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luminois · 3 years

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— 𝐡𝐲𝐮𝐧𝐣𝐢𝐧;

𝐝𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡, 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞

𝐰: 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐲, 𝐧𝐨𝐧-𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠.

𝟏𝟕𝟖𝟓 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬, 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫.

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭.

looking down through the hole in the clouds, your wings fluttered in excitement and trepidation. the white feathers caressed your arms as they closed in on themselves, hugging your figure reassuringly.

you could see the whole world from above, magnificent and so far away. you hadn’t been an angel for long, and the memories of your past life were still present in your mind. they were nothing more than specks of light, little presents from the past that made you smile. someone laughing, a farm, the taste of freshly picked grapes, naked feet running on the grass. you had lived surrounded by animals and wheat fields, simple tasks filling up sunny days. you’d been happy, that’s what the memories suggested, and you were happy now. you didn’t know what you’d done to earn eternity, but you knew you wanted to help others reach it too.

an archangel, in his luminescent beauty, was calling the names of the angels huddled around the cavity. every time one of them got closer to the archangel, the world became bigger and bigger until only one, specific place on earth was visible. that was where the angel was being sent to, where a great amount of humans had lost themselves to sin and were in need of an angel to bring them back to the right path. you had waited for decades to be sent on earth, and now the moment had finally arrived.

the archangel called your name and you went, light on your feet, the golden path cold under them. everything in paradise was chilly, made of glass and crystal and precious metals, breathtakingly perfect. you’d always found it somewhat unsettling, how everything seemed so easy to break and nobody ever tried to. would a swift move of your hand or just a little more pressure shatter what had been there forever? you were convinced the answer was yes, and the idea of being the first was fascinating, even if you’d never act upon it. you wondered.

the place you were going to was nothing more than a town. it had been the perfect place to live until the residents had started to be uncaring of the things around them, and now it had become dirty and unpleasant. litter filled the streets, graffiti ruined every wall and many shops had closed down, now only displaying shattered windows.

“the devil has found his way to these poor souls’ hearts,” the archangel said. his voice sounded like it didn’t come from him, like it was resonating in your own head. “they’ve lost their path. the greatest of gifts is a lighthouse in the dark, tumultuous sea. go and be their light, and they will be grateful for eternity.”

the archangel leaned down to kiss your hair, and when you opened your eyes again your wings were gone, and you weren’t cold anymore.

“i can’t thank you enough, sweetie. you’re an angel.”

you smiled as you handed the paper bag filled with freshly made bread over the bakery’s counter. the elderly man with teary eyes was a regular, and one of your favorite people in town. the darkness hadn’t reached his soul directly, he was too good hearted, but he’d been greatly affected by everyone’s wrongdoings. his share of bread was always on the house.

“i’m really not, sir,” you said, “knowing i’m being of help is a pleasure.”

the man showed his almost toothless smile and left, leaving you alone to rest against the counter, taking a breath before going to check the pastries cooking in the oven. being a human was exhausting, even if it was just play-pretend. you now had to sleep and eat and you were often tired, concepts unknown to otherworldly creatures.

it had been a little over the human equivalent of a month since you’d reached earth. you didn’t know how much had passed in paradise, years maybe, the working of time wasn’t a topic you were interested in. your time was infinite, the one thing you didn’t have to worry about.

you’d had to make up a story, explaining who you were and why you’d suddenly appeared out of thin air. like almost every other shop in town, the bakery had been abandoned when you first arrived, so you fixed it up and became a young girl starting a small business in a lovely town. or the remnants of it, that is.

behind the facade of the bakery, your true job was to make things better, and you could confidently say it was going well. the mayor was a corrupt, money-hungry woman who had left her town to care for itself. but since she didn’t care about what her citizens did, you hadn’t found any resistance upon asking permission to start your own public initiatives. it had been hard to convince people to work for anything other than personal gain, but you’d discovered that kindness was the best remedy.

yours was the only bakery in town, and everyone had visited it sooner or later. watching people go from being nothing but rude to reserving their best smile for every time they opened your door was priceless. now the streets weren’t as dirty thanks to the people who had volunteered to help you clean them, and you were planning on removing the graffiti next. you didn’t have much power over unemployment and poverty, but you were sure everything would fix itself once everyone would have found the right path again.

you took out the pastries from the oven before sighing in satisfaction and walking to the door, turning the open sign. you murmured to yourself the list of things you had to do now that the bakery was closed as you walked to the back, entering the room you called home. you’d promised to help the woman who lived down the street bake a cake for her son’s birthday and plant some daisies in her garden. only days prior you’d helped her paint over the worn-out outside of her house, and it was really starting to look like a lovely place.

you took off your apron before facing the mirror next to the door. you knew your wings weren’t there, but seeing yourself without them was a surprise every time. you turned as much as you could to look at your back, moving your hair to the side as they covered the space between your shoulder blades. how could something that was a part of yourself just disappear like that? what was even more surreal was that you didn’t particularly miss the expanse of white feathers. you were just unused to their absence, but you were capable of doing everything without them just fine. the only thing left to show your angelic nature were your brightly golden eyes, staring back at you before you looked away.

you should’ve been afraid of walking by yourself in the seemingly deserted street, but you knew you weren’t alone. you could feel eyes boring into your skin as you walked, following you like a predator and its prey. that’s why you didn’t scream when someone grabbed your arm and your back hit the brick wall of a narrow alley, but a hand was still pressed over your mouth.

you always felt warm on earth, not missing the freezing air of paradise at all. right now, through, you felt more than warm. your skin was burning, like the fire in the stranger’s red irises.

he was beautiful, more than any of the angels you’d met, more than the archangels and more than what you’d imagined the highest would look like. strands of long hair touched his cheeks and the corners of his smirking lips, pitch black like the tattoos on his arms and the sleeveless shirt he was wearing. his eyes were filled with amusement and something dark that came from within. a demon. you gulped, and he noticed.

“oh little angel, am i scaring you?”

your wide eyes looked up at him, and he cooed. he was tall, hovering over you with his wide shoulders, the heat radiating from him making your cheeks bloom with crimson. his tone had been sweet, but there was sarcasm and bite behind his words.

“what have you been doing, uh? going around and ruining all the work i’ve done before you came. that’s a mean thing to do, angel. why are you being so mean to me?”

the big hand covering your mouth moved to loosely wrap around your neck. you gulped again, unable to look away from him or say a word, and his eyes flickered down as your neck moved. the demon could feel your heartbeat under his hand, rushed as your heart tripped over itself, and he bit down his lips as his smirk got bigger.

“i asked you a question, angel. it’s rude to ignore people like that,” he said, raising his eyebrows at you, waiting for your answer.

you opened your mouth a couple times before any sound got past your lips, the demon’s fingers holding your neck a little tighter. “i’m making things better because you ruined them.”

he gasped, but so exaggeratedly it sounded fake. you knew it was, and it made you blush more.

“you’re such a good girl, aren’t you?” he said, his sugary tone mocking you. “you say you’re making things better, but i think you’re ruining them, we’re not going to get along like this. what should we do?”

“you should stop,” you said, your voice a little more sure as the fear started to wear out.

he was bigger and stronger, but you were both humans right now. he had no more power than the sheer strength in his hands, and even if that was enough to kill you it wouldn’t have. the highest wouldn’t have let one of his angels die on earth like that. or that’s what you hoped.

“you know i can’t, this is what i do,” the demon said. the hold on your neck disappeared, but he got closer, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. “hyunjin. learn my name, angel, we’re going to be spending a lot of time together. whenever you ruin something i’ll fix it, mmh? would you like that?”

both of hyunjin’s inked arms were resting on the side of your head now, his bicep right in front of your eyes. he wouldn’t have had problems with shattering the entirety of paradise with his fists, and he wouldn’t have hesitated either. your words were caught up in the knot stuck in your throat, keeping you from answering. but if you hadn’t been petrified by his presence and the boiling blood running through your veins, what would you have said?

you wondered.

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sweetestlamb · 3 years

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Wake Me Up Inside(Chapter 2)

Summary: Hope is a flickering light, coming and going as it sees fit.

Author's note: Y'all like this? Color me surprised I thought everyone had cast Sujin aside based on tumblr post honestly, expected maybe 3 people to read this. I'm happy so many are enjoying, thanks for coming along for the ride. If any talented individuals want to make me a header that would be great, anyway enjoy the teen angst. More awful parenting, beware. it hurts me to write this but random immediate romance doesn’t make sense to me so here we goooo.

The world seems larger, everyone towers over her as they squeeze by jostling her tiny body, she twists and turns desperately searching for a familiar face and faltering when there is none. Just blurred faces with stretched out smiles that are horrifying grotesque, almost as if they were painted on by a deranged circus clown. She begins to run frantically racing away from the figures, who are now reaching out for her grabbing her arm and tugging at her pigtails. She opens her mouth but nothing comes out, bringing a trembling hand to her lips she finds them sewn shut, silencing her petrified screams.

Then a hand clutches at her elbow and she's spun around, suddenly staring into the face of evil.

"Where have you been you brat? Everyone was waiting for you."

She tries to tug free of his punishing grip but his fingers tighten on her tender flesh, marking the delicate skin. Ignoring her evident trepidation he forcefully pushes her towards a table, with a large looming birthday cake.

"Hurry up and blow out these candles, you're almost old enough to be useful to me."

Screaming no in her mind, she breaks free of his hold running as fast as her compact legs will take her but she miscalculates and trips over a stray toy, tumbling over the edge of a pool she hadn't noticed there earlier. The cold splash of the chlorine scented water on her skin shocks her in a panicked daze and when she pries her eyes open the menacing face of her father greets her looking nonplussed by her hectic drowning.

"Good riddance." He smirks sipping from his cup as he stalks away, no longer bothered with her.

Water constructs her airway and she continues to sink to the bottom. Forgotten and discarded.

With a flash she bursts from her nightmare silent scream on her tongue, it's his presence that silences her cry. Wide feline eyes regard her from his crouched position, it takes a moment to realize that the rapid puffs of air filling the room are coming from her lips. She grips at the mattress beneath her, hopelessly pleading with her heart and lungs as her body quivers from the intensity of her dream.

"Are you okay? You looked like you were having a bad dream, I called your name a few times."

She's decidedly not any semblance of okay and has no concept of what that would entail for her but she finds herself nodding, lying as easily as she always does.

"I'm fine." Clipped and brisk despite the cold sweat on her skin, she's probably soaked through his shirt the collar almost plastered to red collar bones.

He doesn't reply further than pursing his lips and walking over to a dresser she'd hadn't noticed earlier.

"That lie would probably be more believable if you didn't look as if you were going to pass out at any second." She can hear his eyes rolling at her and it raises her heckles, she doesn't need anyone looking after her, she is fine on her own.

"I should go." She says curtly, forcing herself out of the dangerously warm bed to walk across the room and test her previously soaked pajamas. Damp, but they'll do.

"I thought you had nowhere to go." He challenges finally standing to his full height, subconsciously she flinches at the sudden movement and immediately he takes a step back pressing himself almost flush with the wall. Lowering his head until they are almost eye level. Shame washes over her do strongly she has to turn away, so pathetic.

Speaking to his bedpost she answers, "That was last night. I can go home now."

Her father will be at work until late into the evening, she just needs to lock herself in her room and she should be safe until school tomorrow.

He hums at her sounding closer than he did earlier, "You don't have to go. I'll find an excuse to give my mom, you can stay here."

No she can't. She knows what's going through his mind, probably the same thing that went through Suho's when he saw the blood on her lip for the first time, you poor little thing. Pity was always the first reaction but it never lasted, eventually pity shifted to annoyance nobody wanted to be friends with someone getting beaten. It was depressing, and uncomfortable to discuss and there was nothing anyone could do to help her. It was her penance for being born a girl and not being the best at least to make up for that disappointment.

"I'm not a stray puppy, you can't just pick me up off the street and expect me to stay. I told you, I'm fine." This time she says it harder, sharper with a bite that screams don't push me.

Unsurprisingly enough Han Seojun doesn't seem intimidated by her.

This time she gets to witness the eye roll as he approaches her but still keeps his head lowered as if deferring to her. "I already told you that I don't pity you, you need help stop pretending you don't."

But she's not pretending, that would imply that she wants others to help secretly. That just isn't accurate, she wants nothing- expects nothing. Her father pound any inkling of hope she had out a long time ago.

Stepping into his space, her eyes narrow as she bites out, "I don't need anything certainly not help from you. You're not a nice person, what am I your one good deed? Just mind your business."

She pointedly glances away at the flash of hurt that scatters across his expressive face.

She expects him to lash out, stretch to his full form and berate her, reprimand her ungrateful behavior and an even darker side of her almost expects him to slap her. I see why your father does that, you deserve it.

"Suit yourself."

That's all he says solemnly with a shrug before tossing more dry clothes at the bed and silently exiting the room.

She feels worse than she did before. Guilt gnawing at her, she ignores the offered clothes she doesn't deserve his hospitality or warmth. She disrobes and puts back on the damp chilled pajamas, that matches her better.

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That's what he gets for trying to help someone, his act of kindness thrown back in his face. Angrily he pours the boiling water into the waiting cup, starting his mother's mandatory morning tea. He's so lost in the routine that he doesn't notice her presence until she clears her throat. His pride stops him from turning around, her words were as painful as a dagger.

"Your clothes are on the bed. I called a cab."

He nods without looking back, "Get home saf--" He cuts himself off, maybe he's overstepping again. So he just hums and stirs the now perfect cup of tea with a splash of milk. His sister's will get three sugars, she has such a sweet tooth.

The soft snap of the front door closing is loud in the silence of the morning, the sun has barely risen. His mother will be out in an hour, he was worried for nothing. Nobody will even know she was here. He can pretend this was all a fever dream and listen to her advice, he's never minded anyone else's business why did he decide to start now?

Lesson learned.

He spends the remainder of his weekend not thinking about the bruises on her face and instead plays video games, bullying Suho into playing Call of Duty with him online until the stupid genius starts to win too often and it's no longer stress reducing.

"Sore loser." He scoffs at the staticky insult through his headphones, draining the can of soda he took from the fridge. He should start dinner soon, his mom and sister will be back from shopping any minute.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"You just did." He can't help but roll his eyes at the lame response but he pushes on ignoring his brain shouting at him that this is the opposite of minding his business. He hardly listens to his brain, his gut is much stronger.

"Does Sujin have any siblings? Or does she like to box or anything like that? " He tries to make sense of the night, maybe it wasn't what he thought initially. From his memory Sujin comes from a very affluent respectable family, there's no way right?

"What? What kind of question is that?"

"Just answer me." He quips impatiently, ready to let go of this unwarranted worry that's been weighing on his heart.

After a long pause where he checks if his Wi-Fi disconnected he finally hears a response, "No. She lives with her mother and father, she's an only child. And I’ve never known her to do anything physical like that."

His chest tightens, not what he wanted to hear. Her flinch this morning flashes brightly in his memory. He wasn't mistaken. He's sure of it, she'd been scared.

"Why?"

He can barely hear through the ringing in his ear, "Nothing. I have to go."

He signs off before the other boy can reply, walking autopilot to the kitchen to get started on dinner. Chopping vegetables does nothing to stop the nausea bubbling in his stomach.

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Taking the bus the next day is out of the question, he has spent the entire weekend wishing he had the nerve to get the girl's number but anyone he asked would misunderstand why and he didn't need anymore rumors circulating, he would just have to get it from her himself. If she wanted him to mind his business she shouldn't have collapsed where he could see.

The engine rumbles between his legs as he brings his motorcycle to a stop, swinging off effortlessly before tugging the helmet off and shaking his hair free. He doesn't notice the various lecherous female and male eyes watching his very moment, too focused on walking into the school and finding her.

Turning a corner he sees her instantly, sandwiched between her two best friends, they look like a high school brochure giggling as they walk down the hallway garnering the attention of most of the male population. The purple bruise on her cheek is missing, nothing but smooth blemish free skin. He almost does a double take. As all three of them pass him, he locks eyes with Sujin for a moment, the mask slides off for a second but the moment he blinks the façade snaps back into place, nothing left but a pretty empty smile.

He follows them into class, sliding into his seat and promptly going to sleep. He has to catch her alone.

Doing so proves to be a near impossible feat, she's always surrounded by her two bestie shadows and Chorong and the gang are never far from him either. He sighs forlornly even time he sees her only for someone to interrupt before he can approach her. All too frustrated.

He's sitting dejected on the staircase when he hears the bustle of students in the hallway, their voices carrying down the long space and he rolls his eyes imagining what ridiculous situation they've deemed as drama now. Last time it was Ju-Kyung having pimples, a topic that was completely groundbreaking and worthy of weeks of discussion. So it's with the smallest shred of curiosity that he stands up wandering over to the commotion.

"What's going on?" He directs to the closest person, some mousy looking girl who stutters out an indecipherable answer. He looks at her confused before stalking away to find someone who has a better grasp of communication. He poses the question again, to a boy this time.

"I heard one of the girls started freaking out in the bathroom. Screaming not to be touched."

He stands frozen before the words register in his brain and his feet are moving without his brain's permission. Shoving past gossiping bystanders, he easily gets to the front only to see Ju-Kyung covering someone with her sweater as they walk down the hallway. Immediately the crowd comes alive and they surge forward like a wave all calling questions out at once, "What's wrong with you?", "Why did you freak out?", "Who do you think you are? Are you too rich to be touched or something?"

He twists his head around ferociously at the last question, everyone in front of him gulps while taking a step back. The hallway is a cacophony of voices and shouts and he can feel his anger boiling, slamming his fist into the nearest surface-a wall- he gets everyone's attention.

"Go back to your classes. Now."

Some of the male students look as if they are going to challenge his authority but another step forward is all it takes to get the student body scampering to their classrooms.

Inhaling deeply he stomps off to find the source of his unease.

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It had been hard to disregard, how lacking of warmth her house was. Seojun's apartment had been brimming with warmth and love, the fridge bursting with papers and drawings documenting that someone cared enough to show them off. Her home was a large empty prison in comparison.

But she'd been right, it was dark and quiet proof that her parents were not home. With her heart in her throat she ran to her room, locking the door behind her. Sleep captured her before she knew she was in its grasps, waking up groggy hours later and forgetting where she was. Fierce pounds on her door reminded her instantly.

"Open this door now."

His voice is a low growl, even more terrifying than when he's screaming his lungs out. She grabs her vanity chair pressing it under the door knob for more protection.

She jumps when the door bulges, the loud crashing making it clear that he's slamming bodily into the door now determined to get to her.

"Please....stop." She pleads, tears already cascading down her bruised cheeks.

"Open this fucking door!!"

She's sobbing now, body folded as she cries her eyes out shaking viciously as her father continues to ran into the door, dread filling her stomach as he's never fought this hard before.

Then everything is quiet.

The pounding is gone as suddenly as it arrived. She doesn't let go her panic just yet, still too raw. Butt seconds crawl to minutes and she hears nothing so she finally exhales, sliding to the floor in relief.

She weakly crawls to her bathroom, turning the dial to the hottest temperature possible wanting to burn off his brand on her skin. After her shower she brushes her wet hair, staring at the bruise, it's turning yellow now with tinges of purple. Good thing she let Su-ah and Ju-Kyung convince her to buy foundation the last time they were in the beauty store. She will have to layer it on tomorrow.

She's starving but the thought of leaving her room with him in the house is enough to eliminate her appetite. Instead she puts on a warm sweater and sweat pants and wraps herself in a thick blanket, still too cold ice running through her veins.

She had never felt as warm as she did at his house.

A quiet knock thankfully pulls her away from such unnecessary thoughts. She simply listens.

"Su-jin, it's mom. I brought you food."

She sits up, crawling out of bed to stand in front of the bed. Her mother has never brought her food, even when she was nine and hadn't gotten a perfect score on her spelling test and her father locked her in the closet for two days with only a dictionary. She'd contemplated eating the pages before she was finally set free. Her mother had simply looked away, avoiding eye contact until she was safely back in her room.

But her stomach grumbles at the mention of sustenance and despite her best judgement she opens the door.

It's a mistake.

Immediately she notes that her mother has nothing in her hands, trembling herself and before she can slam the door shut a foot blocks her escape.

He uses the belt that time whipping her in places that others will never see, her back, thighs, and shoulders. Her mother's weakly calls out, "Don't hit her face she has to meet that boy you wanted this week."

It goes on for what seems like hours, he leaves her crumpled on the ground her body stinging as she refused to cry, blinking her tears away not wanting to give him what he wants. When her mother meekly walks over and extends a hand to her, she looks at her with listless eyes. Her mother has a fresh bruise on her cheek, her father hardly hits her anymore using Sujin has his punching bag instead but at times of high frustration he would regress.

She wonders if her mother knew that one day this would be her faith. If this was the purpose of her birth.

She doesn't take the hand. It seems there was still some hope left, it is extinguished now.

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The school day had been easy she's been hiding her abuse for years, no teacher had ever suspected a thing and she didn't even blame them. It would just be bothersome, her father was a powerful man there wouldn't be much they could do.

She slaps on a smile, allowing herself to be dragged around by Su-ah and Ju-Kyung, listening as they giggle about their boyfriends chiming in the appropriate moments to not seem disinterested or jealous. She is jealous though, of their freedom and innocent problems, she'd lost her innocence a long time ago.

She knows Seojun is trying to talk to her but she can't handle seeing him right now, having to face someone who knows what she's going through sounds worst than being beat right now. So she jolts at every sight of the tall lanky figure, thankful for his fan club who seems to announce his every arrival. She's on her way to having a successful day when everything goes to hell.

She's in the bathroom drying her hands when a classmate comes in, responding to the small talk she answers the girl's question before nodding her head in goodbye.

"Oh your tag is sticking out."

That's all she hears before a hand is brushing across her sore beaten neck and her reaction is instantaneous, she turns around catching the offending hand and twisting it.

Her throat wheezes out, "Don't touch me."

The girl stares at her wide-eyed before tugging her hand away, then other girls begin to come of the stalls to see what's happening and before she knows it she's hyperventilating on the ground, nonsensical words dripping off her tongue. Everything is too loud and her head is splitting in half just when her vision is graying out, she smells a familiar perfume.

"Su-jin ah, you're going to be okay. Just breathe with me, follow me."

Ju-Kyung's voice is calming and sure, not touching her but covering them both in her sweater as she models how to breathe, she follows until her lungs are no longer burning.

"Good. You're doing so good, is it okay if I touch you? I'm going to help you up."

She grabs at the bathroom wall yanking herself until she's upright, trying to show her friend that she's not that weak but a look of hurt is displayed on her face and Sujin doesn't comprehend why.

The other girl shakes it off though, now covering her fully with her cornflower yellow sweater.

She's suddenly reminded of her nightmare this morning as she has to pass all the students in the hallway, all pointing and laughing as she falls apart some of them even have their phone out recording her and she sways uneasily before catching herself, trembling the whole way she walks down the hallway until a loud bang and a voice she recognizes all too well silences the uproar.

Resisting the desire to look back she allows Ju-Kyung to pull her up the stairs until they're on the roof. Air pumps into her lungs as she's finally free of all the judgmental eyes.

She expects the other girl to start interrogating her the moment the door closes but it never comes, instead Ju-Kyung places her sweater around her trembling body.

"You're okay. Just keep breathing."

She does her best to follow the uncomplicated directions.

After a few minutes, Ju-Kyung's phone suddenly rings disturbing the quietude. She barely hears blood rushing in her ears like the waves at the beach.

"Okay we're on the roof."

She stills at that utterance, turning in alarm.

"Who was that? Who did you tell where we are?"

Ju-Kyung looks guilty, as if she wasn't meant to hear that conversation. She doesn't want to see anyone right now, can barely stand to be with herself.

"Call them back and tell them not to come. I want to be alone."

Ju-Kyung holds her phone in her hands gingerly staring at the screen, clearly contemplating what is the right decision. She almost lunges for the phone to see who is the most recent call, but it's not needed as the roof door slams open.

