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dearmantis · 1 year

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I'm not the devil

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova/The Darkling x Durast!Reader

Summary: Things only get worse now that you've left the savety and familiarity of the Little Palace.

Warnings: attempted murder, murder, death of animals, skinning of animals, breaking bones, gun violence

Word Count: 4.6k

Authors' Note: I definitely have to go back and edit the old parts after the last chapter is out. Also, I'm heavily overpowering the Fabrikators in this fic, but honestly, who cares. They get barely any love from the canon material, so I think I deserve to have some fun in fanfiction. This isn't edited/proofread and I'm not a native English speaker.

Part 1 | Previous Part | Series Masterlist

It begins to snow shortly after you leave Os Alta behind. Thick, heavy snowflakes drop from the sky like a wall, and for a few hours you're genuinely worried that mother nature decided to start the ravkan winter with a devastating snowstorm, debating if it would be better to hide in the city for a while.

But before you can actually decide to turn around, you remember that Kirigan has the entire Little Palace at his disposal. Finding deserters and bringing them back no matter what is an honour for some of the Grisha there. A chance to prove themselves and their loyalties to the Second Army and General Kirigan.

The Heartrenders would be able to find you quickly if you decide to hide in or around Os Alta, picking up on the panicked heartbeat of someone hiding in a tavern or in the woods, and Squallers can make the travel through the thick snow easier for the General.

They also have horses, which makes them a lot more mobile and faster than you are right now.

You have to use the limited time you have until someone notices your absence from the Palace to create as much distance between yourself and the General as possible if you want to have any chance at escaping and living out the rest of your life in anything at least kind of resembling peace.

So you move further north, walking as quickly as you can to keep your body warm and get away from the only home you have ever truly known. Away from your friends, your family, your bed, your books, your research, your everything.

You think about returning home to your biological family for a while, but you know that he will look there first. In two days soldiers of the second army are going to stand in front of the house of your family in Duva, the house you were born in, and search the place for clues of your location, unaware of how little contact you've had with your family over the past few years.

No, you can't go there. Never again, probably. That chapter of your life has been forcefully closed, and no matter how much you might want to, you don't think you will ever be able to pry it open and revisit it. Not anymore. Not after all of this. Never again.

There are only three places in the world the General will not follow you to. You know this as well as every other Grisha.

Fjerda and Shu Han, due to the absolutely horrendous political situation between the two countries and Ravka, which would lead to him being reprimanded by the king if word came out that he send his Grisha – or himself – into the neighboring countries just to catch a deserter, and literally anything on the other side of the Fold.

You don't think you'll make it over the mountains in the south, so you move northwest, planning to stop in Ulensk before moving further up north to Fjerda or west through the fold to West Ravka, all depending on the situation in Ulensk and whatever seems more convenient and safer in the moment.

It's going to take a week to get to Ulensk on foot, because while you did remember to steal the winter coat of a servant to wear instead of your kefta, you did not think of stealing a horse.

You don't stop walking on your first day away. No, you walk and walk and walk until you lose feeling in the lower part of your legs, and even then, you don't stop, speeding up instead in hopes of heating up your body. It snows the whole day and night, thick flakes dropping from the sky as if the clouds have an endless supply of water collected in them, and the world around you transforms into pure white in the matter of a few hours.

The temperatures don't go above freezing during the day and the night only brings more frost, meaning the snow stays, piling up higher and higher while you attempt not to leave a trail, trying to stay in the steps of the people from nearby villages as much as possible in hopes of confusing anyone who may follow.

You fall asleep during your first break between the benches of a forgotten chapel, covered by a tapestry depicting one of the lesser known saints while you watch the shadows move and stretch on the dust covered walls. The fabric is so old and dirty that you can't recognize who it's supposed to honour.

You dream of bleeding out in a lake, dark eyes watching you as you struggle to breathe and beg for your life.

Throughout your travels, you can't stop chastising yourself, mind going over every single stupid mistake you've made that has led you to this situation in the first place over and over again. Cursing the names of the General and your own over and over again.

Homeless and alone, and it's all your fault.

The bag on your shoulder is surprisingly heavy, digging into your skin despite the many layers you put on before Baghra dragged you out of the Palace and sent you off. All you have with you is two bottles of water, a pouch full of nuts, some money, tea leaves, and half a loaf of bread. You can't bring yourself to complain.

It's not like the woman had much time to make you a care package that could keep you alive until you reach Fjerda. You should honestly be glad that she packed you anything at all. That she bothered to warn you of the General.

With every step you take north the snowflakes seem to grow heavier and heavier, slowly taking your sight until the only way you can still tell where you are is through the Small Science, your powers reaching out to trace along the trees, the metals sleeping deep in the ground and the bones of people in nearby villages and distant cities to keep track of your location and progress.

Less and less villages start to appear in your vicinity after a while, which means that after day five, you're not only drowning in snow, but you're also entirely alone. You've been lucky until now, always able to find firewood and a save place to sleep, usually close to a village in some form of abandoned shed, but so far up north it's almost impossible to sense anything close. People are scared to live in small villages so close to the border, and even more scared to pray to the saints, so you doubt you will be able to find a place to sleep tonight.

The only upside is that the weather has finally calmed down a bit. The snowflakes are still thick, but you finally don't feel like you're wandering through the forests of Ravka blindly. Travelling is still slow due to the deep snow that refuses to melt away, but at least you're able to see where you're going.

It's the middle of the night between day five and six when you finally pick up the feeling of bones and metal moving close by, your eyes noticing faint light between the trees only seconds later. You briefly wonder how how didn't notice them miles ago, the ache in your bones and heaviness in your eyes answering you a heartbeat later when you move to hang your bag up on a branch and get into position to fully use your powers.

You're absolutely exhausted. The cold has found its home in your bones and muscles days ago, and the fact that you're also getting closer and closer to the fold isn't helping, it's looming, dominant power distracting you sometimes.

The fact that you haven't frozen to death yet, that you've always been able to always find a roof to cover your head when you had to rest, is a miracle. You have only ever managed to sleep for a maximum of three hours, plagued by nightmares of gruesome death, but at this point you're thankful for any break, no matter how short. A bigger miracle than anything you could ever even hope to achieve with the Forbidden Science, you're sure of it.

There's a whisper in the back of your mind that questions if it may have been better to stay in the Little Palace. Sure, the General would've probably executed you for your experiments by now, but then you wouldn't feel like you're three minutes away from freezing to death. Your muscles wouldn't be screaming at you like this. You wouldn't be starving.

The camp in front of you seems small, based on the few quiet noises you hear, so you reach out to count the people, just in case it's a small family. There have been reports of people fleeing the villages near the borders in order to get closer to the safety that Os Altas proximity provides through the royal guard and the second army, and you don't want to take resources from a family on the run, especially not one with kids, no matter how desperate you might be.

Your power crawls through the trees like invisible fog, following your command as you count the moving, living things in the little camp, then their equipment.

Three men.

Three tents.

Two bags with water bottles and food.

Three guns.

Three sleeping... dogs? Wolves?

No. Too big.

Three Isenulf.

The fact that the beasts haven't woken up yet is another miracle to add to your never ending list, but you're barely able to focus on that as a wave of fear threatens to take over your mind. The sudden rush of adrenaline makes you a bit dizzy, your body overwhelmed after getting so little food, water, and rest over the past few days.

Drüskelle. This is a camp of witchhunters. Witchhunters who will kill you the second they notice that you're close by.

Your mind works faster than usual, your thoughts almost too fast for you to grasp as you try to come up with a plan. The smartest move would be to go, to leave the camp behind and disappear between the trees, making a big detour around the Drüskelle and their horrible pets, but that would probably delay you even more. Another day to spend in this unending, ruthless weather, starving slowly to death.

The little food you have left will not be able to keep you going for much longer, and your clothes barely keep you warm at this point. Sure, the Drüskelle might kill you, but if you don't get their food and the warmth of their fire you'll be dead tomorrow.

Before you can stop yourself you move towards the closest tree, using your powers to silenty bend the wood into a better position, and climb up until you sit high up, body hidden away from sight by the many needles decorating the spruce.

In the distance you can see the fold towering over Ravka. The ink black wall that splits Ravka into two, it's darkness so all consuming that you can still make it out during this moonless night. The merzost keeping it stable and in position hums almost, with a strength so noticeable that you can feel it even before fully waking your powers. It almost feels like a friend standing behind you and cheering you on silently, as stupid as it might sound. It gives you strength you need right now.

Taking a deep breath to calm your keyed up nerves, you reach out to try and grab hold of the vertebrae of one of the Isenulf, the warnings of one of your teachers echoing loudly in your mind.

These are not normal wolves. They are bread to be immune to the powers of heartrenders. If you see one of them you will have to run. Your fellow Grisha will not be able to protect you.

But are they immune to the powers of a curious and powerful Durast as well? You have never done this before, never tried to break bone the way you break metal into smaller pieces to make working with it easier. Will you be able to do it? Can a Fabrikator really control something in the human body? Shatter it like glass?

Are we not all things?

Your fingers cramp up a bit when you force your left hand into a fist, and you can hear a yelp a few metres below you.

The formerly calm and peaceful Drüskelle camp wakes, the men grab their guns and yell orders at the two remaining Isenulf. You grab hold of the pelvis of the next wolf before you even know what you're doing, breaking it into pieces half a second later.

The breaks are not as clean as metal, the bones a bit softer than you anticipated. You never had the privilege of working with bones in the Little Palace, aside from your experiments with the dove, and it shows now.

You're about to reach out for the third when a shot rings through the air, your body involuntarily flinching. The witchhunters don't realize where you sit, their attention glued to the ground level while they fire more shots into the shadows of the forest. If one of them looks up for just a second, they might notice your eyes staring down at the chaos, liking your lips as you watch them panic. It's almost addicting, seeing the men who have instilled so much fear in you and your fellow Grisha tremble in fear. Fear of you.

The last Isenulf left barks loudly when his eyes finally find you, but you manage to break his neck before the Drüskelle notice.

You can almost taste the panic they feel when the animal drops to the frozen ground, limp like a wet blanket.

The other two wolves yelp in pain, but the men don't seem to really hear it, too busy yelling commands at each other while they try to figure out what's going on. Your Fjerdan has never been great, but you understand enough.

Their voices are younger than expected. Another miracle to add to your list.

"Drüsje!" You hear one of them call out. Witch.

"Desjenet!" Another yells. Stand down. Probably a command meant for you. Like they wouldn't shoot you in the head the second they see you.

The third man is quiet, eyes flickering around as he tries to detect movement in the forest. You decide to have fun, just once, using your power to bend the material of the gun he's holding towards him, curling the metal around like the house of a snail. It moves like clay under the influence of your powers, m carefully bending to your will. The witchhunter drops his weapon quickly, taking several steps back before stumbling and falling to the ground.

His lips move, his voice almost too quiet to reach your ear. A sick feeling of pride swells in your chest when the word registers in your mind.

"Demjin"

Demon.

You let the word seep into your muscles and bones, flodding your body with confidence as you move your hands together, grabbing the hard material of the mans skull, before clenching your right hand into a fist, your left hand wrapping around it only a heartbeat later, breaking the hard bone. You can feel the splinters of his skull dig into the soft tissue of his brain. His body drops fully to the ground and one of the other two Drüskelle screams, but you pay him no mind.

It's stupid how easy this is for you. How could anyone see your order as weak weapon makers if this type of potential sleeps under your skin? A power that moved a witchhunter to call you demon?

Shaking your head slightly, you reach out to shatter the rib cage of the second Drüskelle and break the neck of the last man before beginning to climb back out of the tree. When your feet meet the ground, you grab your bag and walk into the camp.

It's obviously small, with only three men and three wolves to take care of, but you will survive comfortably for a while with their supplies added to your own. You dig around in their bags for a knife for a bit, humming when your hands wrap around the sheath of a dagger.

A smaller knife than you would've preferred, but it will do.

You work quickly and efficiently, skinning all three wolves as fast as possible before removing the meat from the animals. You try your best to hang it up to let gravity pull out the blood while you work, making sure to keep the fire alive. Something in you finally finds rest while you complete the simple tasks. Skinning animals and hanging their meat up to cook later is something you learned, like all Grisha do, years ago. Simple survival techniques that are drilled into your mind and require no thinking from you.

You are too tired to think.

