles.

“That’s not fair, Hajime! How come you let Hana have your best spot? You always told me it was your hips! Were you lying to me, Iwa-chan?” he asked with mock suspicion, narrowing his eyes and fighting a smile as his hands gave Iwa’s hips a few warning squeezes.

“NO! NO Tooruhuhu! I… I didn’t lie! I dihihihihidn’t! AHahahagahahad!” Iwa cackled, turning his head into his outstretched arm to try and hide a snort that escaped him when the squeezes turned into scribbling fingers that raced up his sides before quick and nimble fingers began to vibrate over his tum.

“Hmmm… I don’t know. Sounds like this is also a good spot! Have you been hiding them on me?!” Oikawa gasped dramatically, though this time he didn’t bother hiding the soft smile he had on his face as Iwa laughed so brightly and openly.

Mattsun had paused his own tickling as well as he watched Iwa losing himself to his laughter from the other two. His goal had been to make Iwa relax and really this was already having the desired effect. Iwa’s brow was no longer furrowed in grumpiness, his expression soft and bright with laughter pouring out of him.

However, this didn’t mean that he didn’t still want to truly drive home how much Iwa deserved this and how much he needed to listen to his boyfriends every once in a while.

“Oh, Hajime. I think you were keeping secrets from us,” Mattsun teased as he lightly fluttered his fingers against his right armpit and then his left, making Iwa jump with each soft attack, his giggles always intensifying when he did it.

“Nehehehever! I w-wouldn’t! I prohohomihihihihise!” Iwa squeaked out, his laughter already starting to become quieter as he neared his limit. Unlike Tooru, who seemed to gain energy during their tickle attacks on him, Iwa always seemed to have one big burst of energy before becoming absolutely compliant in their arms.

Mattsun chuckled at that and shook his head. “Hmm… I don’t know… you’re getting pretty jumpy with these tickles here. I think the best way to make sure you aren’t hiding any more secrets from your boyfriends is to attack all these good spots at once. What do you guys think?” he asked, watching as Oikawa and Hana both perked up with bright smiles, their resounding ‘YES!’s’ easily covering up Iwa’s frantically giggled ‘NO!’

“I think the majority wins! Ready, Hajime?” Mattsun murmured fondly, though judging from the way the man was already giggling so hard his cheeks were turning pink he knew he wasn’t about to get a proper answer. “Then here we go, on the count of three! One!” he counted, fingers wiggling just above Iwa’s torso and making him shiver.

“Two!” Hana called, letting both of his index fingers zip up Iwa’s soles in warning of what was to come, a startled squeal and wriggle the only answer from Hajime.

Oikawa glanced down at his Iwa, watching as the man peeked his eyes out from where he had been trying to hide against his arm, his smile bright, carefree, but still with that little bit of challenge behind them.

Oikawa’s smile grew at that in return. Never one to take a challenge lightly.

“Three!” he cried, and instantly, all of their hands were on the attack… and Iwa lost his mind.

Hanamaki’s fingers scribbled and traced all of his soles, moving from his arches to under his toes and drawing out the ugliest snorts Iwa had ever heard himself make. Tooru’s fingers exacted lethal attacks against his stomach, sides and hips. His fingers would massage and vibrate against the bones of his hips before moving up to massage deep circles against his lower ribs and then moving to scuttle around and vibrate against his sides and tum making him bounce and jump at the deeply ticklish touches.

And finally there was Mattsun, the instigator to all of this if Iwa had to name someone. He’d abandoned his hold on his wrists to use both hands to attack his upper ribs and armpits with fluttering fingers and scribbles that had made Iwa shriek before dissolving into wild and carefree laughter.

His arms had instantly clamped down on Mattsun’s hands and he tried for all his worth to try and wiggle away or curl into the sofa, but there was no escaping three evil boyfriends hellbent on teasing him into relaxation and oblivion all in one.

“NOHOHOAHAHAHA! PLEHEHEHEASE I… I CAHAHAHAN’T! IHIHIT TIHIHICKLES SO BAHAHAHAD!” Iwa cried out through his hysterical laughter, his mind completely taken over by nothing but ticklish sensations and absolutely nothing left to remind him of his earlier troubles, the Minoans, the paper… nothing but how terribly his boyfriends were wrecking and how much it tickled! “Do you think Iwa’s had enough?” Mattsun chuckled, already starting to slow his tickles as Oikawa and Hana both smiled softly at Iwa. Even their fingers started to turn from terrible tickles to lightly soothing over those spots.

“I think Iwa has learned his lesson,” Oikawa cooed softly, his hands soothing against his boyfriends sides as Iwa slowly regained back some sanity, giggling and panting even as he felt the tickles starting to subside.

“L-Lehehesson?” he giggled, voice a little hoarse from his laughter as Mattsun nodded. “Yes. To listen to your boyfriends. To take a break. To enjoy some relaxation therapy. To not take your papers so seriously they almost hurt you,” Mattsun listed off, carefully removing his hands from under Iwa’s arms and making him shiver before starting to sooth his fingers through his messy hair. “This is really all we wanted to achieve, Hajime. For you to have a moment to just let loose and step away from those things that were stressing you. Apparently we can only get that across that stubborn brain of yours with some well placed tickles.” Iwa felt his cheeks flushing a bit, giving a little hum and closing his eyes as his breathing started to calm more and more as he felt the gentle touches now moving over him.

“I’m… sorry I didn’t listen sooner,” he chuckled, melting a little more as Oikawa began to lightly massage down his arms and Hana moved, lifting Iwa’s legs so that he could sneak to sit on the sofa, letting them rest in his lap so he could soothe along his feet, ankles and calves as well.

“No need to apologize, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa murmured softly, ducking down to press a few soft kisses against his boyfriends pink cheeks before carefully moving off of him, sitting beside the sofa as he watched Iwa starting to relax more and more. “Besides… we achieved what we wanted. You’re relaxing and taking a breather now, right? So we’re really all winners here.”

Iwa gave a gentle, tired chuckle at that, his eyes already closing as he was pampered so lovingly by them all.

“Re… Remind me… to do this… more often,” Iwa murmured, his voice already growing softer as sleep carefully called to him after his intense tickle attack.

“I think we can do that,” Mattsun murmured fondly, giving Iwa a soft tickle behind his ear, making the man giggle softly before his breathing evened out and soft snores could soon be heard.

If this was the end result of their efforts to get Iwa to relax, they would definitely have no problem reminding him time and time again.

#haikyuu!#my fics #tickle fic #matsuhanaiwaoi #matsukawa issei #iwaizumi hajime #oikawa tooru #hanamaki takahiro #I hope you enjoy this my friend!#I'm sorry it took me YEARS #it was a lot of fun to write though!#These boys are ridiculous and hilarious to banter with!

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magalidragon · 3 years

Note

Romantic one-liners

“However many years we have left, I want to spend them all with you.”

Can it be some fluffy angst? 🥺😁

Sooo when I saw this quote I IMMEDIATELY thought of leap of faith universe. 🥺🤭 This is angsty fluff/fluffy angst in the only way I know how....with a happy ending! Enjoy! (?)

(Oh this has a TW for cancer)

Romantic One Liner Prompts

When his mother died, he'd been too young to be in hospital rooms with her for longer than a few moments at a time, the doctors afraid that he'd be bringing in all the germs and general dirtiness that followed around a preteen boy. It had been relatively quick; she fell off her horse and broke her neck and after a few days on a ventilator, his uncle made the sad decision to turn it off, with the knowledge that her organs would go on to help others. It was what Lyanna would have wanted.

All he remembered was entering the room a couple of times, the last time kissing her forehead, whispering he loved her and would miss her, and then being ushered out by his Uncle Benjen. The woman lying there with all the machines and tubes was not his mother, so it was easier for him to process. He'd kissed her goodbye when he had been on the way to school, surrounded by her earthy scent from spending her waking hours with horses in the stable, and the faintest sweetness of winter roses.

Any other time in the hospital as a patient, he had blocked it out, because he hated it so much, but there was one thing he oculd never get rid of when he walked through the doors nad it was that antiseptic coldness. It gave him a headache, forced him back to those days saying goodbye to his mother, to his uncle Ned after his heart attack, and then when he'd been there after his accident, his discharge from the military already stamped the moment he'd coded on the trauma room table Beyond the Wall.

Now, he was not here as a patient or as a visitor, but as a supportive partner. That antiseptic smell was still there, the room cold and sterile, and he maintained his composure, because he had to be strong. He couldn't afford to succumb to his own fears about why they were there or his spiraling thoughts of doom and gloom.

The papery gown crinkled under his light touch, his hand running up and down her cold arm, comforting her as best as he could. He didn't say "it will be fine" because they didn't know if it would be fine. He studied her blank expression, her lavender eyes sunken, dull shadows under them. It had been a long time since he'd seen those shadows.

They'd only been married a year, he thought, glancing at his silver wedding band. He leaned on the edge of the exam table, his arm wrapping around her shoulder, bringing her head to his shoulder. She rested it there, eyelids fluttering closed, her tiny body sagging against his, exhausted.

"What if it's back?" she whispered.

"Then it is back and we deal with it."

She nodded, turning her face into his chest, her hand clutching his shirt. He covered it with his, lifting to kiss her knuckles. "You didn't go through it the first time with me," she murmured. Her eyes clenched shut, tears trickling down her cheeks, wetting his hand when he tilted her chin up so he could gaze down a ther. She sniffed. "I was so sick, Jon. I thought the cure would kill me."

He cocked his head, knowing that all to well form his own accident recovery. "You have me now," he said. They'd talked about this, breifly, when she'd been having the headaches again, when he found her on the floor of their bedroom, sick to her stomach, too dizzy to stand, the pain blinding. She'd called her doctor immediately, scheduled an appointment.

They were waiting on rush lab results now, to determine if she would go down the hallway to get a brain scan. He brushed a lock of her hair behind her ear, tucking the long strands back over her shoulder. It had grown out since he'd met her, tumbling beautiful over her shoulders, like a silver waterfall.

The motion had her tears falling faster, but she remained silent. "I don't want to shave my head again," she mumbled. "It's stupid, but...I don't want to have to do that again."

"Dany we don't know yet if..." If it's back, he didn't say, the words stuck in his throat. He took a deep breath and moved his arms from her, placing them on her cheeks, her face tilted to his. He wasn't very good with words, he hoped he could explain this to her. "I love you, Daenerys, and I have loved you since the moment you walked into my life and jumped out of a plane with me." He dragged his thumbs over her cheekbones, her forehead furrowed. The motion drew his attention briefly to the thin silver scar that he could see in a part in her hair, from the first surgery she had.

He took a deep breath, his heart hammering into his ribs, swallowing down that fear that he'd almost lost her, but he didn't, because he had her now. And he would have her forever too, she wans't going anywhere. "Dany whatever those results show, I am here with you, forever. For a thousand years and more, like we promised each other before the heart tree and however many years we have left, I want to spend them all with you."

She hiccupped, her hands wrapping around his wrists, smile wavering. "I love you too. So much...but it's a lot..."

"You're my wife," he breathed. He grinned. "My dragon, my partner, and whatever happens I'm here. I'm with you Dany."

She nodded quickly, eyes closing again as he brushed feather kisses over her cheeks, kissing away the tears. Her arms snaked around him, holding tight, and she released a long, shaky breath, mumbling, "I am so lucky I found you."

Me too, he thought, eyes screwed shut, squeezing her close. He had made his peace with the idea that if it was back, he was going to be there for her in everything. It would be better, he thought, because he was here for her. Last time she had been alone. Sure, she had her brothers-- one of whom was an esteemed doctor himself-- along with Missandei, but this was different.

They remained in each other's arms for a long time, until the door opened, her oncologist entering, Dr. Mel a tower of crimson hair and odd robe-like dress with her medical coat. "Good afternoon," she drawled, her accent unique and entracing. She turned her blue eyes to them, smiling serenely. "Daenerys, how lovely, you have found your promised prince."

Dany laughed, wiping her eyes with the heel of her palm. "Um, yes, I suppose I have."

"Lovely. I reviewed your blood tests and I am pleased to tell you upon first look I do not see indicators of a cancer resurgence, however I will do a CT scan to confirm. That being said, there was an anomaly in your bloodwork." Mel smiled again, unblinking, her head cocked. "One I suspect you will be pleased with."

Pleased? Jon barely registered that, because all he heard was Dany's relieved sob, her hand clutching his, her other going to cover her mouth. "Oh! Oh thank you Mel! There's nothing?" She frowned, realizing there was more. "Wait...what...pleased? I don't understand."