"Why are you here?" She shouts, walking away now furious that tears are already filling her eyes now just at the sight of him.

"Nice to see you too princess." He drawls back, following her further onto to roof.

"Will you two be okay? I have to go back to class."

She spins to glare at her friend, why would she leave her alone with Seojun? They have had any interaction at school that hasn't been antagonistic.

"Yes, we need to talk." He answers for them and that's enough to make Ju-Kyung nod before walking off with a smile in her direction. The door shuts loudly behind her retreating back, Sujin wants to chase after her. Instead she turns back to him spitting fire and poison.

"I told you to mind your business."

"Are you okay?" He counters, eying her like a wild animal who can bolt at any minute, he isn’t wrong.

"That's none of your business!"

His expression remains the same, those beguiling feline eyes that scream at her.

"How hurt are you?"

Her emotions come crashing down again. He just keeps pushing and picking at her, no matter how much she shouts and shoves him away he just won’t go away like everyone else did. What is wrong with him? Couldn’t he see that she was more trouble than she was worth?

"What do you want to hear, huh? That everything hurts, that he used a belt this time! Do you want to hear about how he beat me until I bleed! Why do you care what happens me, why won't you leave me the fuck alone!"

Sobs ravage her body, she keeps brushing the fiery tears away fighting with her emotions but they won't stop and her palms are wet from covering her face, her breath is hitching until she starts hiccupping uncontrollably and she starts to feel light-headed.

"Hey! Su-jin! Breathe!"

But she can't, she doesn't remember how. Her body only knows how to hurt.

"Breathe, damnit!" Despite his shout, she hears the slight quiver in his voice but she can't discern why it's there but it desperately makes her want to obey.

When he cups her head, staring her head on she feels the vine wrapped around her lungs shrivel up and air starts gushing in until she feels dizzy, she sways back and forth gravity now also working against her and then she's being reeled in, her head placed on his chest. The thumping of his heart lulls her into a meditative state, she starts to count the beats and before she knows it the cobwebs in her head subside. Embarrassed by their sudden closeness, his arms are still by his side now almost immediately retracting from her head but she can feel his warmth radiating onto the skin of her thighs, she begins to draw back.

"Just stay. It's helping."

She blisters at his words, preparing to push him away.

"It's helping me, seeing you like that....it scared me. I helped you the other night, you should return the favor."

She puffs up before deflating, she'll never admit it but this is helping having something else to focus on, his scent, his heartbeat, the way his chest expands and constricts with every breath. The buzz of their skin nearly touching, his deep voice rumbling through his chest and into her ears, all placating and soothing her worries away.

"Fine."

She's never known Seojun to stay still for this long after years of attending the same school, always bursting with kinetic energy so she's pleasantly surprised by how long he simply stands and lets her rest on his chest, neither of them saying a word.

She stiffens when he suddenly starts moving disturbing their stillness, she sees his hands balled into tight fists by his side and wonders what's going through his mind.

"You can't go back there."

This again, she starts to remind him that she has nowhere to g--

"Stay with me."

#true beauty #true beauty kdrama #kang sujin #han seojun #the couple that should have been #timeline is around recent episodes just minus ALL of the bullshit #sujin is a good girl and I won't hear anything else #can't wait to make her smile

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firstagent · 3 years

Text

Review! Digimon Adventure: (2020) Episode 46: The Sword of Hope

In this episode, Devimon does his old pal Angemon a solid and supplies him with even more backstory angst, reasons to doubt himself, and the age old question: “Are you tired of being nice?”

There’s always been a strong argument that the two most compelling characters in this series are Patamon and Tailmon. As the featured angels in the ancient war, they carry the show’s mythology with them, wearing some visible scars as they try to navigate a new conflict where they’ve been put at such an initial disadvantage. In Frontier, the angelic palace intrigue was always more interesting than the kids’ battle against Lucemon. This show fell into a similar trap, but it helps to have Seraphimon and Ophanimon be active leaders and combatants instead of cute mascots. While Angemon’s drama here comes from a weird source in a weird vessel that could have been used better elsewhere, it’s nice to finally have something we can sink our teeth into again.

Speaking of Frontier: Sephirothmon! His role then gives a certain trepidation about his function now, especially the whole “battling the shadows of the past” concept that dragged out to mixed results in his first appearance. You could absolutely imagine the Chosen getting sucked into different spheres again, splitting the team up for the umpteenth time as they’re all subjected to mostly self-contained turmoil. But instead it’s four of the kids pulled into a single sephirah, sent by the Vademon to gather data. They need this data to revive the fallen… okay, that part’s pretty Frontier too.

The important thing is we’re seeing the Vademon and presented with tangible signs of their plan to revive Millenniumon. Other than Mephismon, there’s been no sign of any progress in this supposedly urgent crisis. Having this sort of recurring threat would at least help frame these episodes better rather the parade to nowhere we’ve been watching. Sephirothmon gathering data for the Vademon instead of his own selfishness makes him feel that much more relevant. Inside, overwhelming the good guys with massive numbers of previously beaten shadows of foes presents a unique threat and offers some fun callbacks, even if it gets old fast.

This leads to Devimon, showing up in sequence and, true to his original form, far more expressive than all the other shadow clones. It also derails all the fun with Sephirothmon, which could have provided a decent conflict on its own thanks to its ties to the actual villain. They’re pretty loose with the logistics of how a real-ish version of Devimon shows up among all the weakass clones. Honestly, it’s better believing it’s Angemon’s own inner doubts that give him voice. Just as Angemon’s presence triggered Devimon, the reverse holds true as well. Turns out there’s a reason for that!

Let’s be real: Devimon emerging from a dormant Angemon is a pretty useless thing to learn now. His moment has passed and this history lesson comes long after we could have appreciated it. But as pointless as it is for Devimon, it’s another level of depth for Angemon. Patamon’s already struggled with confidence in the face of the overwhelming responsibility in front of him.

Just because he has stronger (and seemingly interchangeable) forms doesn’t mean that he’ll be free of all doubt. Devimon is a reflection of that, all the negative feelings Angemon’s forced to repress in order to carry out his sacred duties. Also a healthy dose of “light requires darkness” and equal balance and all that junk that took original Takeru two full seasons to wrap his head around.

Even with the shambling corpse of Devimon as messenger, it all adds up to Angemon getting into his own head again and we are always here for that action! It’s strong enough to nearly consume him, steered to the symbolic act of murdering his human partner. Of course, Takeru’s having none of that. In most series, it’s the Digimon who has to help the child navigate whatever issues are holding them back. In this partnership, Takeru has consistently been the rock pulling Patamon/Angemon from whatever brink he finds himself in. In the form of an eight-year-old boy refusing to budge with a corruption of his partner bearing down on him, it’s downright badass. He trusts Angemon more than Angemon trusts himself, and that’s the sort of thing that inspires Ultimate evolutions.

Intimating Devimon’s continued presence only works if the show continues to poke at Patamon’s problems. We know how unreliable that is. But it’s the kind of character torment we should be getting more often, and there are enough hints dropped (looking at you, creepy BlackSeraphimon allusion from episode 32) that the argument might not be whether Patamon is the best character, but whether he should be considered the main character.

My Grade: B+

Loose Data:

Better Know a Sephira! Not really, just felt good to say again. I’m entitled to callbacks too.

Another callback was that just as it was here, the Sephirothmon arc in Frontier started with the kids traveling along a rocky ridge. It was… much darker though.

Aw, there was like a half-second moment where we remembered Ogremon was a whole thing.

Greymon, Garurumon, and Kabuterimon are all prompted to evolve to Ultimate once they hit the corresponding enemies that got them there to begin with.

Stupidly hopeful as we may be about the prospect of more Patamon angst, Sephirothmon using everyone’s attacks against the quartet on the outside is definitely “weakly explored here, could be potentially interesting later, watch it never happen again” material.

There’s some nice NeoDevimon mask imagery going on with corrupted Angemon.

See reviews of every Digimon episode at Digimon: System Restore! Support the site by joining our Patreon!

#digimon #digimon adventure:#digimon adventure (2020)

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kaminobiwan · 4 years

Text

embrace

pairing: obi-wan kenobi x ambassador!reader

summary: After a hard day of politicking, you find solace in the presence of your temporary bodyguard.

a/n: Whipped this one up real quick on the road! It’s short and sweet, and I really didn’t have to go that deep into the plot, but I actually quite liked doing the research :-) this was also a request from @aty-cgca7 for some stress-relief and Obi-Wan a couple milestones ago...I hope you like it, Chasity! Here’s my taglist!

“Karking — animals!”

Obi-Wan regards you with a mixture of trepidation and reverence, fisting his hands at his sides as you storm into your flat. You’ve been ranting about the usual CSA lawyers that had put a crimp in your day, constantly undermining your work to forge a stronger — and less corrupt — relationship with the Republic.

He’s only known you for a couple weeks, but you’re fiery, determined in every sense of the word. Most Galactic senators would cower in intimidation from your capable aura, but lucky for them, Cantonica — just like the rest of the star systems under the fiefdom of the Corporate Sector Authority — was an independent system, and your involvement as an ambassador only saw time in the Senate chamber for lobbyist proceedings. Unlucky for them, however, you’d just been appointed to the Galactic Corporate Policy League, and your position with the public interest group meant you’d be staying on Coruscant for an indefinite amount of time.

And luckiest of all, Obi-Wan had been assigned to your security detail, following a second attempt on your life after the first failed assassination that had introduced the two of you in the first place. Undoubtedly thanks to your recent and untarnished surge to prominence.

Many politicians hadn’t batted an eye at your steady career growth, dismissing you as another pretty face that had risen to power thanks to family connections — and though you did have the legacy of your mother’s father on your side, Obi-Wan knew that it was all you at the root of it. Your hardworking spirit had shown itself quite early when he’d witnessed you earn a spot on the policy group, seemingly playing along with the interests of the cabal, then revealing yourself to be opposed to the exploitative initiatives the CSA had hoped to pass under the willful ignorance of dirty representatives. Obi-Wan had nearly laughed aloud at the reactions of the lobbyists when you’d blocked the unanimous vote needed for a rollback of government restrictions on mining and child labour. More than that, he’d been impressed — you’d shown extreme patience and resilience in keeping your cards to your chest.

And patience, if anything, was Obi-Wan’s most well-known trait. Right after negotiation and dashing good looks.

Today, though, that patience of yours seemed to have worn thin at the hands of the plutocratic attorney generals that had managed to get a large and hardly-legal mining project on your homeworld approved, despite the objections from you and several others. Once the decision was finalized, you’d gathered your things, not bothering to keep the scowl off your face, and headed straight home, leaving Obi-Wan little choice but to follow you inside until the Coruscant Guard that was scheduled to stand post outside your door arrived.

“The second I bring up evidence of treaty violations or unlawful encroachment into other territories, they threaten to cut off our trade routes! I mean, the nerve of them, to toy with the fate of an entire planet like that!”

Obi-Wan’s brows knit together in confusion. “Surely that’s not within their power. Doesn’t Cantonica have agency over its political affiliation?” It’s normal for him to chime in on your thinking-out-loud, your knowledge on the Outer Rim surpassing his own, though on more than one occasion he’s assisted you in cracking a difficult case — but he’s trying to be careful not to press any more buttons than have already been pushed today.

A wry scoff escapes you, grim resignation overtaking your expression. “The entire Corporate Sector is governed by corporations, not the people. Our autonomy is really just for show.” You march to the kitchenette, predictably looking for the same tea you always brew after a challenging session, he’d come to notice. “Even if there were enough citizens that wanted to secede, which there isn’t, the Authority has too much power over our economy. As much as I hate to admit it, without the casinos and racetracks, Cantonica would be bankrupt.” As you nudge more leaves than usual into the steeper, Obi-Wan catches a glimpse of the nearly-empty pouch. Maybe he’d be able to make a stop at the market on his way home.

His thoughts are interrupted by the sudden shattering of your teacup on the floor, a sharp curse leaving your lips.

Your hands are shaking.

In a flash, Obi-Wan jumps to action, ushering you away from the mess of shards and herbs. “Here, let me.”

You let him guide you to take a seat and sit back as he easily guides the scattered fragments into the wastebin by way of the Force, almost no trace of the accident on the durasteel. He turns to you with a pleased smile, but it drops when he notices you.

Your head is buried in your hands, and although he doesn’t think you’re crying behind your fingers, the stress is evident in your weary frame.

He calls your name in question, approaching hesitantly. “Are you alright?”

You drop your arms to show your features, but they’re creased in frustration as you rub your temples. “I’m fine. It’s just a headache.”

Obi-Wan drags a chair to sit beside you, craning down to meet you at eye level. “You know, it’s perfectly normal to need a break every now and then. You’ve had a long day.” You give a little shake of your head in response. “Trust me, no one is immune to their own humanity. I’m sure I’d have figured it out by now.”

His characteristic banter earns a small quirk of your lips, and he grins as you meet his gaze with a snort. “I don’t know how you do it.” You gesture to him vaguely. “I‘ve no doubt I’d crumble under the pressure of your responsibility.”

“I could say the same about myself in your shoes,” he counters, just as serious. “If I’m being honest, these assignments with you are a bit of a respite in the midst of an intergalactic war.” It’s true, the way he no longer feels antsy at being handed protection duty. It doesn’t feel like being sidelined anymore, not when your presence is as as exhilarating and rousing as battle can be. Though, you’re definitely much more inviting.

The look you give him is agreeable, but still earnest in intent. “Then you’ll be happy to know that I enjoy your company just as much.”

In a second, however, the weariness returns, and your contented demeanor from the exchange evaporates before Obi-Wan’s eyes.

Before he can stop himself, he lays a hand on your shoulder, squeezing in reassurance and hoping it conveys everything he wishes he could say. You lay your own hand on top of his, thumb caressing his knuckles absently. It’s as if you’re a droid, robotic and barely mentally present. Obi-Wan frowns.

Attachments may be forbidden for his kind, but the Jedi Code encourages compassion. Demands it, in fact.

That, at least, is something he can allow himself towards you.

His hand snakes carefully behind your head, leading you to his chest slowly enough that you’d be able to escape him if you wanted to. But you don’t, and his arms encircle you fully as he accepts your body as it moulds into his comforting embrace. Another pair of arms tighten around him, and he feels you release a strong exhale in appreciation, limbs loosening. Your face is nestled against his armor, but Obi-Wan can feel your forehead touching the exposed skin of his neck. He forces himself to swallow down the lump in his throat.

After an eternity that passes in seconds, you extract yourself from his hold with a last smoothing of fingers over the hairs at the nape of his neck, and Obi-Wan holds strong against the urge to lean into your touch. Still, he feels pleasantly warm, and his stomach has a peculiar fuzzy sensation.

“Thank you, General Kenobi.” In an instant, you’re back, perfect and poised like how he knows you to be. Not without the remnants of the day weighing on you, but now there’s a gentler light in your eyes when he searches them. “You’ve helped me more than you can imagine.”

He nods, plastering a composed look on his face. But really, his inside are turning with the imprint of your body upon his. “Anytime, Ambassador.”

A beat passes, and after a moment of barely disguised contemplation, you reach up, cupping his cheek in one hand as you lean up to place a chaste kiss on the other. Obi-Wan freezes in his place, staring after you as you smile at him gratefully before getting up and disappearing into your bedroom.

He doesn’t realize you’ve left a lip print until he’s back in his quarters at the Temple. No wonder why Mace had smirked at him curiously in the hall.

#rini writes #obi wan kenobi x reader #obi wan x reader #obi wan kenobi imagine #woohoo!!! another request done hehehe #this one is from so long ago i'm so sorry lmao #working through my inbox #also cannonball sequel is coming but probably won't be this week AH SORRY #there's a lot I wanna get done first #but it's coming hehe I haven't abandoned jedi!reader

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the-trxangle-guy · 3 years

Text

BACK IN BUSINESS- EPILOGUE

Things had gotten interesting as of late for the two beings residing in the Nightmare Realm. For Demongo, the harvester of souls, he’d gone from rotting deep within the Pit of Hate to being bartered off by his master after a mere handshake. As for his new master, the chaotic creature known as Bill Cipher, he’d had the time of his life setting everything up to get him! After all that work, it was finally time for everything to pay off. Warping back from Aku’s fortress, the two demons landed on a floating island within the dimension the one eyed beast ruled over. Bill walked ahead, turning to face Demongo as he presented the entropic realm to his new minion.

“SO WHAT DO YOU THINK, HOT HEAD? LIKE WHAT YOU SEE?”

What he saw was a series of floating islands, structures, and debris orbiting around a floating pyramid, all against a decaying cosmic expanse. It felt… alien. Whereas the Pit of Hate radiated an oppressive darkness, the Nightmare Realm felt barren and twisted, a place far beyond the rest of existence. It was desolate… but for now it was home. Demongo nodded, turning to bow before Bill.

“It is intriguing… Now-! What is thy bidding, my mast-ah!”

Bill laughed in response, flicking a finger to telekinetically lift Demongo up to his feet. “I LIKE THE ENTHUSIASM, BUT THERE’S NO NEED TO BE SO FORMAL! YOU’RE UNDER NEW MANAGEMENT, PAL!” He approached the withered being, placing a hand on his shoulder as his other gestured to the pyramid.

“YOU’RE GOING TO BE MY RIGHT HAND MAN, AFTER ALL! YOU GOTTA HAVE SOME FUN WITH IT! JUST LOOSEN UP, STAY WEIRD AND SADISTIC, AND DON’T BE A MISERABLE FAILURE WHEN I NEED YOU TO DO SOMETHING FOR ME! THINK YOU CAN HANDLE THAT?”

He was certainly more easygoing than Aku, even if the whole ‘don’t fail me’ part was all too familiar to the soul stealer. Still, he had been given a second chance. Why squander it? Demongo let out a shrill giggle, smirking as he let his initial trepidation fade away. “Of course, of course~! Yet that still begs the question! What will we do now, mast-ah?”

The triangular being laughed right back, teleporting them both to another part of the… Nexus! Part of the Nightmare Nexus, as he’d decided to call it. It appeared to be a carvernous room, the walls extending up into darkness. Several skulls were imbedded in the walls, looking as if they were screaming. In the center of the chamber were four items, cauldrons made from twisted bone and leathery hide. Clearly his sense of decor was on the morbid side. They all bubbled with glowing green liquid, Demongo approaching them to get a closer look.

His curiosity was piqued. “What shall we do with theeese~?” His head turned back to Bill, looking excited as the floating demon conjured up four stones that floated around his open hand. They each resembled something, brimming with the essence of dark things. A bloody knife, a broken horn, a bag of riches, and a swirling abyss.

“THEY’RE GOING TO HELP SPICE UP THE PARTY A LITTLE! WHAT’S A SHINDIG WITHOUT ANY GUESTS?”

The four stones were tossed into the cauldrons, the liquid inside burbling and smoking as they reacted to the runes. Turning his gaze back to the cauldrons, Demongo didn’t notice Bill toss something else right at him. Black and red robes, along with a wide brimmed hat.

“UNTIL WE CAN GET COOKING THOUGH, GET DRESSED! IF YOU’RE GOING TO HELP ME USHER IN ANOTHER BIZZARMAGEDDON YOU’LL NEED TO BE STRONGER, AND I DON’T JUST MEAN FROM ALL THE SOULS YOU’RE GOING TO BE GUZZLING! IT’S TIME TO TURN UP THE HEAT, HOT HEAD!” Ha! Bizarmageddon! Way better than what Ford came up with! All jokes aside…

It’s time to get things rolling.

#[BACK IN BUSINESS!] EVENT #[LOOK WHAT I CAN DO!] WRITING #[THE DEAL’S OFF!] CLOSED #Long Post #[[just a little extra bit for the end of the event on my part!]]#[[Demongo isn’t going to be a new muse either but he might pop up here n there]]#[[i ABSOLUTELY wanna draw him in the afformentioned robes and hat]]#[[i had an idea for the hat i don’t wanna pass up]]#[[hopefully this turned out ok ;3;]]

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langdxn · 5 years

Text

infamy | outpost!michael x witch!reader

SUMMARY: It’s Michael’s birthday and you have a surprise for him. He has one of his own.

WARNINGS: Smut, fluff, breeding kink, daddy!Michael, vaginal sex, choking, sneaky Xavier reference, cockblocking David Bowie.

WORD COUNT: 2.3k (I am so sorry, I’m new to this smut thing)

You knocked gingerly on the colossal wooden door to Michael’s office, your heart catching in your throat with trepidation. Your previous attempts to dissuade Michael from his work were never 100% successful, it was a risky game that could end in either your clothes in tatters hanging from the ceiling or a terrifying threat to incinerate you and your soul.

You nervously fiddled with the hem of your mini dress, a skintight black velvet number reserved specifically for special occasions when Ms Venable’s purple regalia was not enforced.

As his incessant typing ceased abruptly, the door creaked open by itself. Your eyes lay upon Michael sat forward in his desk chair, his hands studiously clasped over his laptop which swiftly closed the second the door opened.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” He grinned as your silhouette emerged lit by the roaring fire in his office furnace.

“It’s your birthday, Mr Langdon.” You sashayed agonisingly slowly toward his desk, making sure your stilettos made a satisfying clink with every choreographed step on the polished floorboards. Supermodels walk with less sass, you thought to yourself, but this wasn’t the time for half measures.

“You remembered, my little witch,” he beamed his signature sinister grin across a corner of his lips, touched by the fact that your stay in the Outpost hadn’t robbed you of your sense of time. His oceanic eyes pierced through yours as you perched on the edge of his desk beside him,

As he prepared to lift himself from his seat to join you, you placed your hands atop his. Instead, he reached out to touch your leg where your suspender stockings met your bare skin, but you swatted him away again.

“Not so fast, sir.”

With a blink of your eye, his laptop bellowed a familiar tune. You’d heard Michael playing David Bowie’s Fame in his office weeks ago, dismissing it at the time as an accidental email popup but the mental images of him strutting around his quarters was too good to pass up.

Despite flinching at the sound, Michael’s smile eked across his countenance as he recognised it, even further when he clocked the tone you were setting with the song choice. The groove made you involuntarily roll your hips towards Michael, seductively sliding across the table edge to line yourself up with Michael.

Looking you up and down, concentrating on the height of your skirt, his eyes coursed their way up to meet yours, burning with desire and equal resentment at not being allowed the freedom to touch you.

Fame, makes a man take things over…

Hitching your dress up to reveal a glimpse of your blood red lace panties, Michael’s pupils burst as he realised they were the same panties he gifted you on your birthday. You protested they weren’t necessary, that clothing barely lasted seconds on your person around him, but he assured you they would come in useful someday. They lay, unused and unloved, in your closet shelves for months.

Until today.

Fame, puts you there where things are hollow…

Planting one stiletto on the seat beside his leg, your skirt exposed your core flush against your panties, already damp from your arousal. Being so close to Michael without feeling his touch sent your hormones into overdrive, your arms were desperate to cling onto him and draw him between your legs.

Lowering your eyes to glare into his from under your eyebrows, you caught a low growl escape his lips as he took in the vision of you, his little witch, nothing he could do about it.

But there was always something he could do about it. He’d proved his powers were beyond yours on numerous occasions, overpowering your attempts to dominate him every time without even a flick of his wrist.

This time, he wanted you to control him - the only question was for how long.

Fame, what you like is in the limo…

You slipped the thin straps of your dress over your shoulder and let them drape down your arms as you clung the main body of the fabric to your chest with tightened elbows. A gasp thinly veiled as a moan poured from Michael, driving you to reach over and place a gentle yet demanding finger atop his lips. As you leaned forward, your dress pooled around your waist, completely exposing your naked breasts in a happy yet nonetheless accidental seduction.

Something compelled you to turn and check you’d closed the door behind you, knowing full well the rest of the Outpost shouldn’t see or hear what comes next. As you half-heartedly waved a hand to close it tight, a much stronger force swung it open again.

