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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

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Beautifully Spent

aka Five Times Lan Qiren Left The Lan Sect Behind

- Chapter 2 -

A/N: As a note, each of these chapters is a separate story with a different point of divergence from canon timeline.

When Lan Wangji was six years old, and Lan Xichen nine, their mother died, breaking their hearts. Even Lan Qiren, who had never liked He Kexin and might have even hated her for having ruined all his dreams of travel, felt her absence keenly – he kept thinking of her at odd times, a matter of irrepressible habit. I should tell her about this next week, he would think as he watched his nephews accomplish something, or, upon receiving an offer to go night-hunting, We can’t go because we wouldn’t be able to make it back in time for the monthly visit, and then he’d abruptly remember she was dead and there would be no more monthly visits.

One time, sitting and watching Lan Wangji carefully practice his calligraphy during the time that would normally have been their monthly visit, he even found himself inexplicably wiping tears out of his eyes. It had been a struggle, but they’d finally gotten Lan Wangji to stop going to her door, ignoring snow and chill to wait there as if simply willing it would allow the door to open again, but he remained overly quiet, even quieter than he’d been before, the loss hurting him deeply, and seeing him hurt had hurt Lan Qiren. He tried to be subtle about it, to hide his abrupt display of emotionality, but before he knew it, Lan Wangji had come over to stand by his side, his little hands holding his own, earnestly mumbling, “Don’t cry, shufu, it’ll be all right” in an echo of what Lan Qiren had been trying so ineffectually to say to him.

“Yes,” he said, wiping harder, and ultimately giving up entirely and letting the tears stream down his cheeks, hiding his face entirely behind one of his sleeves. Lan Xichen found them at some point and curled up into Lan Qiren’s other side, tears starting to slowly seep down his own face; trying to hold back their strange shared grief was like trying to stop the tide. “It will be all right, eventually. I promise.”

He had made that promise too soon, it seemed: less than a week later, one of the elders remarked that it was time for Lan Xichen to take up some of the duties of running a sect.

“What?” Lan Qiren asked, blinking. “You’re joking. He’s nine.”

“He’s the future sect leader,” the elder said, and his gaze was cold. “Never forget, Teacher Lan, that although you fill the role now, you are only a custodian in his name.”

“That’s not the point I was making,” Lan Qiren said, frustrated; he had never been very good with words or with people. “Of course he will inherit the position, given time. But he is not even old enough for his own sword, and years away from night-hunting – why would you burden him with sect business? He’s far too young.”

“He is at exactly the right age to begin. How else can we ensure that he will not fall into the failings of his father or the crimes of his mother?”

“He is a child,” Lan Qiren stressed, wondering what he was missing. “We can only teach him to the best of our abilities, and hope that he does well with it; there’s nothing else that can be done.”

The elder shook his head. “We cannot take the risk of another generation of disaster. He must be trained, and trained now, trained well. If we do not take action, it may be too late, and he will be ruined.”

As you were, he didn’t say, but Lan Qiren felt keenly the burn of humiliation. He had never lived up to their expectations the way his brother had, and then his brother had gone and failed them all, too.

“What exactly are you thinking?” he asked, trying to dismiss the feeling of foreboding in his belly. An introduction to the burdens Lan Xichen would eventually face would not be so far amiss – a shichen a week of helping to transcribe simple letters, perhaps, or running errands, the sort of thing a boy could do and not be bored; that wouldn’t be too bad.

That wasn’t what they had in mind at all.

They wanted Lan Xichen to start tackling political problems at once, forcing him to make real decisions, deal with paperwork, and then also three times the usual lessons in sword and music, all the skills he would need to have. And all this, of course, on top of his regular lessons –

“We can assist, of course,” one of the elders said to the others, ignoring Lan Qiren’s aghast expression entirely. “But the sooner he grows accustomed to the work, the sooner he can step up –”

“You’ll crush him!” Lan Qiren exclaimed, interrupting, and he never interrupted the elders. “He’s a child, and a child who just lost his mother at that – how can you even suggest this? He would have no time to study in depth rather than shallowly, no time to think, to become his own person –”

“We will polish him into a perfect jade,” an elder said. “Him, and the younger one, too. What more do they need than to be of service to the sect?”

It wasn’t that Lan Qiren disagreed that service to their sect was the highest good, or that scholarly and martial pursuits were of the highest caliber, far more important than aimless play. He was a teacher, a strict one, and the sect rules accorded with his understanding: Learning comes first. But at the same time, there was learning and then there was learning – he was a teacher who cared for his students’ well-being, too. He knew that the approach proposed would not polish Lan Xichen into a jade but mold him instead, brutally pruning away any part of him that did not accord with the elders’ wishes.

It was just what they’d done to Lan Qiren the moment he became acting sect leader, after all.

They’d loaded him up with responsibilities until he’d nearly worked himself sick, refused to grant him the slightest freedom to travel even in a small and supervised manner, and they’d tried to force him to recant even those few things he did enjoy – composing music, teaching children. If he hadn’t already been as old as he was when it started, he wouldn’t have had the strength of will or determination to preserve even those few little things of his own…

“He should move into the hanshi soon,” another elder agreed. “If we expect him to take on the responsibilities of an adult, he should be treated as one.”

“Agreed. The sooner he disengages from messing around with his peers, the better. They will only distract him from what he needs to do.”

“I do not agree with this,” Lan Qiren said. “I am his guardian and his teacher. I do not agree.”

“I’m disappointed in you, Qiren,” one of the elders said, and Lan Qiren felt an automatic wash of shame, instinctive and ingrained after all these years. “You took the sect leader position with the knowledge that it would not truly be yours, and now you wish to preserve your personal power longer?”

I never wanted the position, which offers only power in exchange for its brutal demands! I still don’t want it! But to put it onto a child, any child, much less my own nephew who I love – how could I agree to that?

“You must not be selfish, as your brother was,” another elder scolded him, and normally Lan Qiren would be the first to agree. Being like his brother was his worst fear, and one he would do anything to avoid – but at the moment, the reminder felt wrong, as if they were using it as a tool to manipulate him rather than expressing what they really thought. “Do not cling to power and authority, after all. You cannot and must not steal what belongs to your nephews, Qiren. Never forget your place.”

Lan Qiren stared at him mutely. His place?

He had never been selfish. He had sacrificed everything – he had been filial and loyal, obedient to his elders, and they had taken everything from him, just as they planned to do to the two children that had been entrusted to his care. The only difference was that Lan Qiren had been allowed to live freely for a little while, and even that freedom was only because the elders had utterly ignored him in favor of his more talented brother, who had been protected by the love of his powerful father; for his nephews, who were all but orphaned and left only in his inferior care, there was no such defense.

This time, it was clear that the elders meant to rectify the situation – this time, they wouldn’t even leave Lan Wangji his childhood, let alone Lan Xichen.

They would hollow them out and leave them as little more than puppets, blindly obeying the rules without having the time to contemplate their meaning. They would squeeze out every moment of every day, turning each endless shichen into a joyless burden, transforming the rules into little more than a yoke to chain them – his nephews wouldn’t be Lan, who chose willingly to obey because they loved the rules and loved their sect and wanted to give everything for it. They would be little better than slaves.

Perhaps, Lan Qiren thought suddenly, it was not his selfishness that the elders were constantly seeking to correct. Perhaps it was their own.

He tried, first and foremost, to argue with them, but they did not listen to him. They had never listened to him, not from the first moment he had yielded to their wishes over his own desires and allowed himself to be trapped in the Cloud Recesses as the new sect leader. No – it was even older than that, from even before then, from as far back as when he had been small and helpless and crying out for help in his own way, not even knowing what was happening to him and why…

They had always turned their faces away.

Lan Qiren had tried his best to please them, and had failed. He’d thought the blame lay with him, but now he wasn’t so sure – now he thought that it didn’t matter what he did, that he never would.

Lan Qiren’s nephews were the ones who were small and helpless now, and unlike the elders that should have watched over him, he would not turn away.

The plan he hatched was ruthless in the extreme, but there was nothing else he could think of in his desperation. The Lan sect had always been very secretive, in its own way, keeping outsiders from knowing their personal business; although everyone within the sect knew that it was the elders who held all the real power, even if they disdained the work of it and left much of that for Lan Qiren to accomplish, from the outside it appeared as though Lan Qiren were sect leader, invested with all the powers of one.

To be a sect leader, in their day and age, was to be a tyrant.

No need to look at Wen Ruohan, the chief example of this trend, a man who made his sect kneel and touch their heads to the floor upon hearing that he was coming. It was enough to look instead at the Jiang sect, whose sect leader Jiang Fengmian whiled away his days waiting for his old lover to write, ignoring his wife despite her maternal family’s power and influence within his territory. Look at the Jin sect, where Jin Guangshan bedded every prostitute and poor young lady within range, surrounded by a cloud of rumors regarding whether he’d bothered to get all of them to consent – rumors there might be, but no one dared to make any trouble for him over it without actual proof. Look at Lao Nie, whose sect, elders and all, sighed and shook their heads over his excessive fondness for dangerous people, but could take no action to stop him.