Jon didn't either, an arm around her shoulder now, his hand so tight in hers he wondered which one might break the other's first. "Whatever it is," he began, but didn't finished, because Mel spoke over him.

"You're pregnant."

His heart stopped beating, before it lurched into his throat, strangling any sound he might have made. In his arms, Dany cried out, shocked, her hands over her mouth. She dropped them after a second, whispering, incredulous: "Pregnant?"

"Hmm, indeed. I suspect your migraines were the result of fluctuating hormones, the dizziness and the nausea were morning sickness that perhaps carried out throughout the day." She squinted. "Are you still jumping out of planes? That might also have something to do with it, you're dehydrated again."

"But I..." she stuttered, while he was also at a loss for words. She pressed her palm over her belly, breathing. "I wasn't supposed to be able to...after the chemo and...and the radiation..."

"This is a miracle from the Lord of Light," Mel cooed.

Jon thought it more a miracle from his Old Gods, but as Dany believed in neither the Fire God of Mel or the Old Gods of his forest, he said nothing. He wasn't sure how he felt, the knowledge that they were having a baby...he met her gaze, the joy within her formerly sad eyes. "A baby," he whispered.

"A baby," she laughed, beginning to sob, arms clutching him. "I didn't think it was possible!"

"I'll give you both a moment," Mel said, turning and leaving them, door closing quietly behind her.

In his arms, Dany cried, relief and exhaustion and happiness at once. He scrubbed his palm over his face, dropping it to her back, rubbing lightly. She pulled back and lifted up her gown, peering at her flat stomach. "Hello in there," she called, lightly touching her fingertips to her hipbone. "It's Mummy and Papa."

He lightly pressed his hand over hers, touching her belly, and smiled, unable to stop. It was frozen to his face, the dopey grin. "It still stands," he said, a moment later, after they had quietly reflected, fingers joined over her stomach.

"What?"

"However long in this life we have, whether it's just a year or for a thousand of them, I want to spen dit with you." He brushed his lips over her brow, embracin gher, amending it slightly. "With you both."

Dany nodded, touching her fingertips to his cheek. "Me too." She laughed, glancing down at her tote bag. After a second, she climbed from the bed and went to it, pulling out her battered notebook. She flicked to her list, which was all checked off and removed the pen, making a notation at the bottom.

When she left with Mel to go get a CT scan, just to double check, he took a quick look at the note she'd made.

Have a baby dragon.

He picked up the pen and made a simple edit, before folding the book back up and returning it to her tote.

Have Hatch baby dragon dragons.

#jonerys #jonerys au #my fics #my moodboards #jonerys fanfic #jonerys drabbles #tw cancer

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when-they-write-stuff · 3 years

Text

Stiles thought the best way to end things was to never let them start in the first place.

That’s what his case seemed to be anyway.

See, if something started, it had to end. Stiles had learned that the hard way over and over again during his life. His mom’s sickness came and didn’t go away until it had stripped her from him in every way possible. Then he’d been thrust into the chaotic world of werewolves, banshees, and hunters, and he was pretty sure it was all going to end with his inevitable doom.

Things always came to an end one way or another. So eventually, Stiles had decided it was easier to just never let them start.

That began with the case of Lydia Martin.

Stiles’s mom used to tell him that if he put his mind to something, there was nothing that could stand in his way. Of course, that hadn’t worked when she’d gotten sick and he’d decided there was no way she could ever die. Fate couldn’t be that cruel. Stiles had told himself one day that parents couldn’t die and fully believed afterward, that if he set his mind to that fact, she’d live forever.

That changed the day of the funeral. Not before, not even when he’d been alone in the hospital and the heart monitor had gone flat. No, it’d taken him a lot longer than that to realize she was gone and… and parents could die.

People could in general.

The next thing he set his mind to was Lydia Martin. There was something about sharp green eyes and the way she looked when solving a problem that made him think maybe, maybe, this was what his mom had meant. That some things were just meant to be.

Stiles was ten when he set his mind to Lydia Martin.

He was sixteen when she set her own to Jackson Whittemore.

Or maybe, he thought, it was less of her mind and more of her heart. And that’s what really mattered, wasn’t it?

Seventeen-year-old Stiles ended up being determined. Not in any way particular anymore, no. He was determined in general; determined to survive, determined to get through the rest of his teenage years without becoming werewolf chow or prey to whatever else Beacon Hills brought.

It all started with the case of Lydia Martin. It ended that way too.

And honestly, Stiles didn’t think it was all bad, necessarily. He was the sidekick, the token human. He had this baseball bat, a can of wolfsbane pepper spray, and his trusty jeep. Stiles Stilinski was the kid in the red hoodie, where it was darker in certain spots from bloodstains that never fully washed away. Things didn’t need to start with him, because they had already begun with the people who actually mattered.

But then there was the matter of Derek Hale.

The first time Stiles had run into the werewolf in the middle of the woods, his brain had gone nope, scary, bad. There was something about Derek that Stiles couldn’t put his finger on. The man scared him half to death for the entirety of his freshman year and then one day, Stiles realized he wasn’t afraid of him anymore.

Derek Hale was difficult to figure out. When Stiles was faced with a problem, he liked to take his time. Figure it out.

With his mom, it had been something involving hope. See, Stiles had known she was sick. He wasn’t young enough to think that couldn’t happen. But he didn’t quite put it all together until after weeks of watching the nurses move in and out of his mom’s hospital room, with their notepads and checklists that he could never make out the words of.

One of the nurses gave him his own pad and red-inked pen one day. She told him to draw whatever he wanted, as if sitting in the same chair for hours on end wasn’t healthy. Looking back now, Stiles supposed maybe it wasn’t.

That was probably the first time he’d tried to solve a puzzle like the adults did. He’d always sucked at drawing anyway.

Red was unsolved.

Stiles still owned that red pen.

For Lydia Martin, Stiles tried to step up his game. He made this ten-year plan that was destined to go right. The more details, the better, he thought. Except maybe ten years wasn’t enough, or maybe he’d skipped over some important step, because it never ended up happening.

Stiles bought the whiteboard when werewolves became a thing. A whiteboard with red string, yellow string, and green. Then at some point, there was blue too. Stiles couldn’t really remember when that happened.

It kind of snuck up on him. Like the matter of Derek Hale.

Oh— fucking Derek Hale.

Things started to end when fucking Derek Hale kissed him.

Stiles couldn’t exactly remember what had put Derek in a bad mood, but the man had been stomping around for weeks with an expression that constantly promised murder. Stiles supposed if he was smart, he would have stuck with the rest of the pack and avoided the man like the plague, but Stiles never claimed to be smart.

Clever, sometimes. But not smart. Not often, at least.

Erica thought his bad mood was caused by the last threat they faced; a rather bloodthirsty hunter who had shot Derek in the chest. It’d taken the man three days to fully heal, so Stiles thought that was possible.

But he could never get a good read on the werewolf, okay? Red was unsolvable. Derek was unsolvable. The man was like a riddle Stiles hadn’t been able to solve and no matter what angle he looked at the werewolf from, he hadn’t been able to figure Derek Hale out.

Not yet, at least.

And then there was the argument.

To be fair, Stiles didn’t argue with Derek as often as he did someone like Jackson. Sure, he often drove Derek to flash red eyes or occasionally threaten to rip his head off, but that was just their relationship. Stiles drove him crazy and when Lydia gave him that knowing look, he pretended the man didn’t exist until their next ‘I’ll rip your throat out’ type of conversation.

But this time was different. This time, Stiles had almost— only almost though— gotten himself ripped apart by a rogue omega. And then Derek was red-eyed right from the beginning.

And Stiles sometimes had a tendency to push.

“I’m just saying,” he said, crossing his arms to Derek’s rather murderous expression. “If I were any one of the other pack members, you would have clapped me on the back for taking the omega out.”

“You nearly got yourself killed, Stiles,” Derek growled. “You were stupid and reckless, and you put yourself and the pack in danger!”

“I have a baseball bat for a reason, asshole! I can take care of myself!”

The man looked livid, the red in his eyes not even close to the minor turn-on that Stiles sometimes found it to be. But it wasn’t like any of this was his fault, really. Sure, he’d gotten a little scratched up, but it wasn’t like the rest of the pack had gotten off scott-free. Stiles had seen his chance and he’d taken it, knocking the omega right out with his recently upgraded steel baseball bat.

If anything Derek should be thanking him, not flipping out.

“It’s just because I’m human,” Stiles said hotly. Derek growled again.

“It’s not just that.”

“Then what else is it, Derek? All my limbs are still intact and there’s still life in this token human’s lungs, so I think that counts as a win! The omega was about to rip Isaac’s throat out anyway, so I did a good thing!”

“You did a stupid thing.”

Stiles drew back, seething. It wasn’t like this was the first time Derek had chewed him out for doing something ‘irresponsible’ or ‘stupid’ but usually Scott was around to keep one of them from committing murder. The loft was empty this time, though, the rest of the pack having gone out to celebrate while Derek had all but forced Stiles back to the loft to take a look at his injures.

Which were scratches. Stiles got worse at lacrosse practice.

“Whatever,” he said, turning away. “I’m going to meet up with the rest of the pack. Scott said he’d buy me fries for being a badass. Which I was, asshole.”

“Dammit, Stiles!”

Stiles clenched his jaw and spun back around. The red had faded a little from Derek’s eyes, but he still looked murderous. And wouldn’t that be unfortunate it Stiles had survived being torn to shreds only to have his throat ripped out by Derek Hale?

“I just—” The man took a step forward and then grimaced, folding his arms over his chest again. “I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“But just me.”

“The others can heal.”

“Allison can’t.”

Derek’s eyes flashed. “Allison is a hunter. She’s had training.”

“I have a baseball bat!”

“That is not—” Derek glared. “That’s not good enough. You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re a giant ass!”

Derek growled again, uncrossing his arms. And if Stiles was being honest, he wasn’t sure how one thing turned to another. But one moment, he was pretty sure he could punch the man out, stepping forward and lifting his chin, and then Derek was yanking him even closer, kissing him hard before Stiles could even react.

Derek was kissing him. Derek Hale was kissing him.

Stiles was pretty sure his brain short-circuited for a second, but he probably wouldn’t have pulled away even if it hadn’t. And he’d totally blame that for the moment it took him to respond, because Stiles had been so sure one of them was going to murder the other. Not… this.

Though, he would happily let this be how he died.

Yeah, this could be how he died.

Derek’s nipped sharply at his lower lip and Stiles groaned, his brain coming back online slowly. If he would have known this would happen when they really argued, he would have started picking fights with the werewolf a lot sooner. Though, maybe it was all built up over time. The man kissed him like they were still arguing, the one way Stiles couldn’t mouth off to win the fight.

He could be okay with that, though.

Stiles was still dazed with Derek eventually pulled back a few inches, the man’s breaths warm against his skin. He wasn’t the only one panting, Stiles realized, his own heart thudding like a drum against his chest.

For a moment, they both just stood there. And for the first time that night, Stiles’s mind was completely empty. And it was nice, in a strange way. Like he’d been drugged.

Then Stiles blinked a few times and stared. Except Derek wasn’t even looking back at him.

The man avoided his gaze like Stiles wasn’t there, posture rigid with his arms folded over his chest again. Like that was the only defense he had against Stiles and the few inches between them. Stiles’s brain didn’t even have a chance to catch up before Derek’s voice broke the silence— low and shaky.

“You should go.”

And just like that, the haze was gone. Stiles stiffened, staring incredulously at the man, but Derek definitely wasn't meeting his gaze. “I should… what?”

“You should go, Stiles.”

Stiles stared. Slowly, a lump formed in his throat.

Because this was what happened, right? Something started, something ended. Stiles stood rooted to the spot for another long moment, feeling like he’d just taken a blow, until Derek fixed him with one of those red-eyed looks. And Stiles didn’t even know how to categorize it. The man’s face was carefully blank. He didn’t look mad, repulsed, or even regretful. He just looked—

Stiles blinked, snapping out of his thoughts. Nodding silently, he turned away, starting toward the loft door. And despite it all, some part of him thought Derek might call his name before he reached it. Or at least say something. Anything.

But the man didn’t. And Stiles didn’t glance back.

Going after the omega earlier hadn’t been the stupid move, he realized. No, it hadn’t even been close.

But this?

This was the dumbest thing he’d ever done.

Fuck Derek Hale.

That’s what Stiles would like to say. Fuck Derek Hale and the radio silence that stretched on for two months after that one night.