You snapped your head back to find Michael, his hand gesturing in the air and a painfully intentional azure wink hit you.

“Oh, so it’s like that, is it Mr Langdon?"

You already knew he liked the rest of the Outpost discovering your antics with their one chance at salvation. Knowing that you were the Cooperative’s only priority in the underground sanctum, that you were the solitary owner of the one guaranteed place in the Sanctuary. Knowing that the formidable Mr Langdon was directly responsible for the vicious bruises and welts peppered across your skin on a daily basis. Knowing that the blood-curdling screams that echoed through Hawthorne’s halls were yours, brought on by his relentless late-night punishments on the Outpost inhabitant he referred to as his little witch.

His plan to annihilate all the witches was doomed to fail from the onset because he fell for you. The last survivor of your kind, the final remaining Robichaux legacy. Owning you and your existence was a dominance you accepted gladly, having metaphorically sold your soul to him the second you met at a school exchange. The Boy Wonder was yours instantly, you were part of his survival plan before you were even aware there was something to survive. Now he had initiated the apocalypse, all he had left was to make your connection official.

Fame, what you need you have to borrow…

“Fuck this,” Michael snarled as his hips shot forward to stand, both hands grabbing at your legs and wrapping them around his waist before you could flinch. His palms gravitated towards your breasts, kneading away at both simultaneously as he leaned in to plant a searing kiss on your lips.

As you opened your eyes, you saw Michael towering over you, his eyes bore down on you like a ruthless predator that could tear you limb from limb at any moment. Instead, he tugged at the waistband of your panties, snapping both sides of their restrictive fabric before you could raise your hips to remove them. Casting the lifeless lace into the air which lands in a heap across the room, Michael’s eyes darted to their landing spot.

“Ignis,” he spat as the panties burst into ferocious flames on the floor behind his desk, his eyes snapping into their pitch black form with a blink. You knew in that instant that once his eyes have descended, there was no time for foreplay.

You were his now.

Is it any wonder I reject you first?

Grappling to unbutton his dress pants, he unleashed his member from its velour incarceration, leaving you questioning how much magic it took to encase his hard length in fabric. As he lined up his cock with your entrance, you clocked his girth which seemed to increase every time you saw it, fleeting ideas passing your mind of how much pain you’ll be in after this session.

The one predictable action Michael committed every time you made love was his habit of clutching at your throat just as he entered you for the first time, ensuring you struggled to breathe as well as concentrate. As the tip of his cock neared your folds, you instinctively looked down at his hands, palming away at the beads of precum lacing the head as his signature statement rings glistened in the dim light.

Gazing at the slick black shirt covering his chest, you concentrated on its obstructive buttons and they disintegrated into pieces, then the seams popped on your command and within seconds, Michael was completely shirtless.

“No, little bitch,” he barked as you felt a force strike you across the jaw making you gasp sharply before it clenched around your throat, an invisible iron grip on your airways.

“S—sorry, daddy,” you pleaded as you fought for breath. You felt his member suddenly stretch your entrance with one hard thrust, your walls aching on contact while your eyes roll into the back of your skull.

Is it any wonder you are too cool to fool?

Michael rolled his hips deep into you as he deftly hit your g spot instantly, noticing your illicit moans of pleasure he tightened the force against your windpipe with a grunt and an accompanying grin spread across his cheeks. His hands trailed determinedly from the base of his cock up your thighs and spread them open as wide as you could take, the burn of your inside leg muscles mirroring the scolding heat inside you as Michael’s thrusts intensified.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he groaned as he let go of the force on your throat and poured every inch into you, his own eyes journeying to the ceiling as he bottomed out inside you.

Regaining control of his sight, he wrapped your legs back around his waist and grabbed the back of your neck with both hands, pulling you in to crash your lips against his. This kiss was not his average dismissive clinch to remind you who you belonged to; this was a meaningful, deep connection that told you he needed you.

Got to get a rain check on pain…

Tearing his lips away from yours and leaving you whimpering at the loss, he looked you square in the eyes and caught his breath, his trademark red eyeshadow transforming into a burning crimson in the light.

“Sweetheart, I think daddy needs to fill you up,” he slammed further into you, “more,” again, “than,” again, “this.”

You knew exactly what he was getting at, but it pained you to leave the exact words unspoken in such a passionate encounter across his weary Outpost desk.

“What do you mean, Mr Langdon?” You questioned feigning innocence, tightening your walls around him and reaching out to dig your nails down his back in anticipation. Michael growled and pulled you closer.

“You didn’t think you were the only one coming here with a surprise tonight, did you?” he emphasised by pounding into you as if it were punctuation. “Daddy needs to fuck a baby into you, little witch."

“I thought you’d never ask, Michael,” you cried breathlessly, your voice firing up decibels and your back arching as Michael hit your cervix. You’d been impatiently waiting for him to finally bind your relationship and further his father’s plan.

“Oh I think you’re mistaken baby,” he hummed under his breath, towering over you like every word you said made him a foot taller. “I wasn’t asking.”

He plunged every inch of his cock inside you harder than before, if that were even possible. Your walls constricted around him and you felt the familiar ticking time bomb about to explode inside you.

“I can’t wait to see you growing with our baby, watch you swell with our new life, everything my father planned for us.” He held his palm flat on your stomach suggestively. “The whole Outpost will see you every day, blossoming with our child, knowing that I did this to you.”

His words poured into your ears like petrol on the fire burning inside you, both in your heart and your womb.

“G-gonna cum daddy, fuck,” you exhaled, scratching his back so deep you could feel the skin ripping beneath your fingertips, your personal time bomb almost at implosion and white spots dancing across your eyes.

“Go on little witch, cum for me,” he commanded, wrapping his arms around you tightly and protectively as you shook and writhed uncontrollably in his embrace. “I’ve got you baby, I’ve got you.”

With another thrust against your walls, Michael came undone with his own orgasm, releasing his cum right up against your cervix.

His eyes slowly returned to their gorgeous cerulean, gazing into your soul through your own irises. He kept his length deep inside you as he leaned forward to plant a haunting kiss on your lips.

“What the hell, daddy?” You chuckled, pressing your forehead against his as you waited for the erotic haze across your vision to dissipate.

“I want you to carry our baby, Y/N. The apocalypse has come, we need to repopulate, also it’s about time the rest of this pathetic Outpost realised you belong to Mr Langdon.”

You weakly nodded in agreement, too exhausted to form a more coherent response. Michael’s cock slipped gently out of you, pouring the wetness from your combined orgasms through your swollen folds and pooling onto his desk.

“Every year on this day, I’m going to get you pregnant. Right here on this desk, just like that,” he detailed as he buttoned himself back into his dress pants as if no further explanation was required. “Any objections, little witch?”

“None at all, Mr Langdon,” you obeyed as he gently pulled up your dress for you, planting the shoulder straps carefully in their rightful places. Michael stared down at his torso bewildered at his loss of shirt, before a quick transmutation to reach into his closet in his quarters across the hall swiftly rectified it.

“Funny, I didn’t notice the music had stopped,” you laughed under your breath, desperate to fill the silence as you composed yourselves.

As you took to your feet to pull your dress down, you stood flush against Michael, now fully clothed, his gentle breath grazing your cheek. A soft peck fell upon your lips as he gently placed his palm over your velvet-clad abdomen, examining his work.

“So… same time next year?”

#AHS fanfiction #Michael Langdon #Cody Fern #AHS Apocalypse #American Horror Story fanfiction #Michael Langdon imagines #Outpost!Michael

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saikagerights · 4 years

Text

The Apology- A New Possession One Shot

Welcome Back!

I'm a liar, aren't I? Not even two days after the last entry is posted saying I wanted to chill out, here I come with another 1k+ word oneshot to conclude this plot line. I really did enjoy writing Christmas Date, so I decided to resolve this mess the same way I started it. I did my damndest to properly connect this as many times as I could. I think I did it about 3 times intentionally, so look for those references. This resolution hit me suddenly yesterday and I felt like an absolute genius. This didn't change the fact that it took me about 6 hours to write in its entirety.

I am personally proud of this one, so please enjoy

Also available on AO3

January 24th

Ino feels awful. After a full month, she still felt awful over what happened on Christmas with Sai. Her feelings were still as strong as ever for the man. Too strong for her to control at the time. And now she’s made him feel like he’s the cause of her problems and it’s made her guilt only multiply.

She knew that avoiding him was only making the problem worse, but how was she supposed to face him after walking out like that with no explanation? Or worse, explaining to him outright what had happened. He wasn’t ready to hear about that.

As she ran home that night, she struggled to hold her tears back.

Save them for when you are home

Her parents had taught her that tears were a sign of strength, but she felt more vulnerable than ever.

She had to face the fact that she was now deep into her feelings for Sai. But she knew that his situation required delicate action. She had seen first hand his struggle to handle emotion. She wanted to save him then from that genjutsu, and now she wants to save him from himself. And as much as she wants to save him, it may only overwhelm him

Besides, there could be a chance he will never feel more towards me

Indeed Ino saw that Sai’s feelings were present, but they were buried under many layers of pain and suffering. The damage had been done, and while he improved by leaps and bounds, that trauma would never be truly erased. He had been a child that wasn’t raised with warm love and affection, but with the cold embrace of order and duty. Feelings like this don’t just come naturally. It infuriated her that Sai’s case was not isolated, but many children also suffered this fate during the period of unrest in their country. This fury only drove her to support Sakura in opening the Children’s Therapy Center that now had its own wing in Konoha’s hospital.

Speaking of which, the massive forehead of Konoha had recently approached her regarding her recent dilemma. Sai must’ve told her in confidence and she just had to once again stick her nose into things that were none of her business. But to her, it was her business when her friend and once teammate had come to her “asking for help,” as she had put it. Ino tried her hardest to dodge every question in her shoddy yet intense interrogation. She was successful in keeping her at bay by saying that she had every intention to talk to Sai, but was suddenly disheartened when Sakura revealed that he would be partaking in a 2 week mission very soon and that she didn’t have very much time.

I’ll just apologize when he gets home

Now those two weeks were up, and she had been desperately trying to gain the courage to approach him.

Luckily, she didn’t have to bide her time much longer, as Sai had entered the shop that afternoon, a sketch pad under his arm and hesitation present in every step.

“Ino, I-”

Ino held up her hand to silence him. “Do not apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

She paused, wondering if Sai would respond. He looked to be waiting for her to continue, the fingers of his right hand quietly drumming against the side of the sketch pad. Seeing this nervous mannerism, she took a deep breath before obliging.

Before she could utter a word, he pulled out the sketch pad, holding it in front of him. It revealed a single Zinnia flower drawn at the center of the page.

That deep breath might as well have been her last. Her hands suddenly covered her mouth.

“I want you to know how I’ve been feeling over this.” His voice was timid and wavering, betraying his nearly blank expression. He took a shaky breath, casting his gaze to the floor. “Because I don’t have the slightest clue as to what this is.”

Ino tried to listen to his words, but was still in the process of forming a coherent thought. “The thought of absent friends.” That was the meaning of the Zinnia. He just used hanakotoba to communicate with her.

Duh! Why hadn’t I thought of this before?

“You know what this means, right?” His eyes were now on her, one pale finger pointed to the flower.

She could not trust herself to speak just yet, so she only nodded.

Face now steeled, he lowered the sketchpad back down to his side. “I need to show you something else. Please come with me.”

________________________________________________________________

By the time Ino joined Sai at the entrance of the shop, she had calmed down a bit from her initial shock. She couldn’t help but feel incredibly touched. Sai had gone out of his way to study a language that she understood and strongly connected to. She wasn’t sure if he knew how romantic of a gesture that really was…

But that wasn’t the point! The point was that a wonderful opportunity had presented itself. Sai wasn’t too fluent in sounding out his emotions, but the flowers could. He successfully conveyed that he was affected by her absence in his life using the zinnia. Studying further into hanakotoba could really help him. The idea of teaching him about it made her heart soar. This didn’t last long, for the situation at hand had caught back up to her.

She lagged behind him as they proceeded their route towards his apartment. Or at least she assumed. This was the same path they took on Christmas Eve. The only silence came from them, as the village around them was abuzz with normal activity. She noticed that Sai kept tossing glances behind him, as if checking to make sure she was still following him. He was an excellent sensor, so why would he feel the need to reassure himself?

He must really be nervous.

The silence between them followed them up until they reached his apartment once more. Ino had made note that this silence was unlike the awkwardness of that night. This was a more intense silence. One that only grew deeper in meaning the longer it persisted. Ino’s trepidation began to overwhelm her as she climbed the steps leading to their destination.

Sai halted in front of the door, bringing his free hand up to scratch at his head.

“I’ll be honest with you, I don’t know what has gotten into me lately. All I know is that I feel guilty for what I did.”

Why should he feel guilty when I did this to him?

Ino was tired of making him feel this way. She wanted him to be able to embrace his emotions, not push them away.

“It’s ok.” She threw on a mask of indifference. “I was conflicted. I couldn’t help it. No one could.” She tried to wave off his concern, but he wasn’t convinced.

“But I made you feel conflicted. That wasn’t my intent.” Opting for a different stance, he crossed his arms as best he could with the sketch pad still in hand, left hand hanging onto his elbow.

Ino’s aggravation was growing stronger. He was as inquisitive as ever, but she couldn’t have him guess correctly. She had to use a different tactic to throw him off her trail.

“You know that there are other problems in my life, right? Christmas is always a hard time for me and mom since dad died!”

Sorry dad. I hate to use your name like this, but he can’t know.

Sai’s eyes widened and his arms dropped to his sides. He couldn’t argue with that.

Got him

Sai straightened up his posture before bowing to her

“I apologize for being so selfish. Forgive me.” His apology pierced the air. She had never heard him speak with such a commanding tone.

The silence that followed was as sharp as the apology.

Oh brother. This is going over well, now isn’t it? God I’m such an idiot.

Ino inwardly chastised herself. While it wasn’t a complete lie, dragging her own personal problems instead made him feel even worse. Sincere enough to bow. She realized that by covering up her own feelings, she in turn invalidated his. She had to get this back on track.

Realizing she hadn’t moved a muscle, he tried again, force completely forgotten.“You can leave. I’m sorry I dragged you out here.”

“Sai, lift your head. It’s okay. It’s not your fault. You wanted to show me something, right?”

Sai upturned his head, body still bowed. He was clearly caught unaware, confusion lining his face.

“But I mistakenly felt victimized by your grief. Why do you care what I have to show you?”

Ino had to sigh. He really was hopeless.

“Because we are friends. Your feelings matter too.”

That made Sai slowly return to his previous posture. He readjusted the sketchpad back under his arm before reaching for the doorknob, head dropping once more to focus on it.

Ino peered inside and audibly gasped.

Of all the things she expected, none of them matched this.

The floor was covered with sheets of paper. All of them were unfinished drawings. The easel that sat in the center of the room still held the unfinished sketch of her from Christmas. Upon further inspection, all of the drawings were of her. She unconsciously stepped into the flat, her hands moving up to cover her mouth for the second time that day.

“Sai… What happened?” She turned around to find him still standing in the door frame, shoulders now sullen. He stiffened himself up to hesitantly take a step inside.

“It’s strange, isn’t it? After you left, I couldn’t help myself. But since you wouldn’t let me look at you, I forgot what you looked like.” He chuckled at that, another smile lining his face.

As if this man couldn’t tear her heart to shreds anymore.

Ino spoke before the words could get trapped in her throat. “Sai. I’m so sorry.” She took one more painful glance at the easel before facing him. “I had no idea that I did this to you.”

Sai’s grin fell from his lips. For the first time that day, his gaze finally focused on hers completely

“I invited you over because I am grateful for all you have done for me. You saved my life and have only tried to help me when I have done nothing to show for that. You are so-” He paused, trying to find the right words.

Come on. Tell me how you feel.

Ino mentally cheered him on as he took in an audible breath.

“-Honest and unafraid to express your emotions. I admire that about you. I really want to be able to do that too.”

Her heart began to slowly piece itself back together, strengthening. She carefully walked towards the stool, minding her step with all of the paper littering her path.

“Why don’t we try this again then? She shot him a mischievous grin. “I promise to let you finish this time.”

She watched a dazzling smile bloom on his face before remembering his feet still worked. He followed her motion towards his own stool.

“I’ll hold you to it, Beautiful.”

She closed her eyes with a contented sigh as she seated herself. She was wonderfully wrong about Sai. This whole thing only proved to her that he would be capable of falling for her. She just wasn’t sure if all he needed was time, or a gentle but effective push.

“Please open your eyes for this. I want to depict them in this.”

She followed his direction without question. He was as blunt as ever, but that wasn’t exactly a bad thing.

She suddenly remembered that maybe she should act a little sooner with Sai. Naruto and Hinata had been in their own world since that moon mission, but her own boys were acting awfully suspicious as of late.

She made sure to smile for him, because she was pretty certain that he was smiling too.

And there's the conclusion! I hope you enjoyed this one. We are closing in on 10k words for the entire project and it hasn't even been a month since I wrote the first chapter. We are so close to getting these two together and I am getting psyched to do so.

I want to thank all of the readers who have done nothing but support my writing so far. I can't stress enough how thankful I am.

Until next time, and as always comments and criticism is always accepted

-Saikage

#Sai Journal #saiino #sai yamanaka #Ino Yamanaka #si fanfic

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thefriedbird · 4 years

Text

Alucard x F!Reader x Maria Renard

A/N: Hey guys! I want all of my readers to be safe when they read this. This fanfiction is based off of my experiences with having C-PTSD and being a chronic illness sufferer for many years. Lately, I have been struggling really hard with my flashbacks and this was written to help me cope to progress my trauma recovery. The Castlevania series has been at the center of my focus lately, and I had the urge to write for it. This work will have self-harm as well as mentions of child abuse and sexual assault. Be warned. But, I have been wanting to get better at writing and I’ve been wanting to write to also spread awareness on the natures of PTSD and other various chronic illnesses, I felt compelled to post this as maybe a way to help other people.This does take place after Symphony of the Night.

If any of you have been experiencing a low sense of self-worth, suicidal ideation, self-harm, flashbacks, or have been having panic attacks please call your national suicide hotline prevention numbers. Remember that your life is precious, even if in the moment you do not see that way. You are not alone. Stay safe, you are loved.

PLEASE READ THE A/N BEFORE READING!!!!

The unbearable tingling sensation in my wrists. Making me want to scratch and bite at it, like a dog tending to its fleas. Imagining the flame fluttering across the thin skin, knowing how easy it would be to rip at it and break the veins. I felt my head twitch, my fingers starting to fidget the soreness in my fingers. I looked down to my fingertips, the shortened bitten cuticles, and the blood pooling from the tips of them. I flinched as I attempted to squeeze around the nail, the sharp pain from the hangnail digging further into the flesh beneath. My heart pounding in my chest as I fell upon the love seat, I felt my muscles spasm. The fabric of the furniture making the tingling in my wrists stronger with every brush against it. Scratch it, scratch it, bite it, bite it, do it. Do it. Now. My other hand began to caress the inner wrists, the welts around the joint already flaring. My nails began to scratch at it, my breath shaky as the pain began to burrow itself in my skin. A steady scratch turned into rapid scarring of it, my senses being lost to me. All I could feel around me was the memories, just the pain to make them gone. The pain to rid of this sensation surrounding me. Tears began to cascade down my cheeks, my attention to my wrist stopped. Now the tingling spreading everywhere else. Anything to get rid of this sensation. Anything to kill that memory. Anything to remove it. Please, help me. A whimpered cry broke itself from my lips, as it seemed my body was not my own. I fell back to the floor, I could feel my body twitching out of control. All I could think of was the screaming, the yelling, the knocking, and heavy footfalls what would be the drunken stupor of my parents. Hide. Hide. Do not interact. I feel myself bite at my wrists once more. Then I heard a yell and a door slam open, my body recoiled from the sound instantaneously. My vision was so blurry, so dizzy. What is going on? Where. No. Don’t think! Hide! I felt something pushing my hand away from my mouth. What is happening?

“(Name), we’re back!” Maria looked around the dark house, her green gown fluttering behind her as she looked around. Alucard tailing her, the stoicism showing mild puzzlement. “Where had she gone?” Alucard muttered. She placed the day’s groceries onto the table. “I did tell her that we would not be gone long.” Maria sighed. A sharp cry followed by a loud thud rang through the halls. Alucard made swift haste into the adjacent room, banging open the door which made the woman on the floor recoil violently backwards. The dhampir tried to grab the woman’s wrists, his eyes noticing the blood coming from the harsh welts around her wrists. Maria almost slid into the floor beside her, “Oh my God, (Name)!” The gentle woman placed a hand behind the woman’s head. Maria looked to Alucard, who was desperately trying to keep her from attacking herself and the two around her. The woman’s hyperventilating drowning out all sound from the living area, her hands clutched into Alucard’s. “What’s the matter with her?” Maria cried out, tears forming in her own eyes watching the poor woman thrash about. Alucard used his free hand to place it upon (Name)’s brow, inhibiting the rough twitching and thrashing of her body. “She is just in a panic. A horrific one.” He stated, eyeing the welts. Maria bit her lip, waiting alongside her companion to watch over (Name). Maria decided to try to pet her head, trying her best in attempt to calm her down. The petting seemed to begin to sooth (Name)’s breathing, the shakiness in it beginning to deescalate, her head twitching slightly. Her cheeks stained and her eyes puffy, the fog that had clouded over her seemed to dissipate. “I’m sorry.” The woman croaked out, her voice barely a whisper. Maria broke into a solemn smile, “We are just glad you are okay.” She sniffed out. Alucard closed his eyes, a relieved sigh coming from his lips. (Name) looked up to see his face above her, “Are you alright?” She murmured. Alucard shook his head, “We should be asking you that. Not the other way around.” Golden eyes stared almost warmly, “Will you be okay?” (Name) was taken aback by the eyes, her speech stuck in her throat. Maria was about to hug her, but stalled “Is it alright, if I embrace you?” The woman beneath her nodded, letting out a shaky breath and tears spilling from her eyes. Maria embraced her happily, Alucard retreating from the two to watch. “I know it seems bleak, but you are going to be okay. No one is going to hurt you.” Maria consoled, rubbing (Name)’s back as she wailed into Maria’s shoulder. The dhampir felt at a loss, unsure how to approach the crying girl. The dhampir arranged himself closer to the two, “(Name) let me see the damage.” The young woman seemed to have swallowed a rock, her voice shaky “No. Please, I don’t want you to see.” Alucard reached out his hand. “It is alright, I need to assess the damage.” The woman shook her head violently, “No! Please, I don’t want-“ “(Name), I do not want this to get infected! I am doing this to help you. Maria!” The blonde woman looked to Alucard, “Yes?” Alucard slowly grasped (Name)’s hands, the look of trepidation in the young woman’s face as he looked over the wounds. “I need bandages for her and alcohol.” Alucard prompted, as he began to inspect both wrists. “Of course!” Maria left the room, to return with the medical supplies at hand. Alucard’s brows furrowed, as he looked to (Name). “Would you be willing to tell me your traumas?” (Name) looked up, Alucard felt a strong pang in his chest watching the emotional fatigue grow and her face becoming pale. “Mayhap.” (Name) glanced her eyes away, as Maria popped a cork from the bottle of alcohol and dabbing a clean rag. Alucard took it from his companion’s hands, dabbing the rag gently onto the wounds. A hiss from (Name), and her body unintentionally jumped from the pain. “Stay still, it will not last long. I promise.” Alucard’s voice spoke softly, his other hand coming to steady her own trembling one. Almost, seeming to caress her. (Name) felt bile coming up to her throat, tears pricking her eyes. The only affection she had ever wanted. Why does she feel this way? Maria rubbed her back, “Do I need to get a pail?” (Name) shook her head, “No, I’m fine!” Once Alucard was done cleaning the wounds, he brought up gauze and began to dress both wrists. (Name) choked back a cry, Maria shushing her soothingly as she rubbed her back. Once Alucard was finished dressing the wounds, he brought her up slowly to stand. “Will you be alright walking on your own?” He asked, (Name) nodding. “How about we get comfortable and talk?” Maria suggested, grasping a quilt from on back of the loveseat. Alucard looked to the smaller female, “Would you be comfortable with that? Know that you do not have to if you do not wish to. We will give you all of the time in the world.” (Name) placed her hand on to her mouth, as she nodded. Alucard brought an arm around her, somewhat awkwardly, but managed to set his head a top of her own. “We have you. You will be safe with us.” Maria smiled, “I will be back then. How about I make some tea, would you like that (Name)?” (Name) nodded once more, pushing herself more into the dhampir’s body. Alucard was taken aback for a moment at the increase in contact, but he did not mind. He was once in her position and maybe still is. Regardless, he would gladly allow for them both to heal together.