Two and a half hours later you sit in front of the fire, covered by the still fresh and stretchy skin and fur of the wolves, and eat a piece of meat as you watch the rest of the flesh cook. The Drüskelle carried mostly dried food with them - meat and fruits that you can keep for a long time, if you're smart - and you don't want to waste the meat of the ice wolves either. You've already taken their fur. Might as well take their flesh too.

The corpses of the witchhunters are hidden in one of the three tents they brought for them and their wolves, stripped of their clothing. It will be helpful in Fjerda when you will no longer be able to wear the recognizable fur of the Isenulf to warm your freezing body. Their clothes warm you just like the furs of their former companions.

You do not feel bad, not for a single second, but when you finally get comfortable around the fire, covered in bloody wolfs fur and stolen cloaks, you ask yourself if the price of your second time summoning merzost, the first time you tried to shape it into something, was your very soul. Or perhaps your innocence.

You dream again that night.

A dark figure is standing over you, holding your face between his large, cold hands as he looks at you.

His voice is smooth like satin when he finally speaks.

"You can't run from me forever, moya golubka. I will catch you."

When the sun rises, so do you, packing your bags quickly before abandoning the camp. You're well rested, despite your dream, and warm too. You can feel your hands and your feet, more than a bit relieved that you probably won't lose your fingers or toes to frostbite. Another miracle.

The heavy white furs are tied to your body with leather strings stolen from the supplies of the Drüskelle. It would be easy to shape them into a well-fitting coat, but you're pretty sure that it will probably be easier to sell raw furs for some money in Ulensk than a full coat. You won't be able to enter Fjerda safely in a coat made of Isenulf fur after all. You have to get rid of it before you cross the border. Hopefully, you will find the time to change the cloaks worn by the Drüskelle enough until they're no longer recognizable before you leave the town.

You're moving a bit slower now because of the extra weight of two new bags hanging off you, filled to the brim with food, water and fabric, but you have hope that you won't have to add another day to your travels. You can feel how close you are to Ulensk, even with the Fold so close. In the back of your mind, an idea crawls out of the darkest corner of your thoughts once more, asking what would happen if you did get close to the fold.

Would you be able to move it? Or to take some of the Forbidden Science inside of it and clean it from the darkness tainting it? Maybe use it for something else? The only experience you've had with Merzost that's not summoned by you is the Merzost tied to the bones of General Kirigan, and it's not like you were able to do anything with it before you had to flee. You just felt it, tried to understand how it works, how nature weaved it into his body when he was still an unborn baby growing in his mothers womb.

You're almost in Ulensk when you notice it.

The most familiar thing you've ever felt, more familiar than the wood of your bed frame, the plates in the Little Palace, the chair of your workstation in the basement.

Corecloth.

There are keftas in Ulensk. More than there should be.

You have come up with many different plans for all sorts of emergencies that could come up during your travels, but not once did you stop to think that the General could predict your plans to go up to Fjerda. There is no reason why so many Grisha would be in Ulensk otherwise. He must've known, somehow.

Maybe the saints betrayed you, led him right to you for the crimes you have committed against the order of things. There has never been someone who messed with merzost and got a happy ending, after all. Maybe this is supposed to be your end.

And how poetic it would be. Getting your heart ripped out by one of the Generals lap dog heartrenders after being pushed around by them for years.

Turning your head, you stare up, eyes finding the fold immediately. It's incredibly unlikely that you'll be able to cross it undetected. There are guards making sure that no one unauthorized crosses.

The corecloth starts moving.

But do you have another choice? You can't stay in Ravka, not while the General is looking for you. You won't be able to cross the border either. If there are Grisha already up in Ulensk, then there are definitely more at the border, waiting to catch you.

The corecloth gets closer.

In the distance, you hear someone bark out an order, and you drop your bags a heartbeat later, all three of them hitting the cold, snow-covered ground and tangling around your legs. Thinking quickly, you lift your hands, trying to locate the closest person moving into your direction before quickly breaking their legs in half.

As soon as you realise what you've done, guilt begins to rise in your chest. The break was not as clean as you would've liked, the bone shattering into dozens of splinters under the pressure of your raw, uncontrolled power. But you don't have time to take a short breather and take care of the Grisha the way you did with the Drüskelle.

Reaching down, you free your legs from the bags on the floor before turning to the fold once again.

Your one chance. Your only chance.

There's more yelling in the distance, now a lot closer and louder than it was when you broke the first persons legs, and you feel a bit like a deer frozen in fear after seeing a hunter, before you finally manage to rip yourself out of your paralysis and start running.

Between the trees you can see the brightly coloured keftas of your fellow Grisha, and you silently pray that the white fur covering you helps you blend in more with your surroundings while you jump over roots and rocks, reaching out with your powers to get an idea of what treacherous traps linger below the undisturbed snow, waiting to trip you and break your neck.

When you think you see something red in the corner of your eye, you reach out further, moving your hands together once more to break the first bone your powers can grasp.

A scream echos through the trees. Your lungs are burning. Your body feels like it's on fire.

But your heart is still beating.

A gust of wind hits you seconds later, throwing you against the trunk of a tree. You cry out under the impact, unable to move for a few seconds while you try desperately to figure out where exactly up and down are, where the fold is.

Your luck can't run out right here, right? Not when you're so close to the fold. So close to your last chance of freedom.

Biting your teeth together, you lift your arms again, focusing on the squaller. You almost rip her left arm off her body with the force you use to detach it from her shoulder, accidentally cracking her shoulder blade in the process.

There's another heartrender a few metres away, flinching when he hears the squaller scream out in pain. You use his distraction, breaking ulna and radius of his left arm cleanly in half before jumping back up to your feet.

Your ears are ringing and you stumble a bit, the world turning, but the only Grisha you can see right now is a single Inferni who is too busy hiding behind trees and calling out for back up to attack you right now. You have to use this small window of opportunity, or you'll be stuck here until Kirigan finally shows up, so you take the risk and turn away from the other Grisha, running towards the fold.

Distracted by your panic, you miss some roots, stumbling and almost falling to the ground when a fireball crashes into a tree right in front of you, just barely missing your head. The wood goes up in bright orange flames, some sparks flying into your direction and making contact with the Isenulf furs that keep you warm.

Cursing loudly, you sprint around the tree, hands frantically hitting the furs to prevent them from going up in flames. A second ball of fire hits a bush left from you, and you stop, whipping around quickly and looking for the Inferni who seems so determined to set you on fire. When your eyes find the blue kefta, your hands are already up, grabbing her femur and breaking in half before you turn again and continue running.

This is it.

As soon as you leave the last trees of the forest behind, you speed up, desperate to cross the wide strip of grass and dirt as quickly as possible and enter the all-consuming darkness of the fold.

So close. You're so, so close.

You're only a few metres away when you hear his voice call out, calm and smooth in the worst way.

"Moya golubka," He says, triumph and glee audible in his voice, and a heartbeat later, you feel something wrap around your ankle to rip you off your feet. Your body hits the ground with a scream, the fold only centimetres away from your outstretched hands.

Digging your fingers into the dirt, you try to fight against the pull of whatever is wrapped around your legs, tears filling your eyes as it slowly dawns on you that you've lost. It's over. This is the end. All of that suffering in the last few days was for nothing.

You refuse to look up when the shining black shoes of the General enter your view, his shadows continuing to drag you away from the fold. He towers over you, watching you struggle for a few seconds before positioning himself right in front of you, between your body and the fold, blocking your last chance of freedom from your sight.

"I finally caught you, little dove."

When you look up, you see a smile on his lips.

Taglist: @shawty-writes-a-little @dreamlandcreations @watersquirtpewpewboomm @magicstrengthandcourage @blossomedfloweroflove @sande5098 @thewriterthatghostedyou

#aleksander morozova x reader #the darkling x reader #darkling x reader #general kirigan x reader

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wtheckzukasubs · 1 month

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'The Prisoners of Lilac Walls' (Rira no Kabe no Shuujintachi) (Star 2010) subs

Download the subs here: wtheckzukasubs.tumblr.com/shows

These subs were timed to the Bow Hall version with the Star Troupe. I timed it to a broadcast on Sky Stage but with some retiming it should fit the DVD release. Let me know if you have problems and I'll do my bets to help you do that, or you can use online tools like sub shifter And if you use VLC you can resync them on the go.

Note that they also filmed the day in Tokyo, and the subs won't sync to that one (the audio is quite inferior to the Bow version if you're in doubt which one you have). The lines should be the same, and you could use the subs as a script, though. That won't work for the Moon Troupe version with Kaname, as it was unfortunately heavily edited to fit whatever time retraints they had at the time.

Last, these subs were done by ear, so there will be more mistakes than usual.

#takarazuka #hoshigumi #ouki kaname #shinohara remi #kurenai yuzuru #miya rurika #show release

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themysticssdream · 10 months

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the thunder rolls • tommy miller

Tommy Miller x F!Reader Rating: Everyone Words: 3.1K Content Warning: Fluff, Smoking, Tommy Miller once again doesn't get his pancakes (he will one day, but it is not this day) Joel and Sarah are included. Somewhat proof-read/edited. I tried to end this on a good note. A/N: This fic was meant to be a drabble. A drabble that turned into 3.1K words. I got carried away with this one. This was something that @goldgilzean and I had talked about; it's one of our HC's that Tommy loves thunderstorms. l Please remember to comment, like and reblog for support!

Sarah became quiet. Her attention, once on the dolls before her, now laid abandoned on the carpet as she awaited for the next flash of lightning to light up the room. You tried to ease her nerves; telling her that she was safe in her home. Her knees were brought up to her chest, arms wrapped around her shins, her big eyes carefully looking out the main window of the living room.

You picked up one of her dolls and pointed at the bin full of clothes and accessories. You rummaged through, picking out a dress full of sequins and butterflies that reflected off of the kitchen light. You had hoped it would gain back the attention of Sarah, pulling her away from the storm that brewed outside.

A bright flash that Sarah anticipated for had blinded the room, followed by darkness that now consumed the house. Sarah leapt onto her feet, running towards the kitchen where Joel kneeled down to comfort his daughter. The crackling in the sky above started and you quickly brought your hands to cover your ears as the deafening thunder rumbled throughout the sky. It lasted far too longer than you thought; your promises towards Sarah of the storm moving away were easily broken as another flash hit, and you waited for the next deep rumble of thunder to hit.

You were thankful for a bit of a pause, though you felt your chest swell as Sarah's small cries, muffled against her father's chest, filled the house. Joel picked her off of the floor carefully, carrying her towards the living room and glanced down at the floor towards you. He thanked you for staying longer to keep an eye on her while he and Tommy cooked dinner; a small feast of BBQ that was cut short when the rain started.

Joel told you your payment for the day was left on the kitchen table before he carried Sarah upstairs to her room; mostly likely keeping her company and to read her her favorite books to distract her from the storm.

You sighed yet smiled when you looked at the mess on the floor. Dolls, the scattered crayons and coloring pages, her stickers placed on close by furniture that Joel had told her specifically not to place on. You took your time to clean, putting her things back in their proper bins; you didn't want to leave a mess before leaving the Miller home.

After, you walked to the kitchen table to grab the cash that Joel left for you and your bag. You didn't even consider to bring an umbrella or jacket, not when the storm wasn't in the forecast for the day.

Swinging the screen door open, then carefully closing it shut, you stood at the base of the porch and watched as the rain poured heavily onto the earth. The streetlights were blurred and the gutters in the streets began to pour over. You sighed when you anticipated the ride home.

"You're not really thinkin' about drivin' in this weather, are you?"

It shook you a bit, not even finding Tommy resting on the bench swing to the left of you. You let out a short chuckle to calm your nerves. You readjusted the strap of your purse on your shoulder, keys at the ready to make your move towards the car.

"I need to get some rest before I come back." You replied. The small light that flickered at his mouth caught your attention, followed by the exhale of dark smoke that made itself known before disappearing in thin air. "It's a busy day tomorrow."

With the faint light from the streets, you managed to see the frown that fell on Tommy's face. He flicked the excess ash onto the tray on the table beside him before taking another full drag. He shook his head. "At least let it settle before goin' home."

Crossing your arms over your chest, you turned towards Tommy. You watched as he finished his cigarette, dabbing it in the small pile of ash in the tray before resting his arm against the length on the back of the bench. He had done this before many times with you, a silent welcoming embrace when you needed a break from babysitting Sarah or before you headed home. When he offered you a bit of comfort, he did it with his words, not once wanting to put his hand on you without your permission.