Look at Lan Qiren’s father, who had spoiled one child into madness and neglected the other into near despair, and had trained his whole sect to accept it as a given. Lan Qiren was working to repair that damage, to lead by example, but it was a hard upward struggle – rot might start at the head, and healing, too, but the healing was harder than the rotting.

A sect leader, in short, was a tyrant.

And as far as the world was concerned, Lan Qiren was the sect leader.

Lan Qiren bided his time until the next discussion conference. It hurt him to wait, seeing poor Lan Xichen get stretched thin under his new duties and constantly reminded to keep a serene smile on his face throughout, seeing poor Lan Wangji so stressed at his brother’s misery and his own amplified lessons that he'd started biting people again, but he knew it was necessary. A discussion conference meant outsiders, and outsiders meant not losing face; it was the one time that Lan Qiren was actually treated as a sect leader by all around him, the one time no one would gainsay anything he said, even if they would later tear strips off of him in private.

It was his only chance.

"I have an announcement," he said mildly, presiding over the large gathering that marked the conclusion of the discussion conference. His Lan sect was the host of this conference, and he was accordingly seated at the head of the room, equal with the other Great Sects but given additional deference in view of the location - it was easy for his voice to carry, despite his quiet tone, and all the sects turned towards him to listen. They were probably expecting something anodyne, some additional prize or information about the weather to keep in mind as they departed. "I have decided that my Lan sect's ties to the rest of the cultivation world have grown stale, seeing each other as we do only at these times and the common people only on night hunts. As a result, in my authority as Sect Leader Lan, I intend to make a journey throughout the various sects, taking along my nephews to introduce them to your families. In my absence, the Cloud Recesses will be managed by my cousin, Lan Yueheng -"

Talk exploded in the whole audience, furious and loud, all but his own Lan sect which was calm and stone-faced as always, though of course that was only their pride and concern for face overwhelming their shock. Poor Lan Yueheng was the exception, of course, his jaw dropping open like a weight dropped from a great height until his neighbors noticed and elbowed him in the side to make him stop - Lan Qiren mentally apologized for not having warned his cousin up front. He hadn't dared to risk it.

" - and accordingly I will be leaving alongside the rest of you at the conclusion of this conference," he concluded, for once relieved that his voice never varied far from a monotone; he sounded cool and calm and in control, and like he hadn't noticed the way his sect elders were trying to strangle him with their gaze even as the maintained decorum. "Our first destination is the Nie sect's Unclean Realm, with Lao Nie as our host."

Lan Qiren hadn't warned Lao Nie, either, but he knew him well, and to his relief hadn't misjudged him - the other man didn't spare so much as a moment to blink in surprise, instead grinning broadly at the other sect leaders.

"You bet you are," he laughed, his voice booming and loud. "And don't think I'll let you leave so quickly, Qiren - not until your nephews are best friends with my sons, and not until you've had a chance to work your magic on my sect's younger generation and turn them from little beasts into proper gentlemen!"

Lan Qiren barely resisted rolling his eyes - he still didn't know who it was that had come up with the nonsense about him being able to turn the most hopeless waste into a gentleman, but it was rank exaggeration. But to his surprise, the first person to respond was the head of one of the more distant small sects, Baling Ouyang, a young man with an excitable temperament; he leapt up to his feet and exclaimed, "Will he really? Sect Leader Lan, I insist you visit my Ouyang sect next, if you haven't made firm plans - I scarcely recognized my little hellion nephews after a season in your care, all grown up, careful in thought and action, compassionate and upright...and no more pranks!"

Another exaggeration. The Ouyang twins had been troublesome only at the start, until Lan Qiren realized that what they longed for most was recognition as separate beings rather than a collective whole; as soon as he'd treated them with respect, and showed them how to act in return, they'd taken to his lessons like a desert to water.

"Sect Leader Lan's skill in teaching is very well known," Sect Leader Yao said, always first to speak after his friend from the Ouyang sect. "You'll really come to our sects to do it, rather than our children to the Cloud Recesses? And you won't charge, of course...?"

"Naturally no," Lan Qiren said, a little puzzled by their enthusiasm. Was it so expensive to send children to the Cloud Recesses? He’d never charged for his lessons, although he supposed there was the cost of travel and maintenance to the standard preferred by students, and of course guest gifts were customary, although he never made any demands. "I would be your guest, and enjoying your hospitality – room and board would be more than sufficient…"

"In that case, you should come to Pingyang next -"

"No, Yueyang!" someone else called, and before Lan Qiren knew exactly what was happening, the sect leaders were arguing over who he should visit first. The most enthusiastic were the ones whose children he had taught already, but the others were quick to catch up, loathe to miss out on what they perceived to be a good deal - even Wen Ruohan, never one to lose out to others when it came to something perceived of as desirable, extended an offer with a smug, snake-like smile.

Lan Qiren provisionally accepted all the offers with a growing sense of relief: with such public acceptance, the Lan sect would lose more face by refusing to let him go than in allowing his unorthodox action. It was just as he has hoped, and more successful than he'd dared to dream; the other sects had fixated on his teaching skills and in doing so had ignored the strangeness of a sect leader taking his heirs and all but running away from home.

That relief carried him through to the end of the meeting, when everyone divided up to pack up their things, and Lan Qiren returned to the inner parts of his sect to do the same.

"What are you thinking?" one of the elders demanded the second they were alone. "Have you gone mad?"

"Did you see the reception of my idea?" Lan Qiren replied, hiding the giddiness of relief under a facade of calm. "The sect will benefit greatly from the connections we will make."

"That's no answer!"

Lan Qiren was a filial child; even if they were wrong, he would not tell the elders so to their faces. Instead he only bowed deeply and said, "What's done is done. I need to get ready, and quickly; it would be embarrassing if we weren't prepared."

Of course, he'd already packed everything he thought he'd need, determined to take Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji with him no matter what - it was only luck that his plan had worked as well as it had, allowing him to pretend to some move of subtle strategic genius rather than a retreat out of desperation. Still, he needed to go through the motions.

"Fine," another elder spat out, although their demeanor made it clear that it wasn't fine at all. "But did you have to announce that the provisional leader was Lan Yueheng? He's completely unfit!"

By which they meant that he wouldn't listen to them - that he was brash and lacked tact, said what he thought and cared for nothing but his experiments, his wife, and his children. Out of all of Lan Qiren’s cousins, he was the most thick-faced, shameless to the extreme, essentially immune to criticism or guilt.

That was, of course, exactly why Lan Qiren had picked him.

"He's good at math and accounting, and at arranging provisioning," Lan Qiren said, picking the more acceptable reason. "That's the key responsibility left over, isn't it? Everything else, I can do through correspondence."

The reassurance that Lan Qiren would still be doing his duty to the sect - would still be accountable to them - helped settle some ruffled feathers. It wouldn't be pleasant to try to do the work of sect leader from abroad, Lan Qiren knew; it would mean a lot of sleepless nights slaving away by candlelight, with no support from any aides, bearing all the weight himself. No doubt the elders knew it too, and figured that he'd soon enough lose interest in what he heard them calling, in hushed voices where they thought he could not hear, his "little show of rebellion".

Lan Qiren didn't care. The sooner they left, the better the chances that the elders would continue to be deceived into thinking that Lan Qiren was doing all this for his own sake - some last stab at achieving his long forgotten dreams, doomed to inevitable disappointment - instead of what it really was, which was freedom for his nephews. They couldn't be assigned work or classes from a distance; their education would be wholly in Lan Qiren’s hands.

He'd take a thousand sleepless nights of overwork if it meant they got to be children a little longer.

"Are we really going to the Unclean Realm?" Lan Wangji lisped, looking even more rosy-cheeked and excited than usual. "Will – will Nie-gongzi will be there?"

"Yes, Mingjue-xiong will be there," Lan Xichen said, and grinned at Lan Qiren over his brother’s head. He looked more carefree than he had in...possibly years, and Lan Qiren briefly regretted how long it had taken him to do this. "Since you like him so much."

Lan Wangji turned bright red at once.

"Both of the Nie boys will be there," Lan Qiren said. "The younger one is closer to your age, Wangji. You can get to know him as well."

Lan Qiren went next to the library pavilion, looking for books on their sect rules - he might not trust his sect elders, but he loved his sect, loved their rules and traditions, and he wanted his nephews to love it, too. He wanted them to see the Cloud Recesses as a refuge, as a haven - not a burden.

He would give his nephews the freedom he'd longed for, and when they were older...when they were older, more resilient, more sure of who they were, he would bring them back and he would ensure that they obtained their rightful inheritance. In full, not in part - Lan Xichen would be a real sect leader, not a puppet for the elders, taught only to be pleasant and yielding and to perform well with his cultivation, swordsmanship and music only for the purpose of impressing outsiders. Lan Wangji would be his brother’s right hand, would love and respect him and be loved and respected in turn.

