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m4sk · 6 months

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How to care for Angel!

an attempted guide by Spooky (whom is also clueless)

Food and Drink

Angel does not need to eat nor drink, but chooses to do so on occasion to not feel left out in groups. Angel’s diet consists mainly of meat (red meat preferred) but there are few other foods he enjoys. currently noted is apple slices, cotton candy, and reese’s (despite me not eating nuts)

Sleeping

Angel does not often sleep and can survive without it but it helps him to recharge and remain semi stable. Angel demands to have Vati’s music box playing and the omen doll and Vati plush near him or else he refuses to lie down. Angel also hates sleeping alone, preferring to keep 1-4 trusted people near as he rests (more than four would be too big a crowd)

Meltdowns

Angel’s meltdowns are typically non-violent unless provoked. Angel will begin to sob and either request to be alone or start climbing all over people. if he requests to be left alone, leave him near a wall and don’t face him nor acknowledge him, but keep him in the same room. if he gets overly affectionate then tolerating the affection is the safest option. if you are unwilling to be touched then pass him to someone close or if his particular form of affection is disgruntling you then you can request something else, he will most likely oblige happily.

Temper tantrums

Angel has a tough temper to deal with, he flares up at the slightest of things. these can be caused by many things as Angel is very sensitive. these tantrums are best calmed down by gentle tones, light touch, and support objects (his plushies, a flashlight, ties etc). auditory regulation isn’t the most ideal but the following tracks can and do help sometimes: A B C physical regulation is a better option, allowing him to hold and fidget with things that he likes and if he likes you enough, hugs and maybe even small kisses make him feel better. visual regulation does not work unless you’re in a forest.

Unusual phrases

Angel uses a variety of words and phrases that may confuse any people not used to him. the most noteworthy is what he calls people, as Angel refuses to use some people’s names, instead referring to them as a name he chooses himself. Angel gives names to people who he likes a lot or people who he believes will “taint [his] mouth” if he speaks of them (meaning people he hates). it tends to be easy to tell the difference, as the people he likes will get names such as Ghosty, Red and Stripes while people he isn’t so fond of would get names like Bastard Child or Hag. Angel also has fluctuating speech patterns that change with his mood and who he’s talking to, appearing mostly as somewhat formal. he won’t act more warm and friendly around people unless he feels 100% safe around them, which is a difficult achievement. only one person is noted to have succeeded this.

Concerning activities

Angel has many activities that he enjoys doing, some of which are not so appealing to people who want me alive, healthy and out of jail. Angel enjoys climbing and crawling, and will often challenge himself to climb on roofs and walls. this should be redirected where possible, if not stopped. he likes to see fires, and will try starting them himself. this should be stopped. Angel often tries to harm young children and animals, this should also be stopped. Angel enjoys exploring forests, this is allowed with supervision as otherwise he will get us lost so he can stay longer. Angel likes to play ‘hide and seek’, where he runs off once your back is turned. if Angel is found, he becomes agitated. it is best to pretend you can’t see him even if he’s not the best at hiding, as proper hiding makes him paranoid. Angel will also try to scare people, either by moving things about, leaving questionable things laying about or by jumping out at them. it is best to pretend you were scared by his attempts.

Stimming

Angel’s main form of stimming is physical, as he likes to cling to people to calm himself. he also tends to flap his wings when excited, so it’s best to give him room. most of his other stims are identical to mine, so flapping hands, jumping, screams and squeals, rocking back and forth, music, and making sounds. Angel does not often get overstimulated but when he does his movements are extreme, it’s recommended you keep a safe distance in high stress or exciting situations or environments

Family

Angel holds family as the highest value in his life. nothing matters more to him, and he’s very picky with who gets considered family or not. obviously he has his biological family, and my biological family are also his to some extent and he will still recognise them as such, but if asked who his family is he will list Spooky (me), Cassidy, Jessica, Ghost, and Red (my husbands). he had others he considers family (all people who have place in the outer headspace) such as Vati (his father), Martina (his mother), Christy, Kayla, Hagar (his sisters) and Oscar (his brother)

Headspace

Angel has his own headspace, although it works differently to mine. nobody can front nor communicate with anyone but Angel, and they’re a lot less separate. Angel’s ever-swapping personalities can be put down to this. he can also choose to take the form of any of his ‘internals’ whenever he pleases, although doesn’t often use any but Oliver. further descriptions here.

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itsagrimm · 3 years

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Imperial!Tech 3

Summary: Tech's chip activated instead of Crosshairs so Tech is now an imperial commander tasked to serve the Empire at any cost. But is he willing to do so? And are you, dear Y/N as member of the experimental Elite Squad, willing to follow any order your commander Tech gives?

CN: self-harm, talk of death murder and war crimes, stalker behaviour, soldier life in a fascist state, power imbalance, overreaching behaviour, structural violence, sexually predatory behaviour and the likes, sensual overload, insomnia, references of drug abuse, depression and mental health issues, trauma

Imperial!tech X they*them Y/N reader, afab

Thanks a lot to @eyecandyeoz for your insight, feedback and thoughts. Check out their lovely blog!

I am sorry it took me so long. next part will be faster. I already started writing it.

And feel free to criticise especially concerning my use of CN and if the reader perspective is inclusive for you.

2800 words

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4

Tech collapsed into the chair as soon as Y/N had left the room. He was tired, so tired. He leaned back and put on his glasses. Him taking off his visual aids around Y/N was a degree of trust Tech rarely allowed. He was nearly blind without his glasses and the Kaminoans had considered terminating him for that. Tech was sure Y/N did not even know how much he had surrendered himself to Y/N and their touch. Their oh so soft touch. The memory of it was still fresh on his skin. It raced through is mind which for once was craving to match his body with the need to slow down and take a rest.

But it didn’t.

Y/N was pleasant to be around. Their touch was careful and considered. Only his brothers used to treat him like his. – His brothers, the former clone force 99, had left him behind after they refused to comply with order 66. Due to their divergence the inhibitor chip had not worked while he, Tech, had tried to kill the Jedi. – He had tried to kill a child. – The effect of the inhibitor chip was decreasing. His wound received on Bracca had an 84,743 % chance of damaging the inhibitor chip. But he should investigate further and get the chip out to stop any possible interference with his superior thought process. - Y/N was not aware of the inhibitor chips. He felt the need to tell them. Why? – The Havoc Marauder had not been mentioned on the imperial comm chatter for a while. – Echo was likely to take care of the ship now. – He should get some sustenance. He felt hunger. – Y/N – The Empire expected a degree of loyalty, uniformity, and compliance he was unsure he could deliver for long considering his diverging mind. – what would Hunter do? – the kaminoan proverb “yn’ja tha vaí m°O” was untranslatable into Basic but could be understood in Sit Bisti as “it needs tö be döne för the betterment öf äll”- The Empire was unlikely to grant him the freedom to find his brothers or in fact any freedom. – The canteen might serve Tiingilar tonight – He was a child slave destined to die in approximately 34,6 standard yearly rotations from old age if not sooner. – maybe the canteen will serve uj’alayi too. – Does Y/N speak Mando’an? He should enquire. – Of course, there will be no uj’alayi today. The Kaminoans did not allow sweet foods. – Y/N – How did the atmospheric controls work that ensured breathable air even for the highest floors of coruscanti buildings? - He knew why his brothers left him behind, but why did it feel so painful. – The empire was likely to kill him if he out served his usefulness for them. - He had tried to kill a child. He had killed several children on Onderon. How could he live with that? How could-

Tech forced his thoughts to stop by digging his fingers into his bloody scar.

The sharp pain felt soothing.

“Let’s consider making a list of the most pressing tasks for now.”

He starred at the ceiling.

“The Empire. It is the closest threat to my demise, but it can be my salvation if I am useful. Am I willing and capable to do that?”

His head started spinning again just at the thought of killing another child for the Empire. And yet serving the Empire gave him purpose he wasn’t sure he could muster on his own.

“Where are my brothers? How are they? How do I feel about them?”

Another unpleasant wave of thoughts and feelings washed over Tech before he continued.

“What is with the inhibitor chip inside my head?”

He nodded to himself. That was a rational and containable problem with fixed variables and clear answers. He felt comfortable with that question, pushing aside all the things he might have done due to being under the chips influence.

Only one question was left now.

“Why do I enjoy Y/N presence?”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Ryloth had a warm and dusty climate during daytime. Y/N felt sweat dripping under the dark armour. The elite squad, including a new ES-03, was ordered to stand close by to Admiral Rampart, the highest imperial officer on Ryloth. And so, they had spent the last rotations following the Admiral around, doing tedious security work and presenting themselves like the Admirals favourite guard dogs to a public very much disliking their military presence. For once, even commander Tech looked annoyed about their not spec-ops appropriate services.

Today they were on the outlook. The Admiral wanted them scanning a large crowd for troublemakers and resistance fighters during a public announcement. Y/N couldn’t blame them. The Twi’lek of Ryloth had spent years fighting for their independence and spilled an ocean of blood on the dusty planet’s surface only to face an Empire now. Half a life ago Y/N would have hated themselves for being a soldier in service of a suppressing ruler. But now it was paid work.

“ES-01?”, Commander Tech brought Y/N back from their thoughts

“I am in position before the crowd.”

“ES-02?”

“Yes sir, I am on the building as you ordered.”

“ES-03?”

“Any nonimperial transmissions are being blocked now.”

“ES-04?”

“The war hawk is ready for take-off in case we need it.”

“Good. Do you register any noteworthy activity?

Y/N gazed through the crowd. They were mostly Twi’lek, waiting to hear from their leaders. All of them were in civilian clothing, none came with visible weapons.

“I can’t spot anything, sir.”

Tech said nothing. But Y/N could hear him type something.

“Analysing previous rebel fighter behaviour and strategies in similar situations they are likely to appear at these coordinates within the crowd today. I am sending you a list for you to especially pay attention to, ONCE.”, he finally said using the moniker the elite squad had given Y/N.

“Yes sir.”

Y/N looked at their holopad and started checking the coordinates commander Tech had calculated. At entry four they spotted their targets.

“Commander. I have a visual about 40 meters from my position, 10 o’clock. There are two fighters. Twi’lek. One female and one male passing. Shade of blue and orange.”

A moment everyone was silent.

“Confirmed.”, ES-02 stated.

Another moment passed.

“Observe them for now. Stay alert.”, Tech ordered before ending the transmission.

High above the Twi’lek senator started to talk. Y/N could not remember his name and paid little attention to his words. Unlike the Twi’lek.

“They are not happy.”, ES-02 stated flatly.

“Yeah thanks, I would not have noticed without you.”

“Always a pleasure to help out, ONCE.”

ES-02 was right. The crowd was angry. The imperial presence, the empty words of some disaffected politician, the fresh memories of the clone war. It was no surprise that the Twi’lek called out for their resistance leaders to speak.

“We want Syndulla! We want Syndulla!”, the crowd chanted.

A different voice from above started speaking. The crowd calmed down, not entirely happy but at least not a raging mob.

“At least we will not have to gun them down, now.”, ES-02 mumbled with a bitter voice.

“Would you really do that, two?”

“You know what they say, good soldiers follow orders, ONCE. And I intend to be one. Especially when I’m getting paid for it.”

XXXXXXXXXXX

Rampart was an asshole. He was a smug little administrator, willing to lie, back-stab and sacrifice whatever needed to achieve his goals. Rampart was the perfect general to handle a loaded situation like the one on Ryloth. And he was no fool.

Y/N hat noticed that he had kept both commander Tech and Howzer, the commanding clone trooper in charge of the regular clone troopers on Ryloth, close. A strategic move. Spec-ops commandos like the elite squad and regular commandos were in constant competition and mistrust to each other. Should one commander not deliver or even consider treason the other would interfere. And Rampart would always end up on the winning side of their clone infighting.

Y/N could here their arguing inside the office.

Commander Tech had ordered for Y/N to wait outside the office for new orders.

More arguing from the office was audible until finally Ramparts voice cut their bickering short.

The door opened and Howzer left. His expression was that of a practised reserved solider hiding his worries.

The door opened again, and commander Tech stepped outside of Ramparts office.

He looked tense.

Instead of a greeting or an order he just started walking. They followed him.

“Clone force 99 is here. But we are kept on a short leash. As always.”, Tech stated, “It is implausible to not use the best tools possible when confronted with a problem. Howzers troopers will not be able to beat them if necessary. Just like they won’t be able or unwilling to beat the Twi’lek should the need arise.”

Since Kamino the commander had started to share more of his thoughts with Y/N. All they had left to do was to listen and ask the right questions.

“Sir, you think Howzer will commit subordination?”

“There is a possibility of him and his men disagreeing with the new imperial leadership and it’s methods. Howzers unit has fought alongside the Twi’leks the past years. Bounds forged in the trenches can be stronger than loyalty to an administrator from Coruscant. But I require further data to assess the likelihood of treason.”

“What about clone force 99?”

“Their abilities and erratic strategies will be a challenge should we … no, should I have to face them.”

“So, we did not get the order to hunt them down?”

“No. Not yet.”

“And yet you already imply them as of importance.”

“It would be a grave strategic mistake to dismiss their presence.”

“So, what is the elite squad going to do about them? What are your orders, sir?”

Tech paused and adjusted his glasses.

“We are going to do nothing.”

“Sir!?”

“Don’t.” There was a warning in his voice. A signal to Y/N not to cross a line, invisible yet perceptible. He was after all a commander and Y/N just a soldier.

“I am sorry. I overstepped. You are in charge.”

He turned, stepped away and looked at Y/N. His eyes scrutinized them like a scientist inspecting a rare specimen of remarkable value.

They shivered.

His gaze was intriguing. It was painful to feel on display like that. And yet it was nearly intimate to be studied by Tech. Unsure if he would finally hit Y/N for their countless discretions or if he just contemplated their objections.

Finally, Tech nodded appeased and continued his walking without any further talk.

“What do you want us to do now, sir?”

Tech stopped.

“What do I want you to do now?”, Tech repeated as if the question had a different meaning to him than it had to Y/N.

He took out his holopad only to put it away again. He cleared his throat.

“I need you to stay alert. The situation is complicated. For now, get some sleep. The chances are below 4,65 % that there will be a significant development within the next two hours. After that I except the elite squad to be combat ready.”

“Yes sir.”

XXXXXXXXX

The Refresher room was empty. Most clones avoided the elite squad, and all the other members of their unit were taking a nap before the night shift which left Y/N to have the large washroom for themselves.

They signed.

Taking a shower and having some alone time to think and feel before finally taking a rest was what they needed.

Y/N started to strip out of the armour.

First, they took of the helmet, then the vambraces and shin guards before getting the shoulder pieces and lifting the heavy breast armour off before finally getting out of the abdomen armour. The black katarn fell to the floor, making loud echoing noises.

Y/N didn’t care. No one was to correct them on their improper handling of equipment here.

And as much as the armour was a useful necessity, it was a heavy burden in more than one way.

Their blacks followed and soon Y/N was standing under the refresher, naked and alone.

The water was hot and painful.

It was a welcome distraction to all the feelings of … well what exactly?

Y/N felt tears running down their face.

No, no, no. It’s just the refresher.

An uptight sob escaped Y/Ns throat. It was all so different from what they imagined. They had entered imperial service for the payment during a desperate time. And ended up witnessing murder after murder, committing murder.

Today they could have become accomplices to killing a crowd of innocent Twi’leks. And Y/N knew that they would have complied with the order to open fire on the civilians if given. How could they not? Surrounded by troopers like them, ordered around by heartless and calculating commanders.

Would Tech give a killing order like this?

Was he that heartless?

He had done so before.

He had killed so many times before their eyes and yet a piece of Y/N refused to see him as a murderer. In fact, they felt shameful about feeling and thinking about Tech – about their commanding officer – at all.

Y/N stopped fighting the tears and cried out loud.

Nobody would know about this.

Nobody would know about their doubt and vulnerability.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

As always sleep had been an unwilling friend to visit Tech. With a sigh he gave up and got up from the cot. As always, his mind was racing. He had tried the breathing techniques Crosshair taught him after a particular long stretch of insomnia, but it didn’t work.

And Tech wasn’t in the mood to experiment with the vast collection of sedatives to force his body to sleep right before possibly facing his brothers and definitely meeting admiral Rampart soon.

Work it was then.

His holopad listed only unchallenging administrative tasks.

The new Shuttle was in top shape.

His weapons were cleaned.

Tech had nothing to keep is overthinking brain in check.

Kriff, his life really was miserable. A never-ending effort to bringing his spiralling mind some peace.

A notification came in.

What a blessing.

Tech looked at the holopad again. It was just a reminder to check on his subordinates, to listen in on their private talks and vital signs.

The order from Imperial Command was an uncomfortable task but it was the best he had to do right now. And listing in on some snoring was better than listening to the elite squads talk like last time. At least it felt less overreaching.

He started with ES-04 and workout down from there. Four was in deep slumber, nothing of interest to note. ES-03 was still new and his sleep was restless, a few murmurs about his home planet and family escaped his lips. ES-02 was dreaming. His heartrate was accelerated. Tech turned his observation of, not interested in the rutting sounds of ES-02.

ES-01 was left. ONCE. Y/N. The thought of peeping into their private life was not only uncomfortable, but it also felt violent to strip Y/N of their peace and privacy.

And yet, Y/N was the only one Tech WANTED to know more about. He felt his desire to learn more about Y/N like a physical need, an addicting obsession Tech knew he needed to be careful with not to indulge.

Was their slumber peaceful and sweet?

Did they have dreams about home?

Or did they fight their nightmares in sleep just like they did awake?

He swallowed.

He was just following an order.

He will do nothing more.

He was just a good soldier.

Y/N wasn’t asleep. Their bucket was off and there were no vital signs coming of them. But the acoustic signal was working.

Y/N was somewhere with a lot of echoes and running water.

Tech felt himself blushing and getting hot.

They were in the shower.

It felt so right to listen in on Y/N. Tech felt bad about it.

The thought of water running down their bare and naked body made Techs mind slow like nothing ever before. The pleasure of a calm mind made him groan.

He hesitated. This was not okay. He shouldn’t listen. He shouldn’t imagine a subordinate like that. He hated that he had to. He hated that the Empire gave him order to do so. But more than that he hated himself for following that order so willingly.

He reached for the off button on his holopad.

A sob.

Was that Y/N? Were they crying?

Tech’s mind went from zero into overdrive. He needed to know who or whatever made you feel like crying. He would find out. And he would remove whatever it was from your life.

Part 4

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naerysthelonesome · 3 years

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Missing Hours

Some of the missing hours from The Sanctuary scene.

(No POV)

“Thomas…” Alastair breathed, as he gripped the man’s face in his hands, looking right into his warm eyes. Just his name, whispered like a prayer. What more had he to say? Alastair tilted his head up to gently place a kiss to Thomas’ lips, eliciting from him a pleased shiver. His fingers slipped up into his hair, and wound themselves in the soft strands. One of Thomas’ large palms pressed into the small of his back, drawing him closer. Alastair did not know for how long he would be allowed to rest in this heavenly creature’s arms, but for the hours he did get, he knew he would be eternally grateful.

Alastair pulled away smiling uncharacteristically sweetly, still within the circle of Thomas’ arms, unwilling to move too far. The way he looked, with his hair disheveled, and lips kiss-swollen, made heat pool in Thomas’ chest, rippling out to the tips of his fingers and toes, and making his head go all fuzzy.

“You’re beautiful, Alastair”, he said, and watched as his cheeks darkened at an almost alarming rate. It made him look so lovely Thomas thought the whole thing should be outlawed. One man should not possess so much power over another. If Alastair had asked for Thomas to declare his affections for him to Matthew, Thomas feared he would have done so without question.

Alastair made to turn his face away in embarrassment, but was stopped by a hand gently cupping his chin. He met Thomas’ intense gaze and was greeted with a look so full of adoration and longing, he couldn’t decide if he wanted to kiss his face off or burst into wretched tears.

He decided on the former and slipped his arms around Thomas’ shoulders, deftly shucking the other man’s coat off. He pressed his lips to his cheekbones, moving down along the smooth skin to mouth at his strong jaw. The blessed bone structure of this man. Unbelievable. He let his thumbs rub light circles into his temples, then leisurely trailed his fingers down his face to rub under his jawline. Thomas stayed still under these gentle ministrations, as if his any movement would drive this Alastair away.

Thomas’ head was tilted up to allow Alastair space to lick a line down the column of his throat, all the way to his collarbones. He finally jerked into motion when he felt the smaller man undo the first three buttons of his shirt, grasping the fabric of Alastair’s shirt, loosening them out of their confines in the process.

“Wait”, he said softly, and startled at the way Alastair immediately jumped away. The man blinked, as if surprised himself, and looked sheepishly back at Thomas.

“I just thought we should take our shoes off… so as not to dirty the mattress?” he said, now feeling slightly embarrassed that he may have ruined the flow of the proceedings for such a thing.

Surprisingly enough, Alastair laughed in apparent relief. “Oh! Yes, of course Thomas.”

The two quickly kicked off their shoes and spats, eager to get back to what they’d been doing before Thomas’ very considerate interruption.

Thomas sat back against the wall and watched as Alastair undid his cuffs and crawled back over to him. The smile he flashed him was fond, but also teasing, this time making Thomas blush to the tips of his ears. Alastair stopped right in front of him, and slowly lifted a hand to caress Thomas’. He leaned forward to lightly bump his nose into Thomas’ before sitting back and squeezing his hand reassuringly.

Still looking him in the eye, Alastair lifted his limp arm into his lap and began to undo the buttons at the cuff, and began neatly folding up the sleeve. Thomas was unsure what exactly he was trying to accomplish, but wasn’t complaining in the least.

When the sleeve was tucked safely above his elbow, Alastair moved his eyes to look down at the exposed skin. Thomas followed the movement and saw Alastair’s nimble musician fingers trace the inky lines of his compass tattoo.

“I remember the day you told me you planned to get one of these”, he said, effectively making Thomas’ breath hitch in his throat, “I’m glad you did, Thomas. Suits you.”

Alastair had remembered. That gesture meant more to Thomas than all the messy, hungry kisses, all the soft touches. He grabbed the front of Alastair’s shirt and pulled, making him groan and pitch forward, nearly onto his lap. He smashed their lips together, kissing him hard.

Alastair responded in kind, sucking at his lower lip, and letting his tongue run along his teeth. An especially skilled move made Thomas jerk his head back in pleasure. But instead of stopping, Alastair, in a state of dizzying bliss, simply chased after his mouth, until WHAM! Thomas’ head smacked right into the wall.