Once Maria came back with tea, she smiled at them cuddling onto the loveseat. (Name)’s head was buried into the dhampir’s chest, her hands clutching tightly onto his jacket. Maria was happy that she had extended the offer to Alucard to stay with her, she was right not letting him out of her life. (Name) had been staying with Maria for a while, happily traveled with her and Alucard. Yet, the two could never fully grasp onto why the smaller woman wished to travel with them both. Her excuse was to seek the wonders of the world, almost like a curious puppy. Maria could not turn her away, Alucard however felt different about it but accepted her nonetheless. But over the course of many months, their initial thoughts seemed to question something deeper as to why she had actually wanted to stick with them.

Alucard looked up to see Maria, adjusting the quilt to make it longer for her as well. Maria smiled as she sat with them, (Name) turning around to grasp the tea from her. “Thanks.” (Name) spoke, testing it as she seemed to cradle the porcelain with upmost care. Alucard looked to (Name), his expression growing serious. “When you first tagged along with us, your excuse was to learn how to defend yourself as well as to learn all that is out here. However, I believe it is also something else.” Alucard pressed, trying his best to soften the tone as to ensure he did not intimidate her. “I did want that. I do want that.” (Name) grasped the porcelain tighter. “But I also wanted to be away from it all.” Maria cocked her head, “Away from what?” (Name)’s frown deepened, “My family. I wanted to get away. I’ve moved so many times in my life, I’m so sick of it being temporary. My mother and father were heavy drinkers, and they liked each other little. They screamed and fought all the time! It is so hard to be surrounded by the foreboding fear that they would scream at me, hurt me!” The tears began to flow once more. Alucard bringing his hand to her shoulder, his thumb rubbing it in circles. “I’ve always felt so alone. Every other child’s parents were so loving. But why did they not love me enough? Why did they hurt me the way they did? They told me they loved me, but they don’t show it in their actions! For so long, I sought affection elsewhere. But he ended up hurting me too, he took me even if I said no!” Maria scooted closer to her, grabbing the trembling hand gripping the porcelain. “Here, let me take that for a moment. I would hate it if you were to burn yourself.” Maria gently set the tea on the coffee table. (Name) began to rub her gauzed wrists together, Maria cupping one of them in her hands. Gently rubbing her thumb into the other’s palm, being careful to not touch the woman’s sensitive wrists. “It will be alright, they are not here now. Alucard and I, are willing to help and care for you. Those people, did not care for you as they should have. You were supposed to grow up in a home that was safe, none of that is your fault.” “You are also not obligated to love the people who have abused you.” Alucard added. “But they are my blood-“ “Blood does not mean anything, if they have hurt you. And the one who forced you, they are no longer around. You are safe with us.” Alucard affirmed. (Name) began to whimper, Alucard pressing his head into hers. “I killed my father. My mother was burned on a pyre, the church folk claimed she was a witch. My father, Dracula, wanted to rid all of humanity. But it was my mother’s wish to me to not hate humans. But my father disregarded her wishes. So, I had killed him.” “I’m sorry.” (Name) let out a small cry. Alucard shook his head, “No, there is no need to be sorry. Our traumas are valid. But it is a point to be made, blood does not mean that you are to remain obedient to the people who have wronged you or someone you love. The one who forced you is no longer in your life; none will touch you without your consent.” Maria smiled, “I may not be able to understand both Alucard’s and your traumas, but I can empathize with your emotion’s (Name), I lost both my parents and I believe that the three of us are companions now for a reason.” Maria brushed the hair away from (Name)’s face, “You are safe here, with us. As long as we are together, I believe we can heal together as well.” (Name) looked up and nodded, smiling. “Thank you.” Maria brought up a hand, “No need. We are glad to help you. But I think we need to be able to accommodate you and help you with your panic. Do you know what set it off?” (Name) frowned, “There are a couple things that set it off a lot.” “Like what?” Alucard questioned. “Certain smells, aggression and confrontation, certain names, the cold, and my wrists.” (Name) looked at them and sighed, “Sometimes I don’t realize I mess with them until I panic.” “What were you thinking when you did?” Alucard asked. “How lonely I feel, even when others are around.” (Name) responded, bringing her knees to her face. “If you ever feel such a way, you are always welcome to come to us.” Maria smiled, “We adore and love you, (Name).” (Name)’s breath wavered, but she could not help but smile as the dhampir and the woman beside her wrapped their arms around her. This was comfort, this was what she had been desperately searching for.

#X Reader #Alucard x reader #Alucard x reader x Maria Renard #Maria Renard #symphony of the night #castlevania #castlevania: symphony of the night #adrian tepes #PTSD #Trauma Recovery #fanfiction #tw #trigger warning #self harm #be safe #we love you #maria renard x reader

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jahaanofmenaphos · 4 years

Photo

Art by the awesome @tommieglenn!

Of Gods and Men Summary:

When the gods returned to Gielinor, their minds were only on one thing: the Stone of Jas, a powerful elder artefact in the hands of Sliske, a devious Mahjarrat who stole it for his own ends and entertainment. He claims to want to incite another god wars, but are his ulterior motives more sinister than that? And can the World Guardian, Jahaan, escape from under Sliske’s shadow?

Read the full work here:

ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN

FANFICTION.NET

TUMBLR CHAPTER INDEX

QUEST 11: SLISKE’S ENDGAME

QUEST SUMMARY:

The eclipse is nigh. The end of Sliske’s games draws near. All the gods gather for one final race for the Stone, taking them through a shadowy labyrinth of the devious Mahjarrat’s design. Not only does Jahaan have to survive the trials Sliske sets out for them, but he has to compete against every major deity in Gielinor. Then, and only then, will he have a shot at ending Sliske’s madness once and for all…

CHAPTER 5 - AMOR FATI

He made it. By the gods, he made it.

After spending what felt like half a lifetime running through that cursed labyrinth, Jahaan finally found himself at the end. Stepping through the final door, Jahaan could see it in the distance. The Stone of Jas, tantalisingly close.

But, of course, nothing’s that simple.

A large chasm separated him from the Stone. The ground simply seemed to end, a terrifyingly steep drop into the black abyss of nothingness. Jahaan felt himself getting vertigo just by peering over the edge. There were two thin bridges crossing over to the Stone, both blocked by an energy field of some kind.

Jahaan tried to place his hand through the shield, but naturally got blocked. Frustrated, he looked around the side, wondering if there was a way to jump past the shield, but it was too risky.

Grunting, Jahaan called out, “What’s this about, Sliske? I’m at the end of your stupid maze. Give me the Stone.”

A cackle reverberated around him. “Patience, Janny… there’s just one more hurdle in your way. For that, we’re awaiting the company of another…”

Irritated, Jahaan settled himself on a ledge and waited, examining the remnants of his backpack to see if he had any food left. Seeing that all the supplies had been used, Jahaan tossed the backpack down to the ground with a huff.

It didn’t take long for him to work out Sliske’s intentions, that being forcing the World Guardian to race another competitor. It seemed ridiculous - he had reached the Stone first, why should he have to go through this pathetic little hurdle?

Because Sliske finds it funny, Jahaan grumbled internally. No doubt, that was why Sliske did a lot of things.

Before long, the chamber door opened again and Zamorak emerged through, entourage in tow. He regarded the bored looking World Guardian, then the bridges over the chasm and the Stone beyond. “What’s all this bullshit?”

Picking himself up off the ledge, Jahaan rolled his eyes. “I think Sliske wants us to race.”

Zamorak mirrored the eye roll. “Of course he fucking does.”

“Gentlemen, please!” Sliske’s vexing tone interrupted them. “Take your places. The race for the Stone is about to begin!”

Reluctantly, Jahaan and Zamorak readied themselves on the starting block just in front of the protective shield. Honestly, Jahaan was more pissed off than he was anxious. After traversing the labyrinth for hours and making it to this ‘final section’ minutes before anyone else, he still had to race Zamorak for the Stone. Zamorak, a taller and stronger Mahjarrat not weighed down by the burden of armour. Jahaan deduced quickly that Sliske no doubt just wanted to see him lose up close and personal, to drag the Stone just out of reach at the very last minute. One last middle finger in all these bullshit games. Despite that, Jahaan’s initial goal had not changed - kill Sliske. Getting the Stone would have just been a nice bonus. But since he was so close to winning, damnit, he wanted to win. Maybe he and Icthlarin could end up doing some good with the Stone, or at least hide it away to prevent another rerun of the God Wars.

However, his disheartened mood lifted slightly when Sliske announced, “Oh dear, this won’t do at all. I think Jahaan deserves a little headstart - he did make it here first, after all. I’m going to make you work for it, Zammy. Now, on your marks… get set… RUN!”

Thinking he actually had a chance, Jahaan bolted forwards the second the shield dropped, sprinting down the narrow platform and over the first hurdle effortlessly.

But it wasn’t long until Zamorak was running too.

Zamorak was incredibly agile for a creature of his size, but so was Jahaan. The World Guardian vaulted over the obstacles with ease. The height difference certainly worked in Zamorak’s favour, but Jahaan was nimble, managing to edge his way into the lead before Zamorak clawed it back.

Zamorak’s entourage looked on in trepidation. When Moia realised her master’s victory wasn’t guaranteed she resorted to desperate measures. Picking up a stray piece of debris, Moia aimed as best she could and hurled it across the chasm towards Jahaan. Unfortunately for the World Guardian, Moia’s aim was near flawless, catching him hard at the back of his knee joint. While his armour protected him from any pain, the shock and impact was enough to make Jahaan stumble - he tripped forwards, gravity cruelly catching up to him as he toppled down onto the narrow platform, clutching onto the edges of the walkway for dear life. A small chunk of the platform broke off when he hit the ground. Jahaan watched it fall into the abyss below with a furious heartbeat, his life flashing before his eyes as he realised how close he was to following that debris downwards.

Then he looked up and saw his chance of success being stripped away from him as Zamorak reached the end of the course.

As Zamorak hopped off the course, Sliske emerged from his hiding place, the Stone looming over his hunched frame. With a flourish of his hands, a spell was cast, and Zamorak’s entourage - along with all the other gods and their followers - were ejected from the maze. “Bravo, brother! Your little half-breed really did you a solid at the end there.”

“Get out of the way, Sliske,” Zamorak ordered, striding forwards. “I’ve beaten your pathetic little game. The Stone is mine.”

“Yes, yes,” Sliske accepted with a dismissive wave of his hand, stepping out of the way to allow Zamorak an unhindered path to the Stone. “A deal is a deal, and I am a man of my word. The Stone is yours - do with it what you will.”

“Yes, a deal is a deal, my Legatus Maximus,” Zaros’ voice emerged before he did, Seren teleporting by his side soon after.

Grumbling, Zamorak rolled his eyes and let his shoulders sag. “So fucking close… I thought you’d invoke this here. You want me to give you the Stone, right?”

“As the terms of Vinculum Juris dictate, I request for you to give the Stone to me,” Zaros confirmed. Zamorak could have sworn he felt traces of smugness coming from the deity, but he shrugged it off.

“Fair enough. The Stone’s yours,” Zamorak conceded. “A fair exchange for the salvation of my people.”

In all this, Sliske was thoroughly taken aback. “But… but how are you two here? You should have been cast out of the labyrinth when Zamorak reached the Stone.”

“You are not as powerful as you think you are, Sliske,” Seren stated with unwavering conviction. “We are beyond your tricks.”

“But she said…” Sliske shook his head in bafflement, trying to blink the pieces into place. “It doesn't matter. The game is over. The Stone now belongs to Zamorak.”

“You cannot do this Sliske,” Seren maintained, forcefully. “You know that any god being in possession of the Stone would be an act of war. It would plunge the universe into chaos.”

“Well, it’s rather fitting Zamorak has the Stone then, isn’t it?”

“But a war, Sliske,” Seren emphasised. “It would wake them. You must know that the elder gods sleep below us and you know what will happen if they wake!”

“Did it ever occur to you that perhaps they had a part in all of this?” Sliske insinuated, causing even Zaros to falter.

This time though, it was Zamorak’s turn to pipe up, “You’re saying we’re supposed to believe all your bullshit was the will of the elder gods? Yeah, sure thing, you mad bastard.”

“Jas…” Jahaan gasped, having stayed quiet in the background until now, listening intently. With encouragement from Seren, Jahaan continued, “That orb in your study, I touched it, and my head was filled with a vision…” with wide-eyes of realisation, Jahaan looked up at Sliske. “You were talking to Jas, weren’t you? She was the one who showed you how to get the Stone, and how to use it to strip the gods of their powers.”

“Ding ding!” Sliske clapped his hands sharply together. “Congratulations, Janny. Of all of them to figure it out, I’m surprised it was you, but I’m impressed nonetheless.”

The cogs in Zaros’ mind were grinding with indignation. “You… had an audience with the most powerful being in the universe. You have been her agent. Why you?”

“Perhaps she was drawn to my magnetic personality?” Sliske grinned, unable to resist the tease. He recovered quickly though, continuing, “I don’t know why she chose me, but she did. We came to a mutually beneficial relationship. She gave me the power and knowledge I needed, and in return, I brought her the gods.”

Seren blinked. “You… brought her the gods?”

Sliske’s lip curled upwards slightly at one side. “Indeed. You intrigued her. She wished to study you, and I told her I could provide the means for that research.”

Jahaan angrily countered, “So what was all this bullshit about trying to steal my soul?”

Raising an eyebrow, Sliske replied, “You think I’m incapable of having two plans on the go? Now, my work for Jas is done, and the Stone is of no further use to me. The Staff, on the other hand...”

Sliske summoned the Staff of Armadyl to his hands, shooting Jahaan an intense look that made the World Guardian physically recoil. “I have one last use for.”

Suddenly, a haunting screech pierced the air. Soon after, Kerapac teleported into the clearing, adopting a proud and defiant stance that challenged all the gods before him.

“You should not be able to be here!” Sliske hissed, feeling the card house he had built start to wobble. “The Stone’s power should have cast you out!”

Kerapac stretched his jaw, showing off the fearsome set of fangs he housed inside. “Ignorant vosk. The Stone is our tether; you cannot keep us from it!”

Stalking forward, Kerapac’s shoulders raised and sagged with heavy, seething breaths. “You bicker over the Catalyst like a toy or trophy, but I know it for what it is. It is the whip that cuts our flesh. It is the collar that chokes us. It is the enslavement of my people!”

From out of his robe, Kerapac brought out an ancient-looking mirror with a plated gold frame - the Elder Mirror.

Holding it aloft and pointing it at the Stone of Jas, he screamed, “WE WILL NO LONGER BE SLAVES!”

Suddenly, sparks started to fly out of the mirror, attaching themselves to the Stone with a sickening crackle of pure elder energy. The cavern started to shake violently, rocks detaching from the ceiling and crashing down to the ground, shattering on impact. The Stone itself was fizzing and whirling, breaking apart with a furious anger that thrummed and pounded as the earth shaked and quivered.

Zaros and Seren gasped, eyes transfixed on the beam of energy that threatened to tear the walls down around them. They knew that Kerapac was channeling the anima mundi from around the Heart of Gielinor straight into the Elder Mirror. The anima mundi was then duplicated infinitely as it was redirected back into the Stone of Jas, overwhelming the precious elder artefact.

They also knew that the damage had been done, and that they needed to escape. Thus, they teleported out of the cavern and left the Stone to its fate.

Seeing their swift exit, Zamorak was smart enough to follow suit closely after.

Jahaan saw that Sliske was looking at similar moves to escape, but was damned if he was going to let him get away that easily.

“NO!” Jahaan screamed, launching himself at Sliske and tackling him to the ground. Once he’d grabbed onto the Mahjarrat, he managed to transport them both into the Shadow Realm, praying that being in a separate realm of existence from the Stone of Jas might protect them somehow. Fortunately, he’d caught Sliske off-guard enough to accomplish this and the two tumbled into the Shadow Realm.

Wasting no time, Jahaan dragged Sliske to his feet by his robe and started to pull him into a sprint. “RUN!”

Instinct taking over, Sliske complied. He and the World Guardian ran as fast as possible away from the Stone of Jas, leaping behind a downed statue just as the blast hit.

The aftershock of the blast had knocked Jahaan from the Shadow Realm - that much he felt from the difference in the air, sucking in a lungful of dust and debris that threatened to choke him to death. When the light faded and the ringing in his ears subsided enough to take stock, Jahaan dared to peer over the pillar and survey the destruction.

The Stone was no more - that was the first thing that captured his attention. Only a shattered plinth remained, fragments of the Stone’s surface thrown around the remnants of the cavern, piling against the walls.

Squinting, Jahaan thought he could see Kerapac’s body through the smoke and haze. If he remained so close to the Stone for that blast, there was no way he could have survived.

Hearing Sliske stirring beside him, Jahaan wasted no time, swinging back around and catching the Mahjarrat’s temple with his elbow.

Grunting, Sliske dodged the next attack by teleporting out into the middle of the ruined cavern, stumbling upon his landing. Clutching the side of his head, he growled, “You really are giving me mixed messages here, World Guardian.”

Getting back up to his feet, Jahaan drew both of his swords and declared, “This ends tonight, Sliske.”

Sliske laughed. “Even the World Guardian isn’t above a good cliche, I see. But you should have escaped with the others, Jahaan. Now…” he summoned the Staff of Armadyl back to his gloves hands. “Now I shall collect what I am owed. Wights!”

Raising the Staff aloft, Sliske brought forth the six Barrows Brothers to his aid, the wights that had once fought alongside Jahaan at the Mahjarrat Ritual now stood opposing him. The six against one advantage did not swing in Jahaan’s favour. Thankfully, Sliske seemed like he was going to sit back and enjoy the show, so Jahaan had more breathing room to deal with these undead foes first.

“Debilitate him,” Sliske commanded. “I need him alive for the transfer.”

Upon the order, the Brothers started to advance on Jahaan.

The good thing about the wights was that - unless specifically commanded - they did not run, thus they could be out maneuvered fairly easily if Jahaan kept on his feet.

With Sliske’s order to debilitate him, not kill him, the World Guardian felt a little more confident about his chances. Still, these wights could make a mistake and take his head off, if he wasn’t careful enough. With that in mind, Karil had to be taken out first. If a stray bolt caught Jahaan in the side of his head, it was lights out for good.

Sheathing his swords, Jahaan ran to the other side of the chamber and ducked behind a pile of debris to summon up his first spell, a simple air blast. Jahaan wanted to save his ancient magick spells for Sliske - an unwelcome surprise for the Mahjarrat.

Peeking over, he locked sight of Karil, making sure to pick him out from the cluster of brothers. As he did, two bolts whirled over his head, slightly too close for comfort. Crouching back down, Jahaan readied the spell. Once he’d gathered enough energy, he peered back over and shot the barrage at Karil, catching him square in the chest.

Of course, that wasn’t enough to kill him, but it was a start.

The Brothers were gaining on him now, forcing Jahaan to relocate behind a broken statue, dodging Ahrim’s magic attacks as he did. When the World Guardian edged out of cover to survey his next move, a bolt caught the side of Jahaan’s arm, ricocheting off the sturdy elder rune protection.

That’s when he saw Kerapac’s body lying close to him, and an idea came to mind.

Jahaan knew he could tank a few of Ahrim’s attacks - the armour managed to survive one of Zemouregal’s spells, so it could take whatever the wight threw at him.

What Jahaan needed to do was catch Karil as he was reloading. About seven more shots, if he counted correctly. To do that, he needed to use himself as bait, but he’d need a shield if this was going to work properly, something to protect his head. Unfortunately, Jahaan hadn’t come equipped with one, but the armour Kerapac was wearing would do the trick nicely. Quickly, Jahaan hopped out from behind cover, praying Karil wouldn’t get lucky this time, and dragged the corpse back behind the pillar with him. Swiftly, he removed Kerapac’s armour, held it to the side of his head, and hoped this wasn’t a mistake.

Running out from cover, Jahaan sprinted across the chamber towards the opposite corner, and not a moment too soon as the Brother’s were almost on top of him at this point. Ahrim got a few good strikes in, slowing Jahaan down a touch as he absorbed the impact, but nothing too wounding. As soon as Jahaan saw the first bolt shoot past him, he began readying a spell, and counted.

Another bolt, and another. Jahaan didn’t know how much longer he could keep up this cat and mouse strategy before something gave out, but knowing it was the best strategy he had so far, Jahaan held out for as long as possible.

Another bolt, this time catching the edge of his leg armour. Another one, just missing his arm.

Just one more left…

As soon as Jahaan heard that last bolt whiz by, he dropped the make-shift shield and fired a relentless barrage attack against Karil. Fortunately, it paid off, the wight collapsing to the ground and disappearing in a dust cloud.

“Hahaha! Congratulations, Janny!” Sliske announced with a sharp clap. “One down, five to go.”

Ahrim was more of an annoyance than a threat, but there was a risk that his strikes would gradually degrade Jahaan’s armour, making it more vulnerable in the process. So, Jahaan decided to take him out of the equation next. Dashing straight for him, Jahaan tanked a handful of magic spells, managed to weave out of the way of the melee-attacking Brothers, and unsheathed his sword seconds before he plunged the blade straight through Ahrim’s heart. The Brother crumbled to dust the second Jahaan removed his sword, freeing the blade just in time to block an attack from Guthan’s spear.

The hardest part was needing to separate the Brothers; Jahaan knew he couldn’t fight four wights at once. Even the greatest swordsman in the land would have had a hard time, considering the Barrows Brothers were incredibly strong and proficient warriors, even in their undead states. While wights were slower on the uptake than their living counterparts, they made up for it with durability - you cut a man’s arm off, it’ll give him pause, but do it to a wight, he won’t even notice.

So, Jahaan took to sending targeted air strikes at their feet and ankles. There was no sense bombarding them in the stomach or chest. Jahaan knew he wouldn’t be able to cast powerfully enough or quickly enough to do any lasting damage. But by targeting the legs, it slowed them down further, sometimes causing them to clatter to the ground. With this careful strategy, Jahaan gradually separated the Brothers out into something much more manageable to deal with.

And all the while, Sliske observed the battle like a hawk watching its prey. But if Jahaan squinted enough, he noticed that Sliske’s face looked thinner.

Of course! He didn’t attend the Ritual, and without the Stone supplementing his life force…

Jahaan didn’t let himself get too excited - Sliske at his weakest was still stronger than Jahaan could ever be. But anything to slightly level the playing field was a godsend.

Verac’s attacks were fast and fairly accurate. The only slight weakness was when he had to pull the flail back around after each swing, but even this barely took any time at all. Sometimes he would even incorporate it into an attack, relentlessly gaining on Jahaan as he forced the World Guardian to hop backwards to avoid being hit. Jahaan knew enough about flails to know that they bested swords almost every time. You can’t block an attack from a flail head on, and if the chain wraps itself around the sword, you’d find yourself disarmed more often than not, having the blades wrenched out of your grasp.

So, Jahaan let Verac advance on him, trying to identify a pattern in his movements to calculate the best time to counter. But while this worked for the first few attacks, Jahaan unfortunately misjudged the distance during one strike.

When the flail swung forwards, the mace slashed towards the side of Jahaan’s head. He turned as much as he could, folding himself over to avoid the impact, but one of the spikes caught the skin against Jahaan’s temple.