Maybe, Lan Qiren thought to himself, amused, they would even find some compatible child on their way and one day return to bring them home as a dao companion.

He couldn't wait to find out.

#mdzs #lan qiren #lan xichen #lan wangji #sect leader nie #my fic #my fics #beautifully spent

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mammonshuman92 · 3 years

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- It Takes Two - Pt. 2

(Mammon x Gn!MC)

Genre: angst to fluff (the fluff is coming I promise lol)

Warnings: cheating, not proof read , if i missed any TW’s I apologize

“We’re a little busy right now.” A familiar voice, biting and arrogant, came from his lap. His eyes widened, whipping his head around to look at you in his lap. Except it wasn’t you. It was her. His heartbeat accelerated as panic began to set in.

“No, no, no, no, no.” He chanted, standing up in an instant, causing the succubus to fall to the floor with a thud and a few profanities. As events began to unfold and the puzzle pieces started fitting together; when it was already too late, he realized what he’d done. A hard lump instantaneously forming in his throat. He turned to you, eyes wide with terror, hands on either side of his head tangling in his hair.

“MC..I..I-It’s not wh- I thought-” He choked out.

He followed your line of sight, which was glued to his undone pants and obvious arousal. With shaky hands and fingers unwilling to cooperate, he fumbled with his zipper, struggling to get it up. Arms from behind snaked around his middle, gently clawing at his chest.

“Shall we finish what we started?” She hummed seductively, staring daggers directly at you.

You shook your head, a sob escaping your lips as a fresh wave of tears streamed down your cheeks. You brushed past Asmo, disappearing out the doorway.

What’s goin’ on..? ...This can’t be happenin’..

He shoved the girl’s arms off of him without saying a word, a scowl spreading across her face. He made a beeline for the door, Asmo quickly stepping in front of him to block his way. “Don’t. You’ve done enough..” With venom lacing his tone, he looked the succubus up and down. He turned his glare on his brother for just a moment, the utter disgust they held was evident, before running out the door after you. As his figure disappeared, Mammon could feel the reality, the weight of the situation setting in.

His heart was pounding against his ribcage, breathing becoming erratic. The lump in his throat was unwavering, choking him as tears streamed down his cheeks. The gravity of it all bringing him to his knees.

“How moving.” The voice behind him scoffed, reminding him of her presence, “It almost seems like you love them.”

His head whipped around to see her, lounging casually on the sofa as if nothing had happened.

“You.” He growled, harshly wiping his face with the back of his hand as he stood up.

“Stay the fuck away from me!” He snarled.

She laughed lightly as she stood from the couch, crossing the floor until she was right in front of him. “Don’t be like that. Ten minutes ago you were ready to nail me on that couch.” She purred, her finger trailing down his chest, quickly moving lower. Like a flash, he grabbed her wrists and held her hands up in the air in front of her.

“Let me make one thing very clear to you right now. I don’t want ya. I only made out with you and shit because I thought ya were MC. I would never willingly do anything to hurt them.” He glared at her, making sure she caught that emphasis, before dropping her hands. “Your jealousy bullshit, and making moves on me while I’m drunk just made me lose the one thing that has ever been good about me..” He trailed off, releasing his grip in her.

She rolled her eyes, “Why are you getting so worked up over a human? There’s nothing special about-”

“Excuse me?” He growled.

Mammon has always been the level-headed one when it comes to altercations, believe it or not. He never usually lets his anger get the best of him. After thousands of years of being the scummy brother, the thief, the loser, he got used to just letting people’s words fall upon deaf ears, so to say. But, that was not the case this time. You see, anyone could say whatever they wanted to about him, he didn’t care. He could handle whatever was thrown at him.

You, on the other hand? Well, you’re flawless. In every miniscule way, you were perfect. That’s not saying that you don’t make mistakes, or drive him crazy sometimes, but to him there was absolutely not a thing about you he would change. Everything you did, everything you were, was absolutely immaculate.

Rage bubbled in his gut.

Leaning in closely, he towered over her, radiating ire. “I’m not gonna sit here and discuss why you’re wrong, seein’ as how it’d take all day, but what I am gonna to say is for a lesser demon, ya might wanna reconsider who you’re talking to. He spat, “Say one more thing about MC, and it’ll be the last time ya speak..” He whispered, glaring at her for a moment before taking a step back.

“Stay away from me and MC.” He warned once more, daggers in his eyes as he turned and bolted through the door.

If he had any shred of hope left, it was that you would talk to him and let him explain everything. He knew it was shitty, after everything that just went down, to even consider the possibility of you forgiving him, but he held onto that little shred of hope. Had he been in the right state of mind, had she not taken advantage of the situation and the state he was in, he would’ve never even stayed in the same room with that girl, much less go as far as he had.

He felt awful. Whether he was so drunk he was convinced it was you on his lap or not, he felt an overwhelming sense of guilt. After seeing the horror, the heartbreak on your face; the tears that stained your cheeks because of something he’d done, he kinda didn’t want you to forgive him. He didn’t want to lose you, couldn’t imagine continuing on without you in his life, by his side. But if you hated him now, he wouldn’t blame you. He deserved it. And he would live with it for the rest of his existence, knowing that he messed up his only chance at true happiness; at spending his life with his soulmate.

You bobbed and weaved as quickly as you could through the crowd of club patrons, needing to get far away from here as fast as you could, as your impending breakdown was sure to be a sight to see.

You were already so out of it; physically present but mentally, your brain had already shut off. Not quite sure how to handle the current situation. All the faces in the club were just a blur; you could feel the bass of the music reverberating inside your chest, but you couldn’t hear anything. Kind of like when you’re somewhere so quiet, the absence of sound feels so heavy, deafening.

You had to get out of here. Heart hammering wildly, you felt as if you couldn’t breathe; like the walls were closing in on you. A panic attack was setting in. Finally free of the sea of people, you darted out the front door of the establishment, running as fast as your legs would take you back to the House of Lamentation. Hoping that no one else would be home to see you; becoming witness to your unraveling.

*bing*

*bing, bing* *bing*

Your D.D.D. continued going off with near constant notifications well into the night. You could’ve just put it on silent, but you just couldn’t seem to move, frozen by heartbreak. Apparently several pictures were going viral on Devilgram, leaking this rumor and that regarding the second born and the succubus. Further making you look and feel like a complete fool.

Mammon had also been blowing up your phone since you made it back to the HOL. He had even come by your room in an attempt to talk to you but once he realized the door was locked, which had never happened the entire time you’ve lived here, he sat outside the door begging you to open it as loud sobs escaped him. As much as you wanted to, you didn’t budge.

Of course you still love him. How could you not? Hearing his desperate pleas and heartbroken sobs was almost too much for you. Although you were the one who had been betrayed, you wanted nothing more than to fling the door open, latch yourself onto him and never let go. But you couldn’t. Cheating is a dealbreaker. It’d happened before, in previous relationships, but shit this one hurt so bad, worse than any other heartbreak you’d had.

He had his faults, much like everyone, but he was so perfect for you, and treated you like you’d always dreamed. This couldn’t really be the end could it? Over, just like that? Completely smitten and in love two days ago, to heartbroken, crying on the bathroom floor.

How are you supposed to move on from this? He’s your best friend. Or, was. How are you supposed to pass him in the hall, or eat dinner, or have House movie nights in the common room? How are you supposed to act like you're not still in love with him..?

The next week was pretty rough, to say the least.

You stayed locked away in your room when you weren’t at RAD; replaying the moment you saw them together, crying until the tears no longer fell; effectively torturing yourself. They’d all come knocking at your door countless times, trying their best to make you feel better. And while you appreciated it wholly, it didn’t help.

Avoiding Mammon was probably one of the hardest things you’d ever done, seeing as how you kinda live together. While it was extremely hard not to just run up to him and latch onto him like you always did, it seemed harder to just avoid him in general.

During the first few days, he left small presents outside your door, had a couple of his brothers slip you notes, and waited for you after class a few times. After using every ounce of your willpower to avoid him, he left you alone. He still messaged you several times a day though, apologizing profusely, begging you to talk to him.

But, it was better this way right? Like ripping off a band-aid?

That’s what you’d always heard anyway. Instead of asking questions and demanding answers as to why someone else chose to hurt you, you just cut it off right there, ghosting them; removing yourself completely from their life. Because if they truly cared, really loved you, they wouldn’t make the conscious decision to do something that they know would hurt you, that stepped outside the boundaries of your relationship. Their reasoning doesn’t matter. Aside from living in the same house and attending the same school, you had pretty much ghosted him.

In public anyway. In the privacy of your room, where you could feel everything to its fullest, you’d spend hours going through pictures, skimming Devilgram for any new gossip about the two of them. Re-reading your old text messages, finger hovering over the send button of the text you’d typed out a hundred times before deleting it and tossing your phone, a new wave of tears pricking your eyes.