The sound of it, and the pained groan it pulled out of Thomas were enough to halt all movement. Alastair looked positively stricken.

“Thomas! All hell- Are you alright?” he shouted, hovering over Thomas’ face. He looked so worried, Thomas couldn’t help but laugh. This did nothing to ease the expression on his face, or the idea that their sacrilegious escapades had caused Thomas to get concussed.

“I’m alright Alastair!” he said, wincing and rubbing the back of his head, “Just a little bump”.

Alastair’s brows remained pinched, but the rest of him relaxed at he brought his palm up to press tight circles into to the back of the other man’s head.

“Maybe we should take a short break anyway” he said, much to Thomas’ apparent dismay.

Thomas’ mind then inexplicably conjured up the image of Alastair as a mother hen, leading him to the conclusion that maybe he had hit his head too hard.

“Yeah…” he agreed, instead of making the arguments he so desperately wanted to. “Bridget’s lovely cooking is right here, just waiting to be eaten after all.”

Alastair nodded with a short laugh and moved to uncover the food.

“Sandwiches, apple slices, and cider to wash it all down”, he said, looking quizzically back at Thomas. “These are your favourite foods?”

“Don’t you dare insult Bridget’s glorious sandwiches, Alastair”, he said, playfully punching the other on the shoulder, “Some crimes cannot be forgiven, even by one so merciful as I.”

Alastair offered him a sandwich then picked one up for himself. He gave Thomas a look that essentially said this better not disappoint and bit into the bread as he watched with bated breath. Thomas needn’t have worried, of course. Bridget would die before she let her cooking disappoint, and the euphoric look Alastair was sporting was proof of it.

Thomas couldn’t wait to dig in either, and it wasn’t long before all the sandwiches were disposed of. They sat in each other’s comfortable presence, occasionally making mindless comments and laughing, sipping on sweet cider. They talked of Paris, and Michelangelo’s David, and Alastair’s favourite books.

They maintained this decent enjoyment of gentlemanly company until Alastair decided to munch on an apple slice. Thomas’ brain near short-circuited at the seemingly innocent action. He couldn’t help but take in the movement of Alastair’s perfect jaw as he chewed, or the way he licked at his lips to prevent the juice from dribbling down his strong chin. Alastair, unaware of the effect he was having on the other, continued to talk about 13th Century Persian poetry, stopping only to bite into the damnable apple slice.

“Now in the Golestan, Sa’di himself--- Wha? Thomas!” he stuttered as Thomas tackled him back onto the mattress, kissing him with ferocious urgency. Alastair seeing no reason to stop him, gasped and drew him closer, hard enough to send them both rolling off the pallet.

Barely stopping for long enough to get comfortably settled again, they each continued their onslaught on the other’s body. Hands scratching over backs and shoulders, arms gripping hard enough to hurt, toes curling in needy anticipation.

In an unexpected burst of yearning, Thomas’ hand slipped to the waistband of Alastair’s pants, fingers digging roughly into his hip-bone. All activity halted for an endless second, before Alastair’s utterly debauched face broke in a smile so saccharine, it made Thomas’ heart ache.

“I want to Thomas,” he said steadily, “but if something serious is to happen between us. It will not be because you were bunged into the Sanctuary on account of being suspected of murder.”

Alastair wanted nothing more than to get as close to Thomas as one humanly could, but he did not want to make a decision so heavy in the heat of the moment. Besides, neither could be sure the Sanctuary was safe. They could be interrupted any minute, and Alastair refused to do anything else that might cause Thomas harm.

Thomas’ face fell for just a split second, before he regained his composure and smiled brightly.

“Sound decision, Alastair” he said coyly, positioning himself between Alastair’s legs, and slipping a warm hand up under his rumpled shirt. Thomas felt him shiver as he slid his palm across the smooth, perfectly defined slopes and dips of his body, “There’re so many other things we can do instead.”

The wicked grin he got in response wholeheartedly agreed.

#thomastair #the sanctuary scene #thomastair fluff #making out #sexy apple eating #they're fucking soulmates #i tried

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havenoffandoms · 4 years

Text

The Witcher Imagines: Phobias

Pairings: Lambert x F!Reader; Eskel x F!Reader; Geralt x F!Reader

Summary: Imagine the witchers reacting to your phobia

Warnings: mentions of katsaridaphobia (fear of cockroaches), musophobia (fear of rats), arachnophobia (fear of spiders); 2nd person POV (reader), some swearing, no beta we die like witchers

Lambert

“Oh, you ugly fucker,” you cursed under your breath from where you sat on the bed, your hands clutching the thickest book you could find and your eyes riveted on the biggest cockroach you had ever seen. You hated the damn things. You could not remember a time when you had not been afraid of cockroaches. Thankfully, living in a city and in fairly hygienic conditions meant that you rarely had to deal with them.

This time, you were faced with an exceptionally large specimen which looked in no rush to leave your bedroom anytime soon. You tightened your hold on your book, raising it above your head as if bracing yourself to drop it on the nasty invader. You decided against it, letting out a frustrated groan as you felt hot tears well up in your eyes. How difficult could it be to kill a tiny cockroach? All you had to do was drop the book, and you would be rid of the beast forever. Instead, your muscles were unwilling to respond as fear took over every fibre of your body.

“Hey doll?” you heard Lambert’s familiar voice call out from downstairs. A string of curses left your mouth as you willed your heart to slow down. You knew that Lambert would instantly clock onto the fact that you were scared. He would be so disappointed in your when he realised that your reaction had been brought on by something as ridiculous as a cockroach.

“Doll, is everything okay?” you heard Lambert ask you, his voice growing louder as he made his way upstairs to your bedroom. Your eyes never left the cockroach as you brought your thick book over your head once again. You would not appear weak in front of the witcher. You refused to let him see you in such a lamentable state. You took a composing breath and dropped the book. You watched it fall to the floor in slow motion, but to your utter terror, the book landed inches away from the cursed cockroach. The startled insect ran under the bed at breakneck speed, pulling a terrified scream from you as you scrambled off the bed haphazardly and bolted for the door in a desperate attempt to escape your room. To your dismay, you collided with the one person you wished to avoid.

“Lambert?”

“Doll, what the fuck is going on here? Are you okay?”

Lambert’s tone barely concealed his worry as his amber eyes scanned the room for any sign of intruders who would be out to harm you. Without waiting for your answer, he manoeuvred you so that you stood behind him while he unsheathed the dagger he kept at his hip and braced himself for an attack. You barely managed to conceal the tremor in your voice as you explained the situation to him.

“La-Lambert I-I’m fine, I promise. It’s just… it’s…”

“What is it?” Confident there was no immediate threat to your life, Lambert turned around and placed two steadying hands on your shoulders, his eyes seeking yours. His brows furrowed when he noticed the wet trails on your cheeks.

“I thought I could kill it with my book, but then it ran under my bed and now I’m so scared, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry Lambert, I know this is pathetic but I’m just so terrified of the damn things,” you rambled, nearly choking on your own words as your breath hitched in your throat. You heard the distinctive pitter patter of feet on the wooden floor, causing you to instinctively cuddle into the safety of Lambert’s arms. The witcher cast a look over his shoulder as his arms pulled you closer to him. You instantly knew that he had found the cause of your turmoil when an undignified snort pushed past his lips.

“It’s not funny, you dick, I’m genuinely scared!”

“Of that thing?” Lambert questioned in disbelief. He let go of you and went to catch the no doubt terrified cockroach, watching it crawl all over his hand looking for an escape route. You felt a shiver run down your spine at the sight of the pest on your lover’s hand.

“Get it out, get it out,” you urged Lambert, who seemed far too amused by your predicament for your liking. Your words made him look up at you, and noticing your current predicament, Lambert decided to have mercy and let the cockroach escape through the open window. Once you were confident the beast was out of your room, you hurried to the window and slammed it shut so the cursed thing would stay outside. Lambert chortled at your actions.

“It’s more scared of you than you are of-“

“Spare me, asshole,” you snapped at him, turning around to glare at his smirking face. He was enjoying this far too much. “How dare you make fun of me when I’m scared?”

“Doll, don’t be like that,” Lambert tried to reason with you, but you stepped away from him in a huff. “Oh come on, I didn’t mean to be nasty about it. It’s just… well the thing was tiny.”

“For a big burly witcher maybe! To me it looked humongous,” you argued, feeling your cheeks heat up as fear made way for embarrassment. Your blush did not go unnoticed by your witcher.

“Well thankfully you had a big burly witcher come to the rescue,” he said in a sultry voice before stepping closer to you once again and pulling you into a tight hug. You kept your arms crossed before your chest, still not ready to forgive him for mocking your phobia. However, you found yourself melting into his touch when his lips left a trail of soft kisses along your cheek and throat.

“You’re lucky I missed you,” you said as you begrudgingly returned the embrace, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips at the thought of your witcher finally being home.

“Mmh, why don’t you let your big burly witcher show you how much you were missed in return, doll?”

You gladly let Lambert lead you to your bed.

Eskel

It was the first time you stayed at Kaer Morhen for the winter. Although you were pleased to officially be introduced as Eskel’s girlfriend to his brothers and to Vesemir, the man who was like a father figure to him, you felt a sense of foreboding overwhelm you as you settled into bed the first night. Eskel had warned you that you might need some time to adjust to the cold and darkness of the place. You had tried to reassure him that as long as he was close you could face the blizzards and the pitch-black nights that characterized the deep north. It was not, however, the thought of freezing your ass off or to sleep in the dark that worried you.

Your fear was far more mundane, but certainly far more present in your mind. Kaer Morhen was a vast and old place. Vesemir was already busy most of the year patching up leaky walls and mending broken windows, so you knew that you could not realistically expect him to keep on top of the keep’s overall cleanliness. Not by himself, at any rate. Which meant that Kaer Morhen would not only be home to four witchers, Geralt’s child surprise, a bard and yourself this winter, but most likely to the beasts you feared more than anything else on the Continent.

Rats.

You had never told Eskel about your fear. You were surprised that the topic had not come up in the two years that you had known him. Rats were a pretty common occurrence, well, anywhere, yet somehow Eskel had never witnessed you chasing the damned things with a broom or screaming bloody murder until one of your neighbours decided to check on you and help you with the pests. This time, you would be spending several months in the same place as Eskel and you knew the topic would have to be broached sooner or later. You did not want to mention anything for fear that Eskel might make fun of you or decide that he could do better than a silly farmer’s daughter who could not even stand the sight of a tiny miserable rat.

You huddled impossibly close to Eskel’s large frame as soon as blew out the candle, casting the room in complete darkness. You felt him place a soft kiss on the top of your head before resting his head on the pillow and letting out a content sigh as all the muscles in his body relaxed. You pitied the fact that you could not admire his features which, you knew, would look so peaceful as the witcher was finally allowed to let his guard down after a year spent on the path.

“Are you alright, love?” you heard Eskel ask, his voice soft and barely above a whisper, “your heart is racing. You seem restless.”

“It’s okay, Eskel,” you lied, “it’s unsettling sleeping in an unfamiliar setting. I’ll be fine.”

“Would you like me to light a fire for you?”

You pondered Eskel’s offer briefly before agreeing. A bit of light and some warmth would probably make you feel better, you thought.

“If you don’t mind.”

“Of course not.”

With these words, Eskel got out of bed and placed some logs into the hearth. He navigated the darkness easily thanks to his enhanced vision. You sat up in bed, wrapping yourself in the covers as you watched Eskel’s shadow work on getting the hearth ready for the fire. That’s when you heard it, the distinct pitter patter of tiny feet scratching the bare stone. You froze at the sound, your eyes fruitlessly scanning the room as if you could distinguish anything in the darkness.

“Love? Is everything okay?”

“I- uh, yes, everything is fine,” you stammered, your ears picking up the noise once again. If you could hear, you knew Eskel could too. Perhaps he was so accustomed to the sound after all these years that they had become familiar. In any case, you were still hesitant to mention your fear.

“The fire is almost ready,” he said, and mere seconds later flames began licking at the logs. You guessed Eskel had used Igni to accelerate the process. Suddenly, you noticed movement out of the corner of your eye, followed by the scratchy noise once again. You felt your heart drop in your chest as fear turned your blood to ice. You vaguely heard Eskel cursing something unintelligible before kicking away a stray rat that had wandered too close for comfort to his bare feet.

A blood-curling shriek resonated in the room, and it took you a little too long to realise that you were the source of the mindless shouting.

“Get it away from me, get it away from me, oh dear gods take you all the way to hell you cursed thing!”

You were now kneeling in the middle of the bed, your face buried in your hands as you let out broken sobs at the thought of having your worst nightmare running freely around the room. Your panic was so intense that you flinched when Eskel went to touch your arm. In that very instant, you had mistaken Eskel’s touch for a rat jumping onto the bed and attacking you.

“Get off me, get off me you monster!”

“What the hell is going on in here?”

A second person, whom you recognised as Vesemir, entered the room and was demanding to know what all the shouting was about.

“Eskel, get rid of that rat, please I’m begging you!” you begged, your hands blindly reaching for Eskel who had retreated far away from you after you recoiled from his touch. Your eyes finally met his, and at the sight of your tears, Eskel finally stepped closer to the bed.

“The rat… oh, the rat,” Eskel repeated as realisation dawned on him. The monster you were so terrified of was not him, but the rat he had just kicked across the room.

“Yes, the fucking rat,” you snapped urgently, hugging your knees to your chest for comfort. You saw Eskel briefly focus as he no doubt used his witcher senses to locate the pest. Vesemir sighed and muttered something about being too old for this shit before shutting the door behind him. In your state of panic, you made a mental note of apologising profusely to him in the morning. When you turned to Eskel again, you noticed that he was holding the rat by the scruff of the neck. You shuddered at the sight, flinching when Eskel had to walk past the bed to let the rat escape through the window. Only when the pest was out of sight did you release the shaky breath you had been holding for far too long.

“I’m so sorry,” you instantly apologise, curling into yourself as you waited for the inevitable mockery, “I… I should’ve told you.”

“Yes, you should’ve. Would’ve avoided waking up the old wolf. He’ll be grumpy tomorrow,” Eskel remarked, but his soft smile indicated that he was not upset with you. You let out a relieved sigh as you slowly stretched out your legs and shyly reached out for Eskel. The witcher joined you on the bed, if somewhat reluctantly.

“I’m sorry Eskel, I’m truly sorry. I know a brave witcher like you doesn’t deserve a low peasant girl like me, who on top of being ordinary is also scared of rats…”

“Hey love,” Eskel’s hands came to cup your face as he stared into your eyes, “no, no please don’t say that. I was just surprised, that’s all. I… I thought you were reacting this way because of… because of me.”

You frowned at his words, unsure whether you understood what he was trying to say.

“What? Why would I be scared of you, darling?”

“I… I’m just glad it wasn’t me that caused such a panic. I promise you I’ll check the room for rats every night. And I’ll hunt every damn rat in this keep down if it’ll make you feel safer. Alright?”

You couldn’t help the enamoured smile that graced your lips at sweet Eskel’s words. You leaned in to place a chaste kiss on his lips, chuckling softly as your actions pulled a pleased sigh from your witcher.

“Any other fears I should know about before you decide to wake the dead again with that banshee scream of yours?”

“Shut up witcher, and hold me now would you!”

Geralt

“You want to sleep in the woods? On the ground?”

“We could also sleep in a tree if you prefer,” Geralt suggested sarcastically, not even sparing you or Jaskier a glance as he unsaddled Roach, “don’t know if the branches will support our weights, though.”

“Alright, smartass!”

You would have much rather slept in an inn, even one of the shitty inns that you had stayed in recently would do. You hated the idea of sleeping on the forest ground. The thought of insects running all over you at night when you were trying to sleep did not sound relaxing in the least. In fact, it was the thought of a very specific beast crawling all over you that bothered you the most.

Spiders.

Ghastly things. You hated them, always had, always would. Any shape, size, colour… you didn’t discriminate, you hated all of them. You would never tell your witcher that, though. Geralt was the most powerful witcher on the Continent. He would surely laugh at you for being scared of spiders. You were certainly not about to tell Jaskier either, because telling the bard would have the same effect as shouting it from the rooftops. If Jaskier knew, the whole Continent would know within days and your arachnophobia would undoubtedly become the theme of his newest ballad.

Nobody could know about your fear of spiders. You would just have to suck it up for one night. Maybe if you volunteered to keep watch all night you would not have to sleep and could keep an eye out for the creepy things. Or perhaps you could sleep away from Geralt for one night. You quickly dismissed that idea, knowing that the witcher would instantly be suspicious and ask too many uncomfortable questions. Keeping watch it was, then. When you pitched the idea to the crowd, Geralt was quick to crush your hopes.

“You kept watch last night. You need to sleep,” he told you, a tired sigh pushing past his lips when he noticed that you wanted to argue.

“You have years of sleep to catch up on, I’ll keep watch.”

“Y/N…”

“That’s that settled then, I’m keeping watch tonight.”

“No, you’re not.”

“If I may interject,” Jaskier suddenly interrupted your discussion, causing both you and Geralt to snap your heads in his direction, “I believe it is my turn to keep watch. You two are clearly very cranky and you both need your sleep.”

“Jaskier, as nice as it is for you to offer, I-“

“Done,” Geralt decreed before you could have a say in it. You opened your mouth again to tell Geralt that you could make your own decisions when you noticed the way his eyes softened as he placed a warm hand on the small of your back and pulled you close to his body. “Jaskier’s right, dove. We’ve both been snapping at each other a lot lately. Let’s just take a night off, you and me.”

“I-“

“Please dove, I need to feel you close to me tonight,” Geralt pleaded you as he nosed your hair affectionately. You sighed in resignation at the tender gesture. You could never refuse your love anything, especially not when he was so sweet.

“Fine. I can’t wait for the winter when we’re back at Kaer Morhen,” you whisper into his armour, taking in the scent of leather and rain that clung to Geralt like second skin.

“You and me both, dove.”

That night, you and Geralt squeezed onto the same bedroll and managed to cover both of your bodies with a large blanket. You were on edge, tense, and Geralt could feel it. His arms held you close, but even your witcher’s proximity was not enough to reassure you. Your thoughts kept wandering to a certain eight-legged beast that you hated so damn much. You tried to ignore the invading thoughts, but it seemed like you were surrounded by an aura of anxiety. Geralt could feel your turmoiled state, but for the longest time he did not raise it with you. You were grateful for it, although you briefly considered telling him about your phobia.

No. Stay strong. It’s just for one night, you reminded yourself.

You almost convinced yourself that you could do this when you felt something crawl all the way up your bare arm and get tangled in your hair. You instantly froze, fearing that your worst nightmare had become reality. Your terrified eyes met Geralt’s, and the witcher’s brows furrowed in concern as he felt the change in your demeanour.

“There’s something in my hair. Geralt, there’s something in my hair I can feel it, gods get it out of there whatever it is, please,” you rambled, your voice growing more panicked with each word you spoke. Geralt nodded, his eyes betraying his confusion, but he diligently did as you told him and pried whatever beast that had become tangled in your hair loose.

“It’s nothing, sweet dove. Just a spider, nothing mo-“

At those words, you bounced onto your feet and started itching yourself all over. It suddenly felt like a million spiders had found refuge under your skin and were trying to break free. You were delirious with panic, halfway between dream and reality, as your brain tricked you into believing your own hallucination. You were so far down your own panic that you did not immediately hear Geralt calling your name in a desperate attempt to get you to snap out of it.

“Y/N? Dove, can you hear me? Listen to my voice, you’ll be okay.”

You batted his hands away, let out a startled sound between a scream and a moan as you stumbled away from Geralt and clawing at your skin, willing the sensations away. You itched your skin raw until it became painful, at which point you began sobbing.

“Y/N, calm down,” you heard Geralt’s voice resonate in your mind, like a distant echo. You instantly felt your muscles go slack and the panic lifted as quickly as it appeared. Geralt was staring at you, concern written all over his face. You guessed by the position of his hands and fingers that Geralt had just used Axii on you.

“You’re going to take deep breaths and calm down, dove. You understand?”

You merely nodded as your body complied with the command. When Geralt’s hold on your mind subsided, you blinked several times as if to focus your mind on the now and then. Your witcher stayed a fair distance away, giving you space to get back to your senses. You suddenly felt your cheeks heat up in shame when you realised how silly and exaggerated your reaction to the spider had been.

“I’m… gods, I’m so pathetic aren’t I?”

“Is she going to be okay?” you heard Jaskier ask, his voice barely above a whisper as if he was scared to startle you.

“Yes,” Geralt responded without taking his eyes off you, “you’re going to be okay, dove. You hear me?”

“It was just a stupid spider. Why am I like this? All of this just for a stupid spider!”

“Ah, arachnophobia,” Jaskier said like an afterthought to himself. You glanced over your shoulder at the bard who offered a reassuring smile. “Bear with me, dear heart, I believe I have something that might put your mind at ease.”

You watched wordlessly as the bard disappeared, leaving you alone with a still shook Geralt. The witcher took several tentative steps towards you, extending his hands gently as if coaxing a young foal to come to him. You gladly fell into the witcher’s arms, clinging onto him for dear life. Geralt indulged you as one hand came to rest on the small of your back and the other at the back of your head.

“Is that why you didn’t want to sleep in the woods?” he asked, not unkindly. You nodded, nuzzling the base of his neck to hide the blush creeping up your cheeks and the tears welling up in your eyes. “Sweet dove, you should’ve said.”

“And then what? You spend all your coin on a room just so I don’t have to sleep with spiders? Geralt, don’t be ridiculous.”

“I just wish you’d told me.”

“I was afraid. I was afraid you’d find me laughable,” you admit shyly, biting your bottom lip to stop the tears from spilling. Instead of pushing you away like you had expected, Geralt pulled you impossibly closer.

“It’s okay to be scared sometimes. It’s healthy. I’m scared of some things too.”

“No you’re not,” you argued.

“I am. I’m scared of anything happening to the people I care about. I’m scared of anything happening to you. And to Jaskier, but don’t tell him that or I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“I knew you were fond of me, old man,” you both heard Jaskier exclaim loudly, which pulled an amused chuckle from you and an irritated groan from Geralt. “I already have the title of my new ballad. The Witcher Who Very Much Cared About…”

“Drop it,” Geralt grumbled, allowing you to pull away from him but keeping an arm wrapped around your waist.

“Alright, alright. Here you are, dear heart.” Jaskier handed you a little pouch which gave off a strong scent of eucalyptus and peppermint. You scrunched your nose as the smell invaded your nostrils. “Although I am particularly fond of eucalyptus and peppermint, I happen to know that spiders hate it. I also like to keep the creepy crawleys at bay when travelling with my dear friend Geralt. Spiders especially. They don’t bother me when I have my trusted pouch with me.”