You slowly nodded, wiping your hand over your face and you felt exhaustion veiling your eyes. It was a long day preparing for Sarah's school play tomorrow, helping her learn her lines and patch up the rest of her costume. You needed all the rest you needed before the big day tomorrow.

You gave in, walking carefully over the semi-damped wood as it creaked; as if you didn't want the house to know of your lingering presence, even though it seemed you were always welcomed into the Miller home. Once you sat beside him, leaving a comfortable space between the two of you, you felt his body relax onto the bench. The stench of his last cigarette filled your lungs harshly, the lingering air of it burning at your chest.

It was silent between the two, Tommy resting his head back against nothing, eyes closed as he enjoyed the sound of heavy pattering of rain and now distant rumbling of thunder. You began to notice this with him, how he always was the first one out the door to enjoy the storms that hovered over Austin.

"You like thunderstorms, don't you?" You said lowly, not wanting to disturb Tommy or shake him out of his reverie.

"Yeah," Tommy sat up now, though his attention was on you, his eyes were fixed on dark clouds above. "They always remind me of the storms in Iraq."

You nod while biting the inside of your cheek. You were afraid of your next words, yet you spoke them anyways. "You would think that would have the opposite effect." And you expected it, Tommy's eyes looking over at you in confusion, like he was waiting for an explanation. "I just think that what you had to endure during your time, what you did, what you saw, that the storms would remind you of that."

It surprises you when he smiles. He swings his arm away from the back of the bench as he hunches forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he gets a better look at the way the dark clouds light up from the deep lighting that lined part of the sky. "You would think that, yeah." Tommy wipes away the smile with his hand as he rubs his hand over his face.

He's hesitant on telling you his thoughts, his memories. He would become vulnerable, open up a part of him that you would yet not see of him. But when he looks over your shoulder and sees that you're willing to listen, it brings some sort of relief, yet he falters. He feels his body stiffen at the thought of telling you about Desert Storm.

Your eyes drift to the rain, still persisting and no sign of it letting up any time soon. You reach up to rest a hand on his shoulder, fingers slightly digging into his dark pink shirt, the soft grip letting him know that you're willing to listen. "I have plenty of time, Tommy."

His words are simple when he tells you about the storms back in Iraq. Of how the dark clouds that hovered over outstretched deserts, the constant thunder and lightning, the rain that would soak the dirt beneath his boots, and the thick and musky scent of the earth when the storm would roll away to clear skies - it all reminded him of Austin; home.

"So," Tommy sighed, resting his elbow at the back of the bench as he settled closer to you, getting comfortable in the way you soaked in his words. "The storms are another reminder of being thankful for what I have, of what I left behind for all those years; the decisions that I made early in life. Of wanting to feel a sense of purpose and to feel important. That I'm doing something good with my life that others would be proud of." He cracks a grin, laughing a bit as scratched the back of his head. "I would hope so, at least."

You tilt your head to the side, your eyes searching his own to find a hint of not only what you think is accomplishment, but sadness. You never once got the impression of Tommy feeling this way; he never made it known to you or his family. You reached to place your hand on his arm, the cold air pricking at his skin. "Joel is proud of you, Tommy. He may not say it, but I know he is."

You always saw the way Joel looked at Tommy when he wasn't looking, when his younger brother would give Sarah his full attention or when the two of them came back home from a busy day of working. Joel was thankful for Tommy's support, especially after his wife left him and Sarah without a trace. He knew he would be lost without Tommy.

"And Sarah is proud of you, too." You mentioned, and you couldn't help but smile. "She couldn't help but bring up about how well Uncle Tommy helped her with her butterfly wings."

Tommy's face now lit up at the sound of her nieces' compliment. "When did she say that?"

"While you were starting up the grill. She can't wait to show her friends at school."

"That little shit," He chuckles at the thought, running the bud of his palm against his lightly soaked eyes before the tears made itself known. There is now a small moment of silence between the two of you, that you knew that even without the rain, the silence was one of comfort. "Thank you for stayin' and helpin' us out with Sarah. I know it hasn't been easy; she can be a tough cookie as of late."

"She's wonderful, Tommy. Truly." Tommy narrows his eyes at you, like he knows your hiding the truth. "What, you think I wouldn't last as long as I did? You think Sarah would have scared me off?" Your words were not of irritation, but of curiousness.

"More like my brother."

You cracked, covering your face with your hand as the two of you erupted in laughter. Your body molded against, and Tommy brought a finger to his lips to signal the two of you to keep your voices down.

"Your brother has scared me a few times, I can't deny that." You said quietly, as if Joel himself might be standing near and hearing you confess.

Tommy's body stiffens as he clears his throat, the heat on his cheeks from his laughter growing at the thought of his next words. "Well," he rolls his tongue against the inside of his cheek, gaining up the courage. "I'm glad you didn't run off."

You sighed at his words, almost relieved yourself that you decided to stick around. "Tommy," You whispered. And he starts to envelope himself around you, his hand settling at your hip while his fingers carefully graze over the softness of your cheek. You give in to his warmth, running your hand along the neckline of his tanktop to ease himself closer to you.

The fingers that once trailed along your cheek now settled at your chin, his thumb and finger holding you in place while his lips hovered over your own. You tried to not let the scent of him intoxicate you; the lingering tobacco that stained his lips, the smell of the earth, of the rain that sprayed onto him and settled on his skin and clothes. You drew in a silent deep breath in hopes to calm your heart that rattled fast against your rip cage.

"Say it," The movement of your lips reminded you of a soft caress. Like the way your curtains would bellow out and faintly touch your skin as you read a book in bed; of a butterfly fluttering its wings before flying away as you worked in the garden.

Even in the darkness you could see the color of Tommy's earth eyes hidden behind his expanded pupils as he searched deep within your own. When your hand pressed flat against his chest, you felt the intensity of his heartbeat, how his breathing quickened. Tommy nudged the tip of his nose along yours before pulling away, watching himself move his hand away from your hip and along your hairline before his fingers curl around the delicate curve of your neck. "Say it, darlin'."

You gulped hard, then a faint smile curved at your lips. "Tommy."

The sun shined through the window of the kitchen, lighting up the stove and cabinets in an orange hue. You woke up early, feeling successful that you found the box of pancake mix. The aroma of the warm cakes filled the Miller home and woke everyone in the home except for Tommy.

After flipping a pancake to cook the raw side, you peeked around the corner to find Tommy sleeping on the couch, and Sarah was giggling beside him. You watched her in silence when she placed bright pink and yellow butterfly hair clips into his curls, tugging strands of his hair away from his face. Not only that, but her glittery and holographic star stickers were scattered along his face.

Joel's heavy footsteps was what made himself known as he stepped into the kitchen, eyeing you as he poured himself a cup of coffee.

"Didn't expect to see you here so early." He stated, resting his hip against the counter. You couldn't help but wince when you found him drinking it straight black. "You make it home, okay?"

You nodded. "Yeah… yeah." You hated to lie to him. It was one of the things you promised him when you took the job. To always be truthful when you came over to look over Sarah. But what was the harm of telling a lie when you had spent your time with Tommy, not Sarah. "Took my time coming home."

"I see," Joel nods, and he glances towards his daughter when he hears her giggles start to stir his brother awake. "It's just I couldn't help but notice that you're wearing the same dress as yesterday."

The pancake that was on the spatula had slipped when you lost the balance of it, watching it slip to the floor beside your feet, and you felt your cover slip with it. Your eyes moved to Joel's; his eyebrows raised in knowing that you had slept over.

You wanted to tell him, that nothing happened. The two of you had just moved inside the house and fell asleep on the couch together. Nothing more.

Sarah's giggling grew louder as she ran into the kitchen, Tommy following soon after. Joel looks at his watch, then at the time on the stove to confirm that time was running out. He takes two long strides towards Tommy to take a smack at his shoulder before moving to the table to gather his tools. "C'mon, we need to finish the displays at school before the kiddos arrive for the rehearsal."

"You kiddin', right? I haven't even had breakfast." Tommy raises his hands midair in disapproval, turning towards his brother.

"I told you to be ready by seven. It's seven. And you're already dressed. C'mon!" He smacks his brother one more time on the bicep before crouching down to give Sarah a goodbye kiss on the forehead.

Tommy looks over at you in disbelief, and you shrug towards him. "I'll be over in an hour with Sarah, I'll bring you some if you like?"

He looks over his shoulder at Joel talking to Sarah, and blindly takes a step closer to you to fill the gap. "Don't bring too much," Tommy's words are a whisper and said with a smile. "I'm plannin' on takin' you to dinner after the play."

You press your eyebrows together in confusion. "Tommy, it's seven. In the morning." You turn your attention to the pancakes, completely ignoring the pancake that you have yet to pick off of from the floor.

"You need your strength today. Don't starve yourself." You hide your smile as your eyes look over Sarah's work. "And dinner sounds wonderful."

Tommy's smile is beaming with excitement. He rushes in kissing your cheek as he says goodbye, not wanting to put on a scene in front of Joel and Sarah.

Joel tells you to drive Sarah safe to school and for Sarah to behave before the Miller brothers are walking out of the garage door.

Joel goes by his own words, carefully driving on the wet and slightly flooded pavement. Tommy searches for his pack of cigarettes, and huffs when he remembers he slipped it out of his pants and set it next to your purse on the table next to the front door.

"You mind stopping by the nearest gas station?" Tommy starts to get frustrated, his fingers tapping at his thigh as the craving for his next cigarette grows.

"You're lucky we need gas, otherwise I would have said no."

Joel waits by the truck to keep an eye on the pump. He watches Tommy come out of the gas station with his hands already lighting up a cigarette, shaking his head as the bad habit eases Tommy's nerves. He sighs in relief while leaning his body over the edge of the truck across Joel, taking in a long drag of the smoke that filled his lungs.

"So, the babysitter, huh?" Joel's face twists as the sun glares at his face.

"She has a name, Joel."

Tommy's lack of defense all but confirmed Joel's suspicions. He finishes up the pump and takes his time getting back into the driver's seat; Tommy knows he's not allowed to smoke in the truck.

"Yeah, I know." Joel shakes his head, resting his hand on the handle. "Just make sure before you take her to dinner tonight that you wipe all that stuff from your face.'

Tommy groans. Joel had always eaves dropped, no matter how silent Tommy was. When Joel's last words sink in, Tommy furrows his brows when he catches his reflection on the truck windows. The glitter of the stars shines bright against the sun when he finds the stickers scattered along his face, and some of his curls are springing up towards the air as it's held with butterfly clips.

"Oh, c'mon." Tommy closes his eyes and turns his body away in embarrassment as Joel erupts in laughter in the car.

thank you for reading! tag list - @ay0nha @goldgilzean @goldbengal @musings-of-a-rose @princessmk21 @itsmoonchik

#the last of us #tommy miller #joel miller #sarah miller #tommy miller x reader #tommy miller x you #gabriel luna

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royallyprincesslilly · 8 months

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Title: The UnIntended Series {Book 1: UnExpected}

Okay, so I'm actually nervous to post this. It's wild. With my fanfiction, I don't really feel nervous having others read it, but this---😬.

Anyway, here is chapter 1. As of now, I'm not sure if I will post the 2nd one. Again it'll only be up for a day or two then I will delete it.

To anyone reading it please give me some feedback rather than a "like". I am partly using this as a focus group/beta read session so feedback is crucial. What did you think? Any part you liked or disliked? Would you want to continue it from the 1st chapter alone? If you came across it in a bookstore or Amazon, would you buy it?

Note I: This has NOT been edited beyond small grammatical issues. Also, I am not 100% sold on the name "Daryl" so don't let it be a hang-up.

Note II: Everything here has been officially copywritten so be careful, I'm the wrong one to try.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Prologue

He was my addiction. My cloudy sky. My stormy night my thunderstorms. He was my chocolate brownie with the chocolate ice cream on top. He was my passion my need my obsession. He was my poison. My sweet, delicious poison and I couldn't get enough--wouldn't get enough. I needed him like I needed air water food. It was never enough. His sex was killer, his kiss was sugar, and his body was the best creation made by the creator. His love was death. He was--my ruin.