Stiles used to secretly look forward to the few nights a week when his window would be shoved up and Derek would pull himself through, always with some excuse about the monster of the week or research. But the only time Stiles had seen the man since had been during pack meetings and he could’ve sworn that Derek was keeping as much distance between them as possible, never saying a direct word to Stiles unless he had to.

It made him feel… dirty, almost. Wrong. If he could go back and keep that night from happening, Stiles would, because that’s where it all went wrong. That’s where it all went wrong, right? It’s not like it had been a long time coming or anything.

He hadn’t— Stiles didn’t— dammit.

Fuck Derek Hale.

The way Stiles saw it, if Derek was going to go around pretending he didn’t exist, then he was going to do the exact same. That started with completely ignoring the werewolf at each pack meeting and then Stiles started skipping them in general, getting the information through Scott. The boy seemed beyond confused but Stiles refused to give his reasoning for pretending Derek didn’t exist.

The Alpha was an asshole, was all he’d say. And then Lydia would give him one of those knowing looks.

Stiles really hated the pack sometimes.

He did his best not to think about it had felt when Derek had kissed him, or the way the man had tugged at his hair, bit down on his bottom lip, and how that feeling was literally imprinted into his brain. He didn’t look at his window and wonder what the hell was so wrong with kissing him— what was so wrong with wanting him?

So Stiles stopped going to pack meetings. And when the betas started following him around school asking questions, he pretended he had no idea what they were talking about.

One month passed without Stiles seeing Derek. And he was fine.

Then the next monster of the week came to town and there was a knock at his window.

When Stiles glanced up from his laptop to see Derek crouching on the roof, he stared for a long moment before completely ignoring the man. It wasn’t like Derek to knock; he used to just let himself in, sometimes already waiting in Stiles’s room when he came back from lacrosse practice. And yeah, Stiles had always complained. It was creepy after all.

But it was also Derek.

A few seconds passed before his window was pushed up and Derek pulled himself into the bedroom. Stiles kept his gaze firmly on his computer screen.

Derek had to be insane if he thought he was getting any research help.

“Stiles—”

“No.”

Derek went silent for a moment. On Stiles’s computer, his movie continued to play, and he continued to be watching it.

Then, “Stiles, the pack needs your help.”

“The pack?”

One more moment of silence, followed by; “I need your help.”

Stiles finally hit pause, glancing up at the Alpha coldly. He did his best to ignore the way his heart twisted at the sight of Derek, because Stiles didn’t care. He could’ve gone another long month— he could have gone two. And why the hell was Derek here, anyway? Stiles wasn’t the only one who knew how to use a computer. “Go ask Lydia.”

Derek’s expression did something strange. “Lydia?”

“She’s a genius, you know.”

“I don’t— the pack doesn’t—” Derek blinked, then clenched his jaw. For a moment, the man actually looked frustrated. “I need your help, Stiles, not hers.”

“Sorry,” Stiles said, gesturing to his computer. “I’m busy.”

He told himself he didn’t take a little bit of pleasure in the way that Derek’s face tightened. But the man was definitely looking frustrated now and honestly? he shouldn’t have expected this visit to go any differently.

“There’s something ripping apart animals in the preserve,” Derek said through gritted teeth. Stiles shrugged.

“A mountain lion?”

“Stiles.”

“Or maybe it’s a bear.”

“Stiles.”

“What, Derek?” Stiles said, shutting his computer harder than he meant to. But the man’s tone was nothing but angry now and he was looking at Stiles like this was his fault. Like it hadn’t been three months of absolutely no contact and Derek hadn’t kissed him before literally throwing him out of the loft like week-old trash.

It made Stiles feel dirty. Yeah, that’s what it was.

And he couldn’t figure out why.

“I don’t want you here,” Stiles said, dropping his gaze. He hated himself a bit for how small his voice sounded. “I don’t want you here, Derek.”

The silence continued to reign. And when Stiles glanced back up, Derek was just looking at him. Silently, blankly. Just like that one night, Stiles couldn’t read his expression.

He swallowed hard at the memory. “I’m done, Derek. This— all of it— we’re done.”

There was a flicker of red in the man’s eyes. And Stiles had thought that telling him off, sending him away, would be a victorious moment. He’d felt so crappy after being the one kicked out first, that he thought it’d make him feel better to be the one sending Derek away this time.

But it really didn't.

“Do the research yourself,” Stiles said, opening his laptop back up and clicking the play button of his movie. “Or ask someone else to do it.”

He didn’t get an answer. But Stiles just locked his gaze on his computer screen and waited a few long minutes before he dared to glance back up again.

And when he did, Derek was gone and his window was still open.

Stiles was mad.

He was mad, he was hurt, and he was so freaking confused, it was starting to affect his sleep. His day-to-day life. Scott kept him updated on the comings and goings of the pack and Stiles got even madder, even though he couldn’t explain it.

Then at some point, after he’d stopped keeping track of how long it had been since that night, he decided he was done. Done being so pissed at fucking Derek Hale.

He showed up to the next pack meeting and Derek looked so surprised, Stiles couldn’t help but feel a little bit smug. He was thrumming out of his skin a little bit, but tried to act like it was the complete opposite, letting the betas practically bowl him over as fingers traced along the back of his neck and Derek continued to stare.

The man only broke his gaze when Lydia snapped fingers in front of his face. And he gave her a red-eyed look at that.

Stiles stuck next to Scott’s side and kept his gaze anywhere but Derek.

He thought everything could have gone worse.

By the time the pizza was gone, the betas were still moaning about how hungry they were, only to get a twenty from Derek and a growled ‘get out’, Stiles felt a little less nervous. Scott had one arm slung over Allison’s shoulder with plans to hang out after, even as he asked Stiles sheepishly if he wanted to tag along.

Stiles had been the third wheel for long enough to know he really didn’t want to be around when they decided to hang out this late on a weekend.

“Come with us, Batman,” Erica said, latching onto his arm. Stiles snorted.

“And wind up paying for dessert when you three eat through twenty dollars of pizza in five minutes? No thank you.”

The girl pouted, giving him a batted-eyes look, but Stiles shrugged her off.

“Nope, I’ve got homework,” he said. “And my own fridge at home where werewolves with infinite appetites won’t eat all my food.”

“You can’t do homework on a Friday,” Isaac said. “That’s so lame.”

“You’re so lame.”

“Great response, Stilinski,” Jackson said, sneering. Stiles just smirked back.

“Whatever, lizard boy.”

Lydia gave him a sharp look, grabbing Jackon’s arm and pulling him toward the door before the beta could say anything back. Stiles rolled his eyes, letting Erica grab his arm again as she started to drag him after them, but then someone cleared their throat behind him.

Erica let go in a second. Stiles froze, slowly turning around to see Derek standing near the table with his hands stuffed into the pockets of his leather jacket.

“I need Stiles to stay.”

Stiles’s heart skipped a beat and he cursed silently. “Actually, I’ve really got to—”

“It’s fine,” Boyd said, cutting him off. Stiles shot the beta a venomous look, but Boyd pointedly avoided Stiles’s glare. “Stiles can catch up.”

“Or, I could just—”

“Stiles,” Derek said. Stiles looked back at him reluctantly, but the man’s expression really wasn't as threatening as he’d expected. If anything, he looked a little pleading.

Words stuck in Stiles’s throat, so he just nodded, dropping his gaze again. And Erica traced fingers over the back of his neck one more time before the betas followed Jackson and Lydia out the loft door.

Silence fell over the room. Stiles swallowed hard and slowly raised his eyes. “What?”

“I was surprised to see you here tonight.”

“I’m still a part of the pack,” Stiles said. Derek looked surprised.

“Of course.”

“So you shouldn’t be surprised.”

“I just thought that after last time—”

“Oh hell, no,” Stiles said, stalking forward. All the anger he’d felt before came rising back up at Derek’s words and he jabbed a finger into the man’s chest, making Derek stiffen even more. “You don’t get to pull that card. It’s all so shitty, Derek, you know that? These past few months have been so shitty.”

Derek just looked down at Stiles’s finger, as if he was surprised at something. At the reaction, at Stiles’s anger, whatever.

Stiles was still pissed.

“I know you don’t like to talk,” Stiles said. “I know you’re the big bad Alpha werewolf who doesn’t need anyone but himself and especially doesn’t need the token human. But you kissed me, asshole. You kissed me and kicked me out, and do you even know how fucked up that is?”

Derek’s gaze finally traveled back up to Stiles’s face. His hands were still stuffed into his pockets and Stiles didn’t know if that was better or worse than when the man would keep his arms barricaded over his chest.

“If it was a mistake, fine,” Stiles said. “But you should have told me.”

“Stiles, it wasn’t… I don’t…”

The man sucked at talking. Stiles could accept that. But as Derek trailed off, he thought he might go crazy if he had to leave the loft again without any answers.

Derek was still saying half sentences. Biting back a curse, Stiles surged forward.

The first time Derek had kissed him, Stiles .exe had completely stopped working. He didn’t quite get that reaction with Derek this time, but the man definitely froze for a moment. And Stiles figured this could go two ways. Derek could kick him out of the loft with reason this time, or the absolute whirlwind that Stiles had been going through these past few months would finally stop.

He kissed Derek hard and hungry, and it was so much different than last time.

Then the man was kissing him too. The hands that had been stuck in his pockets moved down Stiles’s sides, down his thighs, and then Derek was picking him up, turning away from the loft door and heading toward the couch.

So it’s option two, Stiles thought hazily.

Thank fucking god.

Derek lowered him onto the cushions and drew back a few inches, green eyes searching Stiles’s face. And for some reason, Stiles was terrified again for a moment. Because things always started and things always stopped but god, he didn’t want this to stop.

“It wasn’t a mistake,” Derek said softly. “You’re not a mistake.”

Stiles held his gaze, almost waiting for the ‘but’. Except it never came, Derek hesitated for another moment, some unreadable expression flickering across his face.

“Is this okay?”

Was this okay?

Stiles could have laughed for a moment. Some sharp, shocked laugh. Because fuck, if this wasn’t more than okay. Everything leading up to it sucked, yeah, and some part of Stiles wanted to chew Derek out. But another wanted to make sure that the constipated idiot knew that he was okay, this was okay, it was okay.

“Dammit, Sourwolf,” Stiles breathed out. “It’s okay.”

Derek’s eyes flickered red. And Stiles nearly choked on his own breath as the smallest hint of a smile tugged at the Alpha’s lips. One he’d never seen before— soft, almost a little nervous.

Yeah, this was more than okay.

Because red was unsolvable, right? And Stiles was pretty sure he was still figuring Derek Hale out. But this didn’t seem like it would end anytime soon.

And the first time in a long time, Stiles set his mind to something new.

Or, maybe his heart.

Tagging @roricomplex for the amazing prompt, I hope it turned out okay! I had a ton of fun with this one, thanks for sending a number <3

(if you enjoy my writing, consider sending a coffee? You can also request a prompt if you’d like!). https://ko-fi.com/rh27writer

#sterek #teen wolf #derek hale #stiles stilinski #stiles x derek #prompts #roricomplex #teen wolf au #sterek au #teen wolf moodboard #sterek moodboard #light angst #light fluff

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maybedefinitely404 · 4 years

Text

Day 11: Intruloceit (pt 2)

@tsshipmonth2020

The sequel y’all were waiting for! (@hoppe-ideas)

Day 11: ‘Choose your own adventure’ day! I chose to continue from Day 9, since I couldn’t very well leave it there.

Content warning: allusions to abuse, Remus being Remus (need I elaborate?), implied past panic attack, mention of bipolar disorder, and of course, Janus’ crippling insecurities. Angst with a happy ending.

Word count: 4k

*READ DAY 9 FIRST*

Blue: What time are you available?

Green: What is this, a doctor’s office? I’m free after lunch

Blue: I was merely tr

Green: I know, I know. I’m just teasing you. It’s endearing, my little mocking-nerd. Bring your textbook, I’ll meet you in the cafeteria. It’s octopus learning time!

Blue: I will never understand you.

Green: Good

He drew a crude rendering of the devil emoji, then a heart, and the conversation ended as quickly as it began.

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Green: What would happen if you injected coca cola into your bloodstream

Blue: No.

Green: It’s just a question!

Blue: I’m assuming you would die.

Green: Damn. Can we try anyways?

Blue: No!

Green: C’mon, for science?

Blue: NO! Why did this question even arise?!

Janus hid a small chuckle, before immediately slapping a hand over his mouth. Even if the writing was as much on his arm as it was theirs, it still felt wrong to read it. Felt wrong to admit that he was starting to enjoy their shenanigans.