A radiant smile brightened your face at Jaskier’s gift.

“Oh Jaskier, thank you.”

“Don’t even mention it, dear heart. Wouldn’t want you losing precious sleep over monsters, right Geralt?”

“Hmm,” was all your witcher said as he placed a firm kiss on your temple, “speaking of sleep, all this excitement tired me out. Let’s lie down, dove.”

You fell asleep easily in the safety of your witcher’s arms and clutching onto Jaskier’s miracle spider repellent.

246 notes · View notes

yoditorian · 3 years

Text

lacuna- part 4

din/reader

i put our favourite idiots through the absolute wringer in this one and i refuse to apologise. it’s nECESSARY i swear.

MASTERLIST

word count: 3.4k

warnings: swears, graphic violence and injury, some naughty thoughts from our favourite buckethead so for that reason 18+ no babies thanks

The distant, rhythmic clanging echoes off of the stone staircase as he descends into the tunnels.

They’re empty, devoid of the usual flurrying activity, save for the guards that stand tall either side of the entryway. He doesn’t ask where everyone is, he doesn’t need to, the noise is enough to know where he’s going. Winding tunnel after winding tunnel, Din comes to a sharp stop after rounding a corner.

Armoured bodies spill out of the entrance to the forge, kids in and out of helmets clamouring to watch the action in the gaps between their buirs’ legs. He remembers being that small, trying desperately to see what was going on during gatherings. But he’d never seen anything quite like this.

Din shoulders his way through the crowd, watching out for the little ones under his feet, towards where Paz stands a head above everybody else. A pale, willowy man sits hunched over on his knees in the centre of the forge beside a set of armour carefully laid out on a bench. Is he a thief? The Armourer stands tall above him, ceremonial furs wrapped around her shoulders in place of the shorter, more practical ones. There’s so much sound, so many angry bodies packed into the small space, he can’t decipher exactly what it is they’re all doing there.

“What is this?” He nudges Paz, unable to take his eyes off of the man on the ground.

“He has dishonoured the creed.”

Din offers nothing in return, hoping his confused silence is mistaken for acceptance. A thousand possibilities run through his mind at breakneck speed. There are so many rules, so many afterthoughts and double meanings, he knows the newly-sworn kids struggle to remember everything from time to time. But this is a grown man, an adult who sits so shamefully in the centre of their most sacred setting. Did he kill a vod? Did he intentionally harm the ade? Did he question the Armourer? Paz, unsurprisingly, senses the question that hangs in the air between them.

“He removed his helmet, vod.”

No.

But how would- how would anybody know? How would something like that ever get back to the covert? Din doesn’t ask. He only nods, and returns his gaze to the man in the circle, while he silently prays to every deity he can think of.

The crowd around him gets louder, hurling insults and clanging their arms together in anger. Din understands the gravity of what this man has done, what he has done, but there has to be a reason. Surely, there’s an explanation. A loophole, somewhere. Their secrecy is their survival and their survival is their strength, but at what cost? The cost of your touch, of you? The cost of knowing and being known so intimately isn’t something he’d known he’d be so unwilling to pay back when he swore the creed. Din Djarin would be a lesser man had he not shed his helmet and armour for you, he is as sure of that as his creed. The creed he has broken, more than once. What would become of him, if anybody here found out?

The Armourer moves, worn metal of her tools colliding like a thunderclap, and the covert falls silent.

“Cork Gyll, you have been charged with the gravest of crimes against the creed: the removal of your helmet.”

Din can’t help but flinch as Cork does when the crowd roars again, anger and betrayal cracking in the air. He doesn’t know Cork, but his spiraling thoughts are way ahead of the game. Filling his mind with images of himself in Cork’s place, stripped of his armour and everything he knows himself to be. The taunting of his covert, of his family, echoing in his ears as though it’s meant for him. Din feels sick.

Memories of every time he’s shed his helmet for you. Every time he’s pressed his lips to yours, to every inch of you he could find purchase on. Is that why it always felt so good? An almost religious experience, the permission you give him to touch you is one he holds in the highest regard. Nothing comes close. But is that why? The thrill of breaking the code he’s lived by for a lifetime? No, he knows that’s not it. He knows it’s you that makes him feel that way, more than any rule breaking. He hates the warmth that spreads through him at the phantom taste of you on his tongue.

“Do you deny?” The Armourer speaks again, and the noise ceases.

“No, Alor.” Cork does not raise his eyes from the dust in front of him.

Anger replaces Din’s fear. At himself, at his creed, at the galaxy for being so cruel as to hold you just out of reach and deny him the only real, tangible connection he’s had since he was taken in by these people. He craves you, and everything you are, but you’re not allowed. Part of him feels like a petulant child, one of the ade denied a sweet before dinnertime. How could he be so stupid? So reckless? He should be caught. He should be exiled. He deserves it, he deserves nothing but loneliness.

“Is there reason that you should not be stripped of your armour and exiled?”

“No, Alor.”

“You will be Dar’manda. This is the way.”

“This is the way.” The words echo in chorus around the forge, as they always do. It doesn’t escape Din’s notice that Cork remains silent in the centre, head hanging low.

The clanging from before begins again, in unison this time. The younger warriors follow the elders’ lead, rhythmically hitting their vambraces together until the sound reverberates through the ground. It’s loud enough that nobody notices that Din’s own wrists barely make contact. The Armourer lifts the tray of shed armour over the forge in front of Cork, the sparks of the flames reflect harshly in the gold of her helmet. The condemned man still does not raise his eyes from the dirt.

Paz and another heavy infantry soldier step out of the crowd to haul Cork to his feet, and people start to dissipate. The show’s over, now all that remains is to serve his sentence. A life in exile. Dar’manda. Din doesn’t stick around long enough to find out what they do with him next.

He goes straight to his room, unaware of the path he treads. He can’t remember in all his time as a Mando seeing somebody actually get exiled, actually be stripped of the creed and sent away. He was half sure it was just a story told to get the ade to take the creed seriously. The guilt only digs it’s cold claws into his heart once he’s alone.

Door secure, Din all but rips the helmet off of his head. Breathe, in and out. Just like you taught him. Oh, you. Your face swimming in his memory only makes his guilt grip tighter, twisting itself in his guts until he can’t remember what he feels like without it. You’re a traitor, Djarin. He can’t tell if the grotesque voice in his head is talking about the creed or the way he’s treated you. He’s not sure it matters. Because even after all this, after everything he’s just seen, he thinks about where you might be. Whatever you’re up to, he only hopes you’re safe.

“Oh, fuck.”

Shara’s too far into the armoury to hear you call out when the guards descend.

Only a handful of them, faces all concealed by crude looking helmets, but they waste no time in splitting up to take you on. Three of them against you, they’re not the best odds you’ve ever faced. Then again, they’re definitely not the worst. You take a moment, let them try to predict your first move, until one of them gets impatient. He swings for your legs with the long barrel of his blaster, which you evade with so much ease you’re almost embarrassed for the guy. It’s less of a fight and more of a standoff. You’re cornered at the end of this dark hallway, nowhere to go. The sounds of Shara struggling against her own adversaries echo off the metal walls, and you strike.

You hit the middle guard square in the chest, splintering the weak armour, and you take the momentary panic from the others to make a break for it over his body. You don’t get far. Shara’s pained cry from the armoury stills your heart in your chest at the same moment that a stun bolt digs in between your shoulders, voltage way too high for something as delicate as human flesh. You’re out before you even hit the floor.

Your legs aren’t working like they should, muscles still jerking as the electricity works its way out of your system. A pair of guards unshackle you from the post and you hit the floor before they can catch you. Of all the ways they’ve hurt you, it’s the boss’s cackle at your weakness that makes you cringe. You’d held out for so long, stayed quiet for what feels like days, until they pulled out whatever it was that turned your blood to lightning. You’re dragged up out of the dust and back down the narrow hallway to the cell. It’s too dark in there to even see an inch in front of your face. But at least you can hear Shara through the wall.

“We’re getting out, I know it.” She’s optimistic, you’ll give her that. But you know that if you do ever make it out, it’ll be on your own. The Rebellion just doesn’t have the numbers to spare on a rescue mission for a couple of pilots who got a little too big for their boots.

“Well I’m not dying until I beat your track time, so we better.”

Shara laughs from the cell beside yours, loud and familiar, if maybe a little forced. It’s easier to join in her amusement when you don’t focus on the blood dripping down under your collar.

It’s a suspiciously easy bounty, something he’d normally pass up on. But there’d been an odd tug in his chest at the low-level puck and Din had negotiated it into his assignments from the Guild before he even really knew what he’d done. Some wannabe crime lord on a planet he didn’t care to learn the name of had set a bounty on an ex-guard, wanted him hand delivered. A deserter, he’d called him. Din pretended like that didn’t tug at his chest too.

He finds the man, oddly enough, digging up vegetables in a garden. Presumably it’s the quarry’s family home, nestled between the trees on a riverbank, and something about the way the man regards him feels extremely final. He doesn’t run, he doesn’t plead or try to fight, he simply places the bundle of freshly harvested vegetables on the doorstep and walks slowly back up the path. The bounty doesn’t say a word as his wrists are bound, nor as they start the trek through the wood towards the gang’s base.

A helmeted guard meets them at the doorway, gesturing into the dark hall, and Din only hesitates for a moment before nudging the quarry ahead of him. They barely make it into the main meeting room when a blaster shot hits the bounty right between the eyes. He crumples where he stands, Din has enough control not to flinch in surprise, and the man holding the smoking blaster splits a slimey grin. The boss, then. He points at the body, talking pointedly to his guards about loyalty and vows. It’s enough to leave a bad taste in Din’s mouth. He catches the pouch of credits thrown his way, and is ready to leave this whole mess behind him when the boss turns his attention onto the hunter.

“You have to stay for the show, Mando.”

“Show?” Was that not enough of a show?

“We found a couple of rats digging around in our armoury a few days ago, thought we’d have a little fun before they meet the same fate as our dear deserter.”

He leads Din to a small room with staggered seating above a lit area like a crude stage, clearly made for a larger audience than the six of them. There’s a single post in the middle with a woman in a dirty orange flight suit cuffed to it, blood on her face. An interrogation droid, he suppresses a shudder, is zapping her every few seconds to keep her from blacking out.

“We had the bantha-prod on the other one yesterday. Oh, the screaming.”

Unable to take his eyes off of the woman, he can’t stop himself seeing you in her place. He doesn’t even think before he’s unloaded a plasma cartridge into the boss and the four remaining guards. Din swings his pulse rifle around his body, aiming carefully, and disintegrates the droid before it can shock the woman again.

“Get your friend and get gone.” Din huffs out as he swipes the keys off of the boss and jumps down into the pit to unshackle the pilot. Her legs give out underneath her, dropping like dead weight, and for a second he’s not sure she’ll get back up. But she does, gritting her teeth the whole way.

“You think we were planning on sticking around?” She’s shaky, a little out of it for a moment before she steels herself and looks him in the eyes. Right in the eyes. It’s the same determination and strength Din always sees in you, and he knows she’ll be okay.

He leaves before the little voice in his head, the one that sounds like you, makes him do something stupid. Like stay and help the pilots, offer to take them back to their base, get sucked into a war he doesn’t have the cause to care about. Aside from one, glaringly obvious, you-shaped reason.

Shara wastes no time in ducking down the hall to the cells and getting to you. Her fingers shake when she flips through the chain to find the right chip, but the tension leaves her a little once the door slides back to reveal you curled in a dank corner. The light is harsh, after who knows how many hours sitting in complete darkness, and you’re only vaguely aware of her telling you somebody killed your captors.

“-Swooped in like a fucking knight in shining armour,” Shara laughs as she fumbles with the key to your binders, “It was crazy.”

She’s pulling you out of the cell and down the hall before you can really get your feet under you, knocking elbows and knees against the walls of the narrow space. But the logic of a pilot, a scrapper pilot, kicks in once you’ve adjusted to the movement.

“Dead guys don’t need guns, right? Might as well get what we came for.”

It takes Shara a moment to realise what you’re saying, but then she’s dragging you after her along the dim corridor. The wrong way. You have to tug on her hand to get her to slow, to point her in what you know is the right way to the armoury. You’re not sure exactly how you can be so certain, just that you know. You’ve always had a better sense of direction than her so she, at least, takes you at your word and barely stumbles in her haste.

There’s no welcoming party waiting on the landing pad for you, only a very tired looking command officer and a couple of medics, and the floodlights threaten to blind you as you and Shara lean on each other down the loading ramp. Tired, you’re both so tired.

“They’re in the cargo hold.” You manage between breaths, nodding your head towards the netting keeping the liberated armoury in place. The officer releases you to the medics at the same moment Shara loses consciousness and falls dead weight against your shoulder. The adrenaline starts to wear off as they catch her before she can hit the ground, you don’t argue when they sit you on the trolley beside her.

“What did they hit you with, Lieutenant?” A doctor you don’t recognise is in your face before you even register that you’re in the medbay.

“Forgive me if I was a little too preoccupied to ask.”

It hurts. The torn material of your flight suit is matted into your wounds, and you feel every little pull right down to your bones when she moves to lead you up and off of the trolley towards an empty bed. Even the lightest touch of her fingers around the singed edges threatens a wave of nausea. You bite it back with a grimace. If standing is this agonising, you really don’t want to find out what heaving feels like.

“Bantha-prod, looks like. Nasty burns.”

Another pair of hands guides you to lean forwards and brace your arms on the bed, and you try to remember to keep breathing while the doctor begins peeling your charred flight suit out of the half-healed burns on your back. More scars. Spots dance in your vision, blurring the world around you, and you lock your jaw up so tight to keep from screaming that you swear you crack a tooth. Even through this, this pain that seems to lick at every inch of your body, your only thought is that you want him. There’s a sharp scratch on your neck and a low groan that you think might have come from you, before the pain finally pulls you under.

Din finds no solace in the dusty tunnels of the covert, not the way he normally does. The image of Cork kneeling in the forge, enduring insults and anger and the loss of his creed without so much as a whimper. The quarry, walking from his family’s home to his death with no complaint. He’s not sure he could be that strong, that unaffected, if his treachery ever comes to light. He wonders what you would look like in the orange flight suit of rebel pilots. Maybe you knew the ones he freed, maybe he’d unknowingly saved a friend of yours. It might be the only honourable action he’s taken for years.

His lingering thought, as he finds his way to his quarters and collapses on the bed in a pile of armour and exhaustion, is how much more comfortable he is when you’re tucked into his side. Where you should be, he’s sure of it.

You plague his dreams that night, just like every night. Din sees nothing but your eyes, hears nothing but your laugh, feels nothing but your smile against his skin. He dreams about being somewhere far away with you, the way he wishes he could be. No rebels or creeds or empires, just you and him lying somewhere in soft grass watching clouds roll by. You’re wearing that old red sweater he took off of you the first night he touched you, and his armour is nowhere to be seen. He likes it that way. He can feel the warmth of you beside him like this.

But the pink-streaked sky morphs and suddenly he’s encompassed in darkness, the feeling of you surrounding him. He’s not afraid, not like when other dreams fade to black before he wakes. He knows you in this darkness, he knows himself. The sounds you make when you’re together in the dark, the heat of your mouth on him, sliding his cock past your lips. He wants this, you, for as long as you’ll let him have it. Everything you are, the smiles, the jokes, the sex, the exhaustion. The fire you get in your eyes stokes the one in his, he’s not sure who he would be without it. He could love you, one day, if that’s what you wanted. If he’s what you want. But nothing lasts, the Armourer’s voice breaks through your heady moans to condemn him as Dar’manda and you’re gone. Just like that.

Din wakes with a start. Hard in his flight suit and an even worse ache in his back. He can never see you again, a decision that leaves a pain so deep in his bones far worse than a wet dream or falling asleep in his armour ever could.

The comm buzzes late one night, weeks later.

“I’ve got a job on Akiva, if you’re anywhere near there.”

He leaves it unanswered.

TAGLIST (lmk if you want on or off the list):

@brothersdrxke @remmysbounty @aq-vetina @1800-fight-me @mandos-co @kesskirata @sarahjkl82-blog @firstofficerwiggles @keeper0fthestars @wille-zarr @rebloogggs @plants-are-better-than-humans @schreibsuchtis (tag machine broke again)

#lacuna #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #star wars #fic #liz does words #obligatory prayer to the tag gods that they work #smut

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theinkmage · 3 years

Text

Hope

Tw : self-harm mentions, attempted suicide, bleeding

I lie. Still. Not telling the truth.

The blood pours, but I deny pain. It trickles down, below my navel, runs the width and length of my right arm. The crimson red pools on the ground, the white hot tarmac, like spilled ketchup.

The plan failed.

Part of me is swamped with guilt, the feeling long gone from the sketches of my very existence. I haven't felt it for eons, the stab of a knife in my gut, twisting until it hits its mark. Bullseye.

The other part swims and drowns in regret. Regret and guilt are closely intertwined, but different. You can regret, but not feel guilt. You can also be guilty, but spared from regret.

I didn't mean to take lives. I didn't want to. But as one of the Darker Beings, they expected you to. Why resist something expected of you? Something so many of your kind are already doing with no qualms?

My guilt stems from my betrayal of my friends. But life isn't fair, we don't get to choose what or who we want to be. We can only accept what we are given and move on.

The expression on his countenance is still etched firmly in the dredges of my mind. Her shock too. So many of them. Not the friends. So the right word should be 'much'. Much shock, much hostility, much aggression. Of course, I didn't expect them to understand. They were born Lighter Beings. It was always Good versus Evil, and the latter would always be defeated no matter what. Who ever watched a movie where Evil triumphed? That would take the fun out of it and probably insert terror and unsatisfaction in its place.

This world has been stigmatised too much to be changed. And too few of us want it. Who would want change, in a world where ninety-nine percent of the odds are against you and you've already gotten used to it? Not to mention hope for it. That would be foolish.

Extremely foolish.

The Chief had wanted blood on our hands tonight, as a test. I know, I do admit, blowing up a building full of innocent children was too cruel. I wasn't given a choice. We all weren't. Maybe the Chief had a choice, maybe he didn't. Maybe he thought he was supposed to always do this. I can hear the clamouring at the back of my mind, screaming and yelling, "Ridiculous!"

Who are you to speak, if you are not one of us?

Whether blood did get on our hands tonight was a totally separate matter. What actually mattered was the defeat, which could be counted as a relief. The ones who had come with me had done their job well. Thrown the bombs well. Aimed, deft, precise accuracy. Almost deadly. Sharp like a sword. A flash of lightning and a peal of thunder.

Their encouragements still rang in my ears. I threw. I had thrown. Launched the black object like a curled up bat into the air, through the glass windows into the facility. It took only thirty seconds to detonate once released.

I heard the babies crying and shots from below. Honestly, I couldn't find it in my heart to blame them. I only watched, unwilling to betray my own kind, as those posted on the mission together with me attacked. I stayed up in the air, hovering, like a dark guardian angel.

He was below, battling fiercely while the others rushed in to get the babies. A slight twinge had tugged at my heartstrings, something so foreign to me I had almost forgotten it. It was a memory, something stronger, a fragment of the past always slipping past my fingertips like sand in an hourglass. Back when we were kids, back before the segregation, back before everything else that divided and conquered.

He had been my first true love, and still is. I had willed my resolve not to crumble there and then. The aches remained and flared, the smoke from their flames rising and intertwining into a monster in front of me. Porous, unreal. A living epitome of me.

My soul had risen into the air, cut itself out of my real physique, and watched silently as I dove down, slicing a spiral out of thin vapour. It took only seconds before my body collided with his, knocking his hands off my allies. The word tasted bitter in my mouth now, apart from the metallic sting of blood and the salty wash of tears and rainwater. I had watched the astonished, stung look on his dirt-streaked face, then fought against the longing in my heart. This was a good chance to win, to cut it all off once and for all. Human emotion was a tricky thing, not to be toyed with.

I haven't toyed with it for a while.

Even so, the years spent in numbness and coldness were for naught. I had felt the sprigs of flowers blooming inside my bosoms, threatening to unfurl their petals and burst in a radiant splash of colours. But before they could, I bit down hard on my tongue, tightened the iron fist, and rammed into him with all my might and force of my wings, sending him crashing into the glass behind.

The hurt and agony was something I would never forget, even as I lie, almost dying, on the pavement.

They had gotten the children out, fortunately. My allies had gotten away before the bombs had exploded in a fury of volcanic ash and red-hot lava. My wings had gotten burned, their black edges charred even further until the feathers singed and littered the ground. They had once been white, soft vanilla cream, until the segregation. And now they remained inky, jet-black.

The grit tasted hard between my molars and I spat it out, along with a mouthful of fresh red blood. Now I could feel it, the raw pain and anguish. A remembrance of human emotion. I clung to it in my last breaths, reluctant to let go of something I once had that made me human, something that defined me as virtuous and morally upright. Had defined me.

Now, no more.

I might have killed him. Murder. Assassination.

A lump formed in my throat and bobbed quietly. Why wasn't I dead yet? When would the descent to Hell begin? Angels, or Demons, come and take me away. I want to leave without any struggle. I have played my part in this horrific world, branded myself as Evil, now ruined by my own doing.

This was what I deserved.

The world around me blurred, coalesced into water and sharpness. The mist came, and left, and everything was crystal-clear again. Too clear. Each breath was harder now, the intake much more difficult. It was coming, I could feel it. Death arriving on my doorstep, ready to take me away to where I belonged. I would make its job quicker and more efficient.

The knife blade felt cool in my hands. I remember feeling it thousands of times before, the edge cutting into my soft skin, the blade ripping through, drawing just a tinge of blood, not enough to kill me. And then whenever I began to feel human emotions again, I would rip it through again, patch it up, and continue. Until I became a living breathing block of ice, unfeeling. With no feeling came no pain. That was what I had come to realise over time.

But this time, I wouldn't just be drawing a tinge of blood. My eyes took in the world above me – the shattered glass, the wails of babies, the shouts and yells ricocheting all above. Large wings flapping, white against the night sky. I hoped he was fine, I hoped they were all fine. But what could hope do if he wasn't, if they weren't?

My cold fingers shifted up to the handle. It would just take one plunge into the already bloody area. No pain, and I would just go like that. How ironic, that I had always longed for human emotion, but when I am given the chance to take it back, I don't want to. I want the feelings to spare me before I die.