Chapter 1

“Ughhhh, deeper, harder, uuuugh, yes. Right there, right there. Don’t stop! God, yes, yes, yes, yessssssssssssssssssss!”

Though my vocabulary was quite advanced, no other words could form. The sensations had taken on a life of their own.

“Oh shit, damn baby”.

He drops on the bed next to me panting heavily filling the air with our combined scent. I moan deeply still feeling the power of him between my thighs, “That was amazing La”, Daryl says using the name he’s always called me since college.

I remember the day we met in college like it was yesterday instead of the nearly eight years it actually had been. I was coming up the steps in the rec room not looking where I was going then bam I ran smack into him. At that time we were both kids, barely nineteen with plenty more to learn about the world and the affairs of the heart. When I looked at him it was all over, then when he smiled that lopsided, slick grin of his, I was a goner. Signed sealed delivered I was his. He must have known it too. There was no way he hadn’t because the smug look on his face said it all.

He’d said, “I haven’t ran into anyone as beautiful as you around here, I have to know your name”.

Boy was it a cheesy line, but I was nineteen after all and it was the flyest line I’d heard. I was his.

“You’re just going to leave me hanging?”

Daryl’s voice brought me out of my memory, a memory that was once your favorite but was slowly becoming one you wished you could forget. Looking over next to me, I find his dewy brown eyes staring into me with a questioning look.

“Oh I’m sorry my mind was wandering, it was amazing, but--,” I stretch out rolling onto my side and bring my hand to toned his chest. Slowly I trail my fingers down his smooth skin over each ab muscle, down past his mind dumbing oblique indentations to his still alert appendage. The moan that escaped him was a deep throaty one that said he was more than ready for round three.

Smiling, I lean closer slipping the tip of my tongue along the shell of his ear. “It’s always been amazing, I’m always amazing”, I say in a self-satisfied way before continuing to lick his ear.

“Mmm, you’re bad. Trying to start something?”

That same lopsided smirk decorated his lips and my belly flipped.

“Nope, who said we were done to begin with?”

Without missing a beat, Daryl crashed his full lips into mine, but it was me who took control of the kiss. The passion between us was evident and I was sure that if the room had smoke alarms we would have set them off. Another sensual moan escaped his lips which made my nether regions clench from the desire to have him nestled there again. Just as his movements became urgent and his kiss needy, a loud sound filled the silence pf the space.

Buzz, buzz. Buzz, buzz.

“Mmm, ignore it,” I coax continuing the pleasurable attack my hand was doping under the black sheet of Daryl’s bed.

“Ah, baby,” he groaned out as my finger glided across the smooth tip of his manhood.

With more urgency, Daryl pressed himself against me then brought his large hand to trace along the right side of my body until he cupped my breast.

“Mmm,” I say tightening the grip of my hand around him.

Daryl’s response was to tweak my sensitive and aching nipple between his thumb and forefinger. The action easily brought more moans of pleasure from my lips. It also served the purpose of distracting me. When I felt his other hand skim across my stomach then dip lower and lower the anticipation in me had my back arching off the bed.

Once he made it to the sweet spot between my thighs a high-pitched sigh escaped me. Within seconds he had me panting and mewling from the skill of his fingers and within seconds I needed more of him. Daryl was good at many things, but the one thing he excelled at hands down was his ability to get me from zero to one hundred in thirty seconds flat. It was a skill he’d developed in college and had never relented in holding the record for.

Buzz, Buzz. Buzz, buzz.

I felt the absence of him before he pulled away but when his hand left my body he spoke against my lips, “It could be work, La”.

In this very moment you didn’t give a flying fuck if it was work. Right now there were much more important matters at hand. That was all it took to spark my anger. It was a small action, but it spoke volumes and brought memories of other times before where he’d seemed so aloof. Using all the self-control I possessed coupled with some learned tricks to decelerate my emotions, I clenched my jaw and silently willed my anger to remain in check.

With my eyes glued to him, I watch on as he glances at his phone screen then types in the unlock code. When his face illuminates white from the screen, I continue to watch and crane my eyes to get a glimpse of his screen to see just what it was that had interrupted your moment. Almost as soon as it opens there is a picture of a pretty woman with her legs spread eagle butt naked.

“Oh”,” Daryl rushes out as he jerks from me. The sudden movement has him fumbling his phone but with a stroke of last-minute grace he holds it close to him, hiding it from me. Too late.

The tight hold I had on my anger was suddenly not enough to contain it. With almost inhumane speed, I bolted upright and glared at him sending a thousand hot blades through my eyes in his direction.

“What the hell was that!?”

The heat on my face quickly spread down my neck until my chest felt like I was standing in direct sunlight on the hottest day of summer.

Daryl shrugs, “Nothing”.

“Don’t nothing me, I saw that. Who is that”?

He reached over the bed and placed his phone on the bedside table. “I don’t know La. Must have been a wrong number. It’s nothing”.

My nose crinkled from the stench of his lie. They always had their own distinct scent. I always knew when he was lying and unfortunate he was lying more often than not. “

“Oh nothing? That’s nothing!? So, it’s nothing when you’re getting naked pictures while you’re in bed with me?”

I hadn’t meant to scream the words but once they were out they bounced off the walls, echoing in the room.

“La, calm down,” Daryl cautiously encouraged, “She’s no one.”

Suddenly I felt as if I was going to be sick. The tight knot in my stomach spasmed, a familiar feeling. “No one! So if she’s no one, then what am I?”

Daryl rolled his eyes, and sighed in the exaggerated way he did when he was annoyed with the direction something had taken, “God here we go”.

When he dropped back onto the bed, you bolted to your feet. He was annoyed? Shit, I was past annoyed right now and I had every right to be.

“Yes here we do, Daryl. What the hell is wrong with you? Who is that woman and why is she sending you naked pictures?”

Silence filled the space as he laid there staring into the ceiling completely ignoring me. He knew how much I hated it when he did this. I was convinced he did it because I hated it so much. I didn’t want to go irate right now, but I was seconds away from going atomic.

“Hello!”

Another sigh came from him before he sat up and reached for me. With his hand inches from my breast I leaned back and slapped it away. It was supposed to be a regular hit but because of my anger it was much more than a regular hit. It was a hard one that made the sting from it ricochet through your hand.

“You know what, fuck you Daryl.”

Without missing a beat, I turned and walked to the chair across the room where my clothes were currently draped over. It was time to go. I shouldn’t have even been here to begin with. Keeping my back to him I began putting on my clothes.

“Unfuckinbelivable! Every time is the same mess. The same thing!”

Angrily slinging my shirt over my head I do my best to keep the tears pricking my eyes away. I was tired of crying, tired of this circle.

“Don’t do this La,” Daryl began, his voice smooth as a hustler on the corner trying to upsell some weed, “Listen her name is Marcella, and we were hanging out a while back. That’s it, we haven’t in weeks though.”

Spinning around to face him my eyes narrowed, “Weeks? We’ve been fucking for years Daryl. We’ve been going around this for years. Years! Unbelievable. Oh La, I miss you, I love you, I’m going to change I promise, it’s just you. Bullshit!”

I felt so stupid to have believed his lies, to have expected anything to change. I felt dumb being here right now. My anger had morphed into hurt and it was becoming harder and harder to fight back the tears. I should have known nothing had changed, that nothing would have changed. Deep down I knew it was the same bullshit. Every time I looked in the mirror I saw the truth shining back at me. I had been stupid for a long time.

I watch as Daryl slinks across the room to me with a somber look on his face that I knew was an act. For it to be real he had to feel remorse, an emotion you doubted he even fathomed. Raising my hands I try to keep him at bay because I know if he touches me even a little bit my anger will falter, and he will turn it all around. I didn’t want him to placate me with lies any longer.

“Don’t touch me.”

“Now I can’t touch you? Come on, you love when I touch you.”

He laced his fingers with mine before he pulled me closer to him. “I’m the only one that makes you feel good,” he cooed, “The only one that knows how to touch you.”

For emphasis, Daryl brought his hand around to cup my ass in a way that also brought my leg up to wrap around his waist. Groaning, I pressed my palm to his torso trying to push him off, but he wouldn’t budge. “I’m the only one that makes you drip”, he says his voice dropping to an impossibly deep baritone that instantly proved his words true. It was a voice I had always been utterly powerless against.

I hated his cockiness, hated that there was even an ounce of truth to his words, hated that he had me right where he wanted me.

“Stop it Daryl, I’m not playing.”

“Neither am I,” he said against your ear making you shiver. “I haven’t seen her in weeks. As I said, it’s nothing.”

With that, he tipped my chin up, so I looked into his eyes and just like that, it was over. “I want you”.

I searched his eyes for lies though I knew the lies were to be found on his lips instead. I searched frantically and desperately but there were no lies in his eyes.

“You La. Just you.”

His lips crashed into mine, pulling me into a soul sucking kiss. Soul sucker. That was exactly what he is. Soul sucker. I knew he was full of shit; I knew it yet still I allowed him to kiss me, allowed him the time to worm him hands along my body until I felt his fingers creep up my skirt where I am bare and wet. Wet from wanting him, needing him. Damn it! I hated this; I hated him. A moan filled the room, and I am annoyed to realize it was mine.

Traitor. My body was a traitor, always had been. Daryl lifted me and instinctively my other leg wrapped around his waist. When his mouth moved to my neck the hard press of his girth between my thighs sends my head flying back giving him complete access to the spot he loved to exploit and that was when I knew it.

Fuck! It’s over.

Once he has my back slammed against the wall, he follows suit but grinding his hips against me so I can feel the thing I crave. Without warning, he then slams into me with all the strength and force his powerful body holds. The action pulls a scream from your lips. It’s a scream that is raspy and high pitched all at once, a scream that never stood a chance of ending because before it could, he snapped his lips forward again reminding me that every word he spoke before was true.

“Aaah!”

The force of Daryl’s hips slams into me over and over, harder, and harder until I am seeing stars and unable to catch my breath. All I can do is hold onto him for dear life and pray to whoever was watching this show that you wouldn’t be forever scared by this man.

“You’re mine La!”

Slam.

“Mine!”

Slam.

“--Have been since you were nineteen and will always be mine,” he added, his lips brushing your ear, so you didn’t miss one word.

Slowing down, Daryl circled his hips again nudging your g-spot until you were sure you were going to pass out. In seconds you were clenching around him giving him the satisfaction of knowing you were powerless to him.

“This sweet spot is mine, Leianna, cause I do it the best. Me!”

The possessiveness in his voice could not be missed. He always did get off on claiming ownership. He loved it when I told him I belonged to him, loved when I bore his markings on my skin for others to see, and loved I went out smelling like him. This was nothing different. My eyes rolled to the back of my head as he overwhelmed me with the barrage of thrusts that served as nothing more than way to mark you, brand you as his.

Another orgasm claimed me sweeping me up into the frenzy of need that tied us together.

Bringing his hand to your throat he held you there against the wall making you moan louder and clench harder around him. “Say my name La, say it!”

He knew I liked it when he got rough. Fuck him, I thought as another moan fell from my lips. I hated him but I was loving every second of the pleasure he brought me through this show of assertion he was putting on, loved the feel of him pounding into me, trying to mark me. Fuck him and damn me, I loved it all.

“Say it,” Daryl badgered adding a slight amount of pressure. Not enough to hurt me but it was enough to make me wetter.

“Daryl,” I gasp out of breath as he keeps pounding into me against his wall.

“Whose is it? Who does it belong to?”

The air around us has become so thick that catching a breath is nearly impossible and the lack of oxygen has my head spinning.

“Whose!”

His shout brings me back to the moment. our eyes linger and I watch as his mouth falls open clearly enraptured with the pleasure he was finding in me.

“Yours. Shit Daryl, it’s yours, always has been, yes, yes, yes!”

I feel the tint of shame wash over me. Shame for saying the words, shame for allowing him to put me in this situation, shame for never wanting him to stop fucking me, shame for wanting to stay in this bubble for as long as possible because it would mean he would stay here with me in this moment away from his lies and away from his asshole moves.

Digging my nails into his shoulder I aim to hurt him and with his shout I am pleased to know that I have. With one final thrust that sends my head banging into the wall, Daryl fills me, marking me as we both find our release. For long moments we clutch one another panting as we slowly come down from the euphoria of our bodies connecting, the euphoria I had only ever found in him.