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

Green: Hey

Blue: Hello, my dear. What is so important that you couldn’t text me?

Green: my mom broke my phone and I’m having an attack

Janus sat straight up, his calligraphy pen clattering to the floor, effectively ruining the large swooping letters he was working on with a splattered gold streak. This was the first message the two had shared that wasn’t either Blue’s notes about homework or Green’s odd creative ideas, or cheesy conversations between the two that Janus tended not to read. It felt like intruding on someone’s life. He hadn’t learned their names yet, and while they always stuck to the same color scheme, he knew at this point he’d be able to distinguish their handwriting with no hesitation. It was his version of hearing their voices, and he’d started growing attached to them. He turned his full attention to the conversation on the back of his arm, feeling a surge of worry.

Blue: I’m on my way, be at the curb in ten minutes?

Green: thanks

Blue: Remember those breathing exercises. Try to stay calm.

Green: please hurry

Blue: I’m driving as fast as I can, love.

The messages ended there, and Janus didn’t sleep that night.

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

Blue: Happy birthday, Remus. I hope you have an amazing day.

Remus: Are we still good to go for tonight?

Blue: Of course. I had Roman and Patton help plan most of the date, so I hope you enjoy it.

Remus: Logan, if it’s with you, I will~

Logan: You’re a sap.

Remus: And you love it

Logan: Guilty.

Never had Janus felt so alone. It was one thing to have anonymous messages scribbled on your arm, little doodles and good luck wishes, but to know their names? That brought on a whole new round of tears that he hated himself for. Remus and Logan. The names of his so-called soulmates, the labels he could finally put to the personalities. As much as he hated to admit it, waking up had become a whole lot easier since they’d started appearing on his skin. It was something little to look forward to.

It also hurt, just a little bit more. Before he was eighteen, he’d been able to imagine his situation like his parent’s, with a soulmate who would end up hating and hurting him, and it was easy to decide to never communicate when the time arrived. And even if they seemed like genuinely good people, every time he lifted a pen to respond, to announce his presence, he stopped himself, as his father’s words rang through his head.

Why would anyone want you, Janus?

You’re a mistake, and they’ll see that instantly.

Honestly, what good do you even have to offer a soulmate?

He didn’t want them to be true, but it wasn’t like anyone had ever told him differently. His mother avoided his eyes and was silent, his peers treated him like a disease, so those words were the ones he started to believe. So he capped the pen, pulled his sleeve down, and ignored the small feather light tickles as they spread across his arms.

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

Of course, it wasn’t avoidable forever.

It was writing on skin, did he think that was something he would never do accidentally? Was he really that stupid? They were going to be so pissed when they found out how long he’d been snooping on their conversations. They’d hate him. They’d never be open to the idea that he was somehow meant to be in their lives. He was done. He was such an idiot.

These were the thoughts raging through his mind as he looked down over himself in shock, spilled amber ink shimmering on his skin. It was an accident; an opening of an ink pod combined with over enthusiastic dancing to the Chicago soundtrack, leading to a faltering concentration and skin covered in staining gold. He’d been sitting cross legged on his chair when the cartridge exploded, and he’d bounded to his bathroom to try and wash it off, but it had only been partially successful. There was no doubt in his mind that they would see it. It had covered a good majority of today’s messages on his arms, smeared across his shins from hurriedly trying to wipe it away, and speckled across his face like the world’s most unfortunate freckles.

He dropped back into his chair, his music now turned off, and laid his head on the cool wood of his desk. The ticking on his clock was the only sound in the room and he counted each one, mentally marking the minutes as they passed by. Waiting. Five minutes of silent fear had passed before a new anxiety began to rise in him. What if they were his soulmates, but he wasn’t theirs? He’d heard of it happening, ever so rarely, that soulmarks weren’t reciprocated. If that was true for him, and he was starting to become sure it was, they wouldn’t see the ink. They never would. He would be forced to live the rest of his life on the outside, reading their life on his skin but never able to take part. Somehow that seemed a lot worse now that it wasn’t his choice.

Just as he was starting to spiral, a familiar tickle on his arm snapped him back to the present. His head jerked up, hair falling into his heterochromatic eyes as he followed the dark blue script, starting just under the largest golden spill.

Hello?

And how should he respond to that? He couldn’t think of a fun one liner, a sassy quip, to introduce himself. For the first time in his life, lying wasn’t an option, and he hated that. He grabbed the first pen he could grab, a black ballpoint, with shaking fingers.

Hi. Well, that was lame.

You’re our soulmate. It was less of a question, more of a statement. Janus took a deep breath, bringing the pen down again.

Yes.

I’m sorry. What he was apologizing for, he couldn’t quite put a finger on. But it felt right. Apologizing was simply second nature to him.

Whatever for?

He didn’t know how to answer that time, so he did what he always did best, and watched. Waited again, hoping that Blue (Logan, he remembered vaguely), would just drop the subject. This was the most conversation he’d had with someone in a while.

My name’s Remus. The other dork is Logan.

The green ink appeared under the blue, and Janus’ heart dropped painfully in his chest. As if he didn’t already know their names. It’s not as if he could say that, though.

You seem kinda shy. It’s cute

Let them speak, Remus.

Both of them went silent, offering time to allow Janus to write. But he didn’t know what to say, how to explain…

So he didn’t. He yanked down the sleeves of his pajama top, pulling the edges over his hands to hide the now dried golden ink, and collapsed onto his bed, dooming himself to another night of restless sleep.

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

If Janus had the choice, he wouldn’t have gone to school the next day. He would have laid curled up under his blanket, struggling to tune out the sound of his parents arguing, letting the world pass him by like an old camera reel. Janus didn’t have the choice though, not when he remembered it was nearing the end of the year and exam season was drawing closer, and then the bickering downstairs became motivation. Good grades would equal an out-of-state college, which would mean getting away from thrown dishes and slamming doors.

Even so, that didn’t mean that Janus didn’t regret the entire day of school. It seemed like a breath of fresh air when the lunch bell rang and the students shuffled out of the class in a lump, leaving just him and Mr. Sanders behind, as per usual. Just as he reached down to pull his lunch out of his bag (just a handful of cold scrambled eggs he had set aside from his already meager breakfast), the teacher spoke.

“I actually have a meeting today, Jay. You’re gonna have to find a different place to have lunch.”

“What?” Janus recoiled as he spoke, his own voice sounding foreign to him. He hadn’t meant to talk back, half expecting a lecture, and was surprised when the teacher’s expression morphed into one of sympathy.

“Sorry, bud. It’s a staff meeting, and I couldn’t find a TA to watch the room over the break. It’s only for today. Cafeteria is open though, I’m sure you can find an empty table there. Or better yet,” He smiled softly, lifting his laptop bag onto his shoulder, “Sit with someone. I’m sure it’ll be okay.”

Janus picked up his bag as well, rushing from the room without a second glance. He didn’t feel like explaining that the reason he sat alone wasn’t his choice, and he couldn’t help it. He was just tired of being pushed away, so why not make the first move himself.

The path to the cafeteria was hardly trodden by him, and he tried to take in the pictures of past grad classes on the wall for as long as possible before his time was up. The security guard marching the halls gave him a pointed look, reminding him that he couldn’t stay in the hallways during lunch, so he hunched his shoulders and walked into the lunch room. He cursed the weather under his breath for being so damn hot today; he would melt in his hoodie and gloves to cover the ink. Luckily the splatters on his face blended in enough with the skin tone to be unnoticeable.

The first thing he noticed is that it was loud. People shouted, trays clattered, and Janus wanted nothing more than to curl up in his hoodie. Social interaction. Gross. The second was that Mr. Sanders had been right, there was a line of empty tables at the back that people seemed to avoid in favor of grouping together in the center. The third and final thing was the overwhelming sense of loneliness that flooded Janus as soon as he walked in. Sitting alone in an empty room was one thing, choosing to sit alone in a crowded room was another.

For a split second, the teacher’s words ran through his mind, and he wondered briefly if he should join a group, only for his anxiety to immediately shut the idea down with a shriek of are you crazy?!

He chose the closest table to the door that was untouched and sat hesitantly, appetite lost. All he had to do was get through an hour of this, he thought painfully. If he paid close enough attention, he could tune into other people’s conversations, and if he closed his eyes and drifted far enough, he might actually imagine that he was a part of them.

“Hi!”

Janus’ eyes shot open and he shrunk back as if he’d been slapped. Standing in front of him was a guy he recognized from his math class, bouncing on his heels enough to make his blonde curls fall into his eyes. He was grinning from ear to ear, gleaming teeth matching the white collar that stood out from under his blue sweater.

“Do you want to sit with us?”

His critical glare didn’t deter the overly joyful guy as he gestured over Janus’ shoulder, encouraging him to look. He did, albeit reluctantly. Four people were sitting at the table behind him, three caught up in a spirited conversation. The last one was staring back at him owlishly through thick square glasses, and surprisingly, Janus wasn’t unsettled by the look.

“Come sit with us!” The happy guy said again, looking like he was refraining himself from just grabbing Janus and pulling him over. His round glasses had started edging down his nose as he hopped from foot to foot.

“Are you sure?”

“Yep! Please?” He drew out the word for several seconds. Janus couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips, nodding mutely and gathering his backpack. His anxiety started again, pelting him with ‘they’re going to hate you’s and ‘this changes nothing’s, but he pushed them down resolutely. It was just the one meal. Tomorrow would be back to normal, eating lunch by himself in Mr. Sanders’ room. And he really couldn’t say no to that hopeful face.

“Yay! Okay,” He led Janus to the table, dropping into one of the two empty seats and pointing to the one next to him. He took a deep breath before gushing on, “Sit! Okay, okay, okay, so I’m Patton, purple-hair is Virgil but they hate the name so you can just call them V. We all call them V. That’s Logan, and the twins are Roman and Remus. Remus has the white streak, but it’s actually really easy to tell them apart once you get to know them.”

Janus’ blood froze in the middle of Patton’s gleeful rant. Those names… those were all the names that kept popping up over the five months of secret soulmate snooping. That wasn’t a coincidence, right? Most of those names weren’t exactly common.

His eyes shifted to the two Patton had introduced as Remus and Logan, sitting shoulder to shoulder across from him. Remus had halted whatever he was talking so animatedly about in favor of greeting the newcomer, but Janus couldn’t get himself to wave back. Instead he dropped his gaze to their loosely intertwined hands on the table, feeling somewhat lightheaded at the identical golden stains covering both of them.

So... he ran. He wasn’t proud of it, and he was somewhat certain that he’d made a scene, but he couldn’t do it. His own self doubt was crippling, all his fears rushing him full forced and reminding him just how little he mattered, how messed up his life had made him, how he would only ruin any possible relationship. This was all too real now. They fit so well to the picture he had unintentionally made of them in his mind; navy blue button up tops and slicked back hair, green bomber jackets and mussed up shoulder length curls. Eyes that glinted with barely concealed mirth, a dimpled grin revealing almost razor sharp canines. Two polar opposites, so perfectly built for each other, soulmates. He would just come along and ruin it.

Screw the sun, he thought, as he sat on the scalding hot bleachers by the football field. To his extreme annoyance, tears had started drifting down his cheeks, and he hurriedly wiped them away from sheer habit. His dad didn’t like tears almost as much as he didn’t like Janus. It wasn’t like they would know it was him, right? All they knew was a stranger had been invited to their table and had booked it before they even got his name. So he could stay a mystery, a fly on the wall, for the rest of his days.

The all too familiar feeling on his arm was more of a curse now than it ever had been. Resigned to his fate, he rolled the sleeve up to read whatever the two were no doubt talking about.

Hi.

He looked around frantically despite his better judgment, his eyes landing on a figure standing at the end of the bench, uncapped pen in one hand and one blue sleeve rolled up. Logan regarded him with a careful look, locked in a staring contest that neither wanted to look away from. The other broke first, turning his focus to his steps across the rickety surface as he approached Janus. He took a seat, mumbling something about how hot it was, before scribbling something else onto his arm and capping the pen. Janus tried to fight the urge to look down at his own still-bare arm, but he couldn’t resist a quick peak.

I found him. Bleachers in the north field.

“Why don’t you take off the gloves, at least. It’s almost ninety degrees out.”

Welp. Apparently this was happening. “How did you know?” He whispered, not touching his gloves.