I shut my eyes, expecting to feel fear encasing me in its shell. Instead, I don't. I feel an otherworldly peace shrouding me in its silent holy veil, draping me in its cloak, caressing the tears and blood from my face. Even Peace took pity on me, this ruined, broken thing longing to leave the surfaces of Earth. I positioned the knife, its shiny blade facing downwards, raised it high above my abdomen.

Then with a determinedness, I brought it rushing down. The air swept above bare skin, bringing with it a tint of frost and chilliness. Flashes, memories, pictures raced before the blackness in front of my closed eyes. Brightness soared in my mind, spreading wings and taking flight as I braced myself for the ensuing farewell.

It never came.

I blinked. The eyelids lifted. A blurred image knelt in front of me. Was this Hell yet? The Demon, Satan, coming to kill me himself? The rain fell harder, disorienting. The edges of wings lay below me, fluttering helplessly as I struggled to discern between living and dying.

That was when I could feel them. Warm fingers, holding mine around the handle. The blade was poking my skin, drawing just a tinge of blood. Even without seeing, I knew who it was and I struggled to remove my fingers from his grasp, desperately wanting to sink the blade into me even more. Anything to get away from cold, hard reality. No one would miss me.

The fingers refused to let go, retained their hold around mine and tightened. The drops of water above hardened their fall. I shut my eyes again, and felt the hands shuddering. Both of ours. Not because of the cold. We were both crying, me and him, while around us, the world lay torn, shredded into pieces.

A white flash of something, like a piece of cloud ripped from a clear blue summer sky of the past. Through the drenching cold rain, I thought it was his wings, burning with a light and righteous glory of their own. But no, they were a normal shaking white, encased with streaks of blood amongst the dripping feathers. Warm energy flowed from his hands to mine, and I turned slightly to look at my outspread wings. I forced my unseeing eyes to take in their shining surfaces, white slowly pooling in from the edges.

The tears came, now free-flowing like the rain, down my wet bloodied cheeks. He was hoping in me. It had been hope all along, that fuelled him to stop him from killing myself; hope that allowed me to hesitate in the last few seconds of throwing the bomb, praying for a chance to redeem myself; hope that gave me those last few moments of hesitation before plunging the knife in, wanting someone to come and untangle me from this ruined world as an alternative ending.

It was hope that almost killed us, but also brought us back to life, even stronger than before. It was hope that nurtured love, and love that nurtured hope. The two caught in an endless cycle.

"Hope, now!"

The thunder was loud, deafening, a splitting crackle of electricity above and the rain its tears, pitter-pattering down. Yet I could hear him over the crash, his voice ragged and hoarse and desperate. And hope I did. Our fingers intertwined tighter, palms pressed together, the handle of the knife between us.

An amalgamation of emotions came crashing onto my shores, flooding the gates of my memory.

First was Happiness, like a bite into the sweetest chocolate cake, fresh out of the oven, baked by my mother.

Second came Pride, like clinching a trophy in a competition.

Third was Anger, its red-hot flames washing over me, devouring all my senses in its explosions.

Then came Disappointment, with the disappeared notion of believing something good was about to happen only to have it snatched away from you, right under your nose.

Guilt, with its sting in the gut, sharp and raw, tearing into your conscience like a monster burrowing underground.

Sadness, with its poignancy and something broken deep inside, breaking the dam of tears.

Then Disgust, mud on clean carpets and all over pretty white shirts and dresses.

Regret, replaying the same scene ten different times in your head, each playing out differently, but having apologies as one thing in common.

Hope, its wings spreading to embrace you, cushioning your fall, believing that you can fly.

The hands clenched tighter and sparks flew. The glow around me lightened considerably, a halo around two figures crouching under a lightning-split sky.

Last came Love, a burst of cherry blossoms and rose petals fluttering all around you, the sweet fragrance of honey and clean washed clothes.

His lips came down on mine, gently, almost as if unable to believe that it was happening. Hope could make anything happen. The brushing of a feather, light as breath, the rainwater and blood and tears mingling into one dark bitter taste, overcome by the sweet pleasantness of touch and intimacy. Using up the last of my energy, I returned the kiss, lips pressed against each other, hard and firm and safe, yet soft and dream-like and humane at the same time.

To love and to be loved were things I had yearned for for as long as I could remember.

Now, I could feel my body burning, my wings heating up and flaring out with a brilliance never felt before. The white swirling faster and faster behind my eyes was now dotted with numerous black spots, tightening into a circle of white and black.

I hoped for Change, and the change it would in turn bring into the world, like a rippling effect of pebbles on still water.

The circle spun faster, dancing on the edge of my vision, white-washed waves painted with black. Would Good and Evil truly coexist together?

A flash, darkness, then light. Freshness of petrichor in the air, and then once more, the airy feel of new spring raindrops against skin. I opened my eyes, noticing the wings first. Black and white. Both his and mine. Together, two colours on the same pair of wings, a mixture of colours filled in in startlingly intricate tones and patterns.

Hope had brought us together. But more than that, it meant that this destroyed world had a chance of being healed after all.

#hero x villain #betrayal #hurt #comfort #romance #light vs dark #hope you like this!

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linerwriter · 4 years

Text

Proliferation

Part 1 and Part 2

The (hopefully) thrilling conclusion to the idea that took almost a year to finish! If this was on AO3 and I could see a date to when it was last edited, I would be ashamed.

An edited version will also be going up on AO3, if you are interested in seeing that. I do not know when it will be coming out, but hopefully before next year. I will be posting a link when it is up if anyone is interested.

TW: suicidal thoughts and trauma are expressed. If you wish to skip, it is from “Because I’m tired, Twilight” to “So how can I help you believe it?”

A week had passed since Wild’s attack, a week of tense silence and many excuses. Wild had woken up the house a few more times since then, but had still refused to elaborate on the reasons why. The only person he accepted to know was Zelda, and she was even tougher to crack.

“I’m really sorry, Mr. Time, but if you want to know, you need to ask Link yourself. It’s not my place to share someone else’s trauma.” Zelda said after Time tried to grill her for information. She slumped down, “I’ve tried my best to get him to open up, but he’s adamant on not doing that.”

Time sighed, “I understand, Princess. Just try your best to help him, okay?” She nodded and proceeded to leave the room, stopping at the entryway to look back at him.

“If you can find any way to help him, please do. And please, call me Zelda.”

Time smiled, “Of course, Zelda.” She smiled back and finally left the room, her short golden hair bouncing with her. He turned toward the other person in the room, the furry gray pelt seeming somehow deflated. Time could see the way Twilight’s eyes took on a more defeated tone than before they spoke to Zelda.

“Why?” Twilight whispered, “Why does he not want us to help him?”

Time closed his eye with a sigh, “I don’t know, cub. Perhaps he’s spoken to Malon about it?”

“But she would’ve told us by now if he did,” Twilight guessed. Time nodded silently, sitting down heavily in a chair. The two mingled in silence, an oppressive feeling in the air. It was broken when Twilight asked,

“How much longer until he breaks, Time?”

Time stared out the window, a helpless feeling he hadn’t felt in a long time creeping into his heart. “I don’t know.”

Their answer came later that night. It was decided that they were going to leave the next morning to meet with Time’s Zelda, and possibly leave Wild’s Zelda there to learn about the history of Hyrule that had been lost to the ages.

The group had decided to head outside after dinner to enjoy the stars. They had set up a campfire and had taken turns sharing stories, regaling the others with quests of honor and mistakes. After Wind had shared about the first time he climbed out of a boat after sailing for a long time, which had led to many laughs, everyone turned to the duo glued together.

“You’ve must have done something dumb at one point, Wild.” Legend goaded the scarred hero, “Come on, tell us!”

Zelda giggled quietly, “I remember at one point, he tried to fly across Hyrule with some minecarts. He got to the Thundra Plateau and was zapped out of the sky!”

Wild smiled faintly, “And I seem to remember the time you thought you picked up a sword and it was really the bones of a dead bokoblin. You screamed so loud you woke up half of the forest.”

“Ugh.” Four wrinkled his nose, “I’m with you there, Princess.”

Zelda shuddered, “Never again. And like I’ve said, please, call me Zelda.”

“It’s kind of confusing to call you that, though, isn’t it? We all have our own Zeldas, so how do we know which one we’re talking about?”

Zelda hummed, “I see your point. A nickname, perhaps? You can give one to every Zelda you end up meeting.”

“That sounds like a good plan. What would you like to be called, Zelda?” Malon said warmly from beside Time.

Zelda thought for a moment, “Scientist, perhaps?”

Warriors shook his head, “Too stiff.”

“How about Bones? From how much you screamed at some?” Legend snickered.

Twilight saw the subtle flinch Wild made at the suggestion. He exchanged a look with Time, the other looking resigned. Zelda took his hand and said softly, “Maybe not that one.”

The naming went on for a few more minutes, the nicknames getting closer and closer but still not perfect. Zelda was clutching Wild’s hand tightly, looking at his blank expression every so often. Finally, they got to the point where everyone was quiet, listening to the crackle of the fire and thinking. It ended when a voice spoke up.

“Flora,” Wild said shortly, “Her name is Flora.” Then he left the group.

Twilight followed.

“Wild.”

“I’m fine, Twilight.”

“Are you sure?” Twilight raised an eyebrow at Wild’s back, “You don’t seem fine to me.”

“I’m fine, Twilight, now will you please leave me alone?”

“No, cub, because you’re very obviously not ‘fine’.”

Wild finally stopped walking to throw his hands up into the air, “Goddesses, Twilight, I’m fine! I just wanted to leave!”

“Yes, you’re fine and you didn’t just leave the group for no reason.” Twilight sighed, “Wild, I know. Whenever you say you’re fine, you’re never fine.”

“Oh? And how are you so sure?”

“Would you like a list?”

Wild breathed in slowly in annoyance. His voice was measured and clipped as he said, “I am okay, Twilight. You can go back to the group now.”

“Uh, no, I’m not.” Twilight crossed his arms as his voice became more serious, “Cub, I’ve seen you this entire week. You’re tense, constantly searching the surroundings for an exit. You’ve had nightmares multiple times this week, and yet, the only person allowed to help you is Flora.” With each word, Twilight saw Wild’s shoulders lower further and further, until he looked like a hedgehog. He continued lowly, “You don’t laugh anymore. You don’t smile. You react to a joke, sure, but it’s never genuine. Once the attention is off of you, you shut down.”

“Th-that’s…”

“I’m not the only one that’s noticed, Wild. Everyone has.” Wild whipped his head up in surprise, “They just know there’s no point in trying.”

Silence. Wild’s hands started to wring together, his head lowered to the ground. Twilight looked at him, his eyes boring into the smaller man’s head.

“When will you tell me what happened, Wild?”

“I can’t,” came a wretched whisper.

“Why?” Twilight’s question was calm.

“Because it’s easier for me to keep my head down and ignore it.”

“Bullshit!” Twilight’s anger was starting to manifest outside of his mind. “You ignore it because it’s easier? When have we ever done that?!”

“Because I’m tired, Twilight!” Wild finally swung his eyes toward Twilight’s, who could see the pain and misery etched into them. “I’m sick and tired of being those deities plaything! For over a hundred years, I have been forced to do what they told me to, and at this point, I don’t care anymore. If this kills me, then so be it. I welcome it, even!”

“Don’t you dare say that!”

“And why can’t I? Because you care about me?” Wild’s voice started to steadily rise. “Do you know what it feels like to have your entire beliefs questioned? To know that because you just weren’t good enough, everything fell apart? I had to retrain myself to be worthy of the Master Sword, Twi, you know this! I was the one responsible for what happened when the Calamity came. I was the reason why it turned out the way it did. I WAS THE REASON WHY THEY’RE DEAD!”

So, Twilight thought, that’s what this is about. He watched numbly as Wild fell to his knees, sobbing uncontrollably. With a faint sigh, he stood and crouched down next to his friend, rubbing his back gently.

“...Do you wanna know why me and Zelda are always so close together?” Wild’s question came out quiet and defeated.

Twilight’s response was just as quiet. “Sure.”

The smaller man took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “D-down there, there were some monsters that liked to play with our minds. They could manipulate the way we perceived the world, make us see things that weren’t real.” His voice dropped to a whisper, “At one point, I thought Zelda had been killed.”

“And since they can’t replicate the Goddess’s light, you took to being close to one another to make sure it was real,” Twilight guessed with a sinking heart.

Wild nodded his head dumbly, staring at the fire. Twilight sighed again, “It’s okay to ask for help, you know. I’m always here, so is Time. You don’t have to keep it bottled up inside.”

“I don’t want to be a burden.”

“You’re not a burden.”

“There’s a difference between knowing and believing, Twilight!” Wild snapped.

“So how can I help you believe it?” Twilight asked gently, “‘Cause you aren’t, Wild, and you never were. I guarantee you, if I go around to everyone in this group and ask if you are a burden, they would say no. You cook for us, you hunt for us, you make everyone worry whenever you do some death-defying stunt and come out alive at the end!” He shook his head, “Asking for help doesn’t make you a burden, Wild. It means you’re willing to start respecting yourself and allowing yourself to heal.”

Wild sniffed, “You really think so?”

“I know so.” Twilight took a moment to compose himself, “You know my journey. You know what happened during it. You know the trauma and fear it gave me; for years, I carried that around with me, unwilling to bare myself to the world and accept the love and kindness the people around me were desperately trying to give. It took Zelda finally knocking some sense into me to realize that keeping it to myself wasn’t good, it was harmful.”

“Did she really?” Wild turned his big blue eyes toward Twilight for a moment, a sparkle so curious it reminded Twilight of Colin.

He smiled ruefully, “Took a good smack at me.” He wagged a finger at Wild, causing the younger man to giggle, “Never offend a Zelda, they have a mean right hook. You should know that better than anyone.”

Wild nodded, the last of his tears drying up, “I wouldn’t dare.”

“Good, you’re smarter than me. Anyway,” Twilight became serious again, “you can’t keep bottling yourself up, pup. Do you have to share everything that happened right away? No, that would be cruel. But if something is wrong, like what happened last week, then you gotta say something. Even if it’s as simple as ‘I’m feeling sad today, can I have a hug?’ No one will blame you. Got it?”

Wild nodded again, “Got it. Can I have a hug right now?”

Twilight’s face softened, “Of course you can, pup. Come on, bring it in.” He opened his arms wide, giving the younger man a big bear (wolf) hug. Wild relaxed into the hold, breathing in the comforting scent of his pseudo-older brother.

The two broke apart a few moments later, after Wild finally felt better for the first time in months. He took a deep breath, “Can I tell you a bit about what happened down there?”

Twilight very carefully didn’t react, “Whatever you want, Wild. And while we’re on that, mind telling me about the arm?” He gestured towards Wild’s limb, “It’s a bit more… glowy than before.”

Wild laughed lightly, “Sure. It all started when…”

#linkeduniverse #linked universe #wild angst #hero of the wild #hero of twilight #hero of time #and everyone else of course #botw flora #tw for suicidal thoughts and trauma #it's done!#can you believe i wrote some of this last august #cause i can't #edit: i forgOT TO ADD A FRICKIN TITLE-#hurt and comfort

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bottleofspilledink · 4 years

Text

God's Watching, Put on a Show || Chapter X

The obvious absence of an unfaithful spouse filled the air with tension. Eve knew better than to speak unprompted when her mother had a wineglass next to her, the beautifully decorated dining room silent save for the sound of slicing and silverware.

"How was school, dear?" Her mother finally said, the dear chocked and forced, teeth gritted.

She wasn't drunk. No, not yet.

She was angry.

Eve just then noticed the various envelopes under the wineglass' stand. Bank statements. They weren't poor, mind you. The Peccators were middle class. (They could even be considered upper-middle class depending on who you asked.) They had enough money to send Eve to a private school, own a house, a car, and even go on a vacation once a year; that wasn't going to be changing anytime soon, either.

But she knew of her father's vices, his penchant for extravagant watches and suits, his liking for younger, more lively women.

No, they weren't having financial problems, far from it, Eve knew, but she did suspect that her father had once again spoiled his mistress, more likely than not going on another spending spree with his credit card, the "business trip" he had been on for the past four days a complete fabrication.

"It was good, mama. Thank you for asking," Eve spoke slowly and clearly, making sure to call the woman in front of her by her preferred variation of mother, hoping it would calm her down like it did when she was a child.

If only things were as easy as they had been.

"How's Mary? Elizabeth?"

As she grew older, the list of friends her mother approved of grew smaller and smaller to the point she knew all of Eve's companions by name. That said, she wouldn't appreciate that the few friends she'd let the girl keep were now gossiping, dating, - and, God forbid - fornicating.

"They're doing good, mama. Still very nice."

Her mother emptied her glass of wine, pouring more in not a second after she placed it on the table once more.

"Good to hear. I recall the school saying no one was injured in the fire, but I wanted to check in anyway." She ran a hand through her blonde hair, sighing when some broke and stayed tangled between her fingers, downing her wine when her eyes fell upon their graying roots.

Eve had to stop herself from flinching when her mother slammed the wine bottle down, enraged by the fact it dare be empty when she needed it.

"Be a dear and get mama another bottle from the kitchen, Eve." She drawled, toeing the line between tipsy and drunk. "From the top right corner of the wine rack."

"Yes, mama." Eve nearly tripped over her own feet in all her rush.

Her mother was already aggravated and she daren't make it worse by taking too long for the woman's liking.

She took the bottle her mother requested, eyes skimming over the label reflexively.

A nineteen-ninety Madeira. One of the most alcoholic wines in the house.

She sprinted back to the table, hesitant to hand the bottle over, yet putting it down by her mother anyway. How she detested what her mother would become when she drank, an imposter, a cruel stranger in the body of the usually well-meaning woman she was.

And yet, did she not always hate her mother?

Not as strongly as she hated the woman in this state, but hate nonetheless.

Her mind echoed with the sixth commandment once more, but it was so hard to listen to.

She knew her parents gave her life and a roof over her head and the clothes on her back, but, as kind as they could be, were they worthy of being honoured?

This woman was the reason she had only two friends, the reason she was so sheltered and clueless, restricting what she could watch, not even wanting her to read more than what was required of her, the reason she couldn't garden, more concerned of her child's future husband, of her child's hands growing calloused, than of her child's happiness. And yet, even like this, she knew her mother had her best interests at heart. The two decades they had been married warping her mind into believing in a harmful mentality, blaming herself for her husband's unfaithfulness, making herself think that if she raised her daughter to be the perfect wife, she'd be able to give her what she never had: a happy, successful marriage.

Her father was the reason her mother was like this in the first place. They married too young They hardly knew themselves, much less each other, unable to differentiate love from attraction from infatuation. And he simply fell out of love. He stayed, however, unwilling to bite the bullet and divorce her while he could. Instead, he lied. He cheated. His infidelity turning what had been a kind and jovial woman with a bright future in front of her into a miserable, alcoholic housewife who only stayed with him due to her devoutly catholic beliefs.

They made her miserable.

They made each other miserable, committing a plethora of other sins in order to avoid one.

Ah, the joys of married life.

Eve ate her dinner hurriedly, getting up to take her used dishes to the sink.

"I'm going up, mama. I need to study for an English test."

That was a lie.

She just didn't want to stay long enough to see her mother smash a plate.

"Come here, dear, before you go." Her mother put down the wine glass and smiled a weary smile, a hint of the person she was all those years ago coming back, if for a moment, a flash, a mere glimpse into the past she longed to return to. "I want to see you."

Eve stepped closer, slow, unsteady. That smile, one she so often saw ages ago, told her that she was safe. But the alcohol not even a ruler's length away from her mother's hand made her wary nonetheless.

Her hand went to cup Eve's cheek with a familial tenderness she hadn't felt in so long.

"You look just like me, when I was your age. You're beautiful, Eve."

Eve could feel her eyes tearing up, practically melting into the touch. Maybe there was still hope for the both of them; a chance to be happy together. With some effort they could salvage what they had, the good parts, and make new, better memories.

"Mama, I lo-"

That feeling was shattered with her mother's next words.

"If you take good care of yourself, you'll get a better husband than me and you'll live a better life."

Agony.

The sharp, painful agony that was all her hope being crushed hit her like a freight train, knocking the wind from her chest, tears of joy that had just been forming turning to tears of sorrow.

"You can do that for your mama, can't you, Eve?"

Her mother's hand never changed it's grip, but it felt harsher, threatening in a way she couldn't pinpoint, and she saw, in this moment, that all remnants of the woman she once loved, the woman she had happily called mother, was now dead and gone, perhaps it had been for a while now, perhaps, like what she did with so many things in her life, she refused to accept the truth til it stood in front of her and was unequivocally undeniable.

"Answer me, Eve."

"Yes, mama. I can do that."

Her mother gave a soft pat to her cheek with the kind of endearment you'd see a proud owner give a well-trained pet.

"Good girl."

Eve left, not even trying to muster enough energy to bid her mother good night, just placing her dishes in the sink and rushing upstairs.

Did she really not see this coming? After all the ways her mother has restricted her, has disappointed her, has put the happiness of her future husband, was this not to be expected?

Barely a minute after she closed her bedroom door, the sound of plates hitting the ground reached her ears. Her father's "business trip" was to finish today, the man to arrive sometime in the night.

There wouldn't be a fight. The time her mother cared enough to get angry had passed. Instead, there would be silent sobs, long phone calls to friends who couldn't help, and her mother's ever constant companion: alcohol.

She plopped down in her bed, laying atop the sheets, wallowing in her hatred for her mother, her guilt for disobeying her, and the general misery that plagued her.

The dim, yellowish light of the antique lamp that rested on her crowded bed side table bathed the room with a soft, almost romantic glow. She felt too sluggish to do anymore than pull the covers over her, leaving her mind with nothing to do other than ponder the day's events.

It came to her in vivid, unwanted flashes as she tried to force herself to sleep before her father came home.

The weight of the pen in her hand, the pen she had used when ignoring her mother's orders.

The feeling of the paper between her fingers, the words she wrote a testament to her disobedience, to her sin.

Lilith's coaxing voice, smooth and melodious, guiding her softly, not an ounce of force behind it.

Lilith's teasing smirk, the devious glint in her blue eyes, all for her.

Going further back, Lilith's concern.

How she always asked before doing something she knew Eve wouldn't normally allow, even when she herself asked for it.

Her hands.

Her fingertips running across her lower lip, gone the moment it came, a ghost of a touch, so fleeting, yet it was burned into her mind.

The gentle way she unbuttoned her blouse, hands trembling and hesitant, but moving forward at her command, more careful than she had ever seen her before.

And how could she forget how tenderly Lilith held and cradled her hands, the warmth radiating from her soft palm, the girl's long, lithe fingers tangling with her own.

The way Lilith made her feel...

Eve wasn't a fool. She was a liar.