When I am coherent enough I realize that Daryl had moved us back to the bed. I feel his lips press to my jaw, then my neck before he pulls away from my body and walks away toward the bathroom. I take another steadying breath then see him grab his phone from the nightstand before disappearing into the bathroom. Again the knot in my stomach spasms and I feel sick to my stomach as utter disgust and self-loathing washes over me. I was stupid, so stupid. I knew it, and he must have known it too because he knew he had me, he knew it.

The stinging of my tears pushed me into action. Standing on wobbly legs I took a moment to steady myself then fixed the clothes I was wearing. I approached the chair again to finish dressing then dug a note card from my purse and wrote across it with the red lipstick he liked so much. Gathering my things I walked to the bed ignoring the crumpled sheets and placed the notecard on his pillow. Looking around I took a moment to make sure I had everything then walked through the bedroom door towards the door.

I didn’t look back. What was the purpose of doing so? I walked with my head high and spine straight with a head filled with vows to never return but your heart whispered into the abyss of your pain that you’d be back.

#original fiction #novel sample

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starstruckkittensweets · 28 days

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chapter two

Fandom: My Hero Academia Pairing: Dabi x Reader Words: 5.6k

A/N: Anon in my inbox, this chapter is for you! I've had this in my drafts for a while now, so I cleaned it up and edited it so I could post it ASAP. I hope you enjoy! Please heed the warnings both below and in the main masterlist!

Warnings: 18+ only (minors DNI), Reader is referred to with she/her pronouns, explicit language, mentions of arson, mentions of violence, stalking, breaking and entering, Reader is followed and nearly attacked by a stranger (nothing happens, heavily implied though), murder, brief descriptions of a corpse (it's Dabi's fault), Dabi is kind of an asshole towards Reader in his descriptions of her but that's to be expected I guess

“Kerosene and Butterflies” Masterlist

Your house used to be an akiya, one of the many abandoned homes in the rural parts of Japan. Upon graduating and moving out, you were able to snag a nice one for an affordable price, with a few investments in repairs here and there. And while your family wasn’t a hundred percent on board with the idea of you living so far away from the rest of them, they didn’t really stop you because, well, it all came out of your pocket. Why stop something if you’re not the one footing the bill, right?

It’s quiet, calm, and comes with some gorgeous scenery, especially in the fall season. Only a fifteen-minute walk to the nearest town, seven if you power walk. It’s the dream house you’ve always envisioned yourself living in when you finally grew up and moved out of your parents’ home.

But now you’re starting to see the downsides of living in such a secluded home: far away from the rest of civilization, not a single soul in sight. A perfect location for any wandering criminals looking for an easy break-in.

You haven’t slept much these last few nights. The little note is in your desk drawer, stuffed between two books and covered up with a towel. Part of you wanted to throw it out, to stuff it down the shredder, to burn it and toss the ashes somewhere in the forest—but eventually you caved and decided to keep it. Maybe hand it over to the police as evidence if any more were left behind.

But it’s been the only one for about a week or so. And since then, you’ve triple checked each lock on every door and window in this house, even scoped out the entire place from outside to make sure there weren’t any crevices or secret entrances anyone could use against you. And just as a precaution, you keep your old softball bat right next to your bed, brushing your fingers over the handle every night before you go to sleep.

Not like it’ll do much against an attacker, you barely have any arm strength to begin with. Still, it gives you something to cling onto.

And now the moon is high in the sky, and you still have to get ready for work tomorrow. Part of you wonders if you should stay in a hotel for a couple nights in the city, but you decide against it. You have to save up for bills anyway, there’s not enough cash between weekly grocery shopping and student loans to splurge on a hotel getaway. Besides, it’s not like anyone can get into this house anymore; you’ve latched both locks on the front door and shoved a bookcase in front of the kitchen window. The curtains are shut and the lights are off. No one’s getting in here now.

You wish you could remember anything about that night—anything unusual, like missing items or unusual scents. But you’d been so tired from your shift that you’d thought nothing of it, completely oblivious until you found that little note tucked away in your notebook.

The little black notebook you’re cradling against your chest, an uncapped pen trembling between your fingers.

Someone was in your house. Someone had found this book—had leafed through it and read your little entries. All the embarrassing words and thoughts that plagued your mind in the dead of night, and sometimes during the day, about a certain black-haired villain. Someone who had left a taunting note about it, leaving you rattled for days on end.

Oh god, I can’t believe someone saw all those notes and entries—they must think I’m a total weirdo! I thought no one could find it and read it, that’s why I kept writing—but oh my god what’s going to happen now? What if they come back and try looking through it again? What if—

Calm down, it’s okay, what’s the worst that could happen? So what if they read all your embarrassing writing? It’s not like they’re going to go to the police and tell them you have the hots for a villain. You’re not gonna get arrested for something like that.

You grit your teeth at the thought. You do not have the hots for him.

Go figure, you’re more hung up over the fact that someone’s read what you’ve written in your little diary rather than them actually breaking into your own fucking house.

Maybe you really are screwed up in the head.

As quickly as you can, you change into your pajamas and finish your nightly routine. You tuck yourself into bed, surrounded by the trio of plushies next to your pillow. As sad as it sounds, they give you a sense of comfort you haven’t felt since before you left home to come live here.

Maybe it was just a one-time thing. Maybe it was just some lowlife who thought he could scare you. Maybe he’s far away from this place by now, looking for another house to break into. Besides, it’s not like he took much, right? He’s probably traveling light in order not to get caught. He’s not gonna come back anytime soon.

It’s true, only a few snacks and candy bars from the counter were taken that night. You realized the next morning, after staying up the entire night holding the note in your hands. Not enough to put a dent in your food supply for the week, but enough for you to notice its absence.

If it happens again, you could always contact the police. Maybe they could get a hero or two to patrol the area, to make sure he’s really gone. Wouldn’t that be nice?

Sure enough, the thought’s enough to send you to sleep, with a hand curled around the handle of the softball bat, and another wrapped around the little stuffed toys on your bed.

“I have some terrible news…the pocky I was planning on sending you mysteriously disappeared.”

“Shocker.” The sound of Fay’s laughter crackles over the phone’s speaker. Part of you wants to laugh along with her, but the growing pit in your stomach tells you it’s not a good idea just yet. “Did your brother come over and steal it again?”

“No…actually, his is gone, too.”

“Wait, seriously? What happened to it? Because I know you suddenly didn’t get a craving for pocky in the middle of the night.”

You shrug your shoulders, even though you know she can’t see you. Even if she’s miles away overseas, just talking to her again makes you feel a little bit safer. Like nothing can hurt you if she’s on the phone with you.

No scary people lurking outside your home tonight.

“I…I think someone broke in and stole it.”

“What?!” It’s hard not to flinch at her shrill yelp. Why did you put her on speakerphone again? “Someone broke into your house?! Are you okay? They didn’t take anything valuable, did they? No money or electronics? You still have all your personal stuff, right?”

“Yeah, Fay, don’t worry about it. Everything’s in order. Looks like they just helped themselves to that stash of candy I was saving for you guys. But…that’s all they took.”

Fuck, even when you say it out loud it sounds ridiculous. What kind of thief breaks into someone’s secluded house just to steal a fistful of candy? Not a very smart one, if they ignored the whole gaming system you have set up in the living room. You could easily make a few hundred bucks off of that…so why didn’t they think to take it when they had the chance?

Fay hums on the other end of the line; you can just picture her tapping her finger against her chin, lost in thought as she stares into space. “…That’s weird. And you’re sure they didn’t take anything else?”

“Positive.” You checked each room twice, then triple checked them just to be safe. Everything’s in order, aside from the supply of candy in the kitchen. “But…it happened about a week ago. Nothing else since then, so…I’m guessing that’s a good sign?”

“Well, did you call the police at least? Or put in a report? Maybe you can have a couple heroes scope out the place if you’re nervous.”

“Yeah, I thought about that too… If it happens again I’ll let them know. But honestly I think it was just a one-time thing. It’s been pretty quiet since it happened, anyway.”

You don’t even bother telling her about the note; you know if you do, she’ll be screaming in your ear about how dangerous it is over here, that you should just move back home to be with the rest of your family and friends. Safe and sound, where they can keep a close eye on you.

Not like there aren’t villains and lowlife criminals where she lives, but still… You can kinda see her point. Nothing like this had ever happened back when you lived with your family.

Besides, telling her about the note will only lead to telling her about the journal—about Dabi, and you’re never going to go there with her. You trust each other with a lot, but this is a secret you’re willing to take to your grave.

Nice way of putting it, but whatever.

Can you even imagine how fucking awkward that would be? Yeah, I ran into one of Japan’s most wanted villains at my job and now I’m fucking obsessed with him. I can’t stop thinking about him and honestly he’s the reason I started writing in that old journal again. Oh, and whoever broke into my house also found that journal and read through all those stupid little entries I wrote about him. And they left me a little note taunting me about it. Fucking amazing, right?

She already knows you’re weird, but admitting something like that to her would guarantee her checking you into some kind of hospital. Or back home with your family. Honestly at this point, you don’t know which one would be worse.

Thankfully she drops the subject; you can tell the time difference is getting to her (it’s almost her bedtime, and the day’s just beginning for me). But talking with her always puts you in a good mood, and when you say your goodbyes and hang up, your chest already feels a thousand times lighter. If you have one regret upon moving overseas, it’s not being able to bring Fay along for the ride.

But now the house is quieter without her voice echoing through the rooms. Today’s housecleaning day, and thankfully it’s nice enough outside to have the windows open. The fresh air always makes you feel better. And besides, it’s broad daylight—what kind of thief would try to break in now?

So you change into an old shirt and pair of shorts, push open the windows, and set to work. First comes the laundry—you’re lucky enough to have a working washing machine and dryer in the powder room downstairs. Once the first load of clothes is shoved into the washer, you head upstairs with a bucket of rags in one hand and a mop in another.

The first casualty is your bedroom; you’ll work your way downstairs and clean as much as you can, until the smell of lemon makes your stomach twist.

The hours tick by slowly, and eventually you lose yourself in your housework, humming along to the thousands of songs on shuffle blasting through your headphones. Sweep the floor, mop the floor, polish the windows—oh, don’t forget to switch the laundry. One load down, two more to go.

And it’s…nice. Not that you enjoy doing housework, but it’s almost relaxing to keep your hands busy with something else for a change. Keeps your mind off other things, lets you focus on the gorgeous weather outside and the fact that it’s you day off from work. Sometimes it’s nice to just enjoy the simple things like that.

Don’t even mention the events of last week. All that’s over with now, gone with the wind. And thank goodness for that.

The sun is nearly gone by the time you finish, and you’re fucking exhausted. But at least the laundry’s done and folded, the upstairs is spotless (save for the storage room, that’s a project for another day), and the entire house has a faint lemon scent to it. Not overpowering, but just enough to remind you of home.

Still, even with how tired you are, the last thing you wanna do is dirty up the kitchen and make yourself some dinner. Maybe you should treat yourself to that cute little ramen shop in town…

The more you think about it, the more enticing the idea sounds. Your stomach is already growling, but you manage to change into a fresh pair of clothes and fix up your hair a bit before heading out the door. Heavy lanyard hanging from your wrist as you lock up and head into town.

Just a quick bite to eat, and then it’s bedtime. In and out, twenty minutes’ adventure. What could go wrong?

He didn’t expect to see her out and about this early in the day.

Granted it’s nearly half past nine, a dark veil over the streets of the city. But it still makes Dabi stop in his tracks, huddle further into the alleyway when he sees her sitting at the counter of a ramen shop. Eagerly slurping up noodles from the bowl in front of her, scrolling aimlessly through her phone. Completely unaware of her surroundings.

As per usual, the little idiot.

Well, he can’t be too mean to her; she has been a bit skittish the last week or so. Probably found his note in that little book of hers, and now she’s more careful about wandering too far from her little house in the woods. She hasn’t left it much other than to go to work, and unknown to her, he’s only a few steps away from that downtrodden path. Making sure she gets home safe.

At least, that’s what a hero would think, and he’s the furthest thing from one. Nah, he just doesn’t want anything to happen to that little stash of food she’s got in the kitchen. Thanks to her generosity the League was able to fill their bellies for a few nights. Only downside is that Toga is consistently begging him to get more of those candy bars, maybe even some more pocky. She seemed to like that the most.