“Remus and I both felt naturally drawn to you as soon as you walked into the cafeteria. We could not and still can not explain it. When Patton followed our gaze, he was more than eager to invite you over. Not that he needed the prompting, I am certain he would have invited you over regardless of Remus’ and my feelings the moment you sat alone,” Logan stopped briefly, taking note of the new green smiley face under his last message, “Your reaction to our names and hands in rapid succession was enough to solidify our previous suspicions. That-” He pointed to the shared messages on their skin, “-was the final proof I needed.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, Janus at a complete loss for words, until a loud clang to their right grabbed both of their attentions. Remus was clinging to the railing like a vine, having climbed all the way from the bottom, he realized with a start. The older man crawled over the top and landed solidly, rattling the seats, before bouncing over to them.

“Hi hi hi hi hi hi hi hi hi!” He plopped onto the bench in front of Janus, sitting backwards to face them. Consequently, he was slightly lower than the other two, and could see Janus’ usually ducked face for the first time. “Oooh, I like your birthmark! Is it a birthmark? Or a burn? Either way, I don’t care. I like it.”

“Gee, thanks,” Janus snarked before he could stop himself, his self protective tendency rising to the surface. Remus only giggled in response, manspreading a tad more and leaning forward on his elbows.

“I like him, Logan. He’s feisty.”

“I’m so glad I have your approval.” He was on guard now, he couldn’t help it.

“Remus, stop pestering him. He just met us.”

Remus grumbled under his breath but held his tongue. Logan could silence him, he’d have to remember that for the future. If they had a future. He couldn’t help the sliver of hope since they had actually come to find him… but maybe it was to let him down easy. No clue.

“When did you turn eighteen?” The question shouldn’t have shocked him the way it did; it was a valid thought.

“Five months ago.”

And he waited, expecting the worst at the sharp intakes of breath from both of them. Expected them to stand up and leave. Expected them to call him a creep. Expected them to… anything, really.

Well, anything except take his hands. Which they both did.

It was like they could speak telepathically, the way they seemed to be so in sync. Maybe that was a soulmate thing. Remus reached forward and weaved their fingers together at the same time that Logan placed his hand over Janus’ left one, squeezing it gently. They were both calming gestures in their own ways, and admittedly the most contact Janus had felt in maybe years. If that wasn’t enough to bring back his tears, Logan’s next words certainly were.

“Why didn’t you write right away?”

“That’s so much missed time we could have spent together,” Remus chipped in, eyes surprisingly soft.

“I…” Oh, for fuck’s sake. Better let them see how messed up he is now so they can walk away before he gets attached. More attached. “My parents are soulmates and they ended up hating each other. He’s a jerk, he hurts her and me and I didn’t want that to happen to me and my soulmate. Soulmates, I guess. Then the first thing I saw was you guys talking, and I realized, there’s two of you,” He laughed humorlessly, shrugging nonchalantly, “You wouldn’t be missing out if I never made myself known, and what kind of asshole would I be if I intruded on your relationship anyways? It’s not like I can add anything worthwhile. I’m not… that great of a person. I never have been. I have too much baggage and I’m pretty boring and I only scare people away so if I were you I’d get out while I had the chance.” His cracking voice gave away how he actually felt, and he despised himself for it. In all honesty, there was nothing he wanted more than to be held and loved and wanted. He’d never had that before in his life, was it a crime to not want to be pushed aside forever?

To his utter confusion, neither of them pulled away. He’d just vented to two strangers, and they were still as attentive as before.

“Now, we don’t have time to unpack all of that,” Remus hummed in a decent impression of John Mulaney, letting his thumb glide over Janus’.

“So if I’m correct,” Logan stated in a tone that implied he usually was correct, “You didn’t contact us because you didn’t want to burden us, or get yourself hurt.”

“I mean… yeah.”

“I’m going to kill your dad,” Remus chirped all too brightly, “For hurting you. And for ever making you think that we would hurt you.”

“Remus!”

“It’s true!”

Logan sighed heavily, “Remus is a little extreme, sometimes, but he is harmless. Look, I can assure you that your presumptions are entirely false. We would never harm you, and anything you’ve gone through in your past, what you call baggage, is not a deterrent to us in the slightest.”

“I have bipolar disorder, and a whole wacky past that we’ll get into another time,” Remus added, waving away Logan’s ‘shut up’ face, “And in the fifteen years I’ve known this nerd, he’s always stood by me.”

Janus knew it was supposed to feel better, but learning that the two have known each other since long before they knew they were soulmates suddenly made Janus feel that much more like he was intruding. Remus must have noticed his expression, because he quickly kept going.

“All I mean is that we have our fair share of baggage, my multicolored friend-”

“Remus!”

“Both of us do. So you won’t be hurting us in any way, shape, or form. And we won’t hurt you either.”

Janus’ own doubts were still raging inside him, but each word they said was adding splashes of water, slowly dousing the flames, much to his dismay. Even Remus’ attempts at humor were delighting him in ways he wasn’t used to.

“For some reason, the universe wants us together somehow. We’re meant to be in each other’s lives. Aw gross, that sounds like something Roman would-”

“Trusting us will be a slow process, and we understand that,” Logan interrupted smoothly, “You don’t need to believe our words, because we’ll prove it to you. Alright?”

It took a second until Janus nodded, but he did. He could hardly understand it himself.

“Can you start by telling us your name?”

“Janus.” It was a near whisper, a confession of the name he’d disliked since he was old enough to get bullied by his peers.

“The two faced Roman god of decisions, doorways, and new beginnings,” Logan spouted as if on instinct.

“Janus,” Remus repeated slowly, before a huge grin stretched across his face, “I love it.”

#lywrites #tsshipmonth2020 #intruloceit #janus sanders #logan sanders #remus sanders #sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #ts soulmate au

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the-cat-towel-cupcake-spear · 3 years

Text

The Separation

Mr and Mrs.Thompson where waiting at the kitchen table for Victor when he arrived home. As soon as he went through the door, Francine took his satchel from him, and Anne rushed him into the kitchen. Neither one could look him in the eyes, and wouldn’t say anything. Anne shoved him into the room and closed the door behind him.

Mr and Mrs. Thompson sat together on one side of the table, and a single chair was on the other. Victor felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. “Come, sit son.” his father told him. Slowly, Victor walked up to the table and pulled the chair out, making a dull scraping noise against the floor. As he sat down he could feel himself shaking.

After a moment of silence, Victors father spoke up. “Victor, we have made the decision,” he paused and looked to his wife for a moment, before turning his attention back to Victor, “To send you away.” Immediately Victor stood up and yelled, “What?!?” Angrily, his mother stood up and slapped him on his bruise again, “Sit down child! And you would do well not to raise your voice at your father! Your in enough trouble as it is.” Victor slumped back down and rubbed his cheek, beginning to think the bruise might never heal if this kept up.

Mr.Thompson breathed deeply, then continued, “Your great uncle runs a school for troubled boys. We are sending you there to live with him at his school in light of recent events.” Then his father reached under the table and picked up a brown valise, sliding it over to Victor. “You have fifteen minutes to pack what you want. Then I will be driving you off.”

Victor felt as though he couldn’t move, as if he was glued to the chair. He couldn’t believe what his parents were telling him, wouldn’t believe it. He didn’t even know he had a great uncle, let alone one with a school for mental boys, and he was to go live with him? This must be some sort of joke. That would be it. A cruel trick. Any second they would tell him it wasn’t true and that they would never dream of doing such a thing. As the silence drew on, Mrs.Thompson became impatient and shoved the valise further, onto Victors lap. “Hurry on with it already boy!” With shaky hands, Victor picked up the bag and went up the stairs to his room.

As he looked around his room for what he was sure would be the last time, he noticed Victoria wasn’t there. Sighing, he went around collecting things he thought he might need. Filling up the valise with clothes and some toiletries. Then he went to his bedside table and opened up the little drawer out of the side. From it, he took three things. A fancy blue pen with the letter V written on it in golden cursive, which had been a gift from Victoria, a beat up old stuffed dog he’d had for as long as he could remember, and a small framed photo of his family in front of their house.

As he picked them up and looked over them, his mother shouted from downstairs. Gently placing the last three objects on top of his clothes he clicked the valise shut. With a heavy heart, he walked to the door of his room, and gave one last sweeping look inside, before walking out and down the stairs.

His mother and both nannies waited standing at the open door, through which Victor could see his father, already in the car, waiting for him. Anne had a small tear in her eye, which she wiped away with a handkerchief, and Francine stood stone faced and tall. Victoria was still nowhere to be found.

“Where is Victoria.” Victor asked when he reached them at the door. “In the guest room upstairs, far away from you until this is all over.” His mother snapped. “I want to say goodbye to my sister.” Victor said staring his mother in the eyes. “You will do no such thing. Now get out of this house.” Victor tried to run back up the stairs, but his mother grabbed him by the scruff of his neck. He struggled against her, grabbing at his collar, and kicking his legs, shouting, “I’m saying goodbye to her!” but his mother would not let go. She tossed him out the door onto the dirt path, covering his clothes and face with earth. Victor turned around just as she tossed his valise out the door, and it collided with his stomach. He doubled over and felt his eyes water. His mother made a humph noise as a way of a final goodbye to her son, and slammed the door.

Victor sat in the dirt, clutching his valise over his stomach, hating himself for ever cutting his sisters hair. For ever even dreaming of it. For getting himself into this whole stupid mess to begin with. After a few minutes, his father shouted from the car for him to hurry up. When Victor still didn’t move, he sighed in exasperation and lifted the child off the floor, practically dragging him into the car, then went and threw his valise into the back seat.

Looking up longingly at his home while the car started to pull away from the drive, Victor noticed a figure in one of the windows. It was Victoria, standing there, watching the car from the guest room. Victor squinted and tried to get a better look at her face, could that be a tear running down her cheek, or was he just imagining things? The car turned around and then the house was behind them, and Victoria was out of sight.

Victor curled himself into a ball and cried the whole way there, which was a rather long way. His father kept trying to get him to stop, telling Victor to think of this like a new adventure he would be going on, and about how he would get to meet lots of boys his age, and how it wasn’t really so bad, but nothing worked. Victor couldn’t stop thinking about everything that had happened these past couple of days, and how it was entirely his fault, and that he had doomed himself. No amount of his fathers “consoling” was going to make him stop crying.

He only stopped when they finally arrived at their destination. His great uncles school. It was a tall, ominous, black building, with the words, “Amos Aimsworth’s Academy for Mentally Troubled Boys” above the large doors. The school looked more like a very large house then an academy to Victor. He stared up at the building as they pulled into the circular drive.

Victors father got out of the car and opened his door, handing Victor his valise. Slowly, Victor got out of the car and accepted the bag. His father patted his shoulder a little, then gave him a thumbs up and turned him around, pushing him towards the building. Trembling, Victor walked up the large stone steps to the black doors.

He turned around to see his father one last time, but Mr.Thompson had already sped out of the drive, leaving only a puff of dirt behind him. Victor stared after his fathers car until he couldn’t even see it’s trail of dust. All the while his eyes watered again, threatening to spill out with more tears. After breathing in a few shuddery breaths, Victor turned to look at what was now supposed to be his new home.

The place was hardly inviting. The large black doors loomed over Victor, and the whole place gave off the feel of sadness. Very badly did Victor want to run after his fathers car, but it was too late, and if he did catch up, he doubted his father would simply let him return home anyway. Victor stared at the doors a few moments longer, before lifting up a shaky hand. He sucked in a deep breath, and gave the door three small knocks.

At first, nothing happened, just silence. Then, Victor heard shuffling behind the door, and the sound of muffled voices and footsteps. The left door slowly creaked open, showing a dark room. So dark, Victor could hardly make out what was inside. Hesitantly, Victor stepped over the threshold, and the door was immediately slammed behind him, closing him away once and for all, from the life he used to live.

#writing #story #my story #it's midnight #i finished early #Anyone excited for Loki season finale coming out in a couple hours?#I'm way too tired #crap I just realized I made an inconsistency #The parents are supposed to be in the living room #dammit #(this was edited in after posting)

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kirishwima · 4 years

Note

for the soulmate AU thing could i ask for 8 or 9 with jumin?

ok so i had to go with no. 9 bc...the potENTIAL!!!

9. Anything you draw/write on your own skin appears on your soulmate’s.

* Jumin used to love waking up to little notes and doodles from his soulmate when he was younger-they first started appearing when he was about 9 or 10, first at incospicuous places like his wrists or forearms, little notes like a ‘hi!’ or a smiley face and whatnot

* He’d smile at the little doodles and messy handwriting, writing back with thin line markers and fine handwriting, be it a greeting or a smiley face with cat ears, there’d be a little exchange between the two at least once every day

* But as he grew older people started to scold him for the ink on his skin, his teachers would frown, tell him to cover up, his dad and whichever person he’d be dating at the time would roll their eyes whenever they saw doodles of cats on his arms, be it once he or his soulmate drew.