She noticed the familiar ache that would settle in her chest whenever Lilith touched her, whenever Lilith talked to her, whenever she thought of her.

She knew how her cheeks would flush, how her body would grow warm at some of the things Lilith would do.

She knew that -- after everything that had happened today -- that she couldn't deny it any longer.

Like so many things, the truth was staring her in the face.

She was... like Lilith.

But, perhaps more importantly, she liked Lilith.

The numbness of earlier had long faded, giving way to a new wave of anxiety, a new wave of guilt.

It built up inside her before reaching a violent crescendo, tears spilling from her eyes like a dam burst open, an onslaught of practically every negative human emotion hitting her like a freight train. Fear and anxiety and grief and guilt plagued her, body merely a cauldron full of the foul, bubbling liquid that was all this.

Guilt was the most tangible of them all. It was definite, an ever-looming presence in her mind.

It seeped into every crack and crevice of her being, even when she wasn’t doing anything wrong. Simply resting and eating and being born was a sin, passed down from generation to generation with only the hope of salvation through the veneration of an unjust God.

She was doing something wrong, though.

Eve was committing the sin of being herself, the sin of personhood, of not basing all that she was around God, of being human, inherently sinful and flawed.

Eve was committing the sin of being like Lilith.

And she felt guilty for it.

She felt guilty for disobeying her God, her mother, their teachings. Eve wasn’t the daughter her mother prayed for and she never would be. She would lie and garden and think thoughts she shouldn’t think and disobey and be like Lilith.

Even if she lied, even if she denied herself further, even if she married a man and had sex with him and bore him children, deep down, she would always be like Lilith, she would always like Lilith.

There was nothing in this world that could change that, though.

No prayer or potion or pill would stop her from loving women, from loving Lilith.

At a loss, she wailed into her pillow, nothing more than a scared child hiding from a monster in the closet that just so happened to be her. Clutching at her rosary, she knelt on her bed, using her headboard as a makeshift pew, barely able to see the crucifix on her wall through the tears but knowing it was there.

It felt like it would always be there.

Whether as a reminder or a taunt or another source of anguish. It would forever hover over her bed, linger in the back of her mind, simply be there.

That knowledge burdened her with an immense fear. That fear burdened her with an immense guilt. She shouldn’t be afraid of her God but she was. And only bad people were afraid of God to the extent she feared Him.

The rest of her night was spent forcing prayers out through her sobs – each word near-unintelligible and incoherent – while her mind flashed with images of her soul burning, images of a greater, yet to come agony.

...

The food was abundant, decor extravagant and expensive. In the centre of the table, next to the mashed potatoes, was a garish, blue vase filled with flowers grandmother was fond of. The table itself had been covered with an off-white cloth, intricate lace running down across it, the legs uncovered to brag about the fine carvings and expert craftsmanship it took to make said carvings. (And, on another level, to brag about how much it all cost to have it custom made.)

Lilith lived what most would consider a live of luxury. While she was no spoiled brat, waited on hand and foot, her needs were provided for and with all the wealth available to them, she would want for nothing.

Except freedom.

And comfort.

And a family that would love her, unconditionally.

Yes, her room was large, bed soft, sheets of fine silk, pillows fluffed with feathers. But it wasn't hers, devoid of all personality, not so much as a poster on the wall, resembling a hotel room than something belonging to a teenage girl. How could she ever decorate the space that was to be hers when it was constantly intruded upon, everything inside searched and scrutinized, threatening to reveal her?

Yes, her school was expensive and prestigious, it's halls were nowhere near as full as a public school's, neither were the classrooms. They had a gym, a pool, a library, even a damn audio-visual room, even. But the education itself was subpar. Had someone even tried to take a look what they were teaching, the denial of evolution and dinosaurs, the mixing of real historical events with ones from the bible, the outright lies during what little sexual education they had, the school would lose all it's prestige, being no more than a glorified Sunday school.

Yes, the house she lived in was grand, beautiful, safe, locks on every door and window, the best security cameras money could get at the time guarding their gates, but she herself, couldn't be further from it. One word from anyone and she'd be out on the streets or worse.

And what use was wealth, what use was all this, without comfort? True comfort. The comfort that could only have if you were secure in your knowledge that you were loved and cared for, no matter who you were; the sense of belonging that you were supposed to feel when with your family.

Try as she might, it was something she would never feel.

Not here. Not with these people.

She pulled herself deeper and deeper into her thoughts, anger and a sorrow that was almost constant nowadays came to the forefront of her mind, though her this was soon interrupted by her grandfather's booming voice.

"Pass the gravy over, girl."

She slid it over to him, cursing inside, everything cloudy with animosity.

It was building up, slowly, constantly rising whenever they spoke to her, at her. She found that even the sound of it irritated her, the two of them speaking to each other within earshot grating on her already exasperated nerves.

Lilith knew better than to voice all this, however, certain she'd get far more than a slap on the wrist for disrespect, directed towards the head of the household, no less, so she held her tongue. Restraint had been a skill well-practiced til ten days ago, the cork preventing her visceral rage from seeping out finally popping off the bottle in a moment of impulsivity.

Thus, the fire.

Her unwillingness to speak went unnoticed when her grandfather finally stopped talking to eat, her grandmother turning to her instead for conversation.

"How was school, Lilith?"

"It was fine," She said, bland and practiced.

It was, in fact, not fine.

She couldn't remember the last time anything had truly been fine.

Practically everything at school was the opposite of fine. The staff, the students, the system.

Eve just had what she assumed to be a mental breakdown. Paula was cramming for tests that had yet to be announced, knowing she'd need as many grants and scholarships as she could get if she wanted to go to college. Joan and Julia slaved away at a convenience store, saving as much as they could to be able to cover at least some of the rent, hoping to land a sports scholarship. She and Colette, meanwhile, were sure to be on their best behaviour, both relying on a trust fund, most of the plan resting on their shoulder.

Speaking of, though...

"I'm done eating, may I please leave the table?" She said, putting her utensils down noiselessly so as not to be scolded. "I have a lot of homework due in the next few days."

"You're excused," The gruff voice of her grandfather replied, wiping at the corners of his mouth, clearly irritated by the fact he had to stop eating to respond despite being the one who told her to always ask before leaving instead of just getting up and going.

Lilith rushed to her room, trying her best not to seem too eager about "homework" as she went. Immediately, she fluffed some pillows and shoved them under her blanket, pressing in certain spots to create a rough amalgamation of what should look like her sleeping on her side.

One of the oldest tricks in the book, yes, but one that had yet to fail her.

She was shuffling now, the floorboards of her room the loudest in the house. They probably chose this room for her intentionally, wanting to track her, trap her.

They wouldn't be able to.

Not today.

Off came her cardigan, the skirt that reached her knees. On came some jeans, a red and white windbreaker, and a cap.

Lilith moved over to her window and slung a pair of sneakers on her shoulder, climbing down from her room via the tree she planted by it under the guise of wanting to care for the environment.

Branch on hand. Branch on foot. Repeat.

Thrill welled up in her chest when her feet hit the ground, euphoria flooding her senses at the temporary freedom she granted herself.

Just a few more months in this town.

Just a few more months til they would all run away.

Just a few more months til the freedom lasted forever.

______________________________

Taglist: @anon-nom-nom95 @leahstypewriter @madame-ree @melpomenismask @littlemisscalamity @phillyinthebathroom @gaypeaches @extrabitterbrain @pirateofblood @i-wanna-be-a-rock

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trashassassin · 3 years

Text

Two Halves of a Whole | 5: Privacy Policy (V x Reader)

You really need to stop making such misguided decisions, my dear reader. Though, I guess if you listened to your better judgement, then this series never would have happened, would it?

Word Count: 2338

Warnings: Strong Language

You were always a little bit nervous getting out of your car after returning home late at night. Logically, you knew that if someone wished to do you harm, there was nothing that would stop them from breaking your window to get to you, but the belief persisted nonetheless. The car was safe, outside was not.

It wasn't that you lived in a particularly unsafe neighborhood. It was simply that you assumed the worst of everyone you happened to come across. And it didn't help that you'd been feeling an increasing sense of unease as of late, the source of which remained elusive.

Your own cruel mind, most likely, but you couldn't help feeling that there was something different about it this time, even if you couldn't put your finger on exactly what it was.

After sitting in your car far too long contemplating all of this, you opened the door and stepped out onto the street.

It was always a bit of a walk from your parking spot to your apartment complex due to the fact that, if you wanted to park closer, you would need to shell out for a parking pass, which you were entirely unwilling to do. You recognized that the negligible amount of money you saved was not a good tradeoff for the anxiety you felt on your nightly walks, but at this point, you continued to refuse to pay on principle alone.

Cutting through the alley was the fastest way to get to your complex, as it led directly to your back door, even if it made the journey more nerve wracking. Your standard strategy was to take it at a faster than average pace, but not at a run in case that made you a more conspicuous target for someone untoward, throwing casual glances over your shoulder every so often just to make sure no one had followed you.

On this night in particular, upon one of your glances, you noticed something in the distance that made your heart drop. It was a shadow, stretched across the brick wall behind you. At first, you tried to convince yourself that it had been there the whole time and you simply hadn't noticed it, but as you continued to stare at it, it shifted slightly.

Your mind tried to push you to run, but your body was stuck fast. Would it move again? Something compelled you to wait and see if it would.

And it did, in a way that you never would have noticed if you hadn't been watching so closely. It seemed to you that whoever, or whatever, the shadow belonged to did not wish to be seen.

This allowed you the perfect opportunity to turn around and continue to your apartment, and possibly consider picking up a parking permit after all once you'd reached it. And yet, as you turned, you found that you still couldn't force yourself to move.

Curiosity burned in your mind, egging you on to turn back around and investigate. But only a fool would do such a thing, and you were no fool.

Right?

You glanced back again and the shadow remained in your vision.

Perhaps you were a fool after all because, slowly, with one hand wrapped around the pepper spray affixed to your keychain, you started toward it. You hugged the wall to your left as you inched forward in the (likely false) impression that this would help you maintain the element of surprise. As you reached the edge, you peeked around it, only to be met with a rather peculiar sight.

There was indeed a figure there, human, you suspected, the finer details of which were all but obscured by the glare of the streetlight not far behind it. It was covered almost entirely by a black cloak, or possibly a blanket. At least, it appeared to be black in the darkness.

The confirmation of another living creature gave you the motivation you needed to finally turn around and, just when you were about to do so, the figure lifted its head and looked up at you.

Your blood ran cold and your body froze in place.

This was it. This was how you were going to die and it was all your own stupid fault for not running away like you knew you should have. Curiosity killed the cat, as you'd always been told, and today, the cat was you.

The figure stood, appearing unsteady on its feet for a moment, giving you another perfect opportunity to run away, but it was as though your feet were glued to the concrete below. As it began to walk toward you, its eyes found yours again.

It didn't appear to have a particularly threatening physique beneath the blanket it wore, but you were well aware that appearances could be deceiving. It paused about a meter away from you and you squeezed your eyes shut, bracing yourself for the impact of your untimely demise.

But, it never came.

Instead, the figure spoke.

"Excuse me."

You opened your eyes. It was just a man, you realized, a perfectly ordinary man. The images you'd begun to formulate of a horrifying monster hiding beneath the sheet evaporated.

"I don't want to impose," he continued. "But, I was wondering if you might be able to help me."

You cocked your head to one side.

"What, do you need money, or something?" you asked. "I don't have any cash on me."

He shook his head, then reached his hand into the blanket. You took a few steps back, half expecting him to produce a weapon and begin brandishing it at you. But instead, it was a thin piece of paper, which he extended toward you.

"I was hoping you could help me find this man," he said.

As you took the paper from him and examined it, a chill ran down your spine. You did indeed know the man whose photograph was displayed there. He was a good friend of yours.

"Where did you get this?" you asked.

"That is… unimportant," he said, and alarm bells rang in your mind.

Then again, you were familiar with the sort of business your friend was involved with and he did tend to attract a rather unusual client base. So in that way, the interaction you were currently having was par for the course.

"You got a job for him?" you ask. "Something tells me you didn't find him by accident."

"Your assumption is correct," he said.

You didn't know a whole lot about the company's goings on, but you knew enough to know that anyone who sought out Devil May Cry and, by extension, its frontman, Dante, had a very specific purpose in mind.

"Alright," you said. "I'll give him your contact information next time I see him."

"I'd rather speak to him myself," he said. "It's quite urgent."

You did not drop your guard as you continued to stare down the strange man in front of you.

"How do you know him?" you asked, and he simply smiled. "Okay, then. Well, uh…" You pulled out a paper of your own, this one taking the shape of the business cards Dante had forced you to carry. "… Feel free to stop by in the morning whenever you get a chance. He hasn't been very busy lately, so I'm sure he'll be able to see you right away."

You handed him the card and turned to walk away for what you hoped would be the last time.

"Actually," he said, and, for some reason unknown to you, you again paused in place. "I was hoping you could offer further assistance."

Everything within you was telling you that continuing to listen to this possibly insane man was a very bad idea, but you stood your ground.

"What?" you asked, your voice cold.

"You see, I have nowhere to stay for the night."

Your eyes narrowed.

"There's a motel down the street," you said, pointing off in the vague direction of it. "I'm sorry, I can't help you there."

"Please." His face suddenly took on a rather urgent expression. "I'm in a bit of a difficult situation here. I only need one night."

The thought crossed your mind that this was possibly one of Dante's weird friends playing a trick on you, but you dismissed it as quickly as it appeared.

"A difficult situation, huh?" you asked, your voice dripping with disbelief.

"I don't have anything," he said. "They won't let me stay without identification. Please."

No identification? As sketched out as you were by the situation, your curiosity was piqued once again.

"Are you from out of town?" you asked.

"In a way," he replied.

This only intrigued you further.

He did seem harmless enough as you took a better look at him. In fact, he looked rather pathetic with the blanket draped over his thin frame. You realized upon closer inspection that the blanket was the only thing he had draped over him at all. His bare legs and feet were poking out the bottom and you could only infer that the rest of him was in a similar state.

So, you'd encountered a naked stranger in an alleyway, one who just so happened to be seeking a close personal friend of yours, with no identification on him whatsoever, and you were about to invite him into your home.

You wanted to make sure that you had properly established your ludicrous plan before you carried it out.

"I don't know who the hell you are," you said. "But you seem harmless enough. Come on."

You motioned for him to follow you.

"Thank you," he said, and he sounded genuinely relieved as he said it.

Even if you did end up dead and dumped in a sewer somewhere come morning, you were sure that Dante would stop at nothing to avenge your death, at the very least, so you had that going for you, if nothing else.

Against your logical judgement, you led this strange, naked man back to your apartment and allowed him inside.

"So, what do they call you?" you asked.

You flicked on the light and grimaced as your messy living room became illuminated.

"V," he replied.

"What, like the letter?"

"Yeah."

Yet another unusual thing about him.

"Well, V, make yourself comfortable," you said. You cleared off the couch a bit, tossing its contents wherever there was enough space, and motioned for him to sit down. "Would you like anything? Tea, or coffee, maybe?"

"No, thank you," he replied.

He sat down on your couch and was visibly shivering beneath the thin blanket he wore.

Oh, for fuck's sake.

You lifted your fleece blanket from the edge of the couch and tossed it at him.

"I'll be right back," you said.

You were going to make him some tea whether he asked for it or not. You couldn't just let him freeze on your couch all night after you'd so generously allowed him inside. And so, you grabbed the first box of teabags you saw, lemon ginger flavor, and brewed him a cup, along with one for yourself.

When you returned to the living room, he was already lying down beneath the blanket you'd given him.

"Here," you said.

You thrust the cup in his direction and he sat back upright.

"You didn't have to do that," he said.

"Well, I did, so take it."

He took the cup from your hands and you leaned back against the wall across from him, taking a sip from your own cup as you did.

"So, what's your story?" you asked. "How did you end up out here with no ID and no clothes?"

He stared at the floor.

"I have a bit of inside information that may be of use to your friend," he said, avoiding your question entirely.

"Inside information, huh? So, are you from the Underworld, then?"

He didn't respond.

"I'll take that as a yes," you continued. "Well, you don't look much like a demon, if that's any consolation, but I know that looks can be deceiving."

He still said nothing.

"Look, I'm not trying to pry, here. I just wanna know a little more about the weird naked guy I let into my house."

"If you think I'm crazy now, you'll only think me more crazy if I tell my story," he finally said.

You scoffed.

"Believe me," you said. "I've worked around Dante long enough to hear some seriously crazy shit."

It was clear to you that he wasn't going to relent no matter how many questions you threw at him, so you gave up asking and went back to your tea.

"I truly am sorry," he said. "Believe me when I say that I would not ask you to do this if I had any other option."

You shrugged.

"Whatever," you said.

You would have to have a chat with Dante regarding his clients and your privacy at some point in the future.

"I'll be sure to find a way to make it up to you when the case is settled," he said.

You weren't going to hold him to this, but you had to admit, you appreciated the sentiment somewhat.

"Well, I'm going to bed," you said, setting your still partially full cup on the coffee table. "Don't touch any of my shit and be sure to close the door when you leave, alright?"

"You have my word."

The entire thing began to feel a bit surreal as you headed up the stairs to your room. You could tell that there was so much more to this than he was letting on but, rather than putting you off, this fact intrigued you. You wanted to know more, so badly in fact that you had every intention of heading down to Dante's office the following day to ask him what the hell was going on.

Regardless of what it was, somehow, you got the distinct impression that you were already in way over your head.

#devil may cry #dmc #dmc 5 #v x reader #dmc v #v #fanfiction #writing #humor #series #plot #actual plot

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sweetmemories2606 · 4 years

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Day 2: Alluring

Took me a while to finish this one, but it was worth it.

By the way, important to note that this is a prequel to my prompt for day 3: perverse, which will be posted tomorrow.

Title: Reflection

Pairings: Gruvia

Summary: Like water, Juvia alluring, clear and dangerous. Though Gray wouldn't admit it yet, he was drowning.

Timeline: Tower of Heaven to Grand Magic Games Arcs

Warnings: Major Plot Twist at the end.

Word Count: 1774

Happy reading! (and Happy Easter too!!)

______________

September X784

After apprehending the guards, Gray took a look around to see how everyone else was faring. Predictably, Natsu had no trouble taking them down and Lucy seemed to be doing well too.

When he turned towards Juvia, the ice mage was speechless. Though he was aware that she was a powerful mage; it never occurred that she might also be cool, collected and patient.

Watching her in action was magnificent. With a single word Juvia managed to trap guards in water locks or knock them down with a water slicer. She made no movement to fight them which Gray found strange but also practical.

It was a contrast to the fighting style he was used to from Fairy Tail members, but he guessed Phantom Lord had a different strategy. Or perhaps this was due to Juvia's ability to turn her body into water thus remaining unaffected by her opponents' attempts to harm her.

In any case, Gray had to admit that she was turning out to be quite a useful ally. Maybe it would be a good idea if Fairy Tail had someone like her on their side. If he had someone like her….Thankfully, his train of thought was interrupted by Lucy's call of his name.

Looking for the celestial mage, he realised that she had Natsu joined in the centre of the cave. Juvia had been approaching them, but had stopped to glance at the ice mage. Her eyes showed worry, so Gray quickly offered a reassuring look.

"I'm coming." He ran towards his friends just as Jellal's familiar voice welcomed them to the Tower of Heaven.

______________

October X784

During the Miss Fairy Tail contest Gray realised another thing about Juvia that he hadn't been expecting. She was gorgeous.

It's not as if he had found her ugly before, but usually her beauty would be hidden behind a heavy coat and large hat. Well, not anymore, for she now stood in a bikini in front of everyone.

Gray was surprised that someone he had deemed shy would expose herself like this. Then again, she was hardly the only participant in this contest or the only one wearing a swimsuit.

Ignoring the loud reactions of his friends, Gray focused his attention solely on her. His eyes roamed over her body; appreciating how flawless her pale skin was and how she had curves in the right places.

As Loki put it, she was hot. However, this wasn't what impressed Gray since Erza, Lucy, Mira and so many other girls also had beautiful bodies.

What amazed him was the fact that Juvia could turn her body into water. She embodied the element so perfectly; with even her hair and eyes matching it.

He admired how deeply connected she was with her magic. She was water; the rain and the sea.

Once his gaze met hers Gray was entrapped by those mesmerising blue eyes. They were so huge; even from a distance. Her gaze was intense but also warm and welcoming. He couldn't look away nor did he want to.

In the end, she was the one to divert her gaze first. Glancing around the crowd, Juvia smiled nervously. "Do you like what you see?"

Many people cheered, but Gray remained silent. He assumed, though, that she didn't need verbal confirmation to know he did.

______________

December X784

Gray learned that Juvia wasn't just beautiful on the outside, but also on the inside. Though it had become clear that she was kind and compassionate, their experience on Tenrou Island taught him that she was selfless too.

Juvia had just surprised them by showing up after their battle against Grimoire Heart was over. He quickly noticed that something was wrong when she didn't stand. Recalling she had mentioned an injury on her leg before, he volunteered to help her get to the tent.

After he and Erza had pretty much carried Juvia there and helped her sit on the mattress, the re-equip mage gave him a pointed look before leaving.

"So, what happened to your leg?" Gray asked while sitting in front of the water mage.

"It was nothing." Juvia replied, conjuring water to clean her injuries.

"Doesn't look like nothing." Gray observed, concerned.

Her face grew somber and he knew that look all too well; it was on his face whenever he thought about his past. "Was it….Meredy?" He struggled to recall the young girl's name.

"No, she...she didn't do this." Juvia barely suppressed a moan of pain upon starting to clean her leg.

Gray moved closer to her. "Can I?" Receiving a nod, he gently pressed a hand against her leg, letting his magic cool it down.

"That feels nice." She smiled, slightly relieved.

A few moments passed in silence. "You know, I'm confused." He frowned. "I thought physical attacks couldn't hurt you."

Juvia avoided his gaze. "Not when someone else uses them."

"Wait..." His eyes widened. "Are you saying that you did this to yourself?" He removed his hand from her leg, inspecting the wound which was quickly blackening.

"I didn't have a choice!" Juvia yelled before the somber look returned. "She was going to kill you."

It took him a while to understand. Thinking back to the strange pink bracelet that had suddenly appeared on his arm, the unwanted emotions he had been overwhelmed by and the immense pain which had crippled him; the truth became clear.

It had been her emotions, her pain. His heart started beating faster once Gray realised this meant that the love she claimed to feel for him was true.

Unwilling to dwell on the repercussions of that, however, he focused instead on her last statement. "That bracelet...it connected us somehow."