Unable to sleep, he’d tossed and turned in his bed so much that his body ached and one of the corners of his sheet had popped off the bed. With a heavy sigh, he rolled over and grabbed his D.D.D. off the nightstand. Squinting his eyes harshly when he unlocked the phone.

“3:41am” He groaned, tossing the phone back onto the nightstand. He turned back over, facing the empty side of his bed. Sure, he didn’t often share it before you, but once you started sleeping together, he wasn’t sure how he’d ever slept before you came along. It just felt right. Your body molded against his, sleeping peacefully in his arms.

His hand trailed down the cold, empty sheets; the slight disruption releasing your smell. A hard lump formed in his throat as tears pooled behind his lash line. He sat up quickly, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his palms. With a heavy sigh, he stood up and grabbed a pair of pajama pants, making his way to the door. If he had any hope of being able to fall asleep again, he’d need some help drowning his thoughts.

He quietly made his way to the kitchen, fully intending to turn up the bottle of Demonus Lucifer kept hidden in the dark recesses of the pantry. As soon as he stepped foot in the kitchen, he froze.

It had only been seven days, but it felt like a lifetime. Seven days without being in the same room as you for more than just a moment before you ran in any direction as long as it was away from him. Not that he could blame you. He wanted to run away from himself..

Which is exactly what he was determined to do with Demonus, had he not stumbled upon you sitting with your back to the fridge, crying into a half eaten container of chocolate frosting.

Immediately alerted to the figure in the doorway, you jumped up, attempting to wipe at your face as you muttered an apology, but paled when you saw who it was that disturbed you. You slowly sat the container on the counter, keeping your eyes fixed on the man in the doorway.

What was left of his heart, shattered at the sight of you. Your eyes were puffy and red with dark bags underneath them. The same eyes that looked at him with such deep burning love, were now dull and lifeless as you stared at him. You were visibly broken, anyone could see that. He was the reason you looked like this; like an abandoned puppy, beaten and abused. He hated it. Hated himself.

He moved out of the doorway and into the kitchen, freeing up the only way out in case you wanted to run. Not that he blamed you. If he could run from himself right now, he would.

But, now you were in the same room together for the first time in a week and he didn’t want to waste the opportunity. Maybe if he just started talking you would listen, even just a tiny bit to what he had to say.

“MC, I-”

“Don’t.” Your voice trembled slightly as your eyes began to sting.

“Please, just hear me-”

“And what are you going to say, hm? That you’re sorry? Sorry you did it, or sorry you got caught?” You hissed with tears in your eyes. Mammon slightly recoiled from the tone of your voice, a tone he’d never heard from you. You hated being this way; angry and bitter, wanting him to hurt like you did. It was surely petty, but you didn’t care.

“MC, listen, I swear I didn’t do anythin’, okay? I was still goin’ strong from an all night drinkin’ binge, an-and she just showed up in the VIP lounge. I told her to fuck off but she didn’t listen. I was already pretty out of it when things started happenin’ and I thought it was you. I thought it was you the whole time! I-I didn’t know it was her till I heard you and Asmo and realized what happened! She took advantage of the situation, of me bein’ way too drunk..” He was talking so fast, trying to get out the words he’d been wanting to say to you.

Narrowing your eyes, you stared at him suspiciously.

What if he really didn’t do it on purpose..? If all of that is true, it would explain why he looks so rough..

Having barely stayed in the same room as one another for several days and not wanting to look at him, wanting to remain strong and now cry in front of everyone, you hadn’t noticed but how awful he looked as well. He clearly hasn’t been sleeping well, judging by the giant bags under his eyes. Not to mention that he is also currently awake at 4am, looking just as much like shit as you did.

“Then why is it all over Devilgram that it’s been an ongoing fling?” You questioned, a few tears escaping.

“I would never do anythin’ like that, MC! She’s just jealous or somethin’, I don’t know what her issue is.. But, I-I love ya, more than anythin’ in the three realms. Even Goldie!”

You could feel yourself caving in with every word he said. It made sense, judging by how she’d randomly confronted you after school that day after whispering about you with her friends all day, it seemed like jealousy could be plausible. But what proof did you have? It was his word against what you saw with your own eyes. Not to mention everything on Devilgram.

“Funny, from where I was standing, it sure looked like I was the last thing on your mind.” You hissed, causing him to flinch; but he wasn’t backing down yet.

“Just let me prove it to ya, okay? I-I’ll do whatever I gotta do. Please, MC?” His deep, sapphire blue eyes bore deep into yours; the sorrow, the agony they held was immense. The crack in your armour deepened.

He could see that you were wavering, but that you were hesitant, scared to believe him; to trust him. He couldn’t blame you. If he were on the other side of all this, he wouldn’t believe his words either. He didn’t expect you to just hear him out then jump into his arms and ride away into the sunset. He knew better. He knew he’d have to prove it. He was more than willing to do whatever it would take for you to trust him again, to believe that he’d never hurt you intentionally.

He took a step toward you, careful and anxious, as if you would bolt if he moved too suddenly. He reached out for your hand slowly, reluctant at first but upon realizing how much you’d missed his touch as his warm, much larger hand enveloped yours, you caved so easily.

He squeezed your hand lightly, looking down at your entwined fingers, gently rubbing the side of your thumb. You felt something wet hit your hand a couple times, realizing quickly that they were tears, you attempted to swallow the lump in your throat that was quickly forming.

“Please? I’m miserable without ya..” He asked, voice cracking slightly.

Even after everything that’s happened the last week, you couldn’t stand to see him in such pain; miserable and broken. Just like you.

Sure, he was always stand-offish about his feelings and the like before you got together, but once it was all official, that was it; the walls came down. There had never been a single time that he lied to you or went behind your back with anything. He lasted exactly twelve minutes after buying your birthday present before he couldn’t take it anymore and spilled the beans.

He’s always a goofball, sometimes has bad timing and isn’t always the best with words, but he’s never given you a reason not to trust him before; he’s never been anything but an amazing boyfriend that genuinely tries his hardest to make you happy.

“One.” You whispered, barely audible. His head snapped up, deep blue eyes scanning yours. You closed your eyes, taking a deep, yet shaky breath.

“One chance. That’s it.”

No sooner than the words left your lips, Mammon was pulling you flush to his chest in a bone crushing hug. Had you not been utterly craving his touch, to be held by him, you would’ve pushed him away. That’s what you told yourself anyway.

“I won’t make ya regret it, MC.” He earnestly swore, squeezing you gently.

For the sake of your heart, you hoped he was right.

~ taglist ~

@ithinkimdekubutreallyimdenki

@maybe-nott

@bandaged-despair

@bokuto7stan

@aliackerman

- part three coming soon -

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me mammon #mammon x mc #mammon x reader #mammon x you #mammon x gn!mc #gender neutral #gn #gender neutral mc #obey me angst #mammon angst #trigger warning #cheating

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kinglazrus · 3 years

Text

Deep Wounds Ch. 2 - What Now?

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Word count: 4069

It takes ten minutes for everyone to change and clear out. During that time, an invisible Danny floats in one of the shower stalls, his gym bag clutched to his chest, one hand clamped around his mouth. If it hadn't been for Dash's shout of "No!" he might not have hidden in time. Danny only had a few seconds to snatch up his bandages and bag—but not the gauze—before the first person entered.

It was Tucker, thankfully. He gaped when he saw Danny and quickly waved for him to hide. Just in time, too, since Elliot was only a few steps behind.

Now, Danny can only hear a single person shuffling about.

"It's clear," Tucker whispers.

Danny floats through the door of the shower stall, breathing a sigh of relief when he sees the empty change room. He drops his invisibility and dumps his stuff on the floor in favour of clutching his side. "Why didn't I stay home today?"

"Because you want to graduate this year and you can't afford another absence." Tucker grabs his gym shirt off the floor, revealing the forgotten gauze pad, and sighs at the new stains. "I really liked this shirt."

"Sorry, man."

"Dude, you are literally bleeding. Shut up. You don't need to apologize. Just be glad I got my shirt off before Elliot could see the damn thing." Tucker grabs the gauze, rolls it into a ball, and tosses it toward the garbage can. "Ten points!"

The gauze bounces off the rim and falls to the floor.

"Zero points," Danny says.

"Rude."

"Hey, I'm bleeding, remember?"

"That only gets you a pass from saying sorry, not common decency."

Danny's shoulders shake as he laughs. It hurts, making his left side throbbing, but trying to hold it back hurts worse. "Ow, ow, ow," he says, gasps of pain interrupting him. Curling over, he hugs his side even tighter, fighting back a sharp cry. The tension in his body doesn't help, but the pressure on his side feels good.

"Sam on her way?" Danny asks.

"She's grabbing the first-aid kit from my locker. I'll fix you up this time. We all know I have steadier hands." That A-plus in home ec isn't for nothing.