As blood gushed from the wound, Jahaan started regretting not wearing a helmet. It was a risk, leaving your head exposed like that, but Jahaan had never managed to get along with them. His vision would be partially obscured, and distance couldn’t be judged, so he couldn’t fight half as well while wearing one. But the downside of that, of course, was leaving the most fragile and vulnerable piece of the body as a big, shiny target.

In Jahaan’s dazed state, he could have sworn he heard the scolding voice of Sliske reiterate that the World Guardian was to be taken alive, not dead.

Scrambling to get away from Verac, Jahaan moved his attention to Torag, who was quickly gaining on him. Unfortunately, the blow to his head had knocked him for six and he wasn’t able to dodge Torag’s attack in time. Jahaan stumbled backwards and fell to the ground as one of the hammers knocked him square in the chest. Coughing furiously, the winded World Guardian gasped for air, just managing to roll out of the way as he saw the other hammer set to smash down onto his torso. After Sliske’s assault, Jahaan knew his ribs were always going to be a weakness, but thankfully they didn’t feel broken or shattered.

Once he got to his feet and recuperated enough to see without blurred vision, Jahaan realised Dharok was also upon him, alongside Torag. The simultaneous attack from one of Torag’s hammers and Dharok’s greataxe was blocked by each of Jahaan’s swords, but it was a strain, especially in his weakened left arm. Slipping to the side, Jahaan used Dharok’s own strength and momentum against him, forcing him to stumble forwards. At the same time, Jahaan swung his second sword around, aiming for the unarmoured flesh around Torag’s elbow.

The sickening squelch as the blade sliced through undead flesh signalled he’d hit the target, followed by the dull thump of a hammer clattering to the floor, Torag’s severed hand still firmly wrapped around the handle.

Jumping backwards, Jahaan sought to gain some distance from the reoriented Dharok and the one-armed Torag, who didn’t even notice he was now missing a limb.

Sheathing his swords, Jahaan conjured up another series of air spells. The Brothers had congregated together again, threatening to overwhelm the World Guardian with their offence. Targeting the legs was a fairly easy way to slow them down, and Jahaan’s accuracy was pretty decent. Practice had really paid off, allowing Jahaan to hit the mark nine times out of ten. In fact, Jahaan got exceedingly lucky when aiming an air blast at Verac’s leg, missing the shin but catching him in the kneecap, shattering part of the join off. Verac tumbled to the ground and didn’t seem to be able to get back up again, much to Jahaan’s delight. As the World Guardian had found out personally, Verac’s flail was a huge threat. Now, that particular Brother could be easily culled at any time.

Now that the Brother’s had been effectively separated, Jahaan went to challenge Guthan first, nimbly dodging out of the way as the Brother tried to pierce the spearhead through his armoured stomach. As Jahaan went to counter, Guthan braced the spear to block the double strike from Jahaan’s swords, but instead of stopping the attack, Jahaan’s blades cut straight through the wooden shaft of the spear. The action surprised Jahaan a lot more than it did the wight, but the World Guardian recovered his wits quick enough to capitalise, pushing Guthan back with a kick to his gut and then finishing him off with a decapitating strike.

Dharok and Jahaan parried for a while, the Brother being rather quick with his reflexes, despite having such a large weapon. Jahaan knew to not give him enough room to properly swing the axe, keeping in close quarters with the Brother to restrict his movement. It paid off before long; learning from his fight with Guthan, Jahaan cut the greataxe’s handle in two before stabbing Dharok through the heart, the Brother’s armour no match against the razor-sharp elder rune blades.

The one-armed Torag wasn’t too great of a struggle either - it didn’t take much to outmaneuver him and take off his second arm, leaving him vulnerable to decapitation.

Panting for breath, Jahaan sheathed one of his swords, feeling the sweat pooling up in his gloves. He wiped away the beads coating his forehead.

Looking up at Sliske, he ambled over to Verac and drove the blade through the top of the crawling wight’s skull. “Now can we finish this?”

A sneer tugged at the corner of Sliske’s thin lips. “Not bad, World Guardian. I dare say I’m impressed. But I’m afraid I have one more ace up my sleeve…”

With a wave of the Mahjarrat’s hand, a cloud of smoke and shadow manifested in the centre of the chamber.

When it receded, Ozan was standing there.

DISCLAIMER:

As Of Gods and Men is a reimagining, retelling and reworking of the Sixth Age, a LOT of dialogue/characters/plotlines/etc. are pulled right from the game itself, and this belongs to Jagex.

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#runescape #sliske's endgame

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commaless-a · 4 years

Text

*. meta - relationship with death

from my archmage’s bane meta:

then she fucking dies – and oh god, that’s a whole can of worms to unpack – she’s dead, when she revives she isn’t in her halfling body – and her relationship with death is VERY complicated: she thinks she’s expendable, especially because she’s in a body she HATES – she’ll fling herself in front of all of her friends, but at the same time she doesn’t WANT to die for the sake of her family – i wouldn’t be surprised if she’s desensitized to it, and that’d explain a lot about her taking the blow for jester, running on lava, and what she said before the dreadnought. “i’ve already died once – if i die again, at least it’d be with friends” – it’s a weird balance between “i’m invincible” and “i’m expendable”.

so, hey, it is i, your little goblin girl’s biggest fan - and i want to ramble about nott’s relationship with death for a hot second... so let’s get RIGHT into this!

tldr: why she doesn’t really care about dying: 1. nott has bad self-esteem and prioritizes her friends 2. she wants to be important to the nein 3. she feels her body is expendable 4. she feels invincible 5. she’s desensitized to the notion of dying.

what does she feel about death?: 1. initially, she’s ABSOLUTELY terrified. 2. eventually - she’s sort of... indifferent to it?

as we all know, nott suffers from an extremely low self-esteem - she doesn’t like herself, not in the slightest - though the reasons why have changed, over time. when it’s started: she’s hating herself for being a goblin, for having died in the first place, for not being pretty, or smart, or brave, or anything - just nott - someone who, in her eyes, is an untalented, waste of space who won’t amount to anything. and she takes this to an extreme level - she sacrifices herself for her friends no matter how badly she’s hurt or how bad the situation’s in, and it’s exacerbated with how often she’s called to check for traps and pick locks. even if she’s good at that - she’s terrified of the consequences that may happen when she fails - and as an alchemist, she’s used to thinking up terrible, worst-case scenarios. she throws herself in front of her friends and puts herself in stressful and deadly situations, all for them - because she believes she’s not worth much - that her friends are so much better than her - and she puts herself on the lowest rung of the hierachy. this ties into her passionate loyalty for her friends - she’ll stick up for them, defend them and be on their side, no matter what - but at the same time, she will fling herself into danger when they are in the way of actual physical harm - or will be in the way of.

now, she hates herself - not for being a goblin, though of course that’s still part of the reason why - but it’s now because of much more heavy reasons: for being selfish, being conflicted - and having been normal, before - she now knows very well she’s more than just nott - she’s brave and good with a bow and good at picking locks - but there’s a seed already planted in her head that she was once just veth - that once she was a normal, humdrum halfling in a family she loved and a culture she couldn’t get invested in - and it haunts her very much - that once this is over, once they defeat tharizdun and the chained oblivion and the bad people who hurt caleb and change herself back and fix everything - that she’ll be ‘just veth’ again, that she’ll be all alone again, with nothing she loves and nothing she cared about. she wants to be useful. she wants to be something special to the nein - wants to help her friends achieve their goals and accomplish whatever they want to do - and this definitely ties in a lot to her hierarchy way of thinking.

so, what have we learnt, with the relation of her self-esteem to death?

1. she doesn’t like herself; she believes her friends are more important than her, and acts accordingly 2. she wants to be special and important to the nein - and what better way than to do what she does best, putting herself into danger to protect them?

wait, though - there is so much more! like i said before - nott is in a goblin body - a race that she hates ( for a very good reason, of course ) - and i would be lying if i said that did not feed into her low self esteem. after all, this is coming from “they made me everything i thought i was - not pretty, not smart [...] just nott.” - and, again - with such hatred for her physical appearance, such hatred for her current identity - she believes that her feelings about getting into danger are perfectly justified: she’s not in the right body, so she doesn’t have to take care of it - she can do whatever she wants with it, her body’s expendable - and therefore it doesn’t matter what she does. this is a very unhealthy train of thought - this definitely lends into why she takes to drinking so easily as a coping mechanism - and that way of thinking definitely influences how daredevilish she is. it’s not a matter of being brave - sometimes, it’s just a matter of being reckless. of course, take note that i say her body - because she of course, doesn’t WANT to die - especially when in relation to her family, in the beginning.

with the matter of this current life being so much more exciting/dangerous that her odl life - she’s swinging into two extremes: fear and desensitization - of course, she’s fucking terrified - she’s the d&d equivalent of a rural village mother who’s been traumatized and tossed into a world where she suddenly finds herself with the need to fight to survive - but fear isn’t good - we know her relationship with fear: she doesn’t think it’s useful for her to do what she has to do with relation to her friends - that it stops her from doing things that need to be done: from fighting monsters, picking locks, checking for traps, infiltrating places they shouldn’t be in, etc, etc - so, instead, she swings onto the COMPLETE other side of that spectrum - she completely numbs herself to it. death scares her - adventuring scares her - but because of the, ironically, fear of fear, she pushes it down and makes herself numb to it - and coupled with her very, very normal morals - she often is up for violence - is vicious and ferocious and cruel when she fights. she’s hardly affected by other monsters dying - by humans dying - because they’re bad, and that’s just how adventuring is - sometimes you kill people that get in the way - and by extension, when it comes to her death - when it comes to others dying -

it’s upsetting to say that she’s grown numb to it, too - and it definitely doesn’t help, with the fact that the group has revivify and the very trivial way they treat death ( it’s okay, we’ll revive him later, it’s okay, i have a diamond ) - death feels impermanent to her. this can feed into the other reason - she feels invincible, and is very desensitized to death, at least, at current time. throughout the early parts of the campaign - nott is very quick to FREAK and run to stabilize/heal whoever who’s unconscious - and molly’s death carried such a heavy impact on her - but now, with the clerics having revivify, with the people being stronger - the only time she’s really freaked out is when caduceus dies - and the main reason for that was because she was the one who caused his death - not the monsters - but the fact that she had killed an ally - a friend.

and of course, she never gets to talk about that, because they sort of lost track of that - and so she buries all of that down and jokes about it - further solidifying that desensitized way of looking at death.

how does she feel about death, though?

death, to her - feels like everything and nothing at once. the impact of the hurt - the pain, the burning - it sends her into a flashback of the senses of her FIRST death of drowning ( which is of course the main reason why i’ve been comparing death to drowning a lot in a meta sense ) - but death is... nothing, like - literally nothing. no thought, no feeling - nothing.

and it’s weird.

of course, at first - she is absolutely fearful of death - which is fine, as she should - she’s a normal person who’s been tossed into the adventurer life. its terrifying - and how could it not? the sheer notion that something is so powerful that it can rip your life out from under you, that it could take away all of your life from you and throw it away, turn your life upside down - it’s happened once to her, and really, she doesn’t know what would happen if it happens again. downright fearful - especially with water: have you seen her scared of rain and water - when caleb goes into the bath and she’s so timid and sad when she says “i just got used to you and now you’re going to change, too”? it hurts to die - and when the prospect of others dying - of her dying, is brought up, she is fucking TERRIFIED.

being terrified of change and desiring control over her life - over her own narrative - is very, very integral to her character. but what about now? with the experiences she has - with the things she’s seen... how is she with death, now?

she’s gotten used to it - mainly because of how it’s treated around her - people revive dead people when they fall down - the sheer amount of times people have fallen but are perfectly fine in the end, she’s gotten used to it, unfortunately - with how often she’s encountered death in this career, compounded with the fact she’s died before - she’s beginning to think that death is... sort of - not a big deal, anymore.

death’s something tragically comfortable to her, now. at least death is constant - death doesn’t change, unlike how turbulent her life is. it’s uncomfortable, painful, stuffy, and she hates dying, still - but it’s in a weird way, dependable. she dies again - and though she dies in shock and in trepidation - she, eventually, embraces it - and it came to the point that she almost didn’t come back to life - that she was accepting it, that she refused to come back.

...but, of course - the two times she’s died, she was forcibly returned to life - which sort of just, adds a whole new layer onto ‘dependable’. how would she feel when she isn’t returned to life? probably panicked. i feel everything would come rushing back - like “oh. oh. i’m. i’m actually dead. oh no. oh no oh no oh no -”

so! there we have it!

#*. THEY’RE ALL SO SHIFTY. / META #( me overanalyzing nott: wow someone get her a goddamn therapist )

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owletstarlet · 5 years

Note

Ooh I can't wait for these! 11 for tanunatsu please??

#11 from this list: “I almost lost you” kiss

Established relationship because I damn well said so

“Wake up.”

The plea tumbles from Kaname’s lips and it’s soft but it feels manic. His hands are shaking where they hover above Natsume’s chest; he’s barely breathing and his pulse is thready but he’s alive, he’s alive he’s alive he’s alive—

Kaname’s afraid to touch, now; as much as every instinct is telling him to gather Natsume into his arms and never let go, he can’t tell if he’s injured. He doesn’t look it, mostly he just looks cold; the pallor of his face under the clear brightness of a winter moon, lips gone blue, and actual patches of frost spangled across his damp pajamas. But he’s so still, and there’s blackened blood under his nose, trailing halfway down his cheek on one side before it had dried, and Kaname thinks he might be sick.

“I need you to wake up.” His voice splinters halfway through, and he takes Natsume’s face in his hands, so carefully. “Please.” And god, his skin is a temperature that skin should never ever be. His thumbs trace the dark divots below his eyes. He wants to grab his shoulders, shake him, yell and scream until he opens his eyes and calmly tells Kaname the blatant and oft-repeated lie that everything is just fine here.

He can’t see Ponta, he’s not changed back to a visible form but he can feel the wall of warmth at his back. He turns towards that warmth, now, where he can make out a mass of translucent white right in front of his nose, and this close to it he can barely see the trees beyond.

“He won’t wake up,” Kaname says, and it sounds so obvious, childish.

Then, a part of that white mass moves in close just beside his shoulder, where he would more or less imagine Ponta’s head to be. A gust of air, warm and strong, passes over Kaname’s hands and ruffles Natsume’s hair.

He doesn’t stir.

Kaname hears a faint sound, almost like a deep harrumph, before a white burst of smoke erupts around him. Then Ponta is there, a cat once more, just by Kaname’s knee. “No need to be so delicate,” he says, testily. “You won’t break him. He’s just sleeping. Could’ve picked a better place to do it.”

Kaname could’ve sobbed from relief. His hands shift down to Natsume’s shoulders. “What happened?”

Ponta scoffs. “That yuki-onna is what happened.”

“Where—”

“Gone, now, I’d say. And good riddance. Oi,” he adds, waddling up to the side of Natsume’s head and batting him on the nose. “Don’t nap here, moron. Let’s go already.”

Taking Ponta’s lead, Kaname shakes Natsume’s shoulders himself; tentatively, at first, then much harder, because Ponta’s right, he can’t stay out here any longer. But Natsume’s head just lolls back onto the underbrush, and Kaname bites the inside of his cheek. “Come on, come back,” he says, loud as he can through the panic still threatening to snuff out his voice altogether. “You can come sleep in my bed again, okay? It’s so cold out here.”

When that garners no response, Ponta’s eyes narrow. “This is taking too long.” Then, without warning and in a move that should’ve been altogether impossible, he spins right around and launches a sharp kick right at Natsume’s face, with enough force behind it to knock his whole head to one side.

“Don’t—”

But it’s only then Natsume’s eyelids flutter.

“Mnn…ow.”

The noise that escapes Kaname’s throat then is very much like a sob. He cradles Natsume’s face between his hands once more and leans in close, chest constricting. Natsume’s own eyes are half-mast and dull, an uncomprehending gaze drifting over his surroundings and right over Kaname, not focusing on any one thing. That is, until Ponta wriggles in between him and Kaname, putting himself nose-to-nose with Natsume and glaring.

“Idiot,” he snaps. “This is what you get for letting a snow demon possess you. You’re damned lucky Tanuma woke up in time to see you were gone or you’d have been long dead by morning.”

Natsume doesn’t seem to really register a word of that, but his eyes become a little bit clearer at the sound of Ponta’s biting tone. He squints a bit, frowns.

“Sensei…?” And, after a moment, gaze shifting upwards, “…Tanuma?”

Ponta ducks out of the way then, with a huff, and Kaname leans in close. “Yeah.” The single word feels like a burst of relief. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Natsume echoes, vaguely, giving Kaname a tiny smile.

After a moment, his forehead scrunches up, and beside him his fingers twitch in the dirt and shriveled leaves. “What—a-are we outside?”

Kaname just nods, tightly, not at all having it in him to elaborate if Natsume doesn’t remember.

“Oh…you’re crying.” And that vagueness in his voice and eyes is quickly replacing itself with distress when he takes in Kaname’s face.

Kaname just nods again, swallows hard; now is not the time for a breakdown, it’s not, he can do that later when Natsume is warm and safe and not watching it happen.

“Well, of course he is,” Ponta mutters. “A minute ago he thought he just found your corpse.”

“…oh.” The realization in his wide eyes shifts to something more like horror, then shame. “Tanuma, I’m sor—”

But the words are lost because Kaname’s kissing him, then. It’s a fierce, desperate thing, faces mashed together, his fingers curling in Natsume’s hair like he’ll evaporate into the January night if Kaname can’t hold him tight enough, every muscle in his own body rigid with residual terror.

Natsume remains motionless beneath him, cold mouth perfectly still. It feels as though he’s holding his breath.

But it’s just enough like kissing some lifeless thing, that that thought alone is enough to send him reeling back.

When he looks down, though, Natsume’s just watching him, eyes clear and soft and very, very worried.

Kaname blows out a long breath before he can trust himself to speak. “Your lips are freezing,” he says, with a little chuckle that doesn’t at all sound right. “And god, there’s ice in your hair…” His fingers comb back Natsume’s fringe.

“I’m okay,” Natsume starts, and Ponta promptly snorts. “Ah. I mean,” he amends, softly, “I don’t feel cold. Just…sleepy, kind of.”

“No sleeping.” The words come out louder than he’d meant them to, sharp and frightened. “Not until we get you back and warmed up,” he adds, forcing a calmer tone. He bends down, quickly presses his lips to the frigid skin of Natsume’s forehead, then shrugs off his jacket to drape across Natsume’s chest.

When he looks again, some of the trepidation has bled out of Natsume’s eyes, replaced with something a little warmer, drowsier. Trusting.

Kaname cups his cheek, tries to ignore the tremble in his fingers. “Let’s go home.”

***

Natsume’s recollection of the incident, of how he’d ended up half frozen in the forest, comes back to him soon enough. Kaname makes him tell it, in order to keep him awake while he’s getting him into the tub to thaw him out.

The yuki-onna had come to him initially just a few days prior, just as school was ending and the New Year’s break began. She was lost, and very weak, and Ponta had dispassionately noted how odd it was for her to have not vanished altogether. She’d strayed so far south of the more common haunts of yuki-onna, where the winters were so mild and snow so rare. Natsume never found out why she’d come, she claimed to not quite recall, but she hadn’t come alone; her sister had been by her side. But the two had become separated, apparently, on a windy night. She’d been frantic, her sister was hardly stronger than she was, but she’d heard tell from a few of the local youkai that if she were in trouble, she ought to seek out Natsume-sama for help. Ponta hadn’t been especially fond of the idea, given the particular penchant of her whole kind for killing off humans in creative ways, and skeptical about the gaps in her memory—which needless to say had left Kaname nice and anxious, as well as Taki when she’d heard. But Ponta had conceded that she was clearly frail, just on the brink of fading away entirely if she couldn’t find someone or something to possess, and he genuinely hadn’t believed that she could do Natsume any real physical harm by simply hitching a ride in his body until her sister was found. She wouldn’t dare, when endangering him would be endangering herself.

And that had seemed to be the truth, at first. The New Year’s season had always necessitated a lot of travel for Dad, and with Natsume having planned to stay over most of the nights that Dad would be away, Kaname had had plenty of time to observe him, to make sure he was as fine as he claimed to be. But he’d looked to be perfectly well, not even a bit pale or fatigued or any of the general red flags Kaname had come to associate with youkai involvement. If anything, he was livelier and better-rested now that school was out and he was free to spend his days doing nothing of consequence, though he had confided that he was worried for the yuki-onna—he could barely sense her presence, he’d said, and most of the time she seemed to be asleep anyhow. Which was going to make tracking down her sister a tall order, if she couldn’t stay awake long enough to help at all, to tell them what they should even be looking for.

Up until tonight, of course. Kaname supposes in retrospect that he should’ve realized something was off when they’d settled in for bed, when he’d pulled Natsume close against his chest and frowned, realizing just how cool his skin felt all over. But Natsume waved it off when he asked, seeming for all the world to be perfectly content and sleepy, merely yawning and burrowing his face deeper against Kaname’s pajama shirt as Kaname tugged an extra blanket over them both.

When Kaname started awake, hours later, it was to a freezing room, an open window and an empty bed. And Ponta, clearly just arrived back from an evening of New Year’s revelry, asking just where the hell Natsume had gotten off to.

None of them are completely sure what changed, the coming-together of factors that finally allowed the yuki-onna to awaken, and to carry Natsume’s body away so deep into the forest that when he finally regained his senses he couldn’t find his way back again. Ponta’s best guess was that it was simply a matter of the temperature dropping in the night, enough for the ground to properly freeze for the first time in weeks. Enough to rouse the missing sister, to draw her out of wherever she had secluded herself to preserve her own strength, to start her back on her own search. And, as Natsume understood it from his own hazy recollection, she’d passed close enough by Kaname’s house in this search that her sister had sensed it, mustered what bit of energy she’d regained from resting within Natsume, and managed to well and truly take him over, enough to leave the house and give chase. The sister had fled, not realizing the possession and fearing that she was being pursued by an exorcist, until her limited strength failed her and Natsume’s body had caught up.

It was a happy ending, for the two of them, as far as Natsume knew, though admittedly they’d said little more to him than their thanks before vanishing into the night together. And in doing so, had left Natsume stranded and barefoot in his pajamas, in an unfamiliar part of the forest.

And to be fair, they wouldn’t necessarily have had any reason to know he was unfamiliar with it, or that he couldn’t just go back the way he came—after all, when they’d found him he hadn’t been that far away, he could only have gotten so far on foot. But Kaname doesn’t feel quite so forgiving on the matter, especially when Natsume told what happened next.

Because he’d scarcely begun to realize just how lost he was when he’d become drowsy, and dizzy. Not cold, he’d said; not really, and in no discernible pain, but after a few minutes he’d ended up on his hands and knees in the underbrush, his head reeling. And the next thing he’d known, Ponta was kicking him in the face.

At the very least, Kaname supposes he’s grateful that Natsume truly didn’t seem to feel the cold. Not until halfway through his bath, anyways, when the shivering set in, but by then he was well on his way to being a normal human temperature once more. And that’s the other thing Kaname can’t quite forgive, that both yuki-onna had been so apparently blind to the fact that they’d nearly frozen him to death. Natsume for his part genuinely hadn’t noticed; he’d been surprised when Kaname pointed out the ice on his clothes and in his hair. And, as Ponta had (reasonably) pointed out, yuki-onna in general were not known for any dealings with a human that a human ever walked away from, so it was likely they had no idea the kind of unintentional damage they’d inflicted. But regardless, if Ponta had found him any later than he had, it unquestionably would’ve been too late.