"It's Meredy's magic. She linked me to you so that you'd share my pain." Juvia confirmed.

He failed to understand what the young girl might have against him. "But why? What did she have against me?"

Her voice trembled as she finally looked back at him. "She was doing it for Ultear. She said you...you killed her mother."

"Ur." Gray whispered, realisation dawning on him.

"I knew that wasn't true. I remembered Erza told me about your master." Juvia informed.

He offered an apologising look. "I'm sorry you had to become involved in this."

"It's alright." Her gaze fell down to her injured leg before she tried cleaning it again. "I'm just glad I was able to stop Meredy."

Watching her, Gray suddenly felt guilty. "You hurt yourself...to save me. Why?"

"I thought you knew by now that I'd do anything for you." Was her honest response.

Beautiful, strong, kind, clear and selfless. Resisting her was getting harder, but Gray was stubborn and still refused to give in.

The memories of those who lost their lives protecting him were a constant reminder of how dangerous it was to let someone get too close. Death had followed him like a curse but he couldn't allow it to take her away too.

______________

July X791

Gray learned that he wasn't the only one who found Juvia incredible after Lyon seemingly fell in love with her. At first he had assumed it was some sort of prank, a strategy to bother him and reignite the brothers' rivalry.

If that was so, it certainly worked. Though he tried to appear unaffected, Gray couldn't deny that he disliked all the attention Lyon was giving her. Even less so knowing he had no right to tell the other man to leave her alone.

Juvia should've been the one to push Lyon away, but she hadn't. Gray wasn't sure why, but convinced himself it had nothing to do with her actually enjoying being flirted with.

He couldn't phantom that she would have interest in someone else after claiming to be in love with him for so long. He expected her to always be there for him, thus made no move to advance their relationship.

Some people claimed he was taking her for granted and unfairly misleading her to believe that he would someday reciprocate her affections. Others warned that if he kept dismissing her, she would find someone else.

What they didn't know, though, is that Gray had already been reflecting about his feelings for her. Since getting confirmation that she truly loved him on Tenrou Island, he had begun seeing her in a night light.

Yet the answer still evaded him as the conflict between fear and hope remained. His heart was such a mess it was no wonder he couldn't figure out whether he loved her or not.

Meanwhile; Lyon kept flirting with Juvia, asking her on dates and offering gifts. He wasn't backing down and soon Gray realised this wasn't just a prank.

On the second day of the Games, he was dragged to an uncomfortable conversation during which Lyon pressured him to give an answer regarding his feelings for Juvia.

It seemed the older ice mage wanted to prove to her that Gray didn't feel the same way so she might consider accepting to go out with Lyon.

Gray figured this out quickly and escaped without saying anything. Returning to the inn, he came across Erza on the balcony.

Another uncomfortable conversation ensued. She reminded him that Juvia wouldn't wait forever and finished with the words that wouldn't leave his mind for the next two days. "She deserves a straight answer."

______________

Ironically, Juvia would be the one required to give answers soon. For even though it was still unknown to them, Lyon was not the only man who had taken an interest in her.

"You've been staring at her picture for a long time." Agent Doranbolt from the Magic Council finally looked away from the picture of the water mage and towards his partner.

"What is it, Lahar?" He asked with disinterest.

"I've got news from the Council." Lahar answered, approaching the messy desk where files were scattered.

"What did they say?" Doranbolt asked while placing the picture inside an envelope.

"They said we have permission to question her."

He smiled. "Good. It's about time we find out if our theory is true."

"If we're right, she could be dangerous." Lahar warned. "So we must act cautiously."

Doranbolt took another paper which showed the schedule for the Grand Magic Games. "We can take her after the Naval Battle since she'll probably represent Fairy Tail Team B."

Lahar nodded. "That's a good idea. We just have to be discreet about it."

"Not a problem." Doranbolt chuckled as he stood. Quickly gathering the papers and organising them, he picked Juvia's picture again.

"You know, I never would have suspected her of all people to be a spy."

#fanfic #gruvia week #gruvia #fairy tail #plot twist #day 2: alluring #gray fullbuster #juvia lockser #erza scarlet #lyon vastia #mest gryder #grand magic games #tower of heaven #tenrou island #magic council

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nejitenforlife · 4 years

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NejiTen Month 2020

Day 11 - Pirate AU (Part 2)

Please read part 1 if you haven’t already, before reading this part of the story. The final part will (hopefully) be out tomorrow. I hope you enjoy this part of the story!

Word Count: 2,612

Tenten instantly felt the change of temperature upon awakening. Where she was warm in the storeroom, she could not stop shivering in this new location. After opening her eyes, she realized she had been moved to the brig, a revelation that angered Tenten more than frightened her.

How dare the captain put her behind bars! She was a lady—a woman of station—and he had no right to show such disrespect to her person. Of course, she knew she didn’t look like a woman at the moment. No, she looked more like a homeless person from the streets, not the wealthy young lady she was.

Which was for the best. Tenten refused to give her real identity away to this man—even if he decided to torture her for it. Telling him would equal death—not just her own, but his and his crew’s as well. Not that Tenten should care one bit about what might happen to him or his crew members, but she didn’t want to be caught up in more of her father’s—and his—mess than necessary.

Tenten wondered if the captain would be willing to let her go once he reached his destination in exchange for her working on board. It would be preferable than being kept in this cold, damp cell. But even if she must remain here, if he promised to let her go once they reached land, she wouldn’t complain. Hell, she even contemplated warming his bed for the duration of their journey if that was what persuade him to let her leave without harm. For surely by now her fiancé knew of her absence and was rallying his men to find her.

Tenten would take her chances with these pirates over being handed back to that man.

So no, she would not tell the captain who she was, and she would do everything in her power to leave this ship and make a new life on some unremarkable small town, somewhere her fiancé would never find her.

“Are you awake?”

The voice startled Tenten and she jumped, her head whipping around to find the speaker. A man stepped into the dingy lamp light, holding a tray in his hands.

“The captain asked me to make sure you had enough water, since you seemed dehydrated,” he said, letting himself into the cell and placing the tray in front of her with a kind smile. “He also told me to get you some food. I’m sorry it is only basic. The captain would flog me if he found out I fed you anything other than what he told me to.”

Tenten didn’t care. The piece of crusty bread and watered down soup looked like heaven compared to the raw vegetables she had been eating every day. She would have loved some stew, or something with chunks of meat in it, but she wouldn’t complain. This was more than she had expected to receive from the pirate captain, and she would be an idiot to be ungrateful for it.

“Thank you.” Tenten smiled at the kind pirate, wondering how such a man found this sort living.

“My name is Rock Lee, but you may just call me Lee. I am the first mate to captain Neji Hyuga of the Crimson Night. What is your name?”

Tenten had heard of the Crimson Night. The crew weren’t as vicious as other pirates, but they were still ruthless, and they revelled in looting other ships, pirate or otherwise. Tenten supposed she was fortunate to have found herself onto a ship that took captives instead of killing all their enemies, and she had never heard of stories of the crew of the Crimson Night raping people. But just because she hadn’t heard of it, did not mean it didn’t happen…

“Your name, miss?” the first officer asked again, watching her with shrewd, guarded eyes. Tenten got the feeling that although he was kind to her, he wasn’t one to be trifled with.

“I’m nobody,” she replied. She grabbed the jug of water off the tray and took a huge gulp, not wanting to keep eye contact with the pirate. Although the water tasted slightly stale, she felt as though she could cry as it ran down her throat to settle in her belly. Nothing had ever tasted so nice.

“Even so, you must have a name.”

She shook her head. “I don’t want to say.”

“If you are unwilling to say, I can only assume that you are a lady of means and you are afraid we will recognise the name and hold you for ransom. That, or you are running from someone and do not wish for us to spill your secrets to them.” He spoke in an amused tone, as though he was just making it up, but Tenten knew he meant the words, and she had to stop herself from panicking at just how close to the truth he had come—on both counts.

“Does it matter what my name is?” she snapped, using anger to hide her fear. “You can only be planning to either kill me or let me go, and I don’t see why my name is relevant in either case. If you want to kill me for stowing away on your ship, just do it. I’d rather not have my imminent death dragged out. And if you’re planning on letting me go, then we won’t see each other again so what’s so important about knowing it?”

Lee held her gaze and Tenten had to fight not to squirm under his perusal. There was no way she was going to back down from this. As soon as they knew who she was they would attempt to benefit from that fact. And yes, she realized she could have lied, but this man seemed smart—smarter than perhaps he let on to others—and she wasn’t a very good liar to begin with. It was best for her to just keep her mouth shut so as not to incriminate herself any further.

“Very well then.” He stood up, gave her another long look, then nodded. “I must go. Maybe you will feel like telling the captain.”

Tenten didn’t think a sentence so innocuous could be said in such a threatening way, and she decided to re-evaluate the nice-guy image she had in her head of him. Of course he wasn’t a nice guy. He was a pirate for goodness sake! There was nothing good about pirates.

The first mate locked the cell behind him, taking with him the only lamp and leaving her in complete and utter darkness.

“Captain,” the female captive said from her place on the floor. She was still wearing men’s clothes, and it allowed her to move freely inside the cell, instead of being encumbered by so many layers. Still, Neji wouldn’t mind seeing her in her usual attire—clothes that would hug her body instead of sitting like a shapeless rag.

“Lady,” he nodded in reply, coming to stand at the outside of her cell door.

It had been two days since she was taken to the brig, and Neji had to admit that she was looking better. Not a lot cleaner—he had only allowed her some water and a rag to wash her face and hands, and was still yet to see a bath—but her face held colour once more and she seemed brighter, more alert than when he had found her.

“Is it lunch time yet?” she asked, eyes darting behind him in case Lee was following with a tray of food.

Neji wanted to snort at the gall of her. She was his prisoner; she would be fed when he deemed it appropriate. Hell, he had every right to withhold food from her since she was withholding information from him.

“Lee will bring something shortly,” he replied instead, unable to deny her.

Neji had been visiting his prisoner since the first day she had been transferred to the brig, and each day he found himself looking forward to seeing her. She was a breath of fresh air on this testosterone filled ship, and she didn’t seem intimidated by him. More than once he found himself butting heads with her, but he found her wit and intelligence attractive.

His captive smiled, and not for the first time Neji wondered what those lips would feel like against his. “And a bath too?”

Her eyes were twinkling as she asked, but he detected the hopeful note in her voice. A smirk tugged at his lips. “You get a bath when you tell me who you are.”

She pouted, her shoulders slumping under the blanket he had provided for her on her first day in the brig, after he had noticed how her body shivered in the dark room.

“I’m kind of hoping you get so sick of the stench of me that you have no choice but to order me to take a bath,” she admitted with a grin.

Neji raised an eyebrow at her. “I was not aware that I had the ability to order you to do anything.”

She laughed at his words, the noise feminine and utterly enchanting. “True. Not many people can get away with telling me what to do.”

Not for the first time, Neji had to tell himself why it would be a bad idea to enter the cell with her. He wasn’t worried she would attack him, but he was worried about his own reaction to being so close to her, seeing as though he already felt attracted to the mysterious woman. He pulled up a chair and sat by the door, knowing he would be there a while despite his mind telling him he had more important things to do.

“Captain,” Lee appeared at his side, too early for lunch to be served.

“What is it, Lee?” Neji didn’t want to be annoyed at his first mate, but he also didn’t like being disturbed when he was speaking with his captive.

“Kiba has spotted a ship in the distance, travelling in our direction. It could be nothing, but he wanted to make sure you knew either way.”

“Pirates?” If they were, Neji would be more than happy to fight them head on. Otherwise, he would rather continue undisturbed, not only because their arrival at their destination was time sensitive, but now because he didn’t want to risk any harm coming to his captive if a fight broke out.

“Nay, Captain. It’s a navy ship.”

“Keep an eye on them but let them be. We are too busy to have a skirmish with the navy right now.”

“Aye, Captain. I will inform you if anything changes.”

Neji nodded, satisfied that his men would do their jobs properly. He didn’t believe the navy ship would bother them, but he wasn’t going to be caught off guard either. “Good. You may go.”

Turning back to look at his pretty captive, Neji was startled to see the colour had drained from her face and she was shaking even more than on her first day in the hold, when she had been freezing. He frowned, worried that she had suddenly become ill.

“Are you well?” he asked her, trying to keep the concern from his tone. It wouldn’t do him any good if his captive found out he had taken a shine to her.

Her eyes met his, wild and… frightened? What did she have to be frightened about?

“Don’t engage with them,” she said with an unsteady voice. “Please. If they came after you, don’t fight them.”

Was she worried about a battle? No doubt, if this was her first time on a ship, of course she would be a little apprehensive.

Neji tried to give her a comforting smile, though he wasn’t sure it worked. “You do not need to be afraid. My men are skilled fighters, and I will not let harm come to you.”

But his captive was shaking her head, her body shaking uncontrollably. “No, no, no, no. You can’t. Please!”

He wasn’t sure why this was upsetting her, and Neji didn’t know how to comfort her, so he tried to change the topic. “I am getting tired of calling you ‘lady’. Will you tell me your name so I can call you appropriately?”

Her head snapped up to his, as though it was the first time he had asked her the question. She paled further, making Neji more concerned that something was ailing her. “No, I won’t tell you. Maybe…” she paused, thinking, and then met his gaze. “If you flee from them, I will tell you.”

What made her so certain that the navy ship would attack them? Lee had said they were a distance away, and naval ships rarely tried to fight pirates if they did not have backup—they knew pirates had a reputation of fighting dirty. Neji wasn’t worried, but his captive seemed to think it inevitable that a fight would ensue.

“I am afraid that I cannot make such a promise,” he told her. “I am a pirate; if someone wishes to go against me then they will regret it.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could do so Neji heard feet pounding down the stairs to the brig.

“Captain! They are turning astaboard and readying their cannons!” Lee’s voice was loud and urgent in the quiet of the room, but Neji was still able to make out the sharp intake of breath from inside the cell.

“Ready the cannons, then. If a fight is what they want, then a fight is what they shall have.” He stood, knowing his men needed direction, though he didn’t want to leave his captive alone in her cell. A part of him wanted to stay with her and reassure her but he knew he couldn’t. He was the captain of his ship, and it was his duty to make sure they came out victorious from this fight—he needed to be with his crew.

“Wait!” His captive scrambled to her feet and clutched at the cell doors, just inches from where he was standing. Her eyes held fear like he had never seen before. “At least give me a knife or a dagger to defend myself. I’ll die otherwise!”

Neji frowned, not only because she wanted a weapon to defend herself against the navy—people she should be overjoyed to see at that moment—but also because of the finality of her voice. Did she truly believe she would be killed in this skirmish?

“I will not let you die. You will be safe here.” Neji longed to do something more, to prove he would keep his word. But what would it look like to his first mate if he reached through the bars to caress her face? No, that would not be a good idea.

“I will keep you safe,” he promised, his voice low. He fixed his eyes on hers, willing her to believe him, but she shook her head and stepped away from the grates, a look of defeat on her face. She didn’t believe him. Neji was surprised at how much that hurt, but he couldn’t fault her for not trusting him. They may have formed a rapport over the last few days, but she was still his prisoner.

He turned his back on her and made his way up the stairs, his first mate hot on his heels. He would take care of this problem, but he wouldn’t stay away from his captive for long.

It was about time they got to know each other better.

#NejitenMonth2020 #Nejiten Fanfiction #Day 11

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whatarubberchicken · 5 years

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I Give Myself a Failing Grade

Miss Bustier had never been one for confrontation. It was her one great failing in life. Especially as a schoolteacher! People expected her to be able to make the children behave. Hell, she expected to be able to make her children behave.

So, when Mr. Damocles pulled her into his office before the first day of school and told her to send all the troublemakers to him immediately, for any and all punishments, all she felt was relief.

Of course, it was quickly replaced by a chill.

“But do NOT, under any circumstances, punish Miss Chloé Bourgeois,” he added, shaking his finger at her to emphasize the point.

Miss Bustier was lost. She was confused. And slightly offended.

“But, Mr. Damocles, isn’t it my job—”

“NO!” Mr. Damocles insisted.

“But, surely—”

“NO!!”

“But what if she—”

“NO!!!”

Miss Bustier snapped her mouth shut, her anger growing.

Mr. Damocles took a deep breath and settled his hands on his desk. “I know it isn’t fair,” he said slowly. “I know it isn’t right, and it certainly isn’t how we want things to be done around here. But you must understand my position! Mayor Bourgeois is deeply invested in the well-being of his daughter—”

“Then he should want her to get a proper education!” she exclaimed, disbelief surging through her veins.

Mr. Damocles sighed and looked around, as though afraid he might be overheard in his own office.

“Listen to me, Miss Bustier,” he said quietly. “As someone who has taught Miss Bourgeois before; she is not going to learn anything here at our school.”

“That’s not a good attitude to have!”

“But it’s the truth,” he insisted, still keeping his voice low. “Her father is paying us an exorbitant amount of money to simply make the appearance of teaching her, and he’s already bought out most of the school board. She needs to graduate with top grades just so we can keep this school open. It doesn’t matter if she’s earned them. I’m sure you’ve heard of her; that girl is going to coast through life on her father’s money and her mother’s fame, not from any actual accomplishments of her own.”

Suddenly, Miss Bustier felt a twinge of pity for the girl. “Still,” she said weakly. “Shouldn’t we at least try?”

“Chloé doesn’t want to try,” Mr. Damocles said, shaking his head. “I don’t even know why she wants to be here; probably just to lord her status over the other students. She could certainly afford tutors, but I’m willing to bet none of them were willing to pass her to her heart’s content. There’s even rumors that she convinced Gabriel Agreste’s son to enroll here; and if that happens our school will have more than enough funds to stay open…. Just—just play along. Give her the handouts, tell her what a good job she did on her projects, and try to keep her happy.”

Caline was silent for a moment. “I can’t believe I’m hearing this,” she finally said. “I thought this school was the best of the best. You have brilliant, genius-level minds, children of politicians and ambassadors, even child TV stars! And yet, you’re going to bend over backwards for one spoiled brat?!”

Mr. Damocles was silent. Miss Bustier shook her head.

“I can’t do it,” she said. “Give her to someone else. I won’t be a part of this… this hypocrisy!”

“I can’t,” Mr. Damocles said sadly. “The other teachers have all already refused. Mrs. Mendeliev nearly got us all fired last year when she gave the girl detention for throwing another’s girl notes on the floor.”

“I’m just supposed to let her bully other students?!” Miss Bustier cried, aghast.

“No, no, of course not. Just chastise her in a way that makes it look like you’re including the whole class.”

Miss Bustier stared at him in disgust and walked right out of the office.

Later, she’d met Miss Bourgeois.

There was only one word for the girl.

Awful.

She nearly considered handing in her resignation right then. But the reality of her situation had quickly caught up with her.

She really needed this job.

She needed to pay rent. She needed to eat.

And she very much doubted anyone would hire the teacher who got on the bad side of Mayor André Bourgeois. He was notorious for blacklisting people who angered him in any way. And his love for his daughter was just as widely known.

And she could do it, Miss Bustier reasoned. She could make sure Chloé Bourgeois stayed happy. Hell, in her own high school class, she’d been voted “Least Likely to Start a Fight.” Even as her stomach churned, her mind was playing with ways to turn bad situations into good ones. Or, at least make them sound good to one Daddy’s Little Princess.

The other students in the class still needed her, she reasoned. If she left and the school was dismantled, where would all of them go?

All she had to do was concentrate on teaching them, and keeping Miss Bourgeois happy. She didn’t actually have to teach her….

This could work. She could do this.

And really, would it be so bad to be on the good side of the mayor?

…

Then, on that very first day. She’d failed.

Her very first punishment.

And suddenly, her student had turned into a raging monster.

She’d done that.

She’d given him that last push.

Instead of having Ivan talk it out with his classmate, instead of allowing them to shake hands and put it all behind them, she’d taken the easy way out. She’d had taken Mr. Damocles up on his offer to take care of all the misbehavers.

And she’d had to watch in horror as her students were attacked by a monster.

She didn’t blame Ivan. His file had said he was still learning to control his anger. But at least he was trying.

She hadn’t even tried. She hadn’t even attempted to hear his side of the story.

The result? A foothold for Hawkmoth to sink his hooks into an innocent child.

The appearance of Ladybug and Chat Noir was all that kept her from crying her eyes out all night long. This was her punishment for giving up and selling out, she just knew it was! She’d failed the class. She’d failed her own dreams and aspirations! But no… she had to stay strong. She still had a classroom full of terrified students. It was her job to take care of them.

And for next few months, she’d watched in despair as, one by one, each of them surrendered to the supervillain. Soon, her nights were spent frantically reading yoga and meditation books—ways to clear your mind and take control of your emotions. She started new programs in class—forcing all of them to do it was the only way to make sure Chloé participated. But every time she had to look away from Chloé’s bullying (yes, she’d seen the bubblegum incident, but Marinette had handled it with such grace and poise! That girl was going places!) or scold someone for blaming all of the supernatural problems on Chloé (even though about half the akumas were actually her fault, or at least related to something she’d done, those were just facts), she felt her heart shrivel up and die just a little bit more.

Just once, she prayed. Just once, let her have a heart. Let her see the pain she’s causing. Make her care!!

She supposed that was her own undoing as Zombizou.

She’d just really wanted to make that brat care for once.

But she’d failed.

She’d wanted to take Marinette and hug her; let her know how her own heart had been crushed by the callous defacing of such painstaking craftsmanship. The little bag had been lovely. So thoughtful and sweet, and perfectly Marinette.

It wasn’t fair for Chloé to take that away from her. But--she tried to spin it in a good light--it didn’t take away from the love Marinette had put into it already. If anything, it meant more. Chloé knew how good Marinette’s talent was. She saw her as a threat.

Miss Bustier had meant it, when she said she’d think of them both. But she certainly wouldn’t be seeing them in the same light. She’d be seeing the careful, hard work and dedication of Marinette, whose consideration shone through everything; even if it was defaced. And she’d see the ugly scrawling of Chloé, who still couldn’t create anything on her own. She could only destroy others.

She’d intended to hold them both close, savoring one and silently mocking the other.

But she’d even failed in conveying her own thoughts to her prize pupil!

We can have such pure intentions, Marinette, she’d wanted to say in the hallway. And they’ll still get sullied by others no matter how hard we fight.

It was scarily similar to her own career as a teacher.

She started off wanting to help others. To bring just a little more light and beauty into the world by helping the brightest and cleverest of students to bloom.

Now, some days, she wondered if she wasn’t doing more harm than good, letting Chloé have her way all the time.