"Thanks," Danny mumbles.

"Yeah, dude. We've got you."

After Sam arrives, Tucker redoes Danny's stitches in record time. Half of the lunch hour has passed by the time Danny gets patched up, but he doesn't feel hungry anyway. Tucker takes his and Danny's bloody gym shirts and stuffs them into the first-aid kit.

"I need to refill on some supplies at home," Tucker explains. "I'll get rid of these there."

"Good idea. My mom found a pair of jeans I forgot to throw away after a fight with Skulker. I had a hard time explaining that one away," Danny says. The "I tripped into a window" excuse probably only works once, anyway. "But we have another problem."

"Dash?" Sam asks.

Danny nods. "Yeah. How did you know?"

"He was acting weird when gym ended. Wouldn't let anyone come inside until we pushed him out of the way."

"Huh." Danny certainly didn't expect that. Dash might be a downright bully anymore, but he's still not prone to random acts of kindness. "That's... weird." It doesn't make up for him tearing Danny's wound back open, even if it was an accident, but it's something.

"I think we might not have to worry about him," Sam says.

Danny stares at her, incredulous. "Seriously?"

"Yeah, actually. He could have done anything when he saw the rest of the class coming, including telling everyone that you were hurt. But he stopped them instead."

"But this is Dash."

"That's surprising coming from you."

"What does that even mean? You guys and Valerie are being so weird today. Come on, Tucker. Back me up." Danny looks at Tucker, fully expecting him to be on Danny's side.

Tucker doesn't respond right away. Biting his thumbnail, he stares ahead at the floor, deep in thought. That alone is enough to send Danny for a loop. When Tucker does answer, Danny's jaw drops in disbelief.

"I'm with Sam on this."

"For real?"

"Yeah, man. We don't even know what Dash thinks he saw, anyway. What happened when he walked in?" Tucker asks.

Danny tells them, sparing no detail.

"Oh, wow."

Sam shakes her head. "I'll say. I can't believe you wailed at him."

"Almost. I almost wailed at him. It was a baby wail at most. More of a hum," Danny says. He was just so surprised when Dash walked in. Danny's instincts took over and all he could think about was getting Dash out of there as soon as possible. He is lucky no one else came running.

"That already will have freaked him out. If we go around making a big deal about it and getting in his face, that'll make things worse." Sam stands up from the floor, stretching her arms over her head. She looks completely unconcerned, so does Tucker for that matter. Both of them are content to let Dash be. "Let's wait to see what he does. If he starts spreading rumours, we'll know right away, and then we can confront him."

"On the other hand, he might go to you, Danny, first," Tucker adds. He takes a bottle of Aspirin from the first-aid kit and presses it into Danny's hand before zipping the bag up. "He might not do anything."

The bottle of Aspirin rattles as Danny twists the lid off. "I can't believe you guys are okay with this." He dumps a couple of pills into his palm and tosses them back. Wordlessly, Sam passes him a water bottle. One quick swig is all he needs to help the pills go down. "He could be telling everyone right now."

"He could," Sam admits. "But he won't."

Sam and Tucker get up to leave, and Danny's forced to follow, or else get left behind. He trails after them, stiff, sore, and aching. The pills won't kick in for a while, and he loathes having to walk now. If he could get away with it, he would spend the rest of the day floating through the halls.

Tragically, he has a secret to protect. One that is very much at risk right now, despite what Sam says. Wherever she and Tucker are getting their confidence from, Danny doesn't share it. He just hopes they're right.

Dash tries to hold it in. He really does. The sound of Danny's anger bearing down on him, reverberating through the change room, hasn't stopped rattling around his head. But as lunch nears its end, the words burst out of him.

"I think Fenton is in a gang or something," Dash says.

The table falls silent.

Kwan freezes in place, hand halfway to his mouth, and a piece of meatloaf falls off his fork. "You... what?"

"I think Danny is in a gang," Dash repeats, softer.

His friends gape at him, equally confused. Mostly. Star doesn't even look up from her math homework. In fact, Dash thinks she's smiling, but he ignores it.

"Kwan, I thought you said Danny was the one who got hit during gym class," Paulina says. She pushes her lunch aside and leans across the table, lifting a hand to Dash's forehead. "Are you sure you got it right?"

"I'm fine, Paulie." Dash ducks under his hand and hunkers low to the table. When no one else moves, he gestures for them to come closer. Kwan does so immediately. Paulina rolls her eyes but obliges.

"I'm good," Star says.

"Okay, so, I checked on Fenton after dropping him off, 'cause he looked kind of bad, and I guess, I don't know. I felt... whatever. It doesn't matter. But like, he had this huge cut."

Paulina grins and leans in closer, finally looking invested. "You felt kind of 'whatever?'"

Dash scowls. "Seriously, Paulie?"

"You're the one who said it!" Paulina smacks the table, a fit of giggles bursting from her. It's her "I've found some juicy gossip" noise and Dash hates it.

"Did you even hear me? Huge cut and all that?" Dash says.

Kwan shrugs. "I don't know. His parents build a lot of crazy stuff, don't they? He probably hurt himself on one of those. Did you see that new gun they were toting around last week? It melted Mr. Lancer's car!"

"Oh, my God. I totally saw that. I felt so bad for him," Paulina says.

Dash frowns down at the table while the conversation plods on. True, everyone knows the Fentons have some crazy inventions. But everything they make, they make to hurt ghosts, not people. Everyone in town has been caught in the Fentons crossfire at one point or another. Dash still remembers the disgusting taste of the Fenton Foamers. Like warm, month-old key lime yogurt. Disgusting, but ultimately harmless.

And Danny didn't just have a little cut. It was huge. Dash only got a brief look at it, but that short glance told him everything he needed to know. Something, or someone, had hurt Danny. Rather than going to the hospital—because no trained professional would do such a sloppy job—Danny fixed it himself or got his friends to fix it. The injury had to be new, too, since it was still bleeding.

But stitches could bleed if you ripped them, didn't treat the injury right. Judging by the placement, Danny's stitches must pull every time he moves his arm.

Could one of his parents' guns have done that?

Now that Dash thinks about it, he doesn’t remember ever seeing Danny get hit with his parents' weapons. Not their guns, at least. They have that dumb boomerang thing that he's seen smack Danny on the back of the head. Actually, that one hits Danny a lot.

Dash's frown deepens, etching into his face. Why on Earth would one of Danny's own parents' inventions hurt him so much? Unless...

"Hey, guys?" Dash asks, interrupting Star mid-sentence.

"You found more proof of Fenton's gang activities?" Paulina asks.

"What if, like, someone's hurting him?"

"You mean one of his gang buddies?"

"No, Paulie, I'm serious. What if someone is hurting him?"

The table falls silent once more, but this time, his friends' expressions are serious rather than disbelieving.

Kwan lowers his voice. "Do you really think... I mean, Fenton?"

"Well..." Star taps her chin. "Where was he hurt?"

"Here." Dash taps his ribs on his left side, under his arm.

Star nods. "Okay. Are you sure he couldn't have, you know...." She trails off, but Dash already knows what she means.

"No way. He could hardly see the cut, much less do it himself. And it was bad."

"So he was hurt, badly, in a place that no one else would normally see. He didn't miss any school, so he probably didn't go to the hospital. Was it recent?"

Dash nods. "There was blood. Too much to just be because of the stitches."

Star drums her fingers on the table, nodding slowly. "I think you could be right."

The A-listers glance around the table, meeting each other's eyes. None of them say anything, but the same question lurks in all their minds. Now what?

In the days following the change room debacle, Danny avoids Dash like his life depends on it. Which it might. Any time he sees Dash in the hall, he turns right around and walks away. When they're in class, Danny stares straight ahead and refuses to look Dash's way. In gym class, Tetslaff lets him sit out, finally. Having Danny blackout on her after she forced him to play must have spooked her because she benches him before he can even ask not to play.

"No student of mine is gonna pass out on my watch. Twice," she says.

It won't last forever, but Danny will take what he can get, while he can get it.

But the thing is, Dash doesn't try anything. It's surreal. For the past four years, Danny has grown accustomed to Dash's constant harassment. Even when it dropped significantly in sophomore year, Dash never stopped. He threw erasers at Danny during class, tripped him in the halls, called out teasing names every chance he got.

"I'm not the only one who thinks this is weird, right?" Danny asks Tucker on the third day.

Already done his lunch, Tucker is thoroughly engrossed by his phone and doesn't look up as he replies. "You think everything is weird lately."

"Because it is."

"Missing your quality time with Dash?" Tucker flashes a quick grin in Danny's direction before returning to his phone.

"Har, har. You are so funny." Danny would have to be some kind of masochist to miss Dash's badgering. It's just... strange, not to have to watch the halls for him in that way. It doesn't make Danny watch any less—in fact, he finds himself looking for Dash more than before. So that he can run away if he gets close. Except Dash isn't even trying, and that annoys the hell out of him.