* “There’ll be a time and place to meet them”, his dad would tell him, giving him a wet cloth to wipe the ink away, “you can write down a formal letter to them at that time. Until then, keep your manners, please” he’d suggest, only it was never a suggestion, not really, the ‘please’ so ironic on his lips it dripped venom.

* With everything going on around him, Jumin’s replies to his soulmate’s doodles became sparse and cold, until they started to stop all together.

* Only...his soulmate didn’t seem to give up.

* They’d write something to him every day, asking if he was ok, if there’s something wrong-they were worried at first, wondering if something happened and that’s why Jumin had stopped replying.

* One day he was washing up, preparing for the day when he saw big bold letters on his arm-’ARE YOU OKAY?! :(’ it wrote, and he sighed down at the words, grabbing a pen from his desk to make a hasty reply.

* “We’re too old for this”, he scribbled down on his wrist, “stop it”, and with that he covered up his arms with a striped shirt, ignoring any further communication.

* His soulmate persisted, writing on their arms, on their legs sometimes-once Jumin found an angry face doodled on his inner thigh, staring angrily up at him as he went to take a shower. He bit back a smile at the thought of his soulmate furiously doodling that only for him to see, carrying on with his shower as normal.

* One day though. One day.

* He woke up as normal, only his alarm hadn’t gone off, hence he ran through his daily routine, not even stopping to take a glance at himself in the mirror-he brushed his teeth as he got dressed, and ran to the elevator that took him down to the parking lot and to his limousine, ignoring the odd stares his bodyguards gave him, the raised brow Driver Kim had the moment he laid eyes on Jumin.

* It was only when he reached his office, where Jaehee awaited him, when she gasped, choking on her sip of coffee as he walked in and greeted her, asking for his morning report.

* He could’ve sworn she was laughing, but before he could ask what’s so funny, she simply turned around, running out of his office before rushing back in a moment later, a compact mirror in hand.

* “Sir I-I think you really need to see this” she said, pushing the mirror in his hands.

* With a frown he took it, bringing it up to his face.

* On his forehead, with big bold letters, were the words ‘CAT LOVING MEME’ written, along with a doodle of a cat on his cheek, a crudely drawn...something, on the other cheek.

* Jumin blushed a furious red, sinking down to his knees. He’s not one to be embarassed, not one to be bothered by what other people think of him-but to think that his soulmate is also sporting this same face right now, possibly running around town with the same words and doodles on their face...?!

* He sighed, asking Jaehee to cancel all his appointments for the day before he looked around his office for an appropriate marker.

* “C&R main office, tomorrow, 8a.m. Ask for Jumin Han, and don’t be late.” he wrote on his arm, as big and clear as possible. If this is how his soulmate wanted to play, then so be it. He’d scold them for this behavior, and ask them to stop-it was high time they met anyway.

* That night Jumin was unable to sleep, nursing a glass of wine in his hand as he walked around the house, looking to his arms longingly. Would his soulmate really not reply to his message, even after that whole fiasco? Did they even see his message? What if they didn’t? What if they did but didn’t show up? Why...why did Jumin even care so much in the first place?

* It was late at night, or rather early in the morning as he lay down on the couch with Elizabeth in his lap, his shirt abandoned on the floor as he’d looked all over his arms and chest for a response, but to no avail, when he felt a prickle on his wrist, right at the pulse point.

* He lifted his hand, looked at the fluttering beat where a response was finally scribbled.

* “I can’t wait to see you, Jumin.”

* The man was already smitten and he had yet to even meet them, hoooo boy

-listen i love these doodle-soulmate AUs bc im a menace that constantly writes on myself so my soulmate would be doomed to memes on their hands 24/7 lmao

-send me a mystic messenger headcanon for character(s) reactions!-

-soulmate headcanons list-

#asks #mystic messenger #jumin han #mysme #mysme prompts #mysme imagines #mysme headcanons #mystic messenger prompts #mystic messenger headcanons #mystic messenger imagines #jumin han x mc #jumin han headcanons #jumin han prompts #jumin han imagines #soulmate au #mysme au #jaehee kang #jumin au #joy1579

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captainsolare · 3 years

Text

Invisible

Fluffvember Day 1: Yami Sukehiro (f!reader)

Summary: When a potion’s adverse effects turn you invisible, Captain Yami won’t let you deal with it on your own

Word Count: 1,458

masterlist

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You sat on the edge of your bed, staring at the potion bottle in your hand. "It was definitely a mistake to buy this." You sighed aloud, shaking your head. Yesterday, you had gone to the underground market and a booth had caught your eye, touting specialized potions that could help increase magic power and the like. In hindsight, you probably shouldn't have bought anything, but you had been having trouble with your magic as of late and the frustration was making you desperate. So, you had bought one and here you were sitting on your bed, and looking in the mirror at your invisible self. That's right, the potion had turned you invisible; you had no clue for how long, but as you sat and stared, dealing with the mental weirdness of physically being able to feel you touch your face but not being able to see it.

Tears of frustration cascaded down your cheeks, "why can't anything go right?!" You wailed internally, making any outward disturbance might cause someone to come check on you and in your present state that would be, to say the least, problematic.

You thought through your options; okay, 1. Ask another one of the Black Bulls for help. Definitely not, I hate asking for help and this is embarrassing. 2. Wait this out. That could work except that if people can't find me they'll freak out. 3. Leave a note saying I have to go take care of something urgent and go somewhere else to wait this out. That's probably the best option. You penned the note and prepared to leave, but you caught a glance of yourself in the mirror and realized, oh yeah, I just look like floating clothes right now. Ugh.

You gritted your teeth and took off your clothes, even though you knew no one would know you were naked it still didn't feel particularly comfortable. You snuck down to the common room and left your note on the table, surprisingly no one was in the common room so you relaxed a bit. "Hey Y/N!" Asta called as he walked through the room, carrying the laundry and you stiffened. Then he frowned, "That's weird, I could have sworn Y/N was in here." Then he shrugged and left the room. You let out a small sigh, then left the room, deciding that grabbing your big winter cloak would help, at least you'd feel semi-covered, and you could bring some supplies with you. After you grabbed your pack, you took the back staircase to where the Magical Beasts were kept, you had the least chance of being seen if you left that way.

You had almost made it to the exit when you heard footsteps coming down the hallway, you quickly dropped the cloak and pack and shrank against the wall, hoping that you wouldn't be discovered. Any hope was dashed though, when the approaching footsteps revealed Yami, your captain and the man you had a crush on. He drew his sword, and called out into the dark hallway, "Who the hell is there? You some kind of intruder or something?"

You sighed inwardly, you should have known that Yami would figure you out, with his undeniable ability to pick up on ki. "It's me Captain." You said, shoulders drooping and head bowed, you were unbelievably embarrassed by this situation. Yami put his sword away, "Y/N? Why the hell are you invisible? You turn into a ghost or something when I wasn't looking?"

You sighed, "No, but I wish I had." You muttered. Yami laughed, pulling his cigarette out of his mouth as he did so. “Okay, but what actually happened to you?” He asked, a glint of concern in his dark eyes. You looked deeper down at your feet, he obviously couldn’t have seen the movement, but the embarrassment must have been coming off of you in waves because he averted his eyes. “Look, I can tell you’re embarrassed but you need to tell me what’s going on. As your captain, and as your friend, it’s my job to help if there’s something wrong.” He said, you widened your eyes at his candor, the captain considers me a friend? You stood up straight and cleared your throat. “Well,” You said sheepishly, “You know how I’ve been having issues with my magic lately?” Yami nodded. “Well, I bought this potion, thinking that it would help but instead of helping with my magic, this happened.” You gestured, to yourself, but remembered that he obviously couldn’t see you. “The whole, invisible thing happened.”

Yami pinched the bridge of his nose, “I see. Okay.” He sighed, “Come on, let’s go get this figured out.” Suddenly something dawned on him, he glanced to the cloak on the floor, then at you, well, where he thought you were. “Y/N.” “Yes sir?” Yami averted his eyes again, and brought a hand up to his face to cover up his reddening cheeks. “You-you’re naked aren’t you.” He stated. You widened your eyes as you remembered, yes indeed you were. You scrambled to grab the cloak off the floor. “It’s not a big deal if you don’t care, I just want to make sure you’re comfortable. This is a… weird situation.” You chuckled darkly, “To say the least. I’m fine, I’ll cover up with this.”

Yami escorted you back to your room, “I’ll be back in a little while. I’ll see if Owen can help.” He said as he shut the door. “Finral!” He yelled, “Make me a portal to the Castle town!” “Right away sir!” You picked up your discarded clothes from the floor and put them on, supposing that it didn’t matter much because you’d already been caught. “Now I’m really regretting wanting to be invisible as a kid.” You said aloud, kicking your feet as you sat on the edge of the bed. Anxiety started to creep in as you waited for Yami’s return, What if this lasts forever? And I’m doomed to be invisible, to never be able to look upon my face again? Pangs of worry hit your stomach, and you started to cry.

Yami led Owen to your room, “Before you go in, let me just make sure she’s doing okay.” Yami knocked and when you didn’t answer, he pressed his ear to the door. Uh oh, she’s crying. You looked up as Yami threw the door open, “Are you okay?” He asked, concern furrowing his brow. You looked up at him, with a tearful gaze, though he couldn’t see it. “What if---” You almost didn’t want to say the words aloud, what if they came true because you voiced them? You steeled yourself, “What if this lasts forever?” You asked, swallowing a sob. Owen took his chance and entered the room, “I wouldn’t worry about that. Most people who have adverse reactions to potions, return to normal soon enough.” “Really?” You sniffled. Owen nodded. Owen worked his magic and was able to diagnose the problem, “Okay, so the good news is that this isn’t permanent, it should fade within the next few days.” “What’s the bad news?” Yami asked from the doorway. Owen turned to glance at him, then you, “Well, I can’t say whether it will all fade at once or if one part of your body will appear at a time. Regardless, you need lots of rest so you can fight this.” You sighed in relief, “I can live with that.”

Owen left for the castle, leaving you and Yami alone in your room. “So…” Yami said awkwardly. “So…” You said, equally as awkward. There was a brief pause, but then you spoke up. “Thank you Captain, for staying with me through this.” Yami gave you a small smile, “Of course. What kind of Captain would I be if I didn’t help my squad when they needed me?”

Yami was about to leave, but you called after him. “Wait! What can I do to thank you?” Yami glanced back, thought for a moment, then spoke, “Let me see your smile when you’re finally all back. I’m going to miss it while we wait.” Yami went to open the door, then paused, flinging it open and sending Magna, Asta, Luck and your other squadmates tumbling into the room. “Get out of here! Y/N is fine!” Yami barked, “I better not catch you being rowdy today. Y/N needs lots of rest.” The whole squad muttered a “Yes sir.” then they were scrambling off, not without giving you small waves and well wishes though. Yami exited the room, and heard soft snores coming from your bed. Wow, Y/N sure does fall asleep fast… makes sense, tough day. Yami smiled to himself then softly closed the door. “Get well soon.” He whispered.

#fluffvember 2020 #f!reader #yami sukehiro #yami fluff #aurora borealis #planet fluffvember

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kelyon · 3 years

Text

Her Angel Chapter 3

Lady Belle runs from her wedding and seeks the help of a poor spinner.

Originally written for the Rumbelle Showdown under the pen name “Ercnal.”

Read on AO3

“Open in the name of the Duke!”

Lady Belle of House French and Rumpelstiltskin, the spinner who had saved her life, sat in the darkness of his hovel. For a brief eternity, both of them stayed frozen in fear, their hands clutched together.

“They’re here for me,” Belle whispered. “Gaston is going to take me away and force me to marry him!”

Another knock thundered at the door.

“I-I have to open it.” Rumpelstiltskin didn’t let go of her hand.

“I know,” she breathed. “Go ahead.”

Thinking fast, Belle broke from Rumple and turned to the hearth. She’d slept the first part of the night on the packed dirt in front of the fireplace. Her golden wedding dress was lost in the river. The shift she wore was muddy and wrinkled. But she still wasn’t dirty enough!

She stirred the embers into a blaze, as she had seen the servants do back home. Then, as Rumpelstiltskin hobbled over to the door, she took a handful of cold ash and rubbed it over her face and neck. She grabbed the blanket off of Rumpelstiltskin’s bed and threw it over her head and shoulders. Maybe it would look like a peasant woman’s shawl. It covered her clean hair and hid the shape of her young body.