He’s back in bed, now, bath finished, swaddled up in every extra blanket that Kaname could find. He had been very reluctant to leave the room even for the two or so minutes it took to locate said blankets, the fact that Ponta was literally sitting perched on top of Natsume’s chest when he’d left (and sending Kaname off with a longsuffering “just go already, I won’t let him wander off again”) notwithstanding. He had tried not to visibly rush back to the bed when he returned, but the panic must’ve been a little too obvious in his eyes, because Natsume immediately tried to prop himself up on his elbows, giving him a smile that was surely meant to be reassuring but far too weary around the edges to be so. Kaname had just laid him back down, wordlessly, with a quick kiss to the forehead before he began situating the blankets. Ponta had given up his spot on Natsume’s chest in favor of settling down instead near his thigh.

“Okay,” he says, once he’s finished fussing with the bedding. “How cold are you?” Which might be an idiotic question, if Kaname’s lips on his skin just now were anything to go by, the answer is still very. But he’s learned by now, when asking after Natsume’s wellbeing, to phrase it so as not to allow him the out of merely saying he’s fine when he obviously isn’t, otherwise he’d be claiming he was just fine up to his dying breath.

And to Natsume’s credit, he does try to be more honest about it, nowadays, to Kaname, to their friends and to the Fujiwaras, though it’s so visibly difficult for him to try to relearn every instinct he has just to let on that he’s unwell.

“I’m…it’s not so bad anymore.” His voice is a little muffled; he’s buried up to the nose in soft fleece. “I don’t want to move, though.”

“You shouldn’t be moving around so much anyways, with your feet in that state,” Kaname says, mouth twisting. Natsume hadn’t really been aware of it until they’d gotten back, but taking off through the woods at top speed had torn up his skin pretty thoroughly, cuts and scratches up to the ankle that had bled in the bathwater, and the nail on one foot had been ripped clean off. Kaname had done what he could with a first aid kit, Natsume’s blood on his fingertips enough to set his stomach churning but knowing his aversion to hospital trips.

“Are you gonna just carry me everywhere, then?” Natsume’s voice is soft and sleepy.

“If you need me to,” he says, his returning smile sitting brittle on his lips, sliding his fingers through Natsume’s still-damp hair and wondering if he dried it well enough. “But it’d be better for you to just stay in bed.”

Natsume blinks up at him; he can’t seem to keep his eyes open all the way. “You know…I’m sorry about the circumstances, but it is pretty fun when you carry me.” An honest-to-god delirious giggle, then. “You’re strong.”

“I’m not that strong.” An easy counter. “You’re not that heavy.” He pauses, realizing he’d been hovering in an awkward half-crouch beside the bed that’s making his thighs ache, and sits on the edge of the mattress. Ponta shoots him a brief exasperated look, make up your mind already. “Do your feet hurt a lot? I can find you medicine if it’d help you sleep.”

“Mm…no, they’ll be alright…” he frowns a little, and Kaname feels a movement by his hip, and realizes that Natsume’s trying to work his hand free of the many blankets tucked tight around him. Kaname tugs them loose, only to have pale fingers catch his sleeve.

“Don’t you want to lie down?”

No, Kaname thinks, and if he wasn’t sitting he’s pretty sure he’d be pacing. But there’s a quiet apprehension in Natsume’s words, so Kaname gives a constrained nod instead. “Let me just get the lights.”

It doesn’t actually help his nerves any, lying in the exact same position they’d fallen asleep in earlier that night; the chilly tip of Natsume’s nose brushing against his breastbone and Kaname’s arm draped over his shoulders. When the occasional shiver comes, he rubs Natsume’s back, and Kaname does appreciate that much, it means he can feel him breathing better. Natsume always seems to migrate into this same position; it means he’s comfortable and Kaname’s glad for that but he certainly can’t say the same. Even Ponta keeping a lookout only helps so much with that; every muscle and nerve in him feels like a taut rubber band twisted over and over on itself, acid churning in an empty stomach. He starts at every little sound, every slight creak of the aging house settling around them. There’s no real noise from outside; the night is still, no wind, no forest creatures making any sound this deep into the winter. Objectively that silence should be better; but it’s not, really, it just feels all the more ominous. Kaname’s wound so tightly, ears pricked for every sound, that all it takes is for Ponta to speak out of the blue to startle him so badly that it wakes Natsume back up.

“Calm down, brat.” He pokes at Kaname’s ankle with a single paw. “I was just going to say it’s actually safe for you to go to sleep, hard as that is for you to believe, apparently.”

“I know,” Kaname murmurs, watching Natsume’s forehead scrunch up as his awareness returns. “Sorry. I’m trying.”

“Are you, though?” Ponta drawls, and Kaname sends a tired glare in his general direction.

“Hm…mm?” Natsume frowns, eyes sliding slowly into focus, reflecting the light of the single lamp Kaname had left on beside the bed.

Kaname smooths back his hair with one hand. “It’s alright.” He tries to sound surer than he feels, on that point. “Go back to sleep.”

“What’s…” His frown deepens, both his hands sliding up to the sides of Kaname’s chest under the covers. “Your heart’s beating so fast.”

“That’s because been busy picturing all the different ways you could possibly prance off and die the second he takes his eyes off you,” Ponta says flatly, and Kaname winces.

“…Oh.” He lets out a slow breath. Then, looking resolute, he inches himself upward, wriggling out from under the mass of bedclothes piled on top of him until he’s nose-to-nose with Kaname, his cheek squashed against the pillow. He’s panting a little from the effort, gripping Kaname’s shirt with both hands, but his eyes are steady. “I’m sorry,” he says.

“Don’t be.” Kaname reaches up, traces the pad of his thumb across Natsume’s cheekbone, the skin cool but no longer cold to the touch. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You were being kind, not reckless. You even talked to me about it first.” The significance of that had not been lost on Kaname, either, that Natsume had come to him with this before coming to a decision, even when all evidence pointed to it being a fairly benign situation to involve himself in. At the time Kaname thought his heart might just have grown too full to ever fit properly in his chest again. And yet here Natsume is now, trying to apologize for it. “We didn’t know this would happen,” Kaname adds, gently. He’s not certain he can be reassuring when his pulse is still hammering away like it is under Natsume’s hands, when there’s a current of nausea beneath the tight smile he offers. But he can try, because Natsume deserves as much.

But then it’s Natsume who’s taking Kaname’s face into his own hands, and closing the distance between their lips. It’s as tender as it is deliberate, Natsume cupping his face and holding him there, as if Kaname’s the one that’s ephemeral, precious, who might slip away so easily. His lips are still rough and cracked from the cold, but his lashes tickle Kaname’s skin like moths’ wings.

“No, we didn’t know,” Natsume breathes, eventually, into the scant space between them. Their foreheads are pressed together still; his fingers have slid up and back into Kaname’s hair. “But that doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt you, too.” He pulls back a little, then, eyes searching. But Kaname doesn’t know what to say to that, so he stays quiet, his chest tight.

“Thank you,” Natsume says. “For finding me.”

I didn’t find you, Kaname thinks, Ponta found you. But those words don’t come. What he says, instead, half-blurted, half-choked, is: “I love you.”

…oh.

“Oh,” Natsume echoes, softly, eyes widening into twin moons in the lamplight, and Kaname fleetingly thinks of sinking through the mattress and vanishing then and there. That…he had not meant to say that, just now. But he can’t (won’t) take it back, either. He forces himself to meet Natsume’s eyes, hopes to god he says something more because Kaname’s words are utterly spent.

“You’ve never said that, before,” Natsume adds, at long last. He chuckles, the sound of it breathy and stilted. “I guess I should get lost in the woods more often, huh.”

But Kaname can only stare, tongue-tied, through eyes that have begun to sting. Natsume pauses, taking in Kaname’s face before his brows scrunch together in apparent distress. “I’m sorry, that was a cruel thing to say, wasn’t it.” Gentle thumbs brush below Kaname’s eyes, swiping away the building moisture. “Please don’t cry. I’m sorry.”

It’s too late for that, Kaname thinks with some distant degree of frustration at himself. Natsume should definitely, definitely be resting right now. Not dealing with Kaname’s apparent inability to get a handle on himself, or some ill-timed confession. But here they are, and now Kaname’s the one clinging onto Natsume’s pajamas like a terrified child, face buried deep in his shoulder and shaking. And Natsume’s rubbing his back, so gently, kissing his hair and whispering to him to breathe, it’s alright, just breathe.

It’s ridiculous, really, that he can’t calm himself down until he’s practically cried himself inside out. His chest hurts, his head is buzzing and he’s soaked through the flannel on Natsume’s shoulder with tears and snot and spit—but the words I thought you were dead, I saw you and I thought you were dead have been playing on some awful loop in his brain for the past two hours and it’s all he can do not to repeat them now—if he does he’ll just lose it again.

Once his breathing has evened out to a semi-reasonable pace, the warm weight near his ankle shifts a bit, and he hears a sardonic, “Are you finished?”

“Sensei.” Natsume angles a slight kick in the cat’s general direction, but between Kaname’s own legs in the way and the swathes of bandages and blankets packed around them it doesn’t make it very far. “He does care,” Natsume mutters, and Kaname raises his head to see Natsume scowling at the foot of the bed. “He’s just being rude.”

“Of course I care.” Ponta blinks back at them, wholly unbothered. “He promised to make gratin tomorrow. He can’t do that if he’s cried himself to death, now can he.”

Natsume pointedly ignores that, before propping himself up on a trembling elbow just far enough to reach for the water bottle on Kaname’s dresser. “Here,” he says, his gentle smile incongruent with the way he almost drops the bottle between them. “You’ll get a headache.”

And Kaname can’t contest that, really. He can already feel the pressure mounting between his temples. He accepts it and winds up downing about half of it in two gulps. When he offers it back to Natsume to take his own drink he keeps his own hands over Natsume’s unsteady ones, but Kaname’s the one whose fingers have grown cold now.

“Better?” Natsume asks afterwards, voice still infinitely kind and patient but Kaname can practically see the fatigue etched into his face. Kaname just nods, sheepish. He should never have woken him.

“Um,” Natsume continues, less sure, “I’d ask if you wanted to talk about it right now, but…”

“N-no, thank you.” His voice comes out low and wrecked, and clearing his throat doesn’t make it any better. “You should rest.”

“Okay.” A pause, and Natsume gives him a long look, making no move to get settled back down under the covers just yet.

“What’s wrong?” Kaname asks, with some trepidation. Natsume’s eyes are wide, solemn but luminous.

“I love you too.”

…oh.

“Oh.” Kaname’s mouth feels very dry, suddenly. There’s a bubble of unbelievable warmth, of hope, rising in his chest, but anxiety follows fast behind. Natsume’s face looks so open right now, the kind of transparent expression that doesn’t often come easily for him and he’s waiting, waiting and Kaname has to say something and—

“You don’t have to say it just ‘cause I said it,” is what comes out, eventually. His voice still sounds rather like he swallowed a toad, and he clears his throat in vain, gaze dropping to some spot on the rumpled coverlet between them. “You don’t owe it to me or anything. You might not even remember any of this in the morning, anyways.”

He raises his eyes again when he feels cool fingers light on his chin. “Doesn’t matter,” he says. “It’s true, and you should know it.” Exhaustion notwithstanding, his voice is clear, and his eyes are so warm Kaname couldn’t look away again if he tried. “I love you, okay? I love you.”

Kaname just nods, he’s not sure if he wants to laugh or cry again or hyperventilate or possibly all three but then Natsume’s reaching for him and kissing him and kissing him, lips, forehead, eyelids, nose and cheeks, and Kaname doesn’t have to say anything at all. It’s all slow, feather-light and lingering; Natsume’s too tired for anything more but Kaname’s content to lie there and let himself be kissed, his mind resonating with it: I love you too, I love you, I love you…

“Sorry I scared you,” Natsume murmurs, eventually. His fingertips skim a lazy circle on Kaname’s shoulder, their noses nearly touching still. “I’ll do my best to not get lost again.”

“Not without me.”

Natsume’s lips twitch. “Okay. Not without you.”

***

Thanks for reading! I’ll take one more prompt from this list before starting the next part of Never Felt Like Any Blessing if anyone would like to submit one!

#psa don't give baths to hypothermic people #but i don't expect a high schooler and a magic cat to know that #and it's magic hypothermia so whatever #i'm not happy with this #but if I don't post it now I'm never going to #natsume takashi #tanuma kaname #tanunatsu #cha-lii #natsuyuu #natsume's book of friends #ask prompt #ask meme #owlet's fanfic #nyanko sensei #natsume yuujinchou

139 notes · View notes

odaatlover · 5 years

Note

Magical AU. Waverly Earp gets a dose of supposedly incurable love potion to the face. Blinded, she stumbles into (stranger) Nicole Haught. Waverly does everything in her power to woo the love of her life, Nicole does everything in her power to resist while trying to find an antidote. (Twist: The potion only lasted about two seconds. Waverly has been fully consenting the whole time and Nicole has been driving herself crazy for no reason.)

This one got a little long, but I’m not even sorry about it. Also, I’m doing these prompts out of order based on which one I’m feeling at the moment.

— — —

“All finished” The witch said with an enthusiastic smile as she handed the spherical glass bottle over to Nicole.

“And you’re sure this will make Shae fall in love with me?” Nicole queried as she eyed the magenta-colored liquid cautiously.

“Well of course! They don’t call me the love master for nothing!”

Nicole narrowed her eyes at her friend. “Mattie, nobody calls you that…”

“Okay, fine,” The dark-haired woman rolled her eyes. “But my powers are way stronger than Gretta’s, so you can bet that my love potion will actually work.”

“That’s what I’m counting on.” Nicole inhaled through her nose as she continued to hold the bottle in front of her face, studying its contents.

She wasted no time in commencing her plans. As soon as she left Mattie’s place, she drove straight to the hospital where her girlfriend was working. They had been having some relationship trouble lately, and she was hoping that a love spell could rekindle the romantic flames they once had. She figured she could pour the potion into the cup of coffee she had picked up on her drive over, hand it over to her unsuspecting girlfriend, and boom. They would fall in love all over again, and live happily ever after. What could go wrong?

She jumped out of her police cruiser and marched straight towards the front doors, struggling to pull the cork from the bottle with the coffee in her hand. She stopped and set the coffee on the ground as she tugged at the cork, but still nothing. With a sigh of frustration, the gripped the glass bottle tightly in one hand, the cork in the other, and pulled as hard as she could, gritting her teeth and squeezing her eyes shut, until the cork finally popped off. She was initially hit with a feeling of triumph…until she realized that she had flung all of the bottle’s contents in the direction of a beautiful brunette passing by, who was now drenched in the dark pink liquid. Nicole’s eye widened as she stood there frozen, staring at the girl who mirrored Nicole’s expression.

“I am so sorry! Oh my god. I didn’t mean to do that!” Nicole frantically looked around the ground, as if she were going to find a towel or something to clean off the poor girl’s torso.

The brunette stared at Nicole for a few moments, until her face softened and a huge smile grew, crinkling the corners of her eyes. “Oh, that’s okay! It blends in with my red Shorty’s shirt anyways.” She licked her lips. “And it tastes like strawberries! …or is that watermelon?”

“No! Don’t eat it!” Nicole yelled as she dramatically reached a hand out, but she was too late.

The brunette furrowed her brow. “Why not?” Her eyes widened in realization. “Wait, that stuff wasn’t poisonous, was it?!”

Nicole shook her head, trying to stay as calm as possible. “No. No, uh, it just…I mean, it wasn’t something that was meant for drinking. But it’s totally edible! No need to worry.” She forced a grin on her face, trying to remain as calm as possible.

The shorter girl bit her bottom lip as she shamelessly roamed her eyes over Nicole’s uniform. “Damn. I guess it’s my lucky day.”

Nicole quirked an eyebrow at the ogling girl. “What do you mean?”

Waverly slowly moved her eyes up to meet Nicole’s. “I just love a woman in uniform.” She winked before holding a hand out. “I’m Waverly. Waverly Earp.”

Nicole stood still as she stared at the girl’s hand, unsure of whether or not to take it. Deciding that she didn’t want to seem rude, she quickly shook it before pulling her hand away.

Waverly gazed intently into the officer’s rich eyes that sparkled like the sunlight through whiskey. She took in a deep breath and let it out as she was overcome with emotion. She shook her head in disbelief as she smiled. “I know this is going to sound crazy, but…I think—…I think I’m in love with you.”

Nicole’s eyes widened as she stared at the smaller girl. “Uh oh” she breathed out. “Um, would you excuse me for just a moment?”

“Sure,” Waverly shrugged as she continued to look over Nicole’s body with attentive eyes.

Nicole stepped away as she hastily reached inside her pocket to pull out her phone. She pulled up Mattie’s contact and waited for her to answer. “Come on. Pick up, pick up, pick up…”

“Hey, Nicole! Did the potion work?”

“Oh, it worked all right…”

“Excellent! Can’t wait to rub it in Gretta’s face.”

Nicole could practically hear the sneer in Mattie’s voice. “Hey, uh, completely hypothetical question…say a random stranger got a taste of the stuff. I mean, a very minuscule drop…would they be affected?”

“Oh, definitely. It only takes a small drop for it to work.”

Nicole immediately held her hand over her mouth in panic before moving it to her forehead. “If it only takes a drop, then why in the world did you make me an entire bottle?!”

“I don’t know, it’s my grandmother’s recipe! Ask her why it makes so much. Besides, I figured you could just use a little bit and save the rest for later; for when you need it again.”

Nicole sighed as she closed her eyes and shook her head. “Okay, so what do I do now?”

Mattie paused for a moment. “Wait, this actually happened? I thought it was just a hypothetical situation…”

“Well obviously it’s not! So what should I do?”

“There’s nothing you really can do. You just have to wait it out.”

“Seriously? There’s nothing at all? No type of antidote or anything?”

“Afraid not.”

“Mattie. I can’t just wait around for this random girl, who is clearly straight might I add, to stop being in love with me! I mean, she’s getting crazier by the min—“

“Hey!” Waverly said cheerily as she tapped on Nicole’s shoulder from behind her.

Nicole jumped and hung up her phone as she immediately twirled around in surprise.

“Everything okay?”

“Oh, uh, yeah! Everything is fine. Just remembered that I need to get going to work. Don’t want to be late!” She chuckled awkwardly. “It was nice to meet you, uh…”

“Waverly,” the brunette reminded with a smile that nearly made Nicole go weak in the knees.

“Right. Waverly. Well, see ya!” She gave a short smile and wave before turning on her heels and rushing off towards her car. She had only gotten a few steps in when she realized that the girl was walking right beside her. She looked over with a quirked eyebrow and halted her stride. “What are you doing?”

“I just figured I’d go with you.” Waverly shrugged.

“You…huh?” Nicole shook her head in confusion.

“Yeah, I thought we could spend the day together!” Waverly wrapped her arms around Nicole’s bicep as she looked up into the redhead’s eyes. She immediately looked down at the arm with a furrowed brow. “Oh wow, you’re really strong.” She looked back up at Nicole with a smirk. “Do you work out, officer?”

Nicole yanked her arm out of the girl’s grasp. “I do. And what do you mean spend the day together? You don’t even know me.”

“Exactly. And I want to get to know you. You’re just so…alluring. I don’t even want to let you out of my sight.”

“But—“

“Besides. You kind of owe me a new shirt, since you threw your drink all over mine…”

Nicole looked down to where Waverly was waving her hand around her sticky chest, and she immediately regretted it. Her eyes landed on the low-cut shirt, revealing a perfect view of the girl’s cleavage, especially with the height difference. She hated herself for the flutter she got deep in the pit of her stomach. She knew she should’ve looked away, but she couldn’t. Instead, she continued to roam her eyes, really getting a good look at the girl for the first time. She swallowed thickly when her eyes landed on the exposed midriff, revealing toned abs. Nicole shook her head, attempting to shake away the dirty thoughts that were now running through her head, before looking back up to the safety of Waverly’s eyes.

“I can’t. I’m sorry. And you should know that I have a girlfriend.”

Waverly slowly moved her head from side to side, as if battling with her thoughts. “Normally I would just walk away at this point out of respect, but for some reason I can’t. There’s something keeping me here. Something telling me I need to stay and fight for you.” Waverly took a step towards the hesitant redhead. She wrapped her arms around the back of Nicole’s neck as she looked into her eyes with a warm smile.

Nicole gazed into soft, hazel eyes, and her entire body flooded with emotion that she had never felt before. It was like this was where she was meant to be. Like everything was just right in the world. She slowly wrapped her arms around the brunette’s waist, and her pulse began to speed up. This was all so weird. It felt like she was on some sort of high. Was she somehow affected by the love potion too?

“I know you feel it too. You want me just as badly.”

Without breaking eye contact, Nicole slowly shook her head. “I don’t.” She said with clear trepidation. Even she didn’t believe herself.

Waverly flitted her eyes down to Nicole’s lips and started to lean in. “I can’t take it anymore. I want to kiss you so badly.”

Nicole stared at Waverly’s soft, plump lips getting closer to hers, and inhaled through her nose as she softly spoke, “That’s just the magic talking.”

Without looking away from Nicole’s lips, Waverly paused as she shook her head. “I don’t know what that means, but I know this is right.” She shut her eyes and closed the gap as Nicole did the same.

“Nicole!” A voice came from behind Waverly, startling the pair and forcing them to break apart just before their lips had connected.

Nicole pushed the brunette away and looked straight ahead at her very angry-looking girlfriend.

“Shae! It’s not what it looks like, I swear!”

The doctor shook her head incredulously with her hands gripping her hips, left one jutting out. “Oh really? Because it looked like you were about to kiss somebody who isn’t me.”

Nicole opened her mouth to say something, but quickly shut it as she tried to come up with an excuse, but she thought of nothing. She didn’t want to lie; their relationship was already rocky enough without the added lack of honesty. “Okay, maybe it is what it looks like. But I can explain!”

Shae scoffed as she held a hand up. “Don’t bother. It’s over.”

Nicole’s eyes widened and her jaw dropped as she ran after the woman who was now marching back towards the hospital entrance. “Shae! Baby! Wait!” Once Nicole had caught up to the woman, she grabbed her arm and pulled her back. “It’s not what you think! Mattie made a love potion and I accidentally spilled it on that girl. And now she’s in love with me!”

Shae chuckled as she rolled her eyes in disbelief.

“I’m serious! You can ask Mattie.”

The dark-haired woman looked over Nicole’s face as she exhaled out her nose in a deep sigh. “Even if that were true, love potions only work one way. Trust me, I had Gretta make one for me. Didn’t work, by the way.”

Nicole scrunched her eyebrows. “When did you—“

“Doesn’t matter. Look, that girl may be under some spell, but you’re not. And you seemed like you wanted to kiss her. And you know what? I don’t even blame you.”

That’s not what Nicole was expecting. “What do you mean?”

“Nicole, we haven’t been right for a while now. We’ve just been putting off the inevitable, and it’s not healthy for either of us.” She took Nicole’s hands and looked down at them as she sighed before looking back up. “I love you, so much. But we’re not meant to be together. We both know it. So let’s just quit now before we end up resenting one another.”

Nicole slowly shook her head as she shifted her eyes around. “But. I…”

“It’s okay. And you know what, maybe that girl over there is the one for you. Who knows. But whoever you’re meant to be with, it’s definitely not me. And that’s okay.”

Nicole stood there, unsure of what to say. She and Shae had been together for a year and a half now. Was this really how it was all going to end?”

Shae dropped Nicole’s hands and quickly wiped away the tear that rolled down her cheek before folding her arms across her chest. “Look, I have to get back to work. We can talk about this some more later. I’ll let you fix…that.” She pointed to Waverly, who was clearly daydreaming about Nicole — if the goofy smile on her face and the googly eyes she was giving the redhead was any indication — before turning around and quickly walking towards the giant double doors of the building.

“Shae…” Nicole whispered as she watched her girlfriend — now ex-girlfriend — walk away.

“Um, is everything okay?” Waverly asked after walking up to where Nicole was standing.

“I don’t know.” Nicole sighed.