And Hawkmoth… Hawkmoth had sensed that, and had offered her the one power she’d desired above all else. The power to make Chloé care.

She’d utterly failed all of her own morals that day.

She still felt awful for the trauma Paris had had to endure because of Zombizou.

Ladybug had saved her; had healed all of Paris once again. But it hadn’t helped much against the doubts in Caline’s own heart.

She wasn’t some miracle teacher, much as she wanted to be. Most of her students had already been akumatized; some more than once!

She would never be a hero.

She could only muddle along in this infested swamp of a school, trying desperately to fish out a few sparkling gems.

But Marinette. Marinette had called her the “best teacher ever.” Marinette still believed in her, still tried to help her, both in and out of the classroom. She was beautiful. She was bright. She continued to be a leader; to believe in right and wrong, and fight for it.

And if someone like that could believe in her… well, maybe this teacher wasn’t a completely lost cause.

And really, you can only fail if you quit.

Caline Bustier held her head up high (remembering all too well how most of her students had slouched into class after their own transformations, unwilling to look anyone in the eye) and kept her voice steady and cheerful.

“Morning, everyone!”

“Morning, Miss Bustier!” they chorused back, just the same as ever.

She smiled. “Glad to see you all. Now….”

And with that, she started the class. After all, they all had so much to learn. Herself most of all.

#caline bustier #bustier salt #am i doing this right?#cmon guys she's trying

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anon-e-miss · 4 years

Text

Broken Vows 4

Prowl’s next ventilation was less ragged, but there was still a quiver to it. Jazz could almost feel the force of the Praxian’s processor. It was difficult for Prowl to break out of terminal loop and escape a crash. Usually he could only delay them long enough to find a safe place to collapse. But after they had been intimate or a while, Prowl had explained to Jazz what he could do to help Prowl break free, and he had not forgotten. Jazz stayed were he was, crooning softly and stroking the injured mech’s overheated helm. Bit by bit it worked, and Prowl’s intakes became smoother, and his helm cooled. Jazz stood up enough to look at him properly. Prowl looked back at him with naked disbelief, and he spoke with a voice raw from disuse. Even through the static, his shock was audible.

“Jazz.”

“That’s right. Y’re in Iacon. Ya got hurt, do ya remember?”

“I remember.”

“Ratchet’s got ya frame locked down so ya don’t undo his hardwork, but y’re okay.” Jazz explained. He smiled, unable to help himself, and took Prowl’s servo and dragged it over to Bluestreak. Tears burst from Prowl’s optics. “Y’re mechlings couldn’t stand to recharge away from ya. They’re perfect, ya know. Just perfect.”

“I thought... I failed.”

“Ya didn’t fail’em. Ya didn’t fail anyone.”

“Origin!”

“Smokescreen.” Prowl said the designation of his first creation as if it were a prayer of gratitude. Jazz quickly stepped back as Smokescreen clutched at Prowl.

“I was scared you wouldn’t ever wake up!” He curled over his originator and brother and wept.

“I need to hold him. Jazz, please,” Prowl’s plea had a desperate edge. His optics glowed whitest blue. Jazz brushed a servo over Prowl’s overheating helm, and with the other stroked Smokescreen’s back.

“I’ll get Ratchet,” Jazz soothed. “Just hang on a klik.

It made Jazz ache to hear Prowl beg. It was devastating to hear the hollowness in his voice as he said he had failed, Prowl, the mech who had been the only one to even try to save Praxus. Jazz doubted his glyphs had made any impact. But he could try again, and however many times it took to make Prowl believe him. He glanced over his shoulder as he unlocked the door, of course Prowl was exactly where Jazz had left him. But he could not shake the fear that Prowl might just disappear, that all of this had been a fit of his imagination. Stealing himself, Jazz stepped through the doorway. The lights overhead were dimmed. The joor was later than he had expected. Jazz was not familiar with the attending medic. No mechanism he had not vetted would stepped into Prowl’s treatment room. On impulse, he locked the door behind himself and walked to the medic.

“Ratchet off duty?” He asked.

“He should be,” The Seeker sneered. With a flick of his wing, he gestured down the hall. “Ratchet is in his office with Optimus Prime.

So this was Pharma. Jazz had never had the fortune or misfortune to run into this medic. A contemporary of Ratchet, Pharma was reputed to be arrogant and deeming to his lessers. The nurses were not fond of him. Hoist could hardly stand him, and Hoist loved everyone. It was rumoured he had expected to be named CMO when Jhiaxus had vanished during the mayhem following Sentinel Prime’s assassination. In public he had greeted Ratchet with fondness upon he Iaconian medic’s return to Iacon. In private he had been said to curse and to complain. It had been a spectacle worthy of a far more infamous Seeker, or so Jazz’s sources had said. If Ratchet was aware of the rumours, he undoubtedly did not give a single damn. Jazz left the peevish Seeker to his paperwork, and walked to Ratchet’s office. He heard the mech snort, but did not care to acknowledge it. Back in the treatment room, Prowl paralyzed and helpless and desperate to hold his creation, Jazz would not keep him waiting. When the door slid open, the office’s occupants turned abruptly. Ratchet was on his peds in a nanoklik.

“He’s awake,” Jazz explained. “But he barely got himself outta a terminal loop without crashin’. Wakin’ up wit his frame on lock down spooked ‘m good.”

“I’ll see to him,” Ratchet replied. “Optimus, I’ll be back.”

“Go to your berth when you’re done with your patient,” the Prime ordered. “Jazz, I’ll come by some time tomorrow if he’s up for introductions.”

“Sure.”

Ratchet did not acknowledge Pharma as he made his way to the treatment room, with Jazz on his heels. He walked face first into the door as he reached it first, unprepared for it to be locked. He scowled over his shoulder and Jazz and took a step to the side as he rubbed his olfactory ridge. Jazz shrugged, and unlocked it. Smokescreen had not moved from his spot. When Ratchet approached the berth, he ruffled Smokescreen’s helm.. He was a mech more well known for his terrible berthside manner, but Ratchet had the gentlest touch for that he saved for those who needed it. Feeling such intense relief that he could never hope to describe it with any justice, Jazz walked around he berth at stood within Prowl’s line of sight on the opposite side of the berth from Ratchet. Smokescreen tilted his helm and looked up at Jazz. In his servos he had the luminescant crystal Jazz had given him, and he held it against his chassis. It gave Jazz joy to see that the little chip was giving Smokescreen some comfort. That bit of crystal was a memento of the cave Jazz had spent much of his younglinghood hiding away. An aerial bombardment had seen the last survivor of the ancient cave system collapsed in on itself. After he had collected it, Jazz had left Polihex for good.

“This is Ratchet, Prowl,” Jazz introduced the medic. “He’s CMO, ‘n the Bot that’s been takin’ care o’ ya.”

“Good to see you alert, Prowl,” Ratchet said. “I need the mechlings out of the way before I restore your mobility. There can be involuntary spasms\ after a lock is removed, and I don’t want any accidents.”

“I don’t wanna,” Smokescreen whimpered as he clung tight to his originator.

“It’s okay, Smokey,” Jazz soothed. “I’ll hold ya. We’ll stand right here ‘n ya can watch y’re origin.”

“No,” the mechling cried.

“Be brave for me again, Smokescreen,” Prowl said. “Just for another moment.”

“Okay.”

Smokescreen sat up as his intakes hiccuped with distress. He looked at Jazz, and raised his arms without any enthusiasm. Jazz lifted him up and gave him a reassuring squeeze. Against his progenitor’s neck, Smokescreen sniffled but did not cry. As his Prowl had asked, he was being brave. Being held tigh, and wrapped in a reassuring EM field, even if it did not belong to his originator, allowed Smokescreen to calm himself. He rested his helm against Jazz’s shoulder, and watched Ratchet expertly disengage Bluestreak’s magnetic field, without waking the newling, and place him in the containment berth. With the mechlings out of harm’s way, Ratchet plugged a datacable into the access port on the side of Prowl’s neck.

“Can you access your self-diagnositics?” Ratchet asked Prowl.

“I can.”

“Follow along with me. Your right servo is immobilized because you’re repairs aren’t finished. You’ll need another surgery in an orn for the next stage. Possibly one more after that. You’ve several fresh welds in your back and doorwings so you are not to get out of this berth until I say so. I will weld you to it if you try anything. You can ask Jazz if you think I’m joking.”

“He ain’t.”

“There you have it, expert testimony. To my displeasure. I am leaving a mild pain blocker in your systems to keep you comfortable. The welds in your back are solid, but your servo has several pins in it to keep your strut fragments inline to fuse correctly. This is delicate work for your self-repair systems to finish. If anything slips and heals out of place you could have pain for the rest of your life. If anything feels wrong you need to tell me or the medic on duty... which is usually me.”

“Yes, Medic.”

Jazz glanced at the medic’s servos. Under the scuffed plating were the scars of repairs like Prowl had undergone, and would undergo further. The medic who had done the repairs had not been quite as skilled as Ratchet had become in the vorns that had followed. As a result, pain was the Iaconian’s constant companion. But he had refused to have his servos replaced. A surgeons servos were special. There was a sensitivity and a dexterity required for their function, and no replacement constructs compared to what was naturally forged. Ratchet had been unwilling to give up his function for sake of his comfort. Jazz wondered if constant pain was part of what made Ratchet gruff, or if that was just who he was.

“Did you really sneak off?” Smokescreen asked, looking up at Jazz with curious optics.

“More ‘n once,” Jazz replied. “I prefer to be in my own space, especially when ‘m hurtin’.”

“Through the vents?”

“Once. When we renovated I specifically recommended we shrink ‘em so bots like me couldn’t go sneakin’ round. Didn’t quite make ‘em small enough.”

“Did you get into the vents, Smokescreen?” Prowl asked. Oh Primus that tone. Smokescreen wrapped his arms a little tighter around Jazz’s neck, and glanced down.

“Maybe.”

“He was lookin’ for ya,” Jazz explained. Prime, that tone, Smokescreen did not sound even the least pit contrite. “He’s a brave ‘n clever spark.”

“He is.”

Jazz could feel pride ooze into Smokescreen’s field. The glyphs from Prowl must have had more stock with the young mech than his, but Jazz could not be bothered to care. The moment Smokescreen really relaxed in his embrace was magical. Jazz spark was in his throat. This was something. If this was all he ever got, it would be enough. He would strive to be more for Smokescreen, but the time where Smokescreen maybe had wanted a progenitor way have come and gone already. If Jazz was could only be a trusted adult, he would be grateful for the privilege. In this moment, Smokescreen wanted closeness from him, but as the shock of rescue and survival faded, maybe so to would that openness. Jazz would enjoy he moment. He would find joy in what came after.

Prowl. At Ratchet’s direction Prowl flexed both lengths. There was no grating sound of metal on metal. As part of the immediate treatment given to all three Praxians had been a total replacement of their coolant and lubrication volumes. Though his frame has been sedentary for ten vorns, Prowl’s slow movements were unhampered by stiffness. Jazz had guessed by the speed at which Smokescreen had gone from stasis to escape meant their frames had suffered no lingering side effects of their time in stasis lock. Once Prowl had been made to test each join, other than those of his broken servo, Ratchet adjust his berth so he could finally sit up right. The desperate need in Prowl’s optics had Jazz lower Smokescreen down to him without a nanoklik’s hesitation. Smokescreen wrapped his arms around his orignator’s neck and hugged him tight as he could. Prowl wrapped both arms around his elder creation, nuzzled his helm, and wept.

“Smokescreen. Oh, sweetspark I am so sorry.”

“For what, Origin?” Smokescreen cocked his helm at his originator. Prowl’s response caught in his throat. His engine rolled over with a distressed whine. Jazz squeezed his shoulder. Smokescreen leaned in and brushed his helm against Prowl’s. “They found us, just like you said they would. My progenitor found us.”

“That is right, he did,” Prowl said, voice husky. He nuzzled his creation back, and reached his servo up to cup Jazz’s against his shoulder, and looked up at him with gratitude. “He did.”

“Sorry it took so long,” Jazz replied, stiltedly. In the containment berth, Bluestreak came online. Kicking and fussing, still without a sound. Jazz was grateful for the distraction. He lifted the mechling and draped him against Prowl’s chassis.

“What is wrong with him?” Prowl asked. There was silence. Jazz should not have been surprised that Prowl had immediately been aware of the newling’s muteness.

“Traumatic mutism is a reasonable common response in sparklings and newlings,” Ratchet explained. “There’s no therapies available for a mechling his age, but that isn’t a problem. Recovery for a newling comes more naturally, as he starts to feel more and more secure, he’ll start vocalizing again. Having you online will be the biggest help for him, so far as our newling expert is concerned. That was one of the primary reasons you’ve been allowed out of stasis lock with incomplete repairs.”

“I understand.”

“‘M sorry, Prowl,” Jazz said. “I didn’t look for ya sooner.”

“You looked,” Prowl replied, and his optics dimmed. He had the expression of a mech who had been let down by the world. “I knew if anyone ever did, it would be you.”

#broken vows 4 #broken vows 3 #broken vows 2 #broken vows #maccadams #ficlet #tf prowl #tf jazz

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softkaimin · 4 years

Text

Fear Complex | p. 1

word count: 3,310

! trigger warning(s): self-harm, strangulation, near death, guilt tripping, mentions of suicide, pennywise is his own trigger warning

prologue

The screeching of the chairs against the linoleum floor and the indistinct chattering of your classmates mixed together like a raucous song. The passing comments of faux sympathy went in one and out the other as you stared at the graffitied top of your desk, the dirty brown wood casting the horrid memories of last week against it like some old projector screen.

“Earth to (Last/Name).” You snapped your gaze to the bespectacled girl that sat beside you, her eyes peeking over the rim of her glasses to observe you in your trance. “Gee, it only took me calling your name a million times to get your attention,” she huffed.

You cleared your throat and hurriedly wiped your desk with the sleeve of your jacket, sweeping your memories to the ground beneath you before anyone else could see them. You bit the broken skin on your bottom lip out of habit, meeting her worried eyes for only a second before the need to release your bottled emotions became too unbearable. You looked away and began to flip through the pages of your textbook to avoid meeting her judging gaze again.

“Sweetie, are you alright?”

No. That’s what you should’ve said, but you’d already convinced yourself that telling someone of the insanity you were experiencing wasn’t going to help you. It was a fact – at least in your mind – that nobody would believe you. That you would only be ridiculed and thrown into some insane asylum as a result. The thought alone of being seen as crazy was enough to convince you that it was better to suffer in silence.

So, you didn’t utter a word of it. Not to your aunt, who had saved you from that never-ending interrogation at the police station that night, or to your friends, who tried visiting you the week after only for you to turn them away at the door. You decided it was best to keep your madness to yourself.

“I’m fine.” The words felt as dry as they sounded, and you knew as soon as you said them that it was the most unconvincing lie you’d ever told.

“Fine? No sane person would be fine after witnessing a fucking murder.” Her tone was mocking but you knew she didn’t do it on purpose.

Luanna, your best friend for as long as you could remember, was fluent in the language of sarcasm and banter. Conversations with her were never what most people would call pleasurable, and they surely weren’t anyone’s first choice to pass the time. But the thing about Luanna was that she was truly dependable, never choosing your feelings over the truth. You could always count on her to tell you the truth, and whether it hurt your feelings was not her problem.

“Look, (Your/Name)…”

Shivers crawled up your spine when she uttered your name. She never called you by your first name, always your last, or sometimes even sweetie. But never your first. Only on rare occasions did she ever, and it always meant one thing: she was about to be brutally honest with you.

The air clogged your throat as you tried to brace yourself for whatever Luanna was about to toss at you, but luckily for you, the universe was just as unwilling to listen to one of Luanna’s lectures as you were.

The sudden eruption of shrill voices speaking at the same time interrupted your train of thought, and consequently Luanna’s too. The three girls that’d been huddled at the front of the room jumped to their feet, blocking the doorway as they ran to greet the boy who had just walked in. Your view of him was obscured at first, but the amount of comfort that his aura alone brought you told you exactly who he was.

You sat on your leg, craning your neck in search of those warm eyes amongst the heads of your classmates. You needed to meet them just once, just to feel the normalcy for your crumbling life once again. You needed to see them to assure you that this terror you were living with was only temporary.

But when you did, the fear that consumed you snared its claws deeper into your veins. You didn’t see peacefulness or normalcy. You didn’t see the gleam in his eyes, the one that always gave him away whenever he was excited. The gleam that had the power to make everyone around him happy. When you saw him, it was almost you were looking in the mirror, because what you saw was paralyzing fear. You saw dread and sadness and anger, all mixing together like an amalgamation of despair.

Kai! We’re so glad you’re back!

I wrote down all of Mrs. Beck’s notes for you, maybe we can go over them during lunch.

Come sit with us. We’ll help you catch up.

Kai had been trying to push his way past them to reach the empty seat in front of you, but the girls wouldn’t let him out of their grasp long enough to free himself. You were the only person who could understand what he was going through. You were the only person he wanted to talk to, the only person he thought of in days… but you weren’t even looking at him anymore. Instead, you were buried nose deep into your textbook. He swallowed the hurt of being ignored by you and allowed himself to be dragged into the cold and unfamiliar seat at the front of the classroom.

The room buzzed suddenly then filled with a high shriek as the school’s intercom system kicked in for the morning announcement. You could hear the quiet murmuring of your principal as she quickly gathered her notes, completely unaware that her morning aid student had already begun without her.

“Are we on, already? Oh… Gooood Morning, Derry High!” Her booming voice forced everyone out of their tiredness, their ears perking with attentiveness for only a second before they went back to the bobbing mess of sleepy students. “It is Monday, a fine day to begin the week. I hear our two beloved seniors have returned today, please give them a hand and let them know how much we’ve missed them.”

Your stomach lurched as half of the class turned to look at you, clapping half-heartedly, the other half choosing to clap for Kai. Some immediately retracted their attention, but the gaze of others lingered on you for a moment too long. Your thoughts felt like a malfunctioning carousel, flinging wildly improbable theories of why they were staring at you all over the place, each one more worrying than the last.

“In honor of them and the late Noah Rivers, let us please have a minute of silence.”

The silence settled in far too quickly for your liking, its cold fingers tapping the bare skin of your neck as it whispered the horrible retellings of that night. Your heart was accelerating alongside your mind, and your stomach heaving as though it was trying to rid itself of the anxiety that had begun to burrow inside you.

The silence stretched across the entire room, seeping into the hallways as everyone stopped in their tracks to remember the middle school student who had passed away last week. It was becoming more and more difficult to keep it together, and this minute of silence began to feel like an eternity.

You tried to focus your breathing, looking out into the yard toward the school monument sign. You hoped to replace the cruel voice of survivor’s guilt with images of whatever else you could occupy your mind with. The singing birds or the falling leaves or even the littered water bottle that rolled across the pavement with every slight breeze.

You looked away from the outside world, realizing that your wish to be in it only worsened your anxiety. Your eyes darted around the room, refusing to focus on something for longer than a millisecond.

You opted to close your eyes instead, but something caught your eye in the tall rectangular window of the classroom door.

It’s yellow eyes locked onto you, unmoving as they watched your every muscle fight the paralysis of fear. You could see its pointy discolored teeth that lined the inside of its mouth, the string of drool that told you it watered for a taste of you.

Your knee hit the desk as you scurried to your feet, barely managing to catch the chair that you knocked over. You could see Luanna talking to you, trying to make sense of what had set you off, but nothing she was saying was registering in your mind. Her voice was garbled and undecipherable, and you had become hyper focused on the glowering gaze of the clown that sat at the window.

Your principal’s voice reverberated against the classroom walls once again, and for a split second you felt the end of this nightmare approaching. The clown had gone in a blink, no longer creeping in the window, and the world felt like it was stabilizing for the time being. But for some peculiar reason, you couldn’t get your heart to do the same.

The shock wave of having seen the clown in front of so many people sent you spiraling toward the edge of a panic attack. You were hanging on the ledge, your fingers slipping the more you struggled to reassure yourself that it was gone.

Mrs. Beck, your homeroom teacher, started toward you, her polka dotted dress billowing behind her as she made her way to where you had cornered yourself in the back of the classroom. Luanna knelt beside you, the pad of her thumb gently wiping away the tears from your cheeks.

“Luanna, does everything seem to be alright with Ms. (Last/Name)?” Your teacher asked, her voice full of worry. You looked up at her, hoping to match the gentle face of your teacher to her sweet voice, but it was nothing like you remembered.

Her lips were contorted into a wet grimace, dry white paint cracking at the corners of her mouth as though she had tried to wipe off her makeup in a hurry. Her eyes were a nightmarish yellow and they were locked onto yours steadily. The scream in your throat tightened, pressing down on your lungs until you could no longer hold it and were gasping for breath.

And then she giggled. Not the kind that was lighthearted and vibrant, like the kind you would hear from a child, but the kind that was full of venom and hunger. It was a guttural sound, coming from deep with the depths of a dark and horrid place. A place that only someone – or something – truly evil could reach.

“Stoooop!” You wailed, pressing your palms against your ears to drown out the gross sound of your teacher’s voice. You knew it was in your head, you were certain of it, but still it felt so real. The real Mrs. Beck, not the possessed version that was tormenting your already broken self, tried to reach for you in an attempt to force you back into reality, but what you saw was an exposed alien-like hand with murder written all over it. You screamed, springing to your feet as you wasted no time dashing out of the room and into the girl’s bathroom across the hall.

You locked yourself in the middle stall, plopping yourself on the toilet seat as you plunged into a full-scale panic attack. Your eyes were shut tight, your breathing loud and hoarse as you repeatedly slammed your balled fist into the metal wall of the stall, every shooting pain that ran up your arm from the force of the strike creating a faint, sporadic light that lit the way out of your mind.

Bang.

You groaned in frustration at yourself, your knuckles cracking against the metal as you struck the door with as much force as you could muster.

Bang.

Your fist dented the metal of the stall, but you could clearly see the exit in your mind. Your sanity was so close.

Bang.

Blood ran down your fingers, staining your skin and consequently the stall door as well.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Pain was temporary, but fear? Well… no one ever managed to outlive fear.

The stall to your left suddenly slammed against the metal lock, shaking the entire stall structure violently. You gasped in alarm, the throbbing pain of your knuckles grounding you into reality as you wondered if another student had heard the insanity of your panic attack. You ran your finger across your mouth, shame setting in when you recalled the show that you had put on in front of the entire class.

The restroom was silent, save for your heavy breathing, and you decided to leave before anyone else could see the mess that was your current state. You reached for the lock, the coolness of the metal refreshing against your warm, almost scorching skin. Your fingers lingered for a second, and you wondered if it was a good idea to go back to class to gather your things. It was not. You weren’t sure if you were stable enough yet to face the judging gazes of your classmates. You let the idea die and undid the lock.