Tucker sighs, finally putting down his phone, and rests a hand on Danny's head. "Such a hopeless young soul. Can't even understand your own heart."

Danny slaps the hand away. "Says the guy who asked out every girl in school because they all made him feel the same way because it turns out he's super ace and didn't actually feel anything for any of them."

"And what an emotional journey that was." Tucker faces Danny head-on. "Look, Danny. If it's bothering you that much, then go talk to him. Feed him some excuse about what happened. Just remember that there's a reason Sam and I think it will be okay."

Danny ponders Tucker's advice for the rest of the day. The weekend starts tomorrow, which gives him two whole Dash-free days to think about the situation. Maybe a little time to himself as what he needs. He goes for a flight after school rather than walking home with Tucker; being in the air always helps clear his head.

He soars far above the city until he is little more than a pinprick to everyone far below. At the peak of his flight, his phone rings. The caller ID shows it's Jazz.

"What's up?" he greets his sister.

"Taken over my room yet?" Jazz asks.

"When you've only been at college for a month? Of course." It made a great storage space. Danny turns over to float on his stomach and starts drifting down like a leaf, falling back and forth on the wind.

"Well, I'm gonna need it back this weekend."

"Dropping out already?"

"You wish. I got a tutoring gig: two sessions—Saturday and Sunday. I don't want to do the two hours there and back both days, so I'm coming home for the weekend."

"I can't believe someone is actually paying to spend time with you. Hope the loser doesn't rub off on them."

Jazz laughs. "Pretty sure any loser on my came from you. And it's four people. Actually, you know them."

When Danny comes downstairs Saturday morning and sees Jazz's students at the kitchen table, he stops dead.

"You have got to be kidding me," he says.

"Hi, Danny!" Paulina waves, far too perky for nine in the morning. Squished around the table with her, Kwan and Star offer their own small waves. Dash looks straight down at his textbook.

"Goodbye." Danny pivots and marches back toward the stairs. Forget breakfast; he didn't want to eat, anyway. He can still have a nice, relaxing, Dash-free day in the confines of his bedroom.

A cascade of whispers reaches his ears as he hits the first stair. The A-listers murmur too quiet for him to make out what they're saying, although he thinks he catches his name more than once. Maybe they're talking about how uncanny it is being inside his house. Or, perhaps, they're discussing the new school nurse, Tammy. But even as he thinks it, he knows neither theory is true.

A chair screeches in the kitchen, the plastic capped legs scraping against the linoleum. Danny throws himself up the stairs.

"Oh, Danny, wait!" Paulina's silky voice follows him.

He jerks to a stop at the landing, cringing. How mad would she be if he ignored her? It's funny to think that a few years ago his heart would have leapt at Paulina calling out his name, back when he had a crush on her.

His toes curl against the carpet as he hesitates; the pros and cons of ignoring her run through his head. Pro: he won't have to deal with whatever scheme she's up to, and Paulina is most certainly up to something. Con: she might sic Dash on him, and he's the last person Danny wants to see right now. But that's a moot point because Dash is already here. After some humming and hawing, he grits his teeth and turns back around.

Paulina hangs out the kitchen doorway, greeting him with a bright smile.

"Yes, Paulina?" Danny asks.

It should be physically impossible for her smile to get any wider, and yet it does. "You're having trouble in science class, right?"

Danny hesitates. "Maybe. Why?"

"So are we! We came here for a study session with your sister, since she was Casper's best student in thirty decades. You should join us!"

"Isn't Star acing all her classes? And I thought science was your best class."

Paulina rolls her eyes and huffs, but without any malice. It reminds him of the look Tucker gives his little cousins when they are being intentionally obstinate. Danny flushes, suddenly feeling stupid even though he doesn't understand why.

"Yeah, we're good at it, but the boys aren't. Duh." She says it like it's the most obvious thing in the world. Maybe it is. "It's easier to study in a group."

"Thanks, but no thanks. I like studying alone."

Paulina's smile doesn't fall, but it changes. Danny can't quite place what it turns into. Her mouth curves upward and her teeth are exposed; objectively, it's still a smile. But there's a new tension to it, one Danny only notices now, but he thinks might have been there the whole time, lurking behind the bright façade. His grip on the newel post tightens, the wood creaking beneath his finger.

At times like this, Danny wishes his ghost abilities included reading emotions. The look Paulina is giving him is important, he can feel it, even though he can't explain it. But it doesn't mean anything if he can't decipher it.

"If you say so." The moment shatters. Paulina withdraws back into the kitchen, leaving Danny alone and wondering if he missed something important.

Down the hall from him, Jazz's bedroom door opens. She emerges with an armful of books—old schoolbooks, Danny notes.

"Not hanging out with Sam and Tucker today?" she asks.

"Jazz, it's not even noon yet. I don't think Tucker's awake." Danny glances down the stairs toward the kitchen, mulling something over in his head. "I kind of want some alone time today. I know you're tutoring and everything, but could you make sure they don't bother me?"

Jazz frowns. "Is everything okay?"

"There was an... incident with Dash at school."

"Boy troubles?"

"Jazz!" Danny's entire face turns scarlet. "Please never say that about Dash." He lowers his voice. "It was ghost-related troubles."

Jazz's expression goes stony, her teasing smile replaced by a serious frown. "Do I need to take care of him for you?"

"Oh, my God, Jazz! Just keep him away from my room!" He marches the rest of the way to his room to the sound of Jazz's snickers and slams the door behind him.

When Paulina returns to the kitchen, Dash sits up straighter. She shakes her head as she reclaims her seat next to Star. Dash deflates again.

"I told you this wouldn't work," Dash says.

"Don't be so silly. That wasn't even plan A, although it would make things easier. Are you sure you didn't do anything to him in that change room?" Paulina asks.

Dash groans. "Please. Please never say anything like that again. It sounds so wrong."

"You're the one who took it that way."

Star and Kwan laugh at Dash's misfortune, watching him bury his face in his arms. When Star suggested they gather evidence, to confirm whether or not Danny was being abused at home, this wasn't what Dash expected. He pictured spy movie antics with them sneaking through the bushes dressed all in black, peeking through windows until they say something that proved—or disproved—their theory.

Things would go a lot easier if Dash could actually talk to Danny, but ever since that moment in the change room, he can't. He knows Danny has been avoiding him, which is better short term. If Danny walked up to Dash right now demanding to talk about what happened, Dash wouldn't know what to say.

How many times has he hurt Danny (pushed, kicked, body-checked) when he was injured? There's a possibility, however slim, that this was a fluke, the first time Danny has ever come to school injured. There have to be loads of reasons someone might not go to the hospital, such as bad insurance. Dash's cousin broke her nose once and let it heal crooked instead of going to the doctor since it was cheaper. He's heard stories of people sacrificing their health rather than paying exorbitant hospital fees. It's not impossible.

Except Danny's parents are inventors. They do projects for the government and can afford to throw money around for ridiculous ghost hunting contraptions. The Emergency Ops Centre only two floors above them must have cost millions. If that's the case, then surely his parents can afford a hospital visit for such a bad wound.

Dash doesn’t like to think about the alternative, but he has to. The alternative is the whole reason he and his friends are here.

That doesn't help with Dash's other dilemma, though. How is he supposed to talk to Fenton, now? Dash doesn't think he knows how to interact with Danny without some form of aggression. Even when he stopped outright bullying people, he never stopped with Danny. A push here, a shove there. It is instinct for Dash to stick his foot out if he sees Danny coming.

Danny even returns the favour, sometimes, growing bolder the older they became. Dash still doesn't know how Danny keeps getting into his stuffed bear collection, but it's not unusual for him to find one in his locker or sitting at his desk when he returns to class.

It's what they do. Dash can't help it. Any time he manages to trip Danny up enough that he gets a glare or a vengeful smile, it makes him feel good.

But he can't do that now. If Danny is actually getting hurt at home, Dash can't in his right mind keep agitating him. Just thinking about what he did to Danny's stitches makes him pale. He doesn't even want to think about what other wounds he's made worse over the years.

And he has. Dash knows this without a doubt. Thinking back on their interactions this year alone, more than five occasions come to mind where Danny grimaced, or flinched, or clutched some part of his body after Danny bumped his shoulder in the hall. It feels him with an indescribable dread, but the worst of it is he can't understand why.

He never knew Danny was injured; he can't be entirely to blame. Thinking that does nothing to assuage his guilt, though.

"Okay!" Jazz Fenton announces herself with a bright chirp. She clutches a stack of textbooks to her chest; books Dash recognizes from their classes. The idea that she stole them from the school flashes through his mind, but that's ludicrous. Jazz doesn't have a criminally minded bone in her body. If anything, she bought them, or the school gave them to her for being that amazing. Either option is more likely than her committing a crime.

Jazz slams the books down on the table directly across from Dash. She flashes him a brilliant smile as she sits and folds her hands over the table.

"So, Dash." She tilts her head. Her smile no longer looks kind. "I've heard some interesting things about you."