He’s just thankful she hasn’t decided to follow him out here. No telling what the little psycho will do if she sees the cute owner of that tiny house.

…Cute?

He grimaces at the word. Not even close. Just fascinating to him. He wants to know what’s going on in that stupid little head of hers—how much of it is filled with air and empty space if she has the balls to go and write little love letters to a villain like him.

He’s been to her house three times since then; two for recon (making sure no one else is scoping out the area), and one to explore that huge master bedroom of hers. She’d been at work, not scheduled to come home until hours later, so he made himself comfy at her desk and flipped through her little journal.

She’s got a bad habit of writing about him. Not any other villains, not even any heroes. The only name scrawled down in those pages is Dabi.

He hadn’t seen her up close since that first night at the store; and now she’s just ten feet away from him, chowing down on some ramen like she hasn’t eaten all week.

Bet she’s eaten more than any of us have, if her loaded kitchen’s anything to go by. The thought makes his stomach twist and his fists tighten at his sides.

But he has to keep his distance—for now, at least. Don’t wanna scare her off just yet.

Dabi pulls his hood up and over his head, careful not to make any sudden noise from the alleyway. She’s sitting there with two other guys, all three of them too engrossed in their meals to pay attention to each other. Looks like she won’t be leaving anytime soon, so he might as well get comfy.

Not like he has much to do tonight anyways. He’s been hanging out here since the sun went down, waiting for a possible new addition to the League. But he hasn’t shown his face yet, and Dabi’s waited long enough. Can’t waste time on nobodies not committed to the cause.

Of course now he’s got a reason to stick around a bit longer—one that’s slurping up noodles so loud he’s surprised she hasn’t woken the entire neighborhood.

He lights a cigarette, careful to shield the spark of blue from any prying eyes. Only a few people roam the streets this late at night, eager to get home and tuck themselves in bed for the night. A tipsy couple getting a little too handsy on their way to their hotel room. A group of teens chattering away like they’re the only ones in the world. Far too many businessmen checking their watches, probably planning on apologizing to their wives for not making it home on time.

All of them walk by him, too lost in their own troubles to notice a villain lurking a little too close to the streets. Guess nothing’s unusual about a guy leaning in an alleyway for a quick smoke.

He glances back up at the girl, just in time to see her finish off the bowl of ramen. She bids farewell to the owner, and from the smiles they give each other, it’s safe to say they have a bit of history together. He barely has time to sneak further into the shadows of the alleyway before she’s walking past him, that damn lanyard nearly hitting him in the knee.

She’s on the move now. He stomps out his cigarette and shoves his hands in his pockets. Wonder where she’ll head off to next?

She doesn’t veer off towards the path that’ll take her home. Instead she keeps walking aimlessly through the streets, drinking in the bright lights of the city, not even caring if someone nearly walks right into her. It’s getting harder to stick to the shadows, but at least the people around us give him enough cover. She hasn’t seemed to notice him following her.

Not yet, at least. And when she does…

It’s hard not to smile at the thought.

She’s lost in her own little world, admiring the sights like a fucking tourist. Like she doesn’t live in this damn city—oh that’s right, she doesn’t. She’s living out in those woods, secluded and tucked away in the shadows. Part of him wonders if she hates it, living on her own like that. If she was forced to or had nowhere else to go but an old cottage with a sunken roof and a coat of moss.

Must be so lonely in that big house, with no one to keep you company.

Eh, not that it matters to me anyway. She’s just a way to pass the time. To keep his hands busy until he gets bored of her. Or she gets bored of him.

Wonder if she’s written any love notes for me lately?

Suddenly she bumps into a random person in the crowd ahead; she shakes her head and offers an awkward smile, a thousand apologies spilling from her pretty lips. And then she’s off again, lost in the sea of city folk.

The man doesn’t move, frozen still on the edge of the sidewalk. The bastard’s a bit grimy, with an unkempt beard and bloodshot eyes. Apparently someone doesn’t care a whole lot about appearances.

Not that Dabi has much room to talk, looking like the patchwork freak he is.

But then the stranger glances over his shoulder, eyes searching deep into the crowd…and something stirs in the pit of Dabi’s chest. Something hot and sharp that sends alarm bells ringing through his head.

What the fuck is his problem?

The man’s shoulders stiffen, jaw clenching tightly—and suddenly he’s walking straight into the crowd, his eyes trained on her back.

And she’s none the wiser, poor, stupid little girl.

Dabi doesn't know what kicks him into gear; what has his feet moving on their own, every step sending a jolt of adrenaline rushing through his body. Once or twice he actually shoves someone out of the way, earning a couple dirty looks—or averted eyes, if they’re smart. But he doesn’t pay them any mind; all he can think about is getting to her before he does.

What the fuck has gotten into him? Since when does her safety and well-being concern him?

He should turn around. Pretend he didn’t see anything and walk the fuck away. Maybe head back to the shitty excuse the League calls a base, it’s a pretty boring night anyway.

Turn around. She’s not worth it.

Not worth it, not fucking worth it.

Like he hasn’t heard those words before.

She’s blissfully unaware of the audience she has, as she follows the familiar path towards the forest that’ll take her home. The stranger is close behind, footsteps too loud and clumsy. She’ll know she’s being followed the minute he hits the dirt.

Dabi has to be quick. While she’s occupied with heading home, he picks up the pace and meets the stranger halfway. Curling one arm around his shoulders, slapping a hand over his mouth to stifle his screams, as he yanks him into the nearest alley. His other hand lifts up to the stranger’s face, a spark of blue coming to life at his fingertips.

“Not really in the mood to play tonight,” his voice drawls out, making sure to keep his back turned to the forest, “so if you start running now I promise not to hunt you down.”

He’s not worth his time; just some lowly trash who thought he could score big tonight. And Dabi can see it in his face, with the way he glares up at him, stringy hair hanging in his face, mouth curled into a sneer…

Wait, is he smiling at me?

“Didn’t think you were following me,” he sputters out once he moves his scarred hand from his face. “I thought you wanted to meet up near that ramen place?”

Dabi’s hand freezes in the air. This is the guy he’s been waiting for? He shoves him to his feet, stuffing his hands in his pocket.

“You’re late.”

“Yeah, sorry about that.” The man runs a hand through his greasy hair; Dabi barely manages to hide his grimace. “Something came up, and then I ran into…”

His gaze darts towards the trees, his tongue dragging along his lips. Dabi takes a step forward, the sound of his heavy boots echoing through the alley. The man clears his throat before meeting his eyes once more. Credit to him, he doesn’t flinch away when he sees Dabi’s face head-on.

Probably can’t see the severity of his scars in this light.

“Hey, you didn’t happen to see a girl come by this way, did you?”

“Stay away from her.”

The man’s face falls, and Dabi swears he can see his body tremble just a bit. “Oh, is she yours? Lucky man! Gotta say, pretty little thing like that shouldn’t be walking around in the dark… Quite a few dangerous fuckers out there wouldn’t mind getting their hands on a woman like that.”

Dabi can feel his blood boiling with every word that leaves the man’s lips. It’s not like he hasn’t come across men like this before; he has, and every single time they’ve left him with a twisting stomach and a burning throat. Eager to hunt down the weak, to prey on them till there’s nothing left—but when they’re confronted about it, they turn the other cheek and play that sweet innocent smile. Quite a few heroes do it to keep order in the public eye, so it’s no surprise a common citizen would stoop so low to save their skin.

But it’s the way he keeps staring at the trees, like he’s hoping she comes back out into the dim streetlight, that makes Dabi’s hands curl into fists inside his pockets. Call it a gut feeling, but something tells him he’s not worthy enough of being admitted into the League. Like hell is this bastard going anywhere near Toga if that’s how he looks at a girl.

Breaks my fucking heart.

But he can’t kill him yet. Gotta give him a chance to prove himself before anything else happens. Something about false hope, makes it a little more fun in the end. Even though he already knows the verdict on the matter.

“Let’s just get this over with.”

The sound of glass shattering jolts you out of your slumber. Your eyes snap open, your heart lurches in your throat—and when you hear the creak of the stairs, you almost scream right then and there.

Almost.

You have barely a minute to think. Mind still frazzled with sleep, fingers still numb and head splitting with a throbbing ache. You completely forget the bat resting beside your bed and drop to your knees. Thank god you never put anything under here.

You crawl underneath the bed and slap both hands over your mouth. Your phone is resting on the bedside table, you didn’t even think to grab it. All you can think about are the impending footsteps—and the fact they come to a stop right outside your door.

Oh my fucking god, why didn’t I ever put a proper bed skirt in when I moved in here?! At least then I could be better hidden, anyone can see me if they’re looking hard enough! It’s so dark in here, but I’m almost positive anyone can see me—

Someone raps their knuckles on the door. It takes every bit of strength in your body not to squeak at the noise.

They’re outside. Oh god, they’re right outside the fucking door, shit—

Another knock. You squeeze your eyes shut, teeth sinking into the skin of your palm.

Then, silence.

You don’t know how much time passes. Seconds, hours, it all blends together. Your face hurts from being scrunched up for so long, but the minute you relax your muscles you think you hear a noise—and you clench your eyes shut all over again.

There’s someone in my house. They must’ve broke through one of the windows downstairs, but how? I thought I had them all blocked off and shut!

Is it the same person who came to my house before? The same one that left me a note? Or is it someone completely different?

What’s stopping them from busting down the door and killing me right here and now? Why are they just standing out there like a fucking creep?

Eventually, the footsteps can be heard again. But there’s a creak on the staircase, a telltale sign the intruder’s retreating for now. Something heavy falls somewhere downstairs, probably one of the bookcases against the windows, the sound rumbling throughout the entire house. Your nails sink into the skin of your cheeks; part of you wonders if the intruder is tearing up your home in hopes you’ll come out to investigate the noise.

No fucking way. Your ass is staying right here, glued to the floor beneath this bed.

But then it suddenly stops, and it’s quiet again. Only for a moment, before you hear the sound of glass being kicked around, of the door downstairs opening with a harsh swing.

You don’t find the courage to breathe until you hear the door shut with a heavy slam, the walls rattling all around you.

Still, you wait a few more minutes before moving from your spot. As quietly as possible, wincing every time the floorboards squeak beneath your weight. Keeping your eyes on the door ahead, you reach up and feel around the bedside table for your phone—finally finding it and glancing at the time.

Four thirty-six in the morning. Half an hour before sunrise.

I think I’m going to be sick.

So you wait it out. Hunched beneath your bed with your phone in one hand and your bat in the other. Until sunlight streams through the curtains, bathing the room in a warm orange glow. Only then do you swallow your fear and open the door with a trembling hand.

There’s…nothing outside in the hallway. Just the usual wooden floor you’ve come to know over the last couple of years. The same one that’s always a pain to wash on housecleaning day.

The sun is your best friend, filling the house with a gorgeous golden aura. Shining through every window, nearly blinding you as you slowly make your way down the stairs. You don’t know what sick part of your brain makes you think you’re safe in the sunlight; for all you know, the intruder is still lurking outside your home, waiting for you to let your guard down.

Maybe it’s the same part of your brain that thinks you’re okay as long as you have the covers pulled up over your head at night. Yeah, that’s gotta be it.

At first glance, the entire downstairs seems normal. The front door remains shut, like it was never opened in the first place. The bookshelf is still in front of the large window in the kitchen where you left it. It’s the one in the living room that’s been shattered completely, shards of glass sprinkled on the floor, glimmering in the morning sun. A soft breeze flutters through the living room; you wrap your arms around yourself and turn away, already thinking about how much it’ll cost to get that fixed.

And then you see it—resting right there on the kitchen table, in the midst of all your shopping lists, bill payments, and letters to your family and friends back home.

A single rose with gorgeous red petals, its stem plucked of any dangerous thorns. Something that definitely wasn’t there last night when you went to bed.

Your hand is trembling as you reach out to grab it. There’s nothing else, just a lone flower with blood red petals—and the lingering scent of smoke and ash.

But something else on the table catches your eye. A piece of crumpled paper, clearly ripped from the notepad you keep on the kitchen counter for lists and reminders throughout the day. You’re shaking so hard you can barely get a grip on it, nearly tearing it in half when you try to open it up.

Sorry about the mess out back, doll. He won’t be bothering you anytime soon. Hope you can forgive me if I scared you.