“Look, I’m sorry if I did something to—“

Nicole quickly shook her head as she turned to look at the shorter woman. “It’s not your fault. It’s my fault. All of this is my fault.” She sighed as she gently grabbed Waverly’s shoulder and urged her to follow. “Come on. You can come with me to my house. You’ll be safe there until the potion wears off.”

“I still don’t know what that means, but okay!” Waverly grinned as she happily followed the gorgeous police officer to her squad car.

Nicole pulled out her phone. “Hey, Sheriff Nedley, it’s Officer Haught. Is it okay if I take the day off? I’ve got an emergency I need to take care of…”

— — —

Nicole had spent the next few hours trying to resist the brunette’s advances. Of course, a part of her really wanted to give in, considering that she was now newly single, but she knew that she would just be taking advantage of the girl. Waverly didn’t actually have feelings for her. It was all fake. Part of her had wished that it wasn’t, because the more time she spent with the enticing brunette that she had only met a few short hours ago, the more she liked her.

“Hey, I never asked…are you in a relationship with anyone?” Nicole asked as she sat at the table across from Waverly, eating the meal the brunette had begged to cook for her — wanting to impress Nicole, no doubt.

“I was a while back, but we broke up.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I’m the one who did the breaking. He was a bit of an asshole.” Waverly winked with a small smile.

Nicole gave a weak smile and nodded as disappointment washed over her. He. She knew that even when the potion would eventually wear off that things would go back to normal and this girl would look at her like a total stranger, but a part of her had hoped that Waverly would somehow still like her. She knew it sounded crazy, but she was actually beginning to fall for her.

“Is everything okay?” Waverly asked as soon as she noticed the change in mood from the redhead.

Nicole perked up, forcing a smile. “Yep! Everything is perfect. Are you finished?”

Waverly nodded with a smile, and Nicole stood up to take the plates over to the sink. Waverly followed Nicole over to the sink, where she leaned with her back against the counter as she looked at the redhead. “Can I tell you something that may seem a little forward?”

Nicole chuckled as she rinsed the plates off. “You’ve been forward all day.”

The brunette gave a small laugh as she looked down and nodded. “Okay, that’s true.” She looked back up at Nicole with a serious face. “Can I tell you anyways?”

Nicole turned the water off and dried her hands on the small towel that was hanging from the oven handle before giving the brunette her undivided attention. “Okay.”

Waverly inhaled nervously as she took a step towards Nicole before letting out a shaky breath. “I really like you.”

“You’ve told me that already,” Nicole chuckled.

Waverly shook her head. “No, but that was just like a weird attraction-at-first-sight kind of thing. I don’t know what I was thinking to be honest. That was really out of character for me.” Waverly shook her head and cringed in embarrassment from how direct she had been earlier. Sure, she had spent the past few hours flirting and trying to impress the redhead, but she had definitely backed off a bit. “But now, after spending time with you and getting to know you, I really like you. Before I just felt…” she looked off in thought as she pondered the right words to convey her feelings. “I don’t know, infatuated? But this feels different. It doesn’t feel empty. It feels big and warm, like this is where I’m supposed to be. I feel it in my entire body.”

Nicole froze for a moment before slowly nodding her head, taking in all of the information. She was ready for the potion to wear off now, because she wasn’t sure how much more of this torture she could take. It was taunting having this incredible girl in her house, making dinner for her and confessing her feelings towards Nicole, only to be reminded that it wasn’t real.

As soon as Waverly realized that Nicole wasn’t responding, she instantly felt dumb. She closed her eyes with scrunched eyebrows and shook her head in embarrassment. “I’m sorry. That was too much. We just met each other.” She looked up at Nicole with apologetic eyes. “I should probably go.”

As soon as Waverly began to walk towards the front door, Nicole quickly stopped her. “Wait! Don’t go yet.” She really didn’t want the girl to leave. Potion or not, she was having a good time.

Waverly looked at her with confusion.

“I mean…give me one second. I’ll be right back.” Nicole rushed to the back of the house and called Mattie.

“Hey, Nicole—“

“How much longer do I have left?” Nicole quickly asked, cutting off her friend.

“Until what?”

“Until the potion wears off. How much longer?” She heard a long, agonizing pause over the phone.

“Nicole, that potion was supposed to wear off after the first hour.”

Nicole’s eyes slowly widened. “What?”

“Yeah. It only lasts an hour. Maybe two, tops.”

She peered around the corner and looked at Waverly, who was now looking curiously through the items on Nicole’s bookshelf with a small, amused smile.

“Are you sure?” Nicole whispered.

“Completely sure. Why?”

Nicole mouth went slightly agape as she continued to stare at the brunette. “I’ve gotta go.” Without looking away, she hung up the phone and shoved it back into her pocket before sauntering towards the brunette.

Waverly smiled at Nicole as she held up the book in her hand. “I love this one. It’s one of my favorites. My mom used to read it to me when I was—”

Nicole leaned in and pressed her lips against Waverly’s, earning herself a quiet moan at the unexpected contact. Waverly felt a jolt of electricity spark throughout her entire body, and with closed eyes, she dropped the book onto the bookshelf and immediately wrapped her arms around Nicole’s neck, sliding her hands up the back of Nicole’s head to tangle her fingers through fiery red hair. They hungrily moved their lips in a passionate kiss, and Nicole instantly dropped her hands to the small of Waverly’s back as she slid them over her white t-shirt that Waverly had borrowed.

After only a minute, Nicole pulled back, and Waverly whined at the loss of contact. “You really have feelings for me?” Nicole asked as she panted, attempting to catch her breath from the heavy kiss.

Waverly smiled as she tucked a strand of hair behind Nicole’s ear. “I thought I had made that very clear.”

“That liquid that you tasted was a love potion. That’s why you felt that way about me when you first saw me. But I just found out that it only lasts an hour.”

Waverly slowly nodded as she looked at Nicole with wider-than-usual eyes. She gave herself a few seconds to let the information sink in, before pursing her lips and tilting her head. “Huh. Makes sense.”

Nicole quirked an eyebrow. “You’re not even going to question that? I mean, I basically just told you that magic is real…you don’t think I’m crazy?”

Waverly shrugged as she slid her hands down from Nicole’s hair to her upper back. “Nope. It makes sense, actually. It may sound crazy to someone else, but to me it perfectly explains everything. I think I felt it wear off around the time I barged into your room while you were changing out of your uniform. Which, sorry about that by the way.” She gave an apologetic smile. “But I meant what I said. You’re beautiful.”

“So…you’re not straight?”

Waverly giggled as she shook her head. “I’m bisexual.”

Nicole slowly nodded as she pursed her lips. She felt stupid for assuming Waverly was straight just because she had an ex-boyfriend. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” Waverly smiled as she gripped Nicole’s back a little tighter, enjoying the feeling of the strong muscles underneath the blue button-up shirt.

Nicole chuckled to herself as she shook her head while looking at the woman standing in front of her. She had never felt anything like this before. Not with Shae, not with any of her other past partners, not anyone. It was like this was where she was meant to be. Like everything was just right in the world. And she had felt it the moment they met back at the hospital.

The corner of Nicole’s mouth tugged up in a lopsided smile as she looked into soft, hazel eyes. “Do you want to go upstairs?”

Waverly smirked as she tightened her grip around Nicole’s shoulder’s. “I thought you’d never ask.”

#wayhaught prompt #wynonna earp prompt #wayhaught fanfiction #waverly earp #nicole haught #waverly and nicole #weprompt #wynonna earp

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heyitscmei · 6 years

Text

The Sweetest Dreams

Characters: Keith and Shiro Pairing(s): Shiro/Keith Warnings: None Notes: We’re allowed to post these now so here’s the piece i wrote for @aphelionzine !!

Read on AO3

Summary:

As Autumn makes way for Winter and the weather shifts for colder temperatures, Shiro and Keith find warmth in the form of hot chocolate, many colourful blankets and each other's arms.

After all, snow days are better spent together.

And who ever said Spring was the only season for new beginnings?

By the time Shiro makes his way back into the living room, Keith has appropriated all of the blankets they had dragged out to the couch, legs folded beneath him as he sits sideways and stares out the window. Outside, snow obscures the ground and every rooftop in sight as it falls from the sky. It hasn’t ceased since they’d woken up—not that it’s been long since then—but the snowflakes continue to dance with the wind with no sign of stopping anytime soon. The clouds hanging overhead paint the sky a muted grey, their edges lined with light as they hold the sun captive. Keith turns away from the window, blinking as his eyes readjust to the lighting.

“Did you feel like going outside?” Shiro asks, sitting down and setting the two mugs of hot chocolate onto the coffee table. Keith gives him a look that would be dry enough to wither gardens—if they weren’t already snowed over.

“No way,” he says, burrowing deeper into the blankets. “It’s cold out there. What would we even do?”

“We could shovel the driveway?” Keith face adopts an unimpressed look that Shiro can’t help but laugh at. “Or we could make snowmen and snow forts. I think you’d enjoy snowball fights— if you can beat me.”

“I know what you’re doing, Shiro, and it’s not going to work.”

“Darn. I thought I had you with that,” Shiro says, smiling widely as he shifts closer. “If you don’t want to battle, we could just lie down and make snow angels.”

“Wouldn’t that make us colder?”

“I guess, but it might be fun.”

“No thanks.” Keith shakes his head. “The snow-soaked pants won’t be worth it.”

“You might be right about that,” Shiro concedes. “Well, that’s okay. I’ve got my very own snow angel right here.”

Shiro watches the way confusion morphs into understanding before Keith brings a hand up to his face in a poor attempt to cover his blush.

“You didn’t just say that.”

“I’m afraid I did, Sugar Plum,” Shiro says with false solemnity, pulling his legs up and crossing them as he turns himself to face Keith better. He can see the way Keith tries to keep his face from breaking into a smile, biting back a laugh behind his fingers.

“God. Shiro.”

“I was only telling the truth, Sweet Pea. You’re my snow angel.”

“ Takashi. ” Shiro laughs as Keith uncovers his face to swat at him.

“There you are,” Shiro says, traces of mirth lingering on the corners of his lips, still upturned, as he brings a hand up to cup Keith’s face. He slides his thumb over reddened cheeks and drops a kiss onto Keith’s nose before pulling back. “I know what’ll warm you up.”

“Besides all of these blankets, you mean?” Keith quirks a brow. “What?”

“Hot chocolate, though you’re sweet enough without it. By now it might not be scalding.” Keith rolls his eyes at him, cheeks still flushed pink in a way that Shiro never fails to find charming. Nevertheless, Keith unwraps the covers around himself just enough to hold onto his mug properly, a single blanket still draped over his shoulders as the rest fall around his hips.

“I feel like that should be my line,” Keith says between sips. “What with how you’re always sweet-talking me.”

“You love it.” Shiro says, smiling.

“I love you ,” Keith corrects, quiet but firm.

“I love you too,” Shiro responds without missing a beat. He says it with all the conviction of a man who has known exactly what he has wanted for much too long.

Now that he has it—has had it for a few years—he has no problem expressing his contentment. He has no problem telling Keith, whenever he may need or want to hear it, how happy he is to have fallen in love with him.

He has no problem saying it to Keith even when he doesn’t need the reminder, though.

Keith licks the milk-moustache off his upper lip and smiles at the words Shiro has left unsaid, implied in the weight of his four-word confession.

The hot chocolate settling in Shiro’s belly, as well as something else, something fond, makes Shiro feel warmer in spite of the cold room.

It’s an incredible sort of spot they’ve found themselves in. Knowing each other so well that they can anticipate the words the other wants to say and know just what the other means. They’ve had so much time together to practice. It would be nice, Shiro thinks, to have so much more of that time together.

His thoughts are interrupted when Keith asks, “are your parents still asleep?”

Checking the time tells Shiro that it’s still incredibly early. He isn’t sure what compelled the two of them to get up at such an hour—the winter chill certainly calls for lazy days best spent sleeping in or snuggling in bed—but Shiro’s willing to admit he’s enjoying the peace. It’s quiet, for one, and he knows Keith likes that too. It’s just the two of them. The world outside is still—apart from the snow drifting down from the sky and the occasional car of an unfortunate soul who has somewhere to be.

“They’ll probably be asleep for a little while.”

It’s so easy to imagine a life just like this. Together in their own home, getting cozy on their own couch, watching out the window on early mornings as the world continues to snooze on.

“I like when we visit them,” Keith confesses. Shiro smiles at that, recalling the first time he’d invited Keith to visit with him, earlier in their relationship. He remembers the initial trepidation and the nervousness Keith had displayed in that way that’s subtle to everyone except for Shiro. He remembers reassuring Keith that he had nothing to worry about.

“What if they don’t like me?” Keith had asked in a rare display of vulnerability that Shiro had known was not unfounded, the memory of Keith telling him of bad foster families and similarly disappointing experiences lingering in the back of his mind. It had been shared in a display of utmost trust and Shiro knows it hadn’t changed a single thing about how he felt—that such experiences didn’t define Keith.

“They’ll love you.”

“How can you be so sure?”

There had been a lot of things that Shiro had wanted to say in response, but eventually he’d settled on one honest truth.

“Sweetheart, you’re not as difficult to love as you think you are.”

Shiro knows that the notion still rings true. After all, between then and now, that love has only grown stronger for him.

“I’m glad,” Shiro says. “They love having you over here. I think they might have even considered calling the guest room your room instead if you didn’t share my room every night.”

Keith hums, a content little sound, and they fall into a comfortable silence. The clock on the wall ticks methodically and Shiro finds himself entranced by the way Keith’s eyes catch the light as he looks back out the window. Shiro believes there are far worse things he could be lost in. Keith’s gaze shifts back to him and Shiro smiles, caught staring.

“You’re making me cold just looking at you,” Keith comments, rather than addressing Shiro’s blatant staring. It is neither uncomfortable, nor is it an uncommon occurrence.

“Then maybe you should share some of those blankets with me,” Shiro retorts, taking Keith’s mug when he hands it to him. Keith huffs in response as Shiro places it next to his own empty mug on the coffee table. His feet unfold from beneath him to land back on the hardwood in the process and he’s grateful for the fact that he can’t feel the cold of the floor through his socks.

Before Shiro can turn back, he finds himself with a lap full of blankets and grumpy boyfriend. Keith is pointedly not looking at his face, cheeks tinged pink once again, as he drapes the blankets over Shiro’s shoulders too, tucking them between Shiro’s body and the couch. Not bothered by this change in position whatsoever, Shiro automatically settles his hands on Keith’s hips, hiking the hem of Keith’s shirt up just a bit. His thumb rubs circles into Keith’s skin, but he doesn’t do much more beyond that, content to just hold Keith in his arms and revel in their shared warmth.

“Better?” Keith asks, just slightly snarky in a way Shiro knows doesn’t actually hold any bite. He nods, tugging Keith closer so that he may kiss him, capturing his warm mouth in a lip-lock that tastes like hot chocolate and the barest traces of mint toothpaste from when they’d brushed away their morning breath together. It’s another image that Shiro keeps in the back of his mind. It fits perfectly into the potential future he’s built within the confines of his mind; bed hair and brushing teeth and elbowing each other playfully by the sink in their bathroom, stealing kisses once they’ve both cleaned up and spending lazy mornings just like this together.

“Perfect,” Shiro confirms, pressing another kiss, quicker than the last, to Keith’s lips. He can’t help the way his hands automatically move from Keith’s hips to circle around him in a loose embrace. Keith drops his head onto Shiro’s shoulder and Shiro thinks there is something inexplicably cute about the way Keith nuzzles into his neck, breath warm and fanning out in even puffs over his skin.

It would be so easy to nap like this—to lean his head back and close his eyes and just hold Keith, so pliant and sleepy and warm, against him in their little blanket cocoon. They fall quiet again and Shiro thinks Keith might actually be asleep; he knows he’s well on his way to that point too. Unfortunately, his stomach doesn’t quite get the memo and growls unhappily at him.

“We should eat breakfast before we fall asleep here,” Shiro murmurs. The statement is punctuated by another grumble from his stomach and Keith groans against his neck.

“Don’t wanna,” he mumbles. It’s adorable and childish in a way Keith usually isn’t and, if he weren’t getting so hungry, he would probably let Keith have his way by virtue of being cute and snuggly. Shiro will admit, he’s reluctant to let go of Keith’s warmth and the feeling of holding him in his arms, but—

“Baby, I’m hungry. Aren’t you?”

“Even if I was, you can’t cook anyways.” Keith retorts, tone bordering on grumpy.

Shiro protests, feigning hurt in a way that makes Keith snort at him. He doesn’t deny it, however, because both of them know it’s true. He’d figured that they’d work something out. Besides, Keith is a decent cook and Shiro is learning so, between the two of them, they’d probably be able to figure out something as simple as breakfast.

Shiro has half a mind to just carry Keith, blankets and all, into the kitchen, but then he remembers the treat he’d bought with Keith in mind—specifically, Keith’s affinity for sugar—and figures that might make his job easier.

“It’s not breakfast, but what if I said we had a gingerbread house to assemble?”

There’s a pause before Keith groans again.

“You’re fighting dirty.”

“Is it working?”

“Unfortunately . ” A smile makes its way onto Shiro’s face, unbidden, as Keith slides off of his lap. His boyfriend has always had such a sweet tooth.

Keith isn’t the only one feeling eager, though, as they enter the kitchen. Shiro hasn’t assembled a gingerbread house in such a long time and he can feel that little bit of childish excitement bubbling up and wiping away the remnants of sleep hanging over him.

It goes like this:

Keith commandeers the icing and Shiro is responsible for decorating.

Keith puts a very liberal amount of icing onto the roof, very seriously insisting that it’s snow, for realism’s sake, and Shiro laughs, fond and amused.

Keith makes a gingerbread man that looks vaguely like Shiro and Shiro creates one that looks vaguely like Keith.

Keith swats at Shiro when he uses the pieces of chocolate to spell out ‘T + K’ on the roof of the house.

Gingerbread Keith ends up holding gingerbread Shiro’s hand.

The house isn’t stunning by any means, it’s actually quite messy, but it’s perfect for eating all the same.

“It looks awful,” Keith comments as he swipes some icing off of his cheek with his finger. How it got there is its own mystery.

“Tastes sweeter than real snow does, though,” Shiro says, kissing some leftover icing off the corner of Keith’s lips.

“Know that from experience, do you?”

“Maybe,” Shiro says, laughing when Keith shoots him a bewildered sort of look. “I was a kid!” He defends, wrapping an arm around Keith’s waist and tugging him close to his side. Keith rolls his eyes at him.

“Well, at least our gingerbread selves are living the life. Icing for snow and all.”

“They’ve even got their own house to pay bills for and a gingerbread lawn to tend to. A sweet domestic life indeed,” Shiro jokes, plucking a piece of candy off the roof and popping it into his mouth. He can’t help but think about how sweet a real domestic life with Keith would be and his mind supplies him with the thought that this is something he wants—forever if possible. He thinks about building gingerbread houses together in their own kitchen as the snow falls outside. He thinks about chastising each other for eating the candy or icing or cookies before the house is complete. He thinks about how right it feels, to envision a future where Keith is right there beside him, just like their gingerbread counterparts.

“My gingerbread-self probably proposed with a ring pop,” Shiro says, basking in the warmth that Keith’s laugh sends erupting within him.

“How sweet ,” Keith responds, adorably amused and smiling so bright and genuine that Shiro would swear he puts the sun to shame.

The thoughts about a future with Keith aren’t new by any means, becoming more and more frequent with every moment they spend in each other’s company.

What is new is how ready he feels to finally act on behalf of those thoughts, recognizing the opportunity for what it is. He knows there will be other opportunities, that there is no need to rush, but he feels like he’s ready to finally take that first step forward. He gathers all of his convictions, the thoughts he’s entertained—wanted to act on—for so long, and borrows a page from Keith’s book. He takes the plunge.

“I don’t know… A ring pop is nice, I guess, but I can do better.” Keith’s gaze snaps from the house to Shiro’s face and he swallows around the small bit of nervousness he’s feeling.

“And how would you do that?” Keith asks. Shiro wonders if that’s hope in Keith’s eyes or if it’s his own wishful thinking. Nonetheless, he pushes on, determined to see this through.

“We could go and take a look at some rings,” Shiro begins, “and they’d be perfect because they’d be rings we chose together. Rings that both of us like.”

“That does sound better,” Keith says, soft and quiet.

“I’d tell you how excited I am—how happy I am—because I don’t want to imagine a future without you right there with me.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Shiro affirms. “And I’d tell you how important you are to me and how much I love you because, God, Keith, I am so in love with you and I fall deeper in love with you all the time. I’d tell you about every time I felt myself fall, like when you first told me you loved me back or even the days like today, spending early morning snow days together, just us two, that make me realize how much I want this.”

“You always were such a sap,” Keith says, voice wet and eyes glistening. Shiro takes a deep breath.

Home stretch.

“I love you and I want to take all these dreams for the future and share them with you. To make all these fantasies a reality, if you want them too.”

The rhythmic ticking of the clock, the sound of the wind blowing outside... All of it melts away until all that’s left is Shiro’s own heartbeat resonating in his ears and the intensity of Keith’s eyes boring into him. Then there are warm lips on his and this time the kiss tastes even sweeter than before. Shiro thinks idly that the icing is only partially to blame, melting into the touch as Keith pours every ounce of emotion into it.

“Yes! God—Takashi— Yes! ” He doesn’t know if Keith says it aloud for the sake of propriety or just because he wants to, but Shiro supposes it doesn’t matter as he pulls Keith close. A laugh bubbles out of him as Keith reaches up to wipe at his eyes and he doesn’t even know when they started to fill with tears. He wants to pick Keith up and swing him around, to pull him close and never let go. He instead settles for kissing Keith again and the smile he gets when he pulls away is enough to cause a flurry of emotion within him.

In spite of the cold outside, Shiro feels warm as he holds Keith tight in his arms, indulging in the sheer delight overtaking him.

#voltron #sheith #shiro #keith #aphelion zine #cmei writes

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rt8815 · 7 years

Text

Beethoven and The Doctor

Thanks for the love and advice, @dontshootmespence @criminal-minds-fanfiction

Word count: 2,058 (I’m long winded, sorry.) Proofread, hopefully no mistakes.

I fixed it!

Stupidly long author’s note to follow :P XD

It was a bright, warm October morning in Washington, D.C. Penelope Garcia and Derek Morgan strode into the apartment building swiftly, the former with an air of sheer determination, the latter with one of mild trepidation.

“Baby Girl, I’m not so sure we should -”

“Shush, you,” Garcia interjected, playfully slapping Derek on the arm. “This. Is. Happening. I put a lot of thought into today’s festivities and he will have fun, even if it kills him.”

Morgan raised his arm in front of her, halting their climb up the stairs. He had a stern expression on his face. “Penelope, Reid said he didn’t want a huge fuss on his birthday,” he said reproachfully.

“Oh, he doesn’t know what he wants,” Garcia countered as she rolled her eyes and waved her hand dismissively.

Morgan released a heavy sigh, resignedly following the clickety-clack of Penelope’s ridiculously high heels when she resumed her journey up the staircase. “He did agree to dinner with everyone tonight, but as much as he’ll love spending time with us, it’ll also exhaust him. We know how overstimulated Reid gets – all that noise, the camera flashes, the crowd – he needs quiet time alone to prepare himself for that.”

They had reached Reid’s floor. Garcia paused on the landing before turning to face Morgan. She looked crestfallen and slightly ashamed of herself. “I know, you’re right,” she conceded, “I…but,” she pouted as she defiantly raised the platter in her hands, “…Doctor Who cupcakes.”

Morgan flashed his impossibly white smile. “I know, Mamma. I worry about him too. Let’s leave these at his door and we can text him so he knows they’re out here. That work for you?”

Garcia, however, wasn’t paying attention to him. “Shhh, can you hear that?”

Morgan listened for a second, then he caught it; somebody nearby was playing an electric guitar. More like making it sing. “They’re talented, whoever they are…ummm, is that…Beethoven?”