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#phic phight #phic phight 2021 #phanfic #phicc #dp fanfiction #danny phantom #danny phantom fanfiction #danny fenton #dash baxter #swagger bishie #danny/dash #deepwounds

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thisisarcanereverie · 3 years

Text

What it Means to be Worthy (Thor x Reader)

ULTIMATE MASTERLIST

THERE IS SMUT IN HERE 18+ YOU THIRSTY SONS OF BITCHES.

WARNINGS: unprotected sex (wrap it up pals) Do NOT read unless you are 18+.

Also I have never written smut before so I hope it’s ok. I honestly couldn’t have written it if I hadn’t been listening to Deity by Valeree (highly recommend listening while reading the smut. It will probably make it better.)

“Thor,” you called the God of Thunder, “Thor it’s (Y/n).”

You heard a small grunt coming from the living room as you entered through the front door. You immediately went to cover your nose from the stench that invaded your senses upon entering.

It seemed as though the whole house smelled of rotten food, sweat, and something akin to a pigs feces. It was a smell that you never quite got used to, even after 2 years of smelling it every day.

You quietly made your way through the house until you saw a sight you were quite used to seeing now.

Thor on the ground, shirtless, covered in sweat and grime. His beard was filthy from vomit and dandruff and his hair greasy and matted to his head.

There had been a time where he cared so much about his hair that he got triggered if you had tried to trim it.

After 2 years of seeing this scene before you, it failed to surprise you.

Now it just angered you.

You knew you couldn’t understand the pain he was in, he lost his entire family, half his people, and Asgard.

Sure, the people of Midgard were generous and gave your people sanctuary, a place for your people to call home once again.

But that didn’t stop you from missing Asgard’s golden palace and it’s mountains of lush green forests. How you missed running with Thor and Loki through those forests after dark to get to the highest peak you could to watch the glittering of the gold during sunrise.

You had been playmates with the Princes since infancy. You had trained and fought alongside them in battle, joined them in celebrations after each conquest, mourned the loss of Frigga with them.

You went with Thor all those years ago to retrieve Loki and joined the Avengers with him.

But now the Avengers were gone, long since disbanded before the battle of Wakanda.

You weren’t angry at him, your anger was towards the cruel fate that had befallen your precious friends. You had cared for Loki, almost as much as Thor if not equal to.

If you were honest, you weren’t in better shape. Your grief had taken hold of you as well. Your kind smile had turned cynical. Anyone who tried to get close to you often was met with your icy glare and scoff.

Thor was the only one who brought out the caring person you once were.

With a deep sigh you expertly walked around the empty booze bottles and to the grieving man before you. Thor may have gotten soft around the middle but he weighed about the same as you slumped his arms around your shoulders. Thor groaned and went pale, his eyes barely opening.

“C’mon blondie,” you softly spoke, “let’s get you washed up.”

You half dragged the god to the bathroom, he threw up halfway there but you paid no mind. You would clean that after getting him in the shower.

You didn’t bother stripping him before setting him in the tub. Without warning or mercy you pointed the shower hose directly at his face and turned the water to icy cold.

Thor yelled at the icy feeling, borderline pleading, for you to turn off the water. However, over the course of 2 years the patience you had for him had worn thin and so you continued to spray until the stench subsided a little.

Thor was fully awake and sober now, seeing your figure as clear as day tower over him in the tub with a look on your face akin to a mother scolding a misbehaving child.

Thor felt so small and powerless under your gaze and he loathed it.

“You could have stopped a while ago.”

“This needs to stop Thor.”

Your hands motioned to him, Thor once admired those hands and the strength that they had. Now he just found them annoying.

He found you annoying.

You came by everyday and pulled him out of his stupor, clean up after him a little, and try to clean him up. You treated him like a child who couldn’t take care of himself and he loathed it so.

“I am King of Asgard you do not get to tell me what to do.”

“What King would wallow himself in such a way.”

He bolted upright and stood in the tub, successfully towering over your frame, you had gone too far. You didn’t get to say such things to him.

What Thor didn’t count on was the world getting fuzzy and a little dark when he stood up, so although he towered over you he was as stable as a wind chime.

You held onto his frame to prevent him from falling flat onto his face. You felt Thor stiffen under your touch.

You knew Thor was now sensitive and insecure in areas he never was before.

It seemed like yesterday that he was admiring himself in one of Asgard’s golden mirrors, his long hair had looked like spun gold in Asgard’s sunlight and his figure was that befitting of a god.

But none of that had ever mattered to you, even when Thor became full of himself to the point of him being ill tempered and arrogant, you couldn’t find it in yourself to ever give up on him.

Not that you tried to give up on him anyways.

Loki had asked you one day why you didn’t. Why didn’t you give up on the golden prince when he clearly would never feel the same way.

“I love him too much to be without him. Even if that means watching him parade himself around as a peacock and watch women fly to him like bees to honey.”

Then Thor was banished and the only reason why you didn’t follow was due to Loki’s intervening.

Then Thor met Jane Foster.

The memory of the beautiful scientist brought back bittersweet memories. You had never seen Thor so deep in love, and that made you both sad and happy.

Happy that he finally found someone who could keep him humble and who he loved just as much as you loved him.

Sad that when you often caught Thor daydreaming, that it wasn’t you he was daydreaming about.

You shook yourself out of your thoughts and sat the giant on the edge of the tub while you went to gather fresh clothes for him.

You gathered a simple sweatshirt and pants for him to pull on once he was finished with his shower.

As you set the clothes beside the sink you couldn’t help but feel the gnawing feeling in the deepest parts of your heart and the nagging thoughts in your head.

You knew that Thor was hellbent on this self destructive path and you knew that there was nothing you could possibly do to prevent it.

It was either you let Thor drown himself in his despair or you let him drown you with it as well.

You had accepted long ago that Thor would never see you as anything more than what you had always been.

His playmate since infancy.

The girl who got a starry look every time he entered a room.

You had saved up money from the jobs you had worked over the past 2 years, you finally saved up enough to get away from New Asgard. Leave its people to the hands of their self pitying King and Val.

It wasn’t like they needed you or the other way around.

No one would notice your absence.

You began to pick up around Thor’s home, recycling empty liquor bottles and trashing pizza boxes and rotted food. Vacuuming the carpets and dusting here and there.

This will be the last time you do as such.

You needed to leave, staying here and wallowing in Thor’s despair and depression as much as your own wasn’t good for you. And you knew deep down you had been enabling him, every time you cleaned his house and washed and fed him you knew that he only got worse and that you were supporting him when you did this.

You needed to leave for Thor’s sake as much as your own.

You wondered how long it would take him to notice.

You couldn’t bring yourself to tell Thor, you doubt he would even care at this point.

The walk back to your house was only a few minutes, having moved into the house closest to his in case of emergency.

Most of your things were packed and already in your apartment in New York waiting for you. Well things of value, the rest you had sold online, it was amazing what the internet could do. By far one of the greatest inventions on Midgard in your opinion.

All that was left to do was, pack a few pieces of clothing and toiletries.

And write a goodbye letter to Thor explaining where you went and why.

You had avoided writing it, not wanting to say goodbye. Not wanting Thor to not care.

It wasn’t like you were completely leaving Thor, Valkyrie (Val as you called her) assured you that she would make sure he didn’t starve or drink himself to an early grave.

You trusted her to make good on her promise.

You leaving wasn’t even your idea in the first place, Val had tried to get you to leave a year earlier, but you were too stubborn to leave then.

You grabbed the piece of stationary and began to write.

‘Thor,

By the time you're sober enough to read this I’ll already be gone. I don’t predict that I’ll be back.

Val will be making sure you don’t starve or drink yourself into an early grave in my place.

I just can’t do this anymore Thor.

I had loved you since we were but children running around the palace gardens, I still do. However I accepted the fact that you could never see me as anything more than your old playmate and dear friend so long ago.

I had tried to be by your side in a supporting role no matter how much it had hurt me.

When you became an arrogant ass I tried my hardest to explain away your tantrums.

When you came back from banishment I listened to you swoon over Lady Jane Foster with a smile on my face even though it tore me apart.

I had stayed with you, took care of you. It took me so long to realize that I had just been enabling you this entire time.

I had been supporting your self destructive behavior and I refuse to play that part any longer. I need to leave, not just for me but for you.

You need to sort through your emotions, you need to learn how to handle yourself by yourself. You need me not holding your hand when you do that.

I need to discover for myself what it means to be worthy-’

A loud pounding at your door disrupted your train of thought as you wrote. Normally no one would bother you, not unless it had to deal with Thor.

The floorboards creaked as you made your way to your door. The pounding had not ceased until you flew the door open to reveal Thor.

His hair was still damp from his shower and the sweats you had picked out were already stained from the beer he held in one hand. His sky blue eye was hidden behind dark shades.

“(Y/n),” Thor said, “I need a thing.”

“Thor right now isn’t a good time.”