You know it the second you see it: the handwriting is the same exact kind as the note from your journal. The same messy scrawl, the same swirl on the tail of the y, the same pet name doll.

Doll, doll—shit, it’s the same guy from before!

Wait a minute…what does he mean, ‘the mess out back’?

The longer you stay there, the stronger the scent of smoke gets. At first it was just a whiff, but now it’s hitting you square in the face, so strong you have to lift your sleeve over your nose.

Where is it coming from?

But you know the answer even before your feet begin to move. As slowly as you can, you start to walk towards the broken window. Trying to ignore the churn in your stomach as the smell of smoke gets stronger and stronger.

The early morning sun spills over the trees, creeping up the deck that stretches around the perimeter of the house. Broken glass glitters across the floor, twinkling like diamonds; your hands are trembling as you reach the railing of the deck, leaning over to peek around the corner—

The smell hits you almost instantly, even before your eyes land on it. Something large and charred and smoking horribly, reminding you of all the barbeque picnics your family would have over the summer. But it’s a gruesome smell, far too pungent to be a piece of food or part of a tree.

And too fucking big to be an animal.

Fuck, fuck, fuck it’s a human, it’s gotta be a human, holy fucking shit is that someone’s corpse out there on my lawn—

Someone screams in the distance—no, that’s just you, and you realize a little too late as you slap both hands over your mouth. You can’t tear your eyes away from the scene—your eyes nearly popping out of your skull when you make out a few bits of ragged fabric and the shape of a hand, scorched down to the bone.

The rose falls to the floor as you bolt back up the stairs, nearly tripping over your own feet at least twice, and slamming your bedroom door shut behind you. Locking it tight and crawling back into bed, throwing as many blankets over your head as you can. Keeping your bat close and holding your phone against your chest.

It takes a solid five minutes before you can punch in any numbers, your voice dying in your throat with every word you speak.

It’s okay, the police are on their way. Maybe they’ll bring a hero or two to help them out—it’s alright, everything will be fine once they show up.

Your head is spinning like crazy (it’s too early in the morning for this shit). The break-in, the corpse, the note, the rose—what the fuck does it all mean? Somehow it’s all connected, there’s no fucking way all of this could be just a series of coincidences, but you know you’re still missing the bigger picture.

Who’s following you around, leaving you little notes and shit, and why did they leave a burning corpse outside your door like that? Hard to believe it, but you’re actually looking forward to going to work tonight. Anything to get you out of this house for a bit.

#dabi x reader #dabi x you #dabi x y/n #touya todoroki x reader #touya todoroki x you #kerosene and butterflies #tw: stalking #restricted fics

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tp-sm · 5 months

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Coming Soon: DEVIL WARS - A New Story, A New Saga

"We’ll never know what our eyes may behold beyond the mountains of gray unless we know the truth of the self." - The Wind Hashira, Hama Goda

In an unsuspecting galaxy far, far away, two powerful Demon Slayers, guardians in the night across the stars, will embark on a mysterious mission but will meet some unexpected foes far beyond their imagination with enough power to kill many people....

Tune in as the first chapter of the upcoming Devil Wars story, written by Top Stream, will come soon to a galaxy near you

Come join and become the first readers and members of the Devil Wars community once the first chapter is available on websites AO3, Wattpad (also including important pre-chapters), and Quotev soon for free!

More updates in the future.

Devil Wars is a dark epic story crossover saga, with familiar characters and settings from Star Wars and Demon Slayer (also called Kimetsu no Yaiba) along with original characters and settings by yours truly, Top Stream. A story of family, the heavens, space, romance, battle, war, faith, magic, swords, and horror, with intertwining tales of heroes in a dangerous galaxy, bringing justice, hope, and compassion to the universe!

With nail-biting stakes, you will be on the edge of your seats in Devil Wars!

***

Disclaimer: Devil Wars is a story owned by Top Stream. It is a genuine crossover fanfiction story of Star Wars and Demon Slayer, along with my original universe of the Realm of Edrel and its original characters and settings. As such, there will be differences in each universe's official canon.

The story will be told in a non-linear, non-chronological story format (a storytelling format used in stories like the movie Pulp Fiction) as it divides into larger "episodes" similar to the Star Wars Skywalker Saga movies.

Warning: This story will contain blood, gore, violence, mature language, and scary moments. It will also contain mature content and themes and include unsettling moments and dialogue that may be disturbing or triggering to some readers. Reader discretion is heavily advised. Chapter-specific warnings are added to pertain to the writing of each chapter.

PLEASE NOTE THAT THIS CHAPTER AND THE REST OF THE DEVIL WARS STORY AND SAGA ARE INTENDED FOR MATURE AUDIENCES, 18 and older, depending on the age of majority in your local region.

Well, you've been warned…

All of the writings are purely imaginary and fictional. Demon Slayer belongs to Koyoharu Gotoge. Star Wars belongs to Lucasfilm, based on original characters by George Lucas. The Realm of Edrel and the original characters belong to the author, Top Stream. Pictures, music, and edits featured in the story belong to their respective owners and artists, including yours truly. Any resemblance to the person, situation, location living or dead is purely coincidental.

Acknowledgments and proper attribution of information and to those who have helped will be in the chapters soon!

Top Stream profile picture avatar: Drawn by Me (Inspired by Godzilla)

Picture in this post is created and owned by Top Stream:

Its background image is from Pexels, as the photo was taken by Francesco Ungaro under Pexels's media usage policy: https://www.pexels.com/photo/starry-sky-998641/.

Fonts used are ITC Franklin Gothic LT from fontsgeek.com: https://fontsgeek.com/itc-franklin-gothic-lt-font

#star wars #demon slayer #crossover #original character #artwork #art #hashira

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drifting-pieces-blog-blog · 6 months

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Breaking down the comics: Learning to Crawl (issue 35)

Moon Knight, Issue # 35: Second Wind

Written by Tony Isabella and drawn by Carl Potts

Hey look! The X-men are in this one! And the Fantastic Four! That’s a lot of cross-over. As I’ve stated before, a lot of times when you have a ‘features’ on the cover, it means the characters show up briefly to do a one liner, then leave. A ploy to try to draw in more readers and sell more issues. Let’s see how much they all feature in this!

And the plot summary? “Following last issue’s devastation, Moon Knight is at a crossroads on whether or not to continue his vigilante career. Guest-starring the X-Men and FF!”

Now, keep in mind that this is a new writer (One that was acclaimed and recently retired that came out of retirement to guest appear) right after Moench left Marvel. So we're getting the character intro that feels more geared towards the writer than the audience. ALSO this is a cross over ultra long issue so they are hoping to have NEW readers that are here for the X-men and that will get interested in Moon Knight and then start reading regularly.

So we're not only going to get over intros of the characters, but we're also going to get a heavily watered down edition of the characters because the new readers aren't here for lore, they're here for X-men.

We open at midnight in Manhattan.

"It's Midnight when the man born Marc Spector (but who has long since glided into other identities as easily as he now glides over the city) spots the quarry that has brought him out into the darkness.

Thus Marc Spector begins this in his identity as the costumed adventurer Moon Knight. When it ends he will know who he truly is...and why."

His prey is "The Fly", who focuses on robbing rich vacation homes while the owners are away.

After noting that The Fly recently went up against Spider-Man and lost, Moon Knight sneaks up on The Fly and immediately gets his ass kicked. He spends a lot of time on the ground.

He’s doing well.

OH. OH NO. I know this comic! (it may come as a surprise to some of you that I do not read the comics then write these analysis. I do a life reaction.) I knew this was coming but it had completely escaped me that THIS was how it happened. Oh. My. Khonshu. This is embarrassing.

As always, Frenchie is up above keeping an eye on things. When he spots "The Fly" getting away, he radios down to Moon Knight.

Worried for his friend, he climbs down from the chopper and finds Marc laid out on the roof, unable to move and barely able to speak.

I must say, the art and colors on this issue are spectacular.

Frenchie gets Marc to his chopper.

"Moon Knight glides from pain to oblivion to delirium in no discernible pattern. Once he curses himself through agonized tears for being so sloppy this time.

Once he wakes in madness to quote Keats. 'There is not a fiercer hell than the failure in a great object.'"

Side note: We've seen Marc, specifically Marc, quote classical literature before. Marc is shockingly well read and it makes me wonder why he hides how smart he is. In later issues he talks about his struggles in school, but Marc Spector really is very smart. (An idiot but smart).

John Keats is an English romantic poet. He is famously known for "Beauty in truth, truth in beauty".

Jean-Paul takes Marc to a private hospital that 'doesn't ask questions'.

He undergoes surgery, but his spinal damage is great. They tell Marlene that they've done what they can and the rest lays in subsequent therapy. "I'm afraid it's entirely possible that Steven Grant may never walk again."

We move to Paris where a young up and coming dancer is running for her life from some unseen danger.

Her assailant is a woman who accuses her of abandoning Russia and taking all her gifts with her. The attacker uses the wind as her power and sends the girl off into the sky to meet a terrible fate.

Back in Grant Mansion, we see one of the Moon Boys working on parallel bars to learn to walk again. The whole time, he curses himself for letting The Fly get away.

Now, for the past couple of issues, Moon Knight has been facing another internal conflict of if he is doing any good. The people he was supposed to help turned out to be th villains and the villains turned out to be guided by circumstances and then paid a terrible price.

"I'm not sure I should ever think about Moon Knight again... I mean, what if it's somebody else's life on the line next time I screw up?"

Marlene calls an end to today's therapy session and helps 'Steven' back to his wheelchair.

Samules, the butler, announces a guest and Gena busts in at full speed.

"Guests, Sammy? We're family. Right Lockley?"

"How's the kids, Gena?" (Jake is always such a sweetie).

She gives him a hug and I may tear up. I love Gena so much.

Crawley bursts in next.

Jake's friends have always been his support and his heart.

Jake is worried about the boys.

Gena is too. "This sure isn't the easiest city in the world to grow up in...Even for good kids."

They reflect on the gangs always recruiting new members.

They talk about how Lenny, from the Music box issue, is serving time despite being a good kid. They reflect on the gang that was poisoned and attacked Gena in her diner.

"Those are the reasons I'm thinking of leaving. My brother has a place in Houston. He needs a manager. Hard decision to make." Gena admits.

"Do what's best for you and the kids. But... If you can --stay. You've got family here too."

It's hard to let go of friends. Especially someone as important to their way of life and joy like Gena. Jake relies so heavily on his routine. He visits the diner for breakfast frequently and he goes there when things are stressful or he wants to get away from Steven's life and people.

Gena heads out, back to the diner. Crawley lingers to have a word.

Moon Knight used to pay Crawley for information. Crawley has always had a gambling problem and he admits that he's been in it again and is out of cash and overdue on the rent again.

"I...I was wondering if Moon Knight would be requiring my services soon."

I'm not sure who is fronting at this junction, but he's giving Steven vibes so I'll say Steven.

Steven admits that he doesn't know when he'll be up and able to walk again, much less Moon Knighting...

"I'm not sure Moon Knight will be back."

Marlene offers to put Crawley on a retainer and holds out some cash.

"Oh, no. I'm afraid I've gotten to enjoy working for a living again. Not to worry, my dear, I'll be fine."

Crawley refuses help and asks to be notified if his services are needed. He heads back to the diner.

Steven is angry. "He's my friend, Marlene, and for the first time I'm wondering if it hasn't been my needs as Moon Knight that have kept him down in the gutters--While I come home to THIS every morning.

Maybe it is time to retire as Moon Knight."

He heads into the room that houses his Khonshu statue.

"What do you say, Khonshu, Old boy? Is the wheelchair and the legs that won't work some sort of sign that my tour of duty as Moon Knight is over? Have I paid for the crimes of my past?

All the men I am... Can I put Mercenary Spector to rest? Can I stop driving Lockley's cab?

Can I finally be the man I want to be? I WANT to be Steven Grant, Marlene. He's a good man...The kind of man who could make you happy."

"That would be nice. Let's talk about it...Sometime."

"Right. Well, wheelchair or not, I've still got a life to lead. Let's get on with it."

Narration: And if Khonshu has any thoughts of his own to add...He keeps his own counsel.

So we are dealing with Steven primarily in the chair. It’s interesting that Steven is the one dealing with the PT and learning how to cope. We get glimpses of Jake, but mostly it’s Steven wondering what sort of life he is supposed to follow. The desire to just be Steven. To be a good man. To make Marlene happy.