“Derek, it’s coming from Reid’s apartment.” They meandered towards the door, their heads tilted in curiosity, their hearts warmed by the performance. It had clearly been practiced to perfection, but not for a packed concert hall or a panel of judges.

No, this felt more…personal, more intimate. Morgan opened his mouth to say just that when Garcia interrupted his thoughts. “Hold on, Reid doesn’t play guitar, so how…oh, wait…” realization dawned on Garcia’s face as she broke into a devilish grin.

“Oh-ho-ho. Spencer, you naughty boy,” she giggled quietly, prompting Morgan to raise his eyebrows.

“What in the world are you on about, Penelope?”

“It’s McKinley, it has to be. I guess she took the day off work. Well, no wonder he didn’t wanna spend the day with us,” whispered Garcia, whose cheeks were now flushed with excitement.

Morgan’s eyes shifted from Garcia to the door while he processed her statement. “You mean the McKinley? Works at The Smithsonian McKinley? The one he’s been dating for almost a year?”

Penelope nodded in confirmation. “Ley’s also in a band; they sub for a couple of house bands around the city.”

Morgan chuckled admiringly, impressed with both this mystery woman and his kid brother. “All right, Pretty Boy! Get some,” he cheered quietly. “Man, I really need to keep in touch more; I’m missing a lot – too much.” In the background, the last couple notes of “Für Elise” rang through the air, quickly followed by lilting, if somewhat nervous, laughter.

“So, Doctor, what’s the verdict? Give me your honest review.”

Reid took a moment to respond. “It’s not what I expected, but that was lovely, Kinley, thank you.”

“You know, for someone whose career hinges in no small part on controlling your affect and demeanor, you’re surprisingly terrible at lying, Spencer,” McKinley admonished him.

Outside the door, Derek snorted lightly.

“What?! I’m not lying, Kinley,” Reid exclaimed, his voice rising an octave or two.

“There it is! You’re using your squeaky voice! Always a dead giveaway.”

“Squeaky voice? I do not have a – never mind. I meant what I said, McKinley.”

Derek started shaking with silent laughter, while Penelope smirked proudly as she leaned against the doorframe. She had apparently borne witness to this type of exchange between the lovebirds before.

“You’re hedging, and you know I don’t tolerate that. I’m a grown-ass woman, Spencer. I can handle constructive criticism. I welcome it, in fact. You’re censoring yourself in an attempt to spare my feelings, and that’s insulting. It’s unfair – to me and to you.”

“You played beautifully,” Spencer reiterated.

“But?” McKinley wouldn’t budge. Judging by the full minute of awkward silence, it appeared that Reid wouldn’t either.

“Oh, she’s good,” Derek mouthed at Penelope, “and she calls him on his b.s. I like her already.” Garcia waved her hands dramatically. “Wait until you meet her tonight,” she gushed.

“Okay,” Reid finally relented, “I don’t believe that classical music ought to be played on electric guitars – electric anything. The juxtaposition is too jarring. It feels…wrong. They shouldn’t mix, and I’m quite certain the composers would agree.”

“Pffft, Beethoven totally would’ve been a metalhead,” McKinley declared. “Anyway, I understand; classical music and rock are to you what meat and sweet are to me. Bacon dipped in maple syrup? Ewww! And yet some people like the combination. Now I know to pull out my keyboard for certain songs.”

“I didn’t want to sound ungrateful,” Reid mumbled apologetically.

“You complimented me on how well I played, didn’t you?! We’re not required to enjoy all the same things because we’re dating. And Spencer, every day you show me how much you appreciate me.”

“You must’ve worked on that for weeks, though, Kinley.”

“Yeah, and you burned the midnight oil on that Edgar Allan Poe painting you gave me for my birthday. It’s unconventionally beautiful. The painting is very…you. That’s why I love it; that’s why I love you, Spencer Reid. You couldn’t be cookie cutter even if you tried.”

Derek and Penelope swore they felt the heat from Reid’s blush oozing through the door.

When Reid replied, he sounded pleasantly breathless. “That’s one of the reasons I love you, too. You’re unapologetically different.”

Another silence fell, except this time a sweet bashfulness filled the apartment.

“They’re exchanging ‘I love yous’ now?! Yes!” Penelope whisper-screamed, punching the air. “My OTP grows stronger by the day. Derek, I can see it now,” she murmured dreamily, placing her hand on his chest. “They’ll have a spring wedding. JJ, Em, Tara, and I will help with the planning. We’ll be bridesmaids! You’ll be the best man.” Garcia did a little happy dance, then suddenly gasped. “And baby geniuses! Maybe we’ll get a goddaughter this time!”

“Just be cool, baby, damn,” Morgan snickered.

“Oh goodness,” McKinley’s voice echoed from within the apartment, “look at the time, Spencer! It’s nearly 9:00! We need to hustle if we’re gonna finish everything before we have to head over to Rossi’s.” Morgan and Penelope could hear the two moving around, packing up her guitar, setting mugs in the sink.

“That’s our cue to leave, Penelope. You know what, let’s take these cupcakes to the front desk. If we drop them at the door and text Reid now…well, it’s bad enough that we eavesdropped, but if he finds out, he’ll be embarrassed.”

“Agreed. I’ll write a note saying we figured he was still asleep and we didn’t want to disturb him.”

A few minutes later, the two were walking arm-in-arm around the corner to Derek’s rental car, Garcia enthusiastically discussing the details of the party she and JJ had organized, and wondering out loud if McKinley had slept over at Reid’s.

...

“So, you ready for this shindig?” McKinley asked through Spencer’s bedroom door. Ever the gentleman, he had graciously offered his room to her so she could change clothes, while he changed out in the living room.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” replied Spencer. “I mean, it’ll be fun – family, friends, good food – but I hope Garcia didn’t go too far overboard…again.”

McKinley pulled an amused face. “‘Hope she didn’t go overboard’? Have you met Penelope Garcia? That’s the only way she knows how to do,” laughed McKinley, checking herself in the mirror one last time. “Are you decent?”

“Yeah,” Spencer answered, “just putting on my tie.” Penelope insisted that everyone wear semi-formal attire, or she’d have their heads. They both thought it was ridiculous, but one simply doesn’t argue with Lady G.

“All right, I’m coming out then.” Cracking open the door, McKinley scanned the living room for Spencer. She spotted him fixing his tie by his reflection in the window. Nervously - she wasn’t used to getting so dressed up - she took a few steps toward Spencer and waited for him to finish.

McKinley’s eyes traveled from his wavy, unkempt hair down to his mismatched sock and Converse-clad feet. She stifled a giggle: her Doctor in a blue suit and All Stars.

“Holy hell, he’s gorgeous,” exclaimed a voice in McKinley’s head, shocking her. She’d always found Spencer objectively attractive, but that didn’t even make the list of reasons she initially felt drawn to him, and it certainly had nothing to do with why she loved him. It was almost everything else, but mainly it was his kindness.

However, since their first kiss and ‘I love yous’ two months ago, McKinley had developed…new feelings for the good Doctor. Feelings she recognized, but had never experienced before. Feelings she had yet to discuss with her boyfriend. Tingly in the pants feelings.

Spencer was still fussing over his tie, so she continued quietly admiring him from behind.

“Behind…he has a cute behind, doesn’t he?” That voice again.

“Behave.” McKinley scolded herself.

“I mean, purple’s his best color, but check out that tush in navy. Rrrr.”

“Stop it! Stop that right now!” McKinley forced her eyes upward, where they settled on Spencer’s face. He was fighting a losing battle to keep the tie straight, biting his lower lip in frustration.

“Well, you already know those taste of coffee, peppermint, and – now that it’s fall - pumpkin spice. How does the rest of him taste, though?”

“Lord have mercy, who am I kidding? That’s no tingle, that’s a throb.”

In spite of herself, a small whimper escaped McKinley’s lips.

“What’s wrong?” Spencer asked, slowly turning to face her. “Are you worried about sensory overload at the party? You can take breaks inside Rossi’s house, everyone will underst- wow,” he exhaled, cutting himself off before lapsing into stunned silence.

Spencer closed the space dividing them, continuing to stare in awe. “No,” she thought, “it’s more than that. His eyes. He looks…hungry? Oh!”

McKinley felt heat creep up her cheeks as her gaze lowered to the floor, landing on Spencer’s shoes. “Yes, a distraction!” “Wow, yourself, Doc-tah,” she replied, laughing at her awful British accent as much as his outfit.

“I – what? Oh, that was unintentional,” he claimed, chuckling at his wardrobe choice. “What about you?” he asked, gesturing at her ensemble. “Deliberate or happy accident?”

McKinley glanced down. Her empire waist, A-line dress was a deep amethyst, her footed tights a snowy white, and her low heels an emerald green. “Ummm, it must’ve been stirring in my subconscious. Not exactly subtle, is it?”

“No, but when have you ever been subtle? It’s helpful, though; your candor removes the guesswork for me.” Spencer brought his hands to McKinley’s face and pulled her in for a kiss. It had more heat, she noted, than their previous ones. And tongue. And hand wandering. It also ended too quickly to suit her.

“Okay, time to go,” Spencer announced, grabbing McKinley’s hand and stepping towards the door; she, however, stayed rooted to the spot. “Uuum, give me a second?” She played for time under the pretense of checking her clutch.

“Most sexy to least sexy, that’s how Sarah says she ‘calms down.’ Think! Ah, Mick Jagger strutting on stage. He’s aesthetically beautiful and he exudes an air of confidence - that’s sexy. What next? Bleh, period bloat. The girls plump up, which is fun, but so does my belly. Least sexy? Oh, gross: the shower drain mold that refuses to die.”

McKinley turned to face Spencer. “I’m all set. Lead the way.”

“After you,” he replied, holding the door for her.

“There’s no mistaking it.” McKinley spotted him grinning mischievously in her peripheral vision. “He knows, and he’s teasing me.”

---

I originally called this “Cupcakes and Confessions,” which I feel is a cringeworthy title, not that “Beethoven and The Doctor” is any better. Anyway…I also edited this and added a huge chunk at the end.

Just for clarification, this snippet and the one to follow take place October 12, 2018. The team celebrated Reid’s 24th birthday in S1E4, “Plain Sight,” which aired October 12, 2005. S7E11, “True Genius,” which aired January 18, 2012, had them belatedly celebrating Boy Wonder’s 30th birthday. I’m going with an October birthday for Reid because, well, duh. I’m also keeping his age ambiguous.

Stories don’t need to be told chronologically, so I’ll be jumping around a little. The next part will cover the party and provide a lovely segue to the actual start of Spencer and the OC’s relationship.

Finally: drawing isn’t my strong suit, but I felt that the fic needed something extra.

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x oc #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction

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afropendragon · 5 years

Text

Chapter 2: An Ember to Call My Own

As you take your first step, a faint glint catches the corner of your eye. You turn back to your grave. Just above the nameless tombstone, you dig and find something. It;s a glossy green flask, with a bright and gold liquid inside. There’s also a small silver ring with a red half sphere jewel. Upon your (D/h) ring finger you place this bauble, it couldn’t fit your hand better. Many feelings are spurred by this ring, but one is truly concrete: your body’s vigor seems to stimulate. It’s not by much, but you are more stout and durable than before.

You ponder the effects only a moment, as you are interrupted by a groaning noise. You turn your head swiftly, your armor rattles with your tensing muscles. Dragging itself to you is no more than a long cloak and a pale husk. However, the husk is humanoid, and it carries a curved knife. And now, its empty eyes were upon you. Within its range, you are charged by the ferocity of hungry animal. A fast vertical slash from its blade falls on you. Caught flat-footed, you side step clumsily and avoid a fatal strike to the head, but your worn left shoulder plate is pierced, and your shoulder gashed through. The pain causes you to grit and hold your shoulder’s wounds with the opposite hand. You take a scan of your surroundings to find a way out of your situation, but more problems arise as more of the husk creatures appear. You look down, and just now realizing upon your (Opposite your D/h) hip is a broadsword in its sheathe. You take your arm off your wounds, and quickly draw the blade with you (D/h) hand. The blade, while not rusted, is also worn but its presence is enough for your desperate mind to feel at ease. As the Husk continues its attack, you plunge your blade into its chest using the creatures own momentum to impale it. The husk groans its last as it slides off your blade onto the floor. With no time to waste, you turn toward the other husks. The closest raises its knife, but you took the initiative and rushed it with a double handed slash from top to bottom. Without a hitch, you pivot and spin your blade into the next creature. The force cut it in half as you followed through hitting the ground.

No more enemies left, the adrenaline wears off, and your breaths turn heavy. The pain from your shoulder returns, you grip it tightly but blood continues down. Your already dry mouth felt crackly and wheezy. Without even thinking you took the flask you carried and gave it a gulp. You thought perhaps it was a mistake, but almost immediately your throat and thirst was refreshed and your wounds stitched by a faint golden ether surrounding you. As the light faded, you stood back up feeling truly like you were renewed once more. All that was left was the pain of living that all must suffer. But even in this desolate land, you were at least still standing. Now you had no reason to not continue on. With this realization, you took the first steps into the gray land.

Only a few yards from your grave was a dry archaic basin, but something glowed within. You bent down and shifted through the dirt to find a flask similar to the one you already carried. This particular one however was covered in flakes of gray and filled with a glimmering blue liquid. With each new discovery were answers blackened by the flames of time, but a phantom sting of familiarity pricks at your mind. And yet you don’t even know the questions to ask, let alone the answers to them. You only hope that what lies ahead, will have what you seek.

Over a mound next to a canyon’s edge you reach. The ascent has led you to a peculiarity: An amalgam of an iron fire poker and a sword. It sticks in the ground, a dim orange light lights within an ash mound, it was some strange bonfire. Something draws you to it, your hand slowly hovers upon the hilt. Before fully reaching, the bonfire burst into life. The flames engulfed you, it wasn’t hot, simply warm and soothing. Its flame danced across every sinew in your body, a spring of warm liquid fire bathes you in its serenity. Before you know it, you are sitting next to it and the cold biter world fades away in the sanctuary of the fire. You remember this sensation. It was like being wrapped in sheets of a bed, lying in soft bliss. This was “Rest.” You stretch your arms, roll your shoulders backwards then forwards. You take to your feet and leave the fire’s kiss. The weight of the world leans upon you once more, but your will to carry on drags your feet further.

You pull your sword from the remains of a husk with a crossbow. Your injuries are not burdening but you decide you need a sip of the orange flask. Thankfully the bonfire refiled it. Now you need to enter through the large archway, and towards an ominous sight. It was a large open ground. One side of the area was walled off by stone and large stone coffins. The other side was a fall into the gray open canyon. The other side was a large stone wall with a large wooden door to match its size. In the very center of this area appeared to be a large statue of a man kneeling down with a glaive to fit its size. Approaching, you notice something plunged into the stone Monument’s stone chest. Surprised, it was the same kind of blade of the bonfire you had just rested at not but five minutes ago. From this ‘wound’ there was also a shadowy mucus stemming off its back, an unnatural infection without reason you could comprehend. Although against your common sense and an immense feeling of trepidation, you feel a stronger urge to pull the blade out. Planting your foot up on the stone chest for leverage, you grip the hilt of the strange sword with both hands and pull. At first it barely budged, but soon it seemed to slip out of the statue as if through oil. The sudden shift in ease made you stumble back when the blade was released. You caught yourself and maintained footing, you felt a strange satisfaction of the act. A small smile across your face as you gazed at the sword, was instantly wiped away as you heard stone moving. You slowly move your head to face the frightening truth of the noise, and regret followed behind. The statue that knelt down you had just taken the blade from, was lifting itself off its kneeling pose. Towering above you, the statue’s gaze was now locked upon you. Your legs may have well been stone too, because they froze against your desire to escape. But it didn’t hulk toward you. With speed seemingly impossible for its mass, the statue pulled its massive glaive back and thrust it toward you. The sudden movement left you no time to react. Only the words you were starting to say as you realized your mistake were allowed. The very first words you spoke said since waking, and your last:

“Oh shit.”

A gasp in the darkness escaped you, then followed by your wide eyes opening. You look around, you are sitting down once more at the bonfire upon the small mound near your waking place. Which was odd, because you could’ve sworn you felt a great stone blade being plunged into your body. The pain from before seemed to attest it happened. Not only that, you felt something missing. As if an imaginary pouch in your belongings was plundered. Despite that strange feeling, something new was present with you. In your hand was indeed the blade that was plunged into the giant. If it was a dream, it was as real as ground you lay upon. You took to your feet, and looked toward the distant area you swear you had died. You had tired reach a conclusion to what was going, but no luxury of time was given to you. A groaning noise from behind you and in your path could be heard. You look behind and onward, the husks you had killed were ‘alive’ once more.

“Dammit!”

To your relief, your journey back proved more fruitful. You had picked up small round pellets, it wasn’t until you dropped one on accident that you realized they were firebombs. It was also lucky that you dropped it on the foot of one of the husks. Its screams of burning pain were cathartic to say the least. Along the way you had identified the empty feeling you had upon reawakening, whenever you slew one of the husks, a small near invisible wisp left them and seemingly went into you and it filled you with something. It didn’t have physical weight or baggage upon your mind, but you could sense how much you gathered instinctively.

When you slayed the final crossbow wielding husk, you stood back to the arch leading to the statue. This time however, the archway was blanketed in a grey, thick, obscuring mist. You reach your hand and then pull it back. Reaffirming your need to push forward, you reach out again and enter the mist. The other side was much the same as before. But to your despair, the statue was alive and moving. While your nerves were still at their limit, you were much more prepared then last time. You still had some distance between the statue, so you waited for an opening until you close the gap. Or at least that’s what you would’ve done, if the statue didn’t do the last thing you expected. It jumped high into the air, aiming to bring its glaive down on you when it landed. Despite your utter surprise, your legs were swifter to aid this time. You tumbled forward and to the side, barely avoiding the overwhelming strike.

Having felt battle more and more, the instincts of a warrior seem to return to your muscles memory. And so you didn’t miss the opening after the statue’s attack. You spun around, using the momentum to get to your feet, with a quick step forward, you brought your sword down onto its leg. Drawing first blood, you kept the attack going as you jumped to its shoulder plunging your sword into it. The statue slightly slumped, it was a substantial start. Your overconfidence though hadn’t prepared you for a quick retaliation, the statue backhanded you across the arena. You could feel your ribs poking into your lung. You struggle to move your hand to your small pouch, taking the flask of yellow liquid to sip. Relief rushed over you, and your body had stitched itself together within an orange glow. 4

The Statue was already rushing towards you. Pushing yourself up, your second wind was bitter but strong. You ran to meet the enemy, you rolled past its next swipe and managed to hit its groin. The enemy turned to stomp on you. You jump back to avoid it, then step up the enemy’s leg. Jumping of its shin, you land a thrust in the same area the other blade had once been. The strike was true, the creature fell to its knees. Positioned below, you swung your sword upward to its throat. Your victory seemed assured. But to your horror, nothing was as it seemed. While you were cutting its throat, the dark shadowy mucus from its back was growing. The matter now smothered the statue, choking the space and growing into a large blob with a serpent head. You had no words to justify the feelings, but you tried.

“What godless thing is this!?” You quickly stepped back, just barely dodging the statue’s arm, and the mucus serpent’s bite. You took a moment to look for openings, but now they seemed unsure. The statue alone had large openings in attacks, but now the nature of the filthy blob around it made it impossible to discern. The angles the serpent could attack from seemed too flexible, and with no blind spots. However, it was held at bay up until now. You looked to your side where the strange bonfire blade sat, and you decided to go on a guess. You took a deep breath in, and then charged the enemy. But when the enemy seemed to attack as you approached its range, you pulled out your firebombs and threw it right at the serpent. The entirety of its body was engulfed in flames, shrieking in pain.

You throw another bomb, the black oozing serpent shrieks again. The creature and statue are forced backward. This is your chance. You charge towards the enemy. In response to your advance, the serpent lashes out to bite you with its giant maw. However, you throw your last bomb in its face. As the serpent shrieks once more, you jump forward with sword in hand. With a shout, you bring the blade down upon black serpent’s head. In one last groan of pain, it raises it’s head and limps backward. Following the black parasite on it, the statue falls backward as well. As it hits the ground, the enemy fades into a gray shimmering light. A glimmer of satisfaction trickles through your body. For as you stood tall with shoulders broad and chest out, a foreign welcoming thought passes your mind: “Victory Achieved.”

Your moment of pride is interrupted by a swirl of ethereal wisps fills your body. The feeling from before but vastly intensified. Not only that, but an even more odd sensation envelopes you; a warm vigor. It was similar to being at the bonfire, but it blazed gently within you. Strangely, you felt as if something precious had returned, like something or someone dear lost and now found. Even in exterior, small cinders crept along your attire. You touched your clothes, but there was no burn or heat. There was no explanation you could even fathom, but you had to carry on without one.

To add to the peculiarity, another unlit bonfire exactly like the other had appeared when the giant once kneeled. You reach out your hand, and like before, it ignites the flame. You feel the comfort of the fire envelope you, and your flask fills with the warm light of the golden liquid. All that was left to do was open the large wooden doors in your path. You reach out both hand on the two sides, and push your shoulders forward, slowly moving the doors.

Beyond the doorway, upon a hill with cracked stone stairs, was a construction of some kind. As you approached, it seemed to be a shrine made of stone and covered in moss. Going down the stairs leading into the shrine, you feel more and more comforting as you enter Standing on a surface leading down from two sets of stairs, you see a large circular room. The center was covered in ash, especially in a small indent with a mound of ash similar to the other bonfires. Looking around, you see that the shrine has another floor above, and reaching up to it in the circular room was a strange display of altars. The altars stood on large square pedestals, each one its own and going upward to one center and top altar. Now that you see carefully, they weren’t altars but seats, more like stone thrones. Only one throne to your left was being occupied by a small man. To the right, a man was sitting and hanging his head on another set of stairs leading upward to the second floor.

You look back down the center room floor, there was now someone looking at you. Although this was figurative, as the person was a woman with eyes covered by a silver tiara like accessory. She wore a black dress, a dark thin girdle separating the flowy loose skirt and the torso that hugged her lovely figure. The dress torso was covered by a hooded long black shawl, both of them embroidered with gold laced trimmings. Her arms were covered by a black tight wrapping up to the middle of her hands. Her long hair was beautiful platinum blonde, braided down. Her skin was pale, but the smile of her pink full lips was as warm as the bonfire. She was truly captivating to the eye, especially yours. Upon eye contact (so to speak) she gracefully bows her head to you.

“Greetings, Ashen One.” The woman said to you. You were lost for words for a moment, both because you didn’t understand the name “Ashen One” and you didn’t know how to greet her.

“Y-you speak of me?” you ask nervously. She nods her head.

“Yes, you are the Unkindled awoken to come to this place. I am a Fire Keeper, Ashen One. I tend to the flame, and I tend to thee.” For her to say she attends only made you stutter more. You couldn’t speak.

“Ashen One? Are you unwell?” You shake your head, but realize that’s the wrong way and quickly nod thrice.

“Yes, yes! I am just addled from all of this, M’lady. I confess, I know very little about the nature of my waking”

“I understand. I can explain whatever you need, Ashen One.”

“If you could aid me, would you call me by my name instead?” As you said this, the realization hit you, the most obvious thing you forgot but didn’t figure out until now: You don’t remember your name.

“My apologies, I couldn’t bring myself to be so informal. Being an Ashen One is a great honor, I would not deny you be called by it. I am sorry. However, it would be rude of me not to know the name of you Unkindled. May I know of it, my lord?” While she spoke to you. Something suddenly stirred in your chest. A feeling from the dark but born of the flame. You heard something, but you didn’t understand it. You kept listening, Moments passed in the dark, and you began to mouth the words without even knowing.

“I’m…(F/N). My name is (F/N.)

“Very well , Lord (F/N). If you truly wish I will call you that.”

With the flame in your bosom and a name in your heart, an identity of the body and mind started to fill the emptiness of your waking. It was a start.

“Yes. Please call me (F/N)

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