A pair of black tattered boots blocked the stall door from opening, and you felt your heart plummet into your stomach. You tried to back up, but by then it was too late.

You felt your throat suddenly constrict against a thick and rough cord, your body slamming against the stall wall as it pulled you toward your attacker. You clawed at the rope that tightened around your neck, the fibers digging into your skin and drawing blood. You were lifted off the ground and you kicked your legs, frantically searching for something to stand on. Your shoes slipped off the ceramic edges of the toilet, and your breath escaped in blubbering gasps.

You were running out of time quickly, running out of breath. Your legs became dead weight, your muscles too weak to lift your heavy limbs. Your vision was darkening, but you fought to keep your eyes open. May Noah Rivers rest in peace, but you were determined to not end up like him. Dead by a clown. Not you.

“Oh, what’s the matter Jelly Bean? Having trouble catching your breath?” Your blood ran ice cold at the familiarity of the voice. It was deep and hoarse, like that of a person who smoked a pack of cigarettes a day, and their breath smelled of alcohol and… what was that? Sewage?

The stranger’s grip on the rope faltered for a second, long enough for you to manage to slip a finger behind it and allow yourself one full breath before it tightened again.

“W-who?” You managed weakly.

They hummed, and brought their face closer to you, just enough for you to see them from your peripheral vision. Your eyes stung from how far they had to reach for you to see them, but you caught a clear glimpse of them.

It was your dad… your dead dad.

“Jelly Bean, why did you let me die all alone?” The rope tightened further, causing you to make a gross nasally sound. You pushed your tongue against the roof of your mouth, the words you wanted to say escaping with every short breath you exhaled.

“I was so sure you’d go with me that day.” The rope tightened again. “You should have gone with me that day! Why did you let me die all alone?” Your dad’s voice was deepening into a harsh growl, deepening until it longer sounded like your dad, but like the clown that had been tormenting you.

It laughed maniacally, the bells on its clown suit jingling with every erratic movement it made. “You let him die, huh jelly bean? Oh… what kind of daughter does that?” It jeered, the vulgarity slipping off of his tongue in a way that made your skin crawl with disgust.

You shook your head, tears flooding the little vision you had left as the guilty feelings of that day, two years ago, came back like raging waters. Everyone told you it wasn’t your fault, but you could never fight the nagging feeling that it was. Your mind was clouded with what-if scenarios and you yourself had come to the conclusion that if you had gone on that car ride with your dad that day then maybe he wouldn’t have taken his own life.

And now those guilty feelings were going to be the death of you. Maybe this is what I deserve, you thought. Maybe this is what I get for choosing my friends over my dad.

You fell to the ground suddenly, your head banging against the closed stall door. You were surprised to find you were still conscious, and you took this as your opportunity to crawl out of the stall from underneath, screaming for help at the top of your lungs. You felt a pair of cold hands pull you all the way toward the large wooden door of the restroom, her small frame using all of its strength to help you to your feet while fending off the newly injured clown.

You stood, turning around to get a good look at the situation. There was a broken broomstick wedged between the ribs of the clown, and it had a scowl on its face, as though it was in pain. You didn’t know it could feel pain. Beverley Marsh, the girl who had saved you from death not even a second ago, tugged at your arm as she dashed toward the exit, you following closely behind her.

You never thought you’d find comfort in the nasty smell of hormonal teenagers that wafted through the main hallways of the school, but it felt like breathing fresh air when you made it out.

You crashed into someone as you passed the threshold of the restroom, their arms quickly engulfing you. You looked up to find Kai’s worried eyes frantically searching your face for any signs of injury, but it was full of grief. He sighed and pressed your head against his chest as he hugged you hard, thankful you were okay.

“God, are you ok?” He whispered.

You shook your head, tears staining his shirt as you sobbed. “I ca-I can’t breathe.”

Kai grabbed your hand and pulled you alongside him as he made his way outside. His fingers were intertwined with yours and he didn’t let go, not even when you stood on the concrete steps of the school, basking in the warmth of the sun. He watched you closely, wondering silently if you had gone through what he had in the past week.

The heat of the sun felt like soft kisses against your cold skin, drying your tears and encasing you in a protective blanket. You felt Kai inch closer to you, his fingers running up the back of your head as he planted a kiss on your forehead. Your breathing was ragged, the residual trauma still pestering you even after having made it out safely.

You wrapped your arm around his waist, your other hand still holding onto his, and you rested your head against him. “I’m so scared, Kai.” You whispered.

He swayed the two of you gently and whispered back: “Me too.” You swore if he kept it up, you would surely fall asleep where you stood, but he suddenly pulled away from you, meeting your confused gaze.

His face was serious. Concerned. Scared, which in hand scared you. You were unnerved to say the least, and you felt like you were on the verge of passing out. And in the most foreboding tone he told you: “I saw It too.”

#exo #exo reactions #exo scenarios #exo imagines #exo kai #kai #Kim Jongin #kai x reader #kai x you #it 2017 #it chapter two #pennywise #the losers club #beverly marsh #horror #exo horror

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365daysofsasuhina · 4 years

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[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day Three Hundred Forty-Five: No Organization ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata ] [ SasuHina ] [ Verse: Like Magic ] [ AO3 Link ]

Some call it chaos. Hinata calls it home.

To the untrained eye, it does indeed look completely without any sense of organization. The little cottage at the edge of the trees appears to be thoroughly encapsulated by nature. Thick ivy and vines grow up most of the exterior walls, basking in the sunlight as their blooms face the sky. The front garden - without a single foot of grass - is a thicket of herbs, flowers, trees, and stones. A trickle of water can be heard among the rustling of the leaves, a small stream flowing nearby. And a well stands proudly along one side, bucket hanging on well-worn rope.

The cabin itself is rather plain: made of logs and a simple L-shape, it doesn’t look like much from the outside...or rather, what little one can see beyond the plethora of plants. A rounded door - taller than it is wide - is the only barrier between the world and the space within.

And the inside is nearly as teeming with life as out.

Potted plants adorn every surface, stones and gems speckled between them. Archways are curtained with vines, but the space still manages to be light, bright, and airy.

It’s led many people to believe that that Hinata isn’t just a simple country woman with a knack for medicines...but an actual witch. A good witch: one focused in growing and healing. Though some of the more...superstitious folks give her a wide berth, Hinata doesn’t mind. She simply sticks to her simplicity and happiness in her little cabin, with her maze-like garden and tidy little house.

Of course...the rumors of her skills sometimes bring her the odd guest. Those with ailments that other doctors and medics seem...unable - or perhaps unwilling - to cure. Not too long ago, one such young man found his way to her cabin door. Looking rather out of sorts, he had no claim to a physical malady. No...what he believed to be ailing him was a matter of the heart. Nothing that could be observed by anyone else. A strange, pervading emptiness...the inability to love another.

At first, Hinata had been quite perplexed. While some hearts do simply find contentment without a need to love or be loved...her guest - a man called Sasuke Uchiha - had been most distressed by the idea, feeling as if...something were missing.

Thankfully, in her collection of tomes, Hinata had found just what was needed: a potion for an empty heart. Assuring him she could brew it - there wasn’t a potion she’d tried yet she couldn’t manage - she’d sent him on his way for the three days she would need to tend to the concoction, all while juggling anyone else who knocked upon her door.

When it was finished, he’d returned and cautiously gave a swallow. At first, she’d assumed there would be little telling if it had truly worked...but he assured her there was a warmth in his chest he’d never felt before.

And...it only seemed to get worse when they locked eyes.

Sheepishly skirting the subject, Hinata had refused to let him pay until he returned home to meet with his suitresses and assure that the effects he’d been suffering from were no longer an issue.

...that was about a week ago.

Since then, Hinata has been keeping busy, as always. Most are returning customers back again for their typical requests: a fair few are older folks with aching joints or trouble sleeping.

And yet, so far, none of them have been Sasuke.

Part of her is worried that something is amiss. After all...surely by now he should have at least some inkling of whether or not the brew cured his reclusive heart. If it did, well...she needs her coin. And if not, he’ll surely want to try again, or some other recourse.

Idly using a bit of magic to make a viney potted plant wriggle and dance, Hinata leans her chin in her other hand. The silence is concerning, either way...but she doesn’t have a way to contact him. True, she’s not really out anything should he never return to pay - all of her samples came from her own stores, and though three days of managing the brew was a fair effort, it wasn’t anything too taxing...but it’s the principle of the thing. She didn’t get the impression he was the sort to skip out pay for honest work. So why hasn’t she heard anything?

...was he too embarrassed by his reaction?

True, she hadn’t expected him to be that open to emotion after consuming the potion, but...well, there wasn’t any harm in it. At least they knew it was - to some extent - allowing him to feel. It hadn’t meant anything - perhaps a touch surprising and a little embarrassing, but not anything to fear.

Sighing, Hinata realizes the day isn’t going to get any younger, so she abandons her table and gets to work. As the day comes to a close, it’s time to water all of her beauties and settle in for the night. Once the chores are done, she can make herself some supper, and then do it all over again the next day after a good night’s sleep.

Thankfully her routine is so reflexive by now, it’s a simple matter to bring up water from the well for her watering can. While she has the skills to move the liquid with magic, she’s always hesitant to do so outside in plain view. One hand hiking up her skirt to keep it from being splashed, the other guides the can along her haphazard rows of green. This carries on in peaceful silence broken only by her humming...until she hears approaching footsteps.

Turning, pale eyes go wide in shock as none other than Sasuke makes his way down the lane, expression looking distraught.

...oh no...is it not working?

Carefully setting her can aside, Hinata opens her mouth to ask, but cuts back as Sasuke speaks first.

“What was that potion you gave me?”

“I...w-what?”

“The potion!”

“It...it was a cure for an empty heart. Has it not worked for you, sir…?”

Still looking harried, Sasuke takes to pacing. “...at first, I believed it had. But when I returned home, and arranged to again speak with my possible matches...I felt nothing. Perhaps not as...deeply as before, but none of the feelings I expected. Not for any of them - not a one! So, tell me -” He steps up toward her, making Hinata retreat half a step. “...are you lying to me?”

“I -? No! I can s-show you the time, the recipe, I -?”

“You didn’t bewitch me?”

“...bewitch? No! I made the brew exactly as described. You told me yourself you felt different. Maybe...maybe it wasn’t strong enough -”

“No...it was plenty strong. But not in the way it needs to be...don’t you understand?” Reaching, he snags one of her hands, earning a gasp of surprise. “...that feeling I had when I was here, when I first drank the potion...it was real. But I cannot feel it anywhere else. I returned to see if it was a fluke...but no. Even now, I feel as if my heart will hammer through my chest! So...did you lie to me? Was what you gave me not a cure...but another curse?”

“Sir, I...I don’t understand. What are you -?”

“Did you give me a love potion?”

Her face slackens in surprise. “Of course not! W-why would I -?”

“I’m a man of some fortune, you know. Surely you knew -?”

“I had no inclination of that! Besides, I tend to any who need it, coin or not. Do you...do you really think I tried to bewitch you to steal your money?”

“I had to be sure! Because I only feel that warmth when I’m here...when I’m with you. And yet I know nothing of you...not even your name. How else would you explain it?”

As if to prove his words, he brings her unwilling hand to his chest. And...there. She can feel it. Like a bird it seems to flutter against his ribs, desperate and quick.

...it’s warm.

Staring at her hand, Hinata tries to think. She’s never made this brew before - never had to. She has no idea what can go wrong, or what the exact nature of it working properly looks like. “...I’m sorry, I have no idea. This was my first time making it, and yet...I-I’m sure I did it right. I checked and checked and checked again. Whatever you’re feeling...it must be what you are m-meant to feel. I swear to you...I had no intention of being what you seek. Perhaps that is just the magic of the potion: it knows what you do not.”

He doesn’t seem satisfied with that answer, and drops her hand. “...and what am I to tell my parents? That I can’t marry any of their choices for me because I’ve found myself entranced by a...a witch?”

The tone more than the word makes her flinch. “...I c-can’t answer that, sir. Many in this day and age marry more for money and connections than love.”

After a pause, he bitterly scoffs. “...I never should have come here. At least before my marrying them without feeling would be painless. But now...now that I know…”

Sympathy grows in her eyes. “...I’m sorry. Truly, I...I am. There might be another potion, one to revert you to -”

“No...no more magic. You’ve done enough.” Reaching into his coat’s pocket, he withdraws a pouch of coins, tossed and barely caught. “...for your efforts. But you’d best hope I never see you again. I can’t...I…” Gritting his teeth, he turns on a heel and retreats as the sunlight begins to wane.

Standing with her pay in her palms, Hinata can only watch until he disappears around the bend, chest feeling oddly...hollow. While she’s had potions to awry in the past...never has had an effect like this.

...she isn’t sure how to feel.

Lowering her gaze to the coins, she feels a wave of regret. She’d only wanted to help...and now she’s ruined his outlook, possibly forever. He’s right: someone of his apparent rank can never stoop to the level she finds herself on. It wouldn’t be right, and surely his parents would be furious. But now he’ll always be nagged by that feeling...a feeling she helped create…

Slowly, she slips the pouch into a larger one at her hip, taking up her can and finishing her chores. Night falls, supper eaten, and still she finds herself distraught.

...but what can she do?

.oOo.

(This is a sequel to day 306!) Well, I never expected to do a follow-up to that other piece, but...here we are xD Potions - especially those that alter feelings and emotions - can be rather tricky things, as Hinata is learning. While her intentions were good...well, that doesn't mean the results are considered thus. Whatever will they do...? ...no idea, as I don't know if I'll do more of this, but...y'know. I might someday, if my habits are anything to go by xD Anyway, on that note...it's very late. Again. And yes, I know the year is over and I still have 20 days to go. I WILL be continuing into January, so never fear! Those days will get done, just...later than expected ^^; But for now, sleep! Thanks for reading~

#sasuhina #uchiha sasuke #hyūga hinata #like magic [ au ]#365daysofsasuhina

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tiaragqueen · 5 years

Text

On The Sly

✂ Pairing: Yandere! Bodyguard! Min Yoongi x Reader

✂ Word Count: 1,6k+

✂ Trigger Warning: Slight manipulation, possessiveness, overprotectiveness

✂ The story is fictional and for amusement only. I don't believe any of the members would do this in real life. As always, thank you for reading and I hope you have a good day!

Do not re-upload my writing to another website or use it without my permission.

[Edited]

***

If you like my writing, please support me on ko-fi!

“Did you think it would be over if you ended it? You mistook me. I’ll treat you. I know, go. Don’t say you hate me, you don’t mean it.” – Psycho [History]

“No, Miss [Name]. You can’t go. It’s too dangerous outside; you can get hurt.”

There it was; the dreaded yet totally expected answer. You stood in front of Yoongi, your long-time bodyguard, with a ticked expression. Your right eye twitched a little, jaw stiff, and a deep scowl etched on to your features. You had held on to a sliver of hope that he might permit you to meet your old friend, but of course, the response would always be the same.

“And why’s that?” you inquired, purposefully ignoring his last statement.

You wanted to see if he could come up with another reason other than the usual ‘it’s too dangerous’ because what kind of dangers that would occur from a simple reunion? Besides, you wouldn’t be completely alone either. You’d bring another bodyguard because Yoongi had been rather overbearing lately.

As much as you knew that he was merely doing his job, you didn’t appreciate him disobeying your orders like this.

“Well…”

You watched his eyes shift around to avoid direct eye-contact. It was obvious that he hadn’t expected this kind of question from you since you’d been pretty obedient. What had he done wrong? Was he not forceful enough? Was he not convincing enough? Why did you have to question his reasoning? Why couldn’t you just comply like you used to?

“… Because I must protect you from any harm.”

Would it be wrong if you said that you had expected it too? He was so predictable. On one hand, it gave you some comfort knowing that he would never betray you. While on the other hand, his reply irritated you to no end. Sure, you were the daughter of a mogul, and that often made you become an unwilling target, but you could protect yourself just fine. It was the reason why you brought pepper spray in the first place.

But Yoongi didn’t see you as a woman capable of defending herself. To him, you were a fragile doll that needed to be treated with such delicacy, or else you’d break from the slightest pressure.

Was this the same aloof and distant bodyguard Taehyung assigned to? The same bodyguard who turned to mush every time he spoke to you? The same bodyguard who always wrote snippets of lyrics in his little diary? Because if not, then you needed to have a word with your older brother. Such disrespect couldn’t be ignored for too long, especially when he had the guts to refused your orders now.

“Really now?” You huffed out a derisive chuckle, raising an eyebrow at his ridiculous excuse. “Are you really using that against me? To control me as if I’m your servant instead of your master?”

“Miss [Name], you know that’s not what I-”

“Well, it does to me. I’ve noticed that you’ve become controlling lately; always forbidding me from going outside.”

“But I did!” he exclaimed, eyes wide from your accusations.

How could you blame him for having a good intention in mind? Were you blind to his love and loyalty? The fact that he went out of his way to go against you was to protect you? Was it not enough for you?

“I let you go shopping yesterday, didn’t I?”

“You were watching my every movement and glared at the shopkeeper even though he only wanted to help,” you retorted, crossing your arms over your chest to express the exasperation. Had you weren’t taught to manage your emotions very early, you’d be throwing tantrums on him now. There was nothing you hated more than belittlement, however unintentionally.

“But he was looking at you for too long!”

“So? Does that give you a right to be aggressive with him?”

“I-” Yoongi stumbled on his words before sighing in defeat. He knew he was being irrational, but what would you expect from a jealous man?

You blinked slowly, tired with the roundabout argument and his illogical actions. “I’m going to talk to Taehyung-oppa about you. In the meantime, make yourself useful.”

A wicked glint appeared in his feline-like eyes as he watched you disappear around the corner.

***

“Oppa.”

You opened the door that led to your brother’s spacious room, peeking in to see if the occupant was present. There he stood, facing the window with his back against you. He peered over his broad shoulder and nodded as permission for you to enter.

“What’s wrong?” he asked in his deep voice that had shocked and entranced many people, males, and females alike.

You stayed quiet, opting to sidle up to him. Looking down, you discerned a young woman watering the flowers. There was nothing remarkably attractive to her, but you often saw him watching her like a watchman. It creeped you out sometimes.

“You’re always looking at her,” you remarked. “What’s so special about her anyway?”

Taehyung remained silent.

“Is it because she is new here? I saw her in Mr. Woohyun’s office a week ago. Plain.”

“She’s not plain,” he interjected. “She’s a natural beauty.”

You raised an incredulous brow. “Oh? Don’t tell me you’ve taken a liking to her already?”

Taehyung didn’t respond once again. Sighing, you closed your eyes as you prepped yourself up, to tell the truth.

“Speaking of like, Yoongi have been overbearing recently.”

Now, his interest was peaked. Taehyung averted his intense gaze from the young gardener and turned to face you. “Is that so?”

You nodded. “He never allows me to go out, saying that it’s too dangerous outside.” you scoffed. “It’s always the same excuse. And when I asked him again, he used his responsibility instead. Can you believe that guy? It was like he was trying to guilt-trip me.”

Taehyung hummed, rubbing his chin in contemplation. “Interesting…”

“Don’t be like that!” you huffed, stomping your right foot. “Do something!”

“Well, what do you want me to do?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Fire him, maybe?” you retorted pettily.

“It’s hard to find a loyal bodyguard now. You should be grateful for having him.”

“Well, I’m not now.” You crossed your arms over your chest sassily to emphasize the annoyance. “You better do something before I tell that gardener about your little crush on her.”

“Don’t.” He glared at you with such intensity that had you sucking on a shocked breath. “Or else I’ll lock you up.”

“You know that’s impossible, Oppa. Father will be mad at you for liking a lowly worker like her.”

Electricity zapped from their eyes, neither wanted to back down. After a moment of staring contest, Taehyung finally surrendered. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he sighed.

“Fine. I’ll see what I can do.”

You smirked, pleased with his grudging compliance and for winning such a petty argument between siblings. “I’ll wait for the result, then.”

The news of Yoongi’s discharge spread like wildfire among the staff for the next two days. You weren’t surprised when you heard the girls lamenting about their missed opportunities to get to know him better, as he was pretty famous for his pale features and intimidating demeanor. He often claimed that he was ugly, and had rated himself as 50 out of 50 in terms of looks, but you begged to differ.

Smirking, you flipped your hair and jumped down on the bed. It had been a hassle to convince your brother and father to fire Yoongi because apparently, the latter was Mr. Kim’s favorite bodyguard among others. Thus, his reluctance to obey to your pleading because he thought that Yoongi had been nothing but loyal to you. But of course, for the sake of his beloved daughter, he was willing to set aside his reservations.

After many – yet a bit exaggerated – proofs against Yoongi, simply because of your petty revenge for belittling you.

But the strange thing was, he never once tried to oppose you or even defend himself. You were certain that he knew you’d overstated the truth. Instead, he just sat on the chair with his spine straight and face emotionless. As if he accepted any accusations you’ve thrown at him.

Or maybe he went along with it; to give you the upper hand. Either way, you were glad that he no longer existed in your life.

You looked up at the ceiling and smiled. How liberating it was without Yoongi’s suffocating presence. On nights like this, you used to wonder that maybe you had purposefully handed the reign to him instead of otherwise. But now, you didn’t have to worry anymore.

Closing your eyes, you finally succumbed into the darkness.

***

It felt… smothering.

You opened your eyes groggily, discerning a cloaked figure sitting on top of you. It took you a moment to realize that their hands were around your neck, tightening in each second. You gasped as you clawed their arms, desperate for oxygen.

The moonlight flashed through the window and slowly rose until it revealed the face of your attacker.

Min Yoongi.

You jolted up from the bed, a silent scream escaped your lips. Breathing heavily, you looked around and noticed that you were, in fact, still in your room. There was nobody in there aside from you. The windows were closed, the curtains were shut, and the atmosphere was as calming as a quiet night could be.

You were safe and sound.

Sighing, you silently chuckled to yourself for being scared over a simple nightmare. Your house was heavily guarded, so there was no way anyone would be able to break in without alerting the nearby guards.

If they could hack into the system, that is.

You huffed and went back to recline when you felt a cold breath hitting your ear.

“Miss me?”

The whole world turned black.

#yandere bangtan sonyeondan #yandere bts #yandere yoongi x reader #yandere yoongi #yandere min yoongi #yandere suga #yandere suga x reader #yandere kpop #yandere bts au #yandere kpop au #yandere kpop story #yandere bts story #suga x reader #yoongi x reader

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