Next we see Marlene and Steven going to a Ballet. Steven has sponsored the local ballet in an effort to be "just a good citizen doing what he can."

Steven goes to meet the star, Sergey Valberg. He's brought along the media to help promote the company and get more people to the Ballet.

As the media sets up, we catch a glimpse of the angry woman from before that sent the other dancer to space.

Sergey has agreed to let the media record his rehearsal. They watch in amazement as he dances when suddenly...

A gust of wind knocks all the security around and the woman enters the room. "Sergey... Your dance is over."

"Marlene... I think she's here to kill him! Try to cover me while I...I... Sit here like a helpless cripple." Steven is realizing he can't do anything.

Wind lady blows the chair over for his trouble.

Sergey recognizes her. He calls her Bora.

"I have heard...of a woman whose heart is as cold as the frigid winds she commands. I had hoped I heard wrong."

She had once rehearsed under Sergey, dreaming of being a great ballerina. Then she found out that she was a Mutant as she not only gained wind powers, but she also grew to over seven feet tall!

When she went to him for help, she found out that he had fled Russia to America.

Her dreams of being a ballerina were over.

"I awoke to find my long cherished goals thrust eternally beyond my reach, for what choreographer had ever conceived a ballet for a seven foot tall artist?!"

So naturally she decided to punish all those who defected from Russia.

She drops the temperature to below freezing as the winds swirl around them.... And Sergey starts to dance.

"If I die, It will be as I have lived--Honoring life through my dance!"

Steven is helpless to watch from outside of the rehearsal room as the temperature drops and the winds blow.

"The Bora is a cold, dry wind. It can reach speeds of 125 miles per hour and has been known to overturn trucks. He lets the gusts catch him in mid leap.

His dance has become a language now... His movements its alphabet. The opposition of arms and legs create words. His dance speaks to Steven Grant. It speaks of courage unconquerable."

Steven crawls to the glass and struggles to get to his feet.

"The temperature in the enclosed studio is now sixty degrees below zero. The sentences form more slowly. Indeed, there is only breath left...for one... final... statement."

Sergey takes a final leap.

"The dancer is dead... But not his dance."

The wind woman departs and Steven is left helpless.

He has realized a truth. He asks Marlene to take him home.

Love the imagery of Khonshu’s statue behind Marlene. “Inside the mansion there is a cold silence. It reminds Marlene of a tomb…in Egypt.”

"Because I have to be here. Because I'm needed." Steven sits in the wheelchair clutching at the Moon Knight cowl. "You know what's out there. It's a world in which the savages all too often rule our cities, our streets, our souls.

The Good citizens... The Grants, the Lockley's...They fight that tyranny as best they can. They aren't always enough."

Steven is starting to understand that as much as he wants to be the good person and the only person, he can't.

"Moon Knight is more than a good man. He's a force that transcends the brutality and the fear that are the savages' main weapons--Because he can use those weapons himself.

He's a savage on the side of the angels. A protector of innocents... A symbol of vengeance and hope. And, God willing, If he does his job well enough... He'll be the last savage."

It's an interesting understanding by Steven. Viewing Moon Knight a a necessary violence force. But does he see Moon Knight as his own person, as Marc Spector, or as all of them working together?

I know how Moench would portray Moon Knight, but with him out of the picture, how is Marvel going to let the character of Moon Knight advance?

Steven attempts to stand.

He fights through the pain.

For once, he’s not looking to Khonshu for support. Or a miracle.

"This is the truth learned. That being Moon Knight is not a curse... Nor a state of penance. It is simply who and what he was always meant to be."

So what is Moon Knight's first course of action?

He goes to see Professor Charles Xavier's school for gifted youngsters.

Alright. We are a little over halfway through the comic and we are finally bringing in the X-men.

He speaks with the Professor himself.

"The Russians have been unusually co-operative with the bare facts. She's fourteen, off her nut, and operating without their sanction. Not enough. I need to know how her powers work!"

Moon Knight notes that there are four more defectors in the ballet company and he bets she'll strike again on opening night.

Professor tells him how he thinks Bora's power works then asks if Moon Knight thinks one man can stop her.

"I don't know. I don't see where I have any choice but to try. Thank you for your help, professor."

Leaving, Professor X watches him go.

"He has doubts. His injury--His recent failure....The pain that yet wracks his body. They all work against him. And still he strives to overcome. The man's determination is both inspiring and frightening."

He calls in Colossus and Nightcrawler.

Mostly because you can’t have a comic that boasts about an X-man crossover without the x-men. And any time there’s a one off X-men crossover, they tend to just kinda throw Colossus and Nightcrawler at the situation back in the day. (Current day it’s more like wolverine or some random side characters that Marvel wants to promote at the time for a smaller comic).

Nightcrawler makes the argument that Mutants should deal with Mutants.

"I would agree...Normally... But Moon Knight is at a crossroad in his life. He must be given the chance to prove himself to himself. He is a powerful force for good.

Perhaps more powerful, in his own way, than we X-men. We will not interfere unless necessary."

Yet... They do all agree that a night at the Ballet might be nice.

Outside the school we find Frenchie chatting up Storm.

Opening night, the theater is packed! And what's this? The Thing!

He says his hello to Nightcrawler.

Nightcrawler admits that he's there as 'unofficial back-up'.

Ben laughs. "I guess that makes yours truly and pals the "Official Back-ups, then."

It would seem that Moon Knight knew he wasn't fully up to full strength so he called in a little extra help.

"The Fantastic four!" Kirk turns to his row and admits "I, too, came with 'Pals'!"

And there we see more of the X-men! I'm not a big X-men reader, so I only recognize two, maybe three of the ones there.

It's also interesting that Moon Knight would specifically ask for help from the fantastic four. He's only had run-ins with DareDevil, Ben, and the Hulk up to this point. Inviting Dare Devil to the ballet would be... a bit off. And the Hulk wouldn't exactly be good backup.

It's also hilarious that to this day, Ben still considers Moon Knight a friend and every single year will send him Hanukkah cards. In later issues, Moon Knight admits that there aren't a lot of Jewish heroes and that Ben needs to meet others besides himself, since he isn't exactly the most observant. But it's still touching how Ben said "This is my friend." and clung to him for so long.

We see Moon Knight himself up in a box seat overlooking the stage. (And this image really tickled me for POTO reasons. If you know, you know.)

"But if Kurt Wagner has gained new respect for the Moon's Knight of Vengeance, the object of that praise is himself still wrestling with doubts.

Bora has the power to level this theater. He was crippled by a glorified burglar. Memories of past failure assail him. The waiting is a battle in itself. And that he does not surrender to his doubts in those seemingly interminable minutes is a victory as great as any he has known."

Okay okay okay. Let's take a moment to appreciate the actual Ballet!

"Laurencia" - A story of love and tyranny.

A ballet by Chabukiani. As wiki informs me, "Created at a time when 'choreodrama' was considered in the Soviet Union the only acceptable form of contemporary ballet.'

Basically it stresses that dance was an ultimate form of expression and all movement should serve as a purpose.

So ballet at the time seemed to focus heavily on drama based plays.

The story the ballet is based on is one of a peasant revolution. Which, if you know the most basic of Russian history, this was a big deal for the Soviet Union.

Now, Chabukiani created his own form of choreographic language in Ballet where he focused heavily on the Male Dancer and created 'the heroic male dance'.

The play is pretty simple. Village awaits the return of some grand Commander with his army. Meanwhile a girl and her admirer are flirting. The commander returns and immediately desires the beautiful girl. She rejects him so he leaves with his army. The admirer asks the girl to marry him but she isn't sure and doesn't answer. The Commander returns and tries to have the girl. She rejects him again and this time he leaves promising revenge. The girl marries her admirer but the commander interrupts the wedding and arrests her groom. Pretty pissed off, she rallies the village and they storm the castle. They kill the commander and free the groom.

The original story was written in the 1600s and was based on a real story.

Back to the comic!

Bora interrupts just as the revolt against the evil Commander is taking place.

Winds batter around the ballerinas as Bora steps on stage.

"The winds of retribution have pursued you from the homeland you hae betrayed! They have decreed your punishment! And they have named Me Your executioner!"

The X-men and the Fantastic Four hold off, wanting to let Moon Knight take his chance to redeem himself to himself.

(It's also funny to watch a woman command the winds and have Storm be there like, "Oh she is not going to get away with this".)

Moon Knight leaps down onto the stage.

She immediately blasts him with wind. This gives the dancers time to make their escape as he fights against the wind storm.

Professor X had guessed that Bora's powers were psionic in nature. She was not generating the wind herself like Storm does, but she was opening a sort of portal to harness the winds from their original location.

Off stage, Marlene and Frenchie flip on the lights and buzzers, giving Bora a massive headache and thus she loses control of her wind.

The notion that Steven goes around building things ‘just in case Moon Knight needs them’ is hilarious.

The Fantastic Four do their thing and ensure that the audience and fleeing Ballerina are not injured in the wild winds.

You gotta love cross-over comics. The X-men could have ended this immediately. Much less the Fantastic. Both in the same building? Come on. But this isn’t their comic. They are guests in this comic so they gotta watch Moon Knight, a man without a single ounce of power who just finished recovering from massive spinal injury crawl across the stage. Look at him go. He’s used to being on the ground anyways.

We get to see the Various X-men like Kitty Pride and storm and Colossus do their thing to help people. We also see the Fantastic Four do their own thing.

Pretty pissed off, Bora now focuses fully on Moon Knight and he's getting blown around a bit.

"The temperature drops rapidly, a full degree per second. He cannot feel what he clutches in his hand. He does not stop. Ice daggers cut deep into his flesh. And still he does not stop."

Nightcrawler pops in just behind her, giving her a start. The momentary distraction is enough for Moon Knight to get to her and...

DID HE JUST CHLOROFORM HER?!

Yep. Sure did…

Well... It worked. She passes out.

Later, back at Grant Mansion Marlene and Steven talk.

"You're tired." "I am exhausted--and in excruciating pain--and feeling completely, totally wonderful!"

"No more doubts?"

"Lots. But I won't quit again. What we do is important."

"I can live with that."

And we end on Khonshu's statue gazing at Marlene and Steven embracing.

OKAY. Coming from the future and gazing upon the past, we know what is to come in the comics much much distance from when this one was written.

He does in fact quit again. He also ends up in a wheelchair again. What’s the difference? This time, it is Steven that handles it. In the future issue, it’s MARC that handles it. Another huge difference? In the future issue with Marc being left crippled, his friends have all left him and he suffers alone, angry, and in despair. This time, we see their friends rally around him. Steven is practical in how he confronts the problem, and Steven takes them through the rehab PT, he puts in the work, and he understands what it means to not be able to recover. He accepts potential failure and he makes peace with it.

Marc does not. In that future episode, Marc pushes himself over and over again and suffers in miserable agony as he fails and fails and fails. Steven accepts that he is a good man and he can live with himself if he can’t be Moon Knight. Marc cannot.

We also see the general use of ‘What WE do is important.’. He won’t quit again. He, being Steven Grant, acknowledges that he gave up too soon. He settled too soon and didn’t leave the others any say in the matter. He wrote off Jake and Marc and Moon Knight. Now he sees that he can’t do that. Moon Knight needs his place.

What I also love is that this was again another show of a battle against oneself. We see him struggling again with his own failures and dip into self depredation. They suffer with imposter syndrome and doubt and depression. He acknowledges that the doubt is still there. That they are still struggling, but that they now know that they need to keep pushing on and forward.

What I didn’t like about this issue? What happens to the girl? What happened to Bora after she is defeated? 14 years old and her dreams of ballet are gone and she is obviously not taking anything well. Do they just hand her over to the X-men to deal with? Also the main ballet dancer was killed! And the ballet just goes on? He was a pretty important figure it seems like! And the girl from earlier that was killed! I hate loose ends.

Overall, I really did enjoy this issue, even if it was a cross-over with loose ends. This is the last we see of special guest writer Tony Isabella. In the next issue, we get our first full one from Zelenetz!

#Moon Knight #Moon Knight comics #Analyzing the comics #Marc Spector #Steven Grant #Jake Lockley #marlene alraune #I enjoyed this one #Moon Knight is a drama king if I ever saw one though #Box 5 - you know if you know

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