“Don’t worry Lady (Y/n) it won’t take even a second I’ll be in and out.” Thor assured, flashing you a smile that could make your legs go weak. Despite how much hurt you were in you were still no match for Thor’s charms.

“What thing do you need?”

“Just a thing I’ll know the name of it when I see it.”

You stepped aside as you let Thor in, hoping that he won’t notice the lack of furniture or the note left on the table. You decided to let him be while you went and finished packing whatever was in the bathroom. After that you went back to the living area where you had left the note only to see Thor sitting on the couch, his fingers clenching the paper tightly. He had taken his shades off, the deep dark circles stood out against his skin a tribute to how tired he truly was.

He looked up and you were taken aback by the sorrow that filled his eyes. red rimmed the blue eye as fresh tears began to fall.

“You weren’t supposed to read that yet.”

“And when was I supposed to read it then?! When you were god knows where you will be!” His voice bellowed as tears continued to fall down his cheek.

“Thor please don’t yell.”

“No (Y/n)!” he cut you off, “you,” his finger pointed at you, his gaze as intense as lightning, “you don’t get to leave like this. You don’t get to leave me too.”

“Thor I don’t have a choice,” you argue, “I need to let you go. I need to find who I am without you and you need-”

“DO NOT TELL ME WHAT I NEED!”

You could hear thunder roaring in the distance outside, lightning danced around his fingers faintly. Thor had never scared you, but right now you were close to it.

“Thor,” you say calmly hoping somehow your calm tone will calm the God of Thunder, “I’m sorry for choosing the cowards way, I wanted to avoid this.”

“Did you truly think you would be able to avoid me for long.” The lightning had yet to cease but his eyes seemed to stop glowing ever so slightly.

“I didn’t think you would have noticed for at least a few days.”

“Why would you think I wouldn’t notice immediately?” He asked like it was the most incredulous question. He took a step closer to you while you took a step back. Thunder still roared outside and lightning still curled around his fingers. Thor furrowed his eyes in confusion until he finally seemed to hear the thunder storm outside and realize he had scared you.

Thor had scared you.

Immediately the pain in his chest worsened with the guilt that he had scared you. That he had so little control over his powers when he was so emotional. Slowly he closed his eyes and he took a deep breath in and out. He then felt his powers subside and the thunder had stopped.

You could see his shoulders hunch forward with shame and you instictivly placed a hand over his shoulder to comfort him. Thor was quick to envelop your hand with his. Holding onto your hand for dear life.

Your eyes then met, closer than you had ever been before.

“What thing were you looking for?” you asked softly, “you said you came over for a thing.”

“I lied,” Thor admitted softly, “I just didn’t want to be alone.”

The next thing you knew was the faint taste of beer and blueberries on your lips and strong, calloused hands making their way to your shoulders.

Thor was just as good a kisser as you imagined. Lips moving expertly over your own, moving against yours so desperately. Like a man dying of thirst.

You knew you should push him off of you, but for one second you wanted to enjoy his lips on yours. Kissing you like you had always wanted to kiss him.

You moved your lips against his, relishing every moment. Because you knew you wouldn’t be able to kiss him again.

Only when Thor's hands traveled to your waist did you break away. Albeit, you couldn’t push him further than just enough to give you some breathing space.

“Thor,’ you said, “you’re drunk you don’t want this.”

‘When will you stop telling me what I want and don’t want.” His lips moved from your lips to the corner of your mouth and slowly made their way to your neck.

“Thor I do not want this if your reasoning is impaired.”

“I appreciate the thought dear one, but I only had half a beer tonight.”

Asgardians could handle their booze well, especially Thor. For Thor to be the least bit intoxicated he would have had to drink 3 large bottles of Asgardian booze. However, when it came to Midgard it took 4 large barrows of Midgardian beer for it to have the same effect on him. Thor mostly drank it for the taste.

“Unless you would rather I stop.” Thor said, before his hands had removed themselves from your waist you stopped them.

With every ounce of passion in you, you grabbed a handful of his long hair and pressed your lips to his.

It was a mess of passionate and needy kisses and moans. Thor’s battle-worn hands had roamed over your body in a desperate need to feel you.

He was quick to rid you of your shirt, hands feeling every inch of naked skin as he could. Holding you like you were the only thing keeping him grounded to the earth.

You moaned as his hands found your breasts, his large hands covering them over your bra. Your hands made quick work with your bra, removing the suffocating fabric before lifting Thor’s shirt.

you felt him stiffen as you rid him of his shirt.

He wasn’t as muscular as he had been 2 years ago, however it took more than 2 years to completely diminish what his body had been. Although his stomach had softened as well as his arms. You didn’t care in the slightest, loving Thor in every shape he came in.

Your hands lovingly brushed over his torso as you began to leave open mouthed kisses down his neck, over his chest, it wasn’t until you were at the waistband on his sweatpants did he bring you back up and kissed you with fiery passion.

Thor laid you in front of the fireplace that you forgot you lit a while ago. Honestly a little surprised that the fire was still going.

You didn’t have much time to think about that as you felt Thor’s lips travel from your neck and over your breasts. Your nails scratched the floor beneath you as you felt him at the waistband of your jeans.

You felt Thor pause and you looked at him.

“Are you sure dear one?”

Your heart melted at the new nickname, as you nodded to him. However that wasn’t enough for the blonde adonis as he traveled up your body and littered your neck in open mouth kisses.

“I need to hear you say you want this dear one.”

“Please Thor,” you pleaded as he ground his hips into yours slowly, your hips meeting his as his pace slows even more successfully driving you insane.

“I need you Thor.”

“What do you need dear one?”

“I need you to finish what we started.”

With that Thor slammed his lips on yours as he rid you of your pants, underwear included. He leaned back and his eyes drank in your figure illuminated by the fire light. You were breathtaking, any one would buckle at the sight of you.

Pride swelled in Thor’s heart as this view was reserved for him only.

Just as you were about to say something you felt Thor’s beard tickle the inside of your thigh and without warning Thor dived in.

Your hands immediately flew to his hair and grabbed fists full of it, anything to tether you to reality.

As Thor worked his magic on your bundle of nerves your moans filled the empty house. Thor moaned as your grip on his hair tightened which sent waves of pleasure throughout your body. Thor lifted your legs over his shoulders and gripped your thighs firmly as his tongue worked faster.

Just as you were about to reach your blissful release you felt him pull away. Your arousal practically dripped from his lips onto his beard.

He rid himself of the last piece of clothing before capturing your lips once again. Unlike the kisses from before, this was gentle and sweet. You could taste yourself on his lips as he tenderly kissed you.

You slowly ran your hands over his chest, committing him to memory.

Thor pulled away from your lips as he entered you.

Your mouth let out a silent scream of pleasure as Thor let out a shaky breath of pleasure. Thor waited for a few seconds, relishing in the feeling of you around him before finally moving his hips against yours.

Thor was soft and slow in his thrusts, making sure to worship every part of you. His lips were everywhere, from your face to your breasts.

You met in time with his thrusts. The only sound in the room being your shaky breaths, moans of pleasure, and skin on skin. And it sounded like a chorus to you.

Thor’s thrusts became erratic and unyielding, the knot in your stomach was on the verge of bursting when Thor whispered in your ear.

“Let go dear one, I’ll catch you.”

With that the knot had become undone, leaving your body shaking from the overwhelming pleasure.

Thor had not been too far behind you before he too reached his climax.

Thor laid down beside you, still coming down from his high. You laid your head on his chest and he instinctively wrapped his arms around you.

This was everything you had ever wanted, to lay beside Thor with his arm beside you. Well almost everything.

As Thor began to play with the ends of your head as you replayed the past two years in your head.

“I think you may have been right.” Thor broke the silence, you lifted your head off his chest to see his gaze distant as he stared at the ceiling.

“When have I ever been anything otherwise.”

Thor’s chest rumbled in laughter as unshed tears began to fill his eyes. He refused to cry, not now.

“I agree that you need to leave dear one.” Thor’s voice cracked, “I have become a pitiful king to my people, but I have been an even worse friend to you.” his eyes left their place on the ceiling and rested on your face. “You have been faithfully by my side ever since either of us could remember. You had defended me when I didn’t deserve it and loved me when no one did. Not even myself.” His calloused hand caressed your cheek, thumb brushing the tears that had escaped your eyes away. “you don’t deserve to drown in my despair with me. You deserve a life of adventure and you deserve the time to figure out who you are.” You pressed your forehead to his as tears leaked out. “I need to let you go.”

---

Thor had spent the night committing every touch and every scent to memory. He had no idea when his feelings for you grew to such lengths but he knew now that he had figured it out much too late.

He wasn’t the man you deserved by your side.

Thor waved you off at the airport and watched as the metal contraption took you away from his side for the first time since his banishment all those years ago.

He hoped that if you returned he would be a man worthy of you again.

Thor only wished he knew where to start.

#thor #thor