Maybe this would work.

Before he opened the door, Rumpelstiltskin looked over his shoulder at her. They had known each other for less than a day, but already they understood what the other meant without saying a word. He was asking, Was she ready?

She nodded and he opened the door.

Two men stood in the doorway. At least, one was a man--a big, burly fellow in a sergeant’s uniform. The other figure was hidden in a darkness inkier than the night, face obscured by a rich cloak. The figure was roughly the same size as the sergeant in height and breadth of shoulder. But there was an air of power about this person. Something great and terrible was wrapped around him just as much as his cloak.

“G-good evening, milords,” Rumpelstitlskin stammered. “W-what can we do for you?”

The sergeant pushed past him to enter the hut. The figure in the cloak followed, gliding smoothly over the ground like an eel through water.

The sergeant spoke. “By order of His Grace, Duke Gaston de Trousdale, every house must be searched for a runaway girl.”

“We’ve no girls ‘ere, dearie,” Belle garbled her voice and took on the accent of a peasant. It sounded terrible, but she pressed on. “Just a fine little boy. He’s asleep in the ‘ayloft and I’ll thank you not to wake ‘im with your noisy ‘orses!”

There were no lies in what she had said. Rumpelstiltskin’s son Bae was in the hayloft and Belle did hope that he stayed asleep. And she was not a girl. She was a woman who could decide her own fate.

The figure in the cloak said nothing, but silently turned his attention to her.

The sergeant looked around the little hut. There wasn’t much to see. Certainly no place where this poor spinner might be hiding a future duchess.

“You two are married, are you?” he asked.

Belle drew herself up to her full height and began to bluster. She had seen this sort of thing in a play once. “Whot kind of question is that, dearie? Whot kind of people do you think we are?” She marched over to the shocked Rumpelstiltskin and grabbed his hand. “I’ll ‘ave you know I owe this man my very life! I would never disgrace him by ‘aving loose ways! ‘Ow dare you, sir! I never in all my days!”

The sergeant took her ranting in stride and kept looking. When he came upon the pallet in front of the hearthfire he kicked it. “So if you two are married, and your son is in the hayloft... who’s sleeping here?”

Belle opened her mouth and then shut it again.

Drat.

“We were,” Rumpelstiltskin came to her rescue. His hand around hers was warm and soft. “I mean, we weren’t sleeping. But… certain things… are better on a firm surface. I’m crippled, you see, and that is… more of a comfort on my back.”

The sergeant began to laugh. “Is that why it took you so long to open the door?” His sniggers became guffaws. “Did we interrupt a moment of ‘marital bliss’?”

Rumpelstiltskin looked at the ground and didn’t say anything. Belle felt him trembling beside her, about to cry. The sergeant chuckled at the idea that a man like Rumple and a woman like her could ever be married, could ever desire each other. How many other people had laughed at the angel who had saved her? How many other people thought it ludicrous that Rumple could be loved?

Belle’s pretend bluster exploded into genuine rage. “Whot’s so funny about it?” she screeched. “This is a good man you’re laughing at! He’s a loving father and generous to strangers! If I ‘ave a chance to give ‘im otherworldly delights, why shouldn’t I take it?”

The color rose in Rumpelstiltskin’s cheeks, but his smile was lovely in its gratitude.

The sergeant was polite enough to hide the rest of his laughter behind his hand. “All right,” he conceded. “They do say there’s someone for everyone.”

For the first time, the cloaked figure spoke. His voice was deep, with strange rumbling echoes.

“Very well, goodwife. You have proven that this is indeed your hearth and home. Come, Hordor, we best continue our search elsewhere.”

Once again, the figure floated instead of walking to the door. The unnatural smoothness of his movements was unnerving. But at least he was leaving and taking the sergeant with him. For just a moment, Belle felt her heart lift.

Then the dark figure turned around.

“Before we go, may we have some tea? Our journey has been long, and we must fortify ourselves. And did I not hear that you are generous to strangers?”

“O-of course,” Rumpelstiltskin began to hobble for the fireplace. “Allow me to--”

“Is it the custom in this land that the man of the house tends to domestic duties?” It was a polite question, but the dark figure intoned his words like a final judgement.

Belle and Rumple exchanged a look. They both knew that she had never made tea for herself in her life. She had watched him make tea after dinner, but how could she make it look like this was her home? That she was making tea for her own husband as a wife might do every night?

She would have to try.

“I-Is there water in the kettle, love?” she began as she walked back to the hearth. The fire was going nicely now, and the heavy black tea kettle hung from an iron bar on a hinge.

“Yes,” Rumple said. “The boy filled it before he went to bed.”

“Good,” she said with a false smile. That at least would spare her having to go out in the dark and find the well to get the water.

“And he put the tea leaves in the wooden box on the shelf beside the fireplace, just like we told him too.”

With that hint, Belle found the tea leaves easily. “He is such a good boy!”

The sergeant and the cloaked figure sat at the long farm table and watched her work. The hut was so quiet she could hear Rumpelstiltskin gulp before he spoke.

“So you’re looking for a girl?” he said. “Who is she? What did she do to offend His Grace?”

“Lady Belle of House French,” the sergeant answered. “She ran away from their wedding--at the very chapel door. Our lord don’t take kindly to being…” he searched for words, “dismissed, rejected, publicly humiliated.”

“But if she didn’t want to marry him--”

“The maiden broke a contract.” The dark figure cut off Rumple with tones of doom. “She made a promise to my master and she must fulfill her end of the bargain.”

Belle’s heart raced. Teacups. Where were the teacups? There were three mugs on a low shelf. Were those the same vessels they had taken tea from after dinner? Was that all Rumple had? Would that be good enough to give to company? The water inside the kettle bubbled noisily. The tea would be ready soon, but where were the cups to serve it in?

And they would probably want sugar too, wouldn’t they? And cream. Where did Rumpelstiltskin keep cream? She had heard of peasants putting jugs in streams near their houses to keep things cold. Did he do that? Where was the stream? Where was the sugar? The rest of her life hung in the balance of how well she could make tea!

“Do you need help, darling?” Rumple called over to her. “I know ever since we moved things you’ve had trouble remembering where they should go.”

“Moved things?” the sergeant spoke before Belle could. “What things do you have that would be moved?”

“Well, the treacle, for instance,” Rumple said. “We had kept it near the oat bin, but now it’s on the third shelf.”

There were quite a few things on the third shelf. What in the name of all the gods was treacle? It had to be important, or Rumpelstiltskin wouldn’t have mentioned it. But what was it? Belle ruled out the herbs and dried fruits she recognized. There was a small earthenware crock that seemed to be full of some kind of sticky brown syrup. And there was a little bowl that contained a mound of fine white crystals.

So that was the sugar at least! Whatever treacle was, she could worry about it later. The mugs were the best she could find, so she put the tea leaves and sugar into them.

“And where have we put the cream, love?”

She panted, as she held the iron kettle. It was heavier than anything she had ever lifted in life. She wrapped the handle with a rag to keep it from burning her hands. Pouring the boiling water into the mugs, Belle prayed that she wouldn’t spill. Peasant women were expected to be a lot stronger than she ever had been.

“W-we’re all out of cream, sweetheart,” Rumple said softly.

“Funny that you don’t know that, mistress,” the dark figure said. What was visible of his mouth held no amusement at all. “And odd that you would have cream at all, impoverished as you are.”

“Aowh!” Belle exaggerated her fake accent even more. “Sorry, dearie! I fort we ‘ad put some by, for when important people came to call.”

“Oh yes, everyone knows you can keep cream for months to save it for special occasions.” The sergeant snickered.

Cheeks blazing, Belle handed the mugs of tea to the three men. As she gave Rumpelstiltskin a mug, his fingers brushed against the back of her hand and he caught her eye. His gaze was warm and hopeful. For a moment, her heart calmed, and her panic dissipated. For a moment, when she looked into his eyes, she was home and everything was all right.

Then the sergeant spat out his tea.

Time froze. An arc of liquid hung in the air between the sergeant’s lips and the tabletop. Each brown drop showed an image in the firelight. Belle saw her own dismay, her knowledge that she had failed, reflected in the tea. Rumpelstiltskin’s sorrowful eyes lit up with shock, even as his lips grimaced around the rim of his teacup. And by some strange trick of the light, Belle could see the face of the dark figure, but only in the tea drops. Dark eyes gleamed with self-assured malice, something almost like amusement.

He had known who she was from the beginning.

Time started. The sergeant’s tea splattered to the table and he spat the rest out onto the ground.

“I-is something wrong?” Belle asked lamely. She was caught, but she couldn’t back down.

“Salt,” Rumple looked down as he put his cup on the table. “You put salt in the tea.”

“That wasn’t sugar?” Her voice was normal. All the pretending melted away in the face of her honest mistake.

The sergeant stood up. “Why would a poor spinner have sugar, my lady? Why would you expect fine sugar and rich cream in a miserable shack like this?”

“I…” Belle backed away from the two men so she was near the hearth again. Maybe she could grab the kettle. If she swung with all her strength she might be able to hit one of them. But which one?

Rumpelstiltskin stood up quickly on his bad leg. “Please, milords! We are just a humble family. My wife doesn’t always know what she’s doing, but that isn’t a crime! Please…” Trembling, he clung to his staff. “Please just leave us be.”

“Do you think we’re stupid?” the sergeant sneered. He lumbered around the table to grab Belle.

Kettle in both hands, Belle planted her feet in the dirt floor and prepared herself to heave. She managed to lift the iron thing over her head. It was on a clear course to collide with the sergeant’s beefy face. With any luck, the blow would knock him out. They could figure out what to do with the other man after that.

The kettle went up, but it wouldn’t come down. It wasn’t falling. Belle pulled on the handle, but it wouldn’t budge. It seemed to be frozen in mid-air.

There was a glow around the kettle. The purple light was unlike anything Belle had ever seen, but she knew what it was.

Magic.

The man in the dark cloak stood in front of the table. What was visible of his face was calm. He had only one finger extended. It seemed to cost him no effort at all to destroy every hope Belle had ever had of happiness.

“No!” Rumpelstiltskin shouted. In one quick motion, he swiped his staff toward the dark figure. The movement knocked over a teacup. It fell to the ground and chipped.

The dark magician only had to twitch his hand to push the attack away and leave Rumpelstiltskin a crumpled heap on the floor.

“No!” Belle shrieked. “Don’t hurt him!”

The sergeant grabbed her by both wrists and pulled her away from the floating tea kettle. “Why should we spare him, my lady? The man did impede the Duke’s servants from their duty. Do you want to make it worth our while? Do you want to make a deal with me and my friend here?”

“Enough,” the dark figure intoned. “We have our quarry. Let us be done with this.”

“Please!” Rumple reached up from the ground,

“Apologies, ‘dearie.’” The cloaked man looked down on Rumpelstiltskin while the sergeant hoisted Belle over his shoulders. “It is the Dark One’s magic that binds the girl now. And only the Dark One’s magic will ever free her.”

#her angel #rumbelle fic #rumbelle showdown

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ambertea · 3 years

Text

pretending to be good

Eleanor and Michael struggle to become better.

Read on ao3

He wasn’t what she had always thought the devil was like. She watched him try to hide it. He wore his suit like an armour, his bowtie always bright and vibrant, his hair styled to an inch of perfection. He joked, and chatted, and blustered around in the same way he thought humans did, covered his bad bits with odd habits or terrible hobbies. But when he reached out and touched her, she could not help but flinch. His skin was cold to the touch, almost like a snake’s. He would always look at her then, hurt and confused, but this only shattered the illusion even further. The hardness in his eyes had never softened.

Chidi was chattering away about philosophy, staring at his chalkboard as he drove himself in vicious, confused circles. He had strayed from the point almost half an hour ago and seemed to have forgotten that Michael and Eleanor were there at all. They were leaning over a textbook, hair brushing together, and their cheeks lit up in the same sick glee. They were adding to the trolley problem diagram in thick red pens, drawing crushed bystanders and angry red eyes on the driver. Michael drew a moustache on him, and Eleanor chuckled and added a pointed little beard. She glanced up at Chidi, who was still harshly ruminating and turned her head slightly towards Michael. “What do you really think about it, though?” She said softly. He frowned and returned her gaze. “About what?” He asked. His icy breath tickled her cheek slightly, and she swallowed harshly. “The trolley problem.” She whispered, and he nodded and turned to stare at the book, head tilted. “Well,” he muttered. “They’re all going to hell anyway. Who cares if it’s a bit early?” She felt a smile pull itself across her cheeks, surprising her. She turned to gaze at the book as well. “I meant, who do you save?” He hesitated, and then let out a breath. “I don’t know, Eleanor. I find it hard to care.” He said quietly, voice vulnerable as if he were revealing a dirty little secret. She just nodded. “Me too.”

She was trying to learn how to be better. She smiled more and offered hesitant kindnesses. Chidi thought she was doing well. Michael knew better. They would meet in his office often, sipping vinegary wine and venting over the events of the day. “And then Jason told me his school taught maths by playing Tetris, and that’s why he’s so good at sex.” Michael laughed, Eleanor giggling along with him. Her cheeks were flushed with pink, drunk and gleeful. “So, what did you say?” She asked, trying to take another sip out of her empty glass. She shrugged and picked up the bottle to swig out of that instead. “I asked him which piece was most like his penis.” He said joyfully, head titled back, and eyes scrunched together. Eleanor snorted, trying to imagine Jason’s face at that. “And?” “He frowned for a little bit and then said the block.” He told her and they both looked at each other with cheerful confusion. “Oh, Jason.” She laughed, sitting back in her chair and propping her feet up on the desk. They sat in a comfortable silence for a while, both gazing up at the ceiling thoughtfully. “Michael,” Eleanor said hesitantly, and he snapped his gaze back to her. “Do you ever think…” “What?” He asked once it was clear she was struggling to continue. She gazed solidly at the wine bottle, her mind whirling around. “I’ve just been wondering, lately, what the point is.” She admitted. “The point of what?” “Trying to be good.” She said quietly, and Michael nodded slowly. “Like, I know Chidi and Tahani and even Jason are, like, good inside. But us,” here she slowly sought out his eyes. “we’re not quite like that, are we?” “We’re not?” He asked, trying to swallow past the sudden thickness in his throat. She shook her head slowly, brows furrowed. “Don’t tell me you don’t feel it. When you do good things. When you try to act kindly or do things that are probably the right thing to do.” She said, her voice laced with steel. “Feel what?” He asked, but he already knew. “Like it’s just an act.” She said softly, her face pained. “Well, yes, but that’s what we’re doing, isn’t it.” He asked her, feeling almost desperate in his conviction that she was wrong. “Act good until we are good.” “But we’re not good.” She argued harshly. “We will never be like them. All of them, they all had something. Tahani had her fame, Jason had his friends, Chidi had his books. They all had something in their lives that they loved.” “What do you love?” He asked, and she stared blankly at him. “Nothing at all.” He nodded, slowly, and poured himself another glass of wine in the silence. She was still looking at him, her face almost desperate. He took a deep sip and then sighed. “Me neither.” He confessed, and her face fell slack instantly in relief. “But what else can we do?” “Be bad.” She said, her face now flushed in conviction. He sighed and sat back. “Well, we’ve done that already. Might as well try this out for a bit.” He said quietly. “I can’t do this.” She said, her voice breaking. “I don’t want to.” “What else can we do?” He asked again, his own voice thick with emotion. “Be bad – and do what? Torture Chidi, Tahani and Jason? Do you really want to do that?” “No.” She admitted, and he nodded. “I could cancel this whole thing. We could all go back to the real bad place. You and the others would end up being tortured forever.” He told her. He wondered, absently, what torture they would choose for Eleanor. “And you?” She asked, looked up at him through her slightly wet lashes. He let out a gruff laugh. “And I would spend the rest of eternity like I spent the first part. Bored and alone.” He admitted, and she opened her mouth to disagree and then instantly shut it. “Why has it got to be so hard?” She asked and he closed his eyes in pain. “It’s the way of the universe.” He said, a bleak smile stretching over his face. “But we have to do this, Eleanor.” She looked for a second like she might argue, but then let out a huff of air. “Yeah, I guess.”

He didn’t see as much of Eleanor after that. She kept to her house, rarely going anywhere she was likely to see him. He didn’t mind. Her words were constantly in his head. Logically, he thought his plan was the right one. He had grudgingly read the textbooks and listened to Chidi’s impassioned explanations. He knew people were more complicated than good or bad, and he saw that more than anywhere in Eleanor herself. She seemed so inherently dark. He saw it in her mocking gaze, in the way she rolled her eyes and sighed heavily, any time she infected conversations with her bitter sarcasm. But this darkness felt so good. He liked their silent exchanges, enjoyed their whispered insults. He liked the way she would light up in the presence of her friends, stealing away their warmth. He liked the way that she alone knew exactly what he thought of different philosophies or moral stances because she thought the exact same thing. It was nice, after so many millennia, to feel a little less alone. Despite this, though, he really wanted to be good. He wanted to be admirable, righteous, the sort of person people saw as a pillar. It was so very human to want someone to look up to, and so very appealing for them to be looking up at him. He needed to try at the very least because he knew. Knew that if he and Eleanor continued any further down the wrong path, then the others would be doomed to a life of misery.

She quickly stopped avoiding him, bored by his absence. They spoke slightly awkwardly, both worried by the other’s reaction. Still, it was good to be on the same team. She was getting restless. In her life on Earth, she had rarely stayed in one place for very long. She had always enjoyed flitting from place to place, never getting too tied down. Now, it seemed she would be trapped in this pseudo paradise forever. How very fitting. She and Michael were both getting better, studying dutifully under Chidi’s watchful eye. Their textbooks remained unmarked and became well-read. Slowly, her kindness was becoming more instinctive. She wasn’t sure if it was from genuine belief or just muscle memory at this point, but it made Chidi grin widely. Sometimes Michael would smile as well, and it made her stomach twist into knots.

“I guess we’re really doing this.” She said to Michael absently. It had been weeks since their conversation, but he knew what she was talking about instantly. “I guess we are.” He replied. They were sitting eating froyo, looking out at the artificial setting sun. He turned to look at her face, coloured red by the hues of the sky. She looked as much of a demon as him. He kept that thought to himself. “At least we’re in this together.” She said solemnly, her voice slightly choked. He nodded, feeling traitorous tears building in his eyes. The ultimate hell for Eleanor Shellstrop had not been one of his design but had clearly been just as effective. An eternity of being pretending to be good. And he was trapped right alongside her.

#hellstrop #the good place #eleanor shellstrop #i haven't written anything in ages pls be kind haha #mine #writing #michael x eleanor #tgp fanfic #mine: words #mine: tgp #mine: hellstrop

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pinnithin-writes · 3 years

Text

One Man Funeral

In the wake of a successful (?) mission, Dar comes to grips with what just happened to them. 1189 words.

Many a sentient had told Dar in their lifetime to go juck themself, and now Dar could say with confidence that they absolutely would. Happily. Their nerves were alight with the tidal wave of energy that had washed over them every time they warped. And that kiss. Oh, sweet Rodd. If only they’d had more time.

They plodded to the darkened bridge of the ship, their ship, the ship they captained. Funny how they’d been afraid to take this position when they’d grown into it so nicely. Being captain suited Dar just as well as the epaulets gracing their shoulders. They smoothed a hand down the sleek blue uniform they wore. It was a little wrinkled after that whirlwind of a mission.

Settling down into the pilot’s chair - useless; the console before them a vanity accessory that piloted Bargie about as much as a couch drove a moving van - they leaned back and watched the streaks of starlight whisking past the ship. Calm and contented, sure of themself. What a view. What a life.

What a life.

It stuck inside Dar uncomfortably. That phrase. That sentiment. Why did -

Oh, juck.

Oh.

Juck.

All at once their blood was boiling as wave after wave of emotion rolled over them. I died, they thought, frantically. I died.

They had watched it happen. The shocking laser arc from the blaster smashing in a deadly firework against their own body. They’d felt it - that earth-shaking rumble as their body hit the ground. Sheets of rain like ice pouring over them. And they all had just stood there. Staring at them. Dar’s body, an unceremonious hulk in the mud. Dead. Stone cold dead.

They hadn’t had time to bury them. Nobody had even thought about it.

With trembling hands, Dar unbuttoned their uniform, sliding the lapels of the coat aside to examine the pockmark of scar tissue on their chest. They’d always assumed it was from that day. They remembered the pain of the blaster fire searing into their skin quite clearly, but the events preceding, not so much. Adrenaline, they had told themself.

Memory loss from a memory lost. AJ had followed the order without question.

Dar’s chest began rising and falling heavily as they thought about it. Who were they, really? What other memories had been erased by time? How many other doomed Dars were out there? How many tangled failing timelines of dead and dying Dars, facedown in the mud, bleeding and bleeding and bleeding and bleeding and-

“Stop it,” they growled, low in their throat.

They were Captain Jucking Dar, and they did not lose it over something like this. They’d kept it together through all of it, the k’hekk, the feet mutants, the heists and the coliseums and the speeder races and the unbearable heartache of giving up a lover and by Rodd they were not going to break apart over this. This anomaly. This tragedy. Dar pressed a hand to their chest, willing themself to calm down and utterly, undeniably failing.

I died.

They hunched over in their chair, arms wrapped protectively around their own torso, as if they could retroactively protect themself from what had happened years ago. Years-ago-just-now. Their hearts hammered in their chest cavity and they squeezed their eyes shut. Was it narcissistic to mourn yourself? What was doomed Dar thinking, in those final moments?

Here I am, on this shithole planet, in the ass end of space, stuck in a corrupt government job with the worst crew imaginable. What a waste. What a stupid, pointless, unceremonious way to end a life. Not in a blaze of glory and gunfire. Snuffed out by the nervous trigger finger of an incompetent, cowardly tellurian. Detestable. Disgusting.

No one even knew they were gone.

And Pleck, oh, Rodd, Pleck had been the one to kill them. Dar’s teeth chattered as they sat, hunched over in the pilot’s chair, remembering the weighty thunk of the blaster falling from his limp hands into the mud as he fled. It was an accident. A horrible, deadly, irreparable accident. One that Captain Jucking Dar had repaired with their own two hands, a decision, and a kiss.

Everyone else had just stood there. Motionless in their shock. Dar hoped one of them had uttered a prayer for them as they charged into the rain and the past. They deserved that much, at least.

It was selfish, right? This feeling of being cheated? Stars whisked past in glittering white lines and Dar could barely see them anymore through the salt in their eyes. Dar had died, and no one had shed a tear for their passing, so they had to settle for crying over themself. A one man funeral, here on the Bargarean Jade. It was wrong and perverse and it ached in Dar’s chest as they shuddered alone in the bridge.

Before they were fully registering their own actions, Dar stood from the chair and began clattering around the room, pawing through drawers with a deep-seated purpose that only their gut knew. Rodd, the light wasn’t even on in here, they were just clawing blindly in the dark and tasting the saline burn of ugly tears running into their mouth and thinking I died I died I died like a backwards prayer as their claws latched onto a notepad and a pen and something cylindrical.

They sat. On the floor - cold, uncomfortable - like that dying Dar had been, forgotten in the rain.

The cylindrical thing in their hand was a flare, they realized. A small one, useless in an emergency unless there was a small power outage. It’d do. It took a couple tries with their shaking hands, but Dar finally hit the striker and the flame bloomed orange and hot in their face. Blaster fire bit at the back of their memory and they shook it out.

Not now, love, not now. This was sacred.

Balancing the flare on its end and the notepad on their knee, Dar scratched out an epitaph for themself. They kept it short. Sweet. With a touch of humor. Spelling out their birth-given name in their native language sent a shiver of nostalgia through them.

“Hey, Dar?” a voice crackled overhead from the intercom, rough and familiar. “I feel something burning in here. Should I be concerned?”

Dar drew in a deep breath and let it out slow through their nose. They ripped the page out of the notepad, violently. “No worries, Barge,” they said. “I’ve got it under control.”

Their hands only trembled a little as they fed the sheet into the fire. They sat back and watched smoke curl up to the ceiling and fan out in a gentle arc. In memoriam. Farewell, Dar from the past. Powerful, intelligent, and oh so unforgettable. May your memory live on until the heat death of the universe and beyond.

After a long moment of silence, Bargie spoke up again. “Are you… okay?”

Dar nodded, swiping away the tears that were already drying on their face. “Of course, Barge,” they answered. A dry sob threatened to rack through their body, but they fought it down.

“I always am.”

#ink #fanfiction #i wrote this immediately after 417 dropped #it was very good #the idea of having to watch yourself die fucks me UP man #mission to zyxx #i apologize immensely to people tracking the mtz tag rn #part of my endeavor to relocate all my ao3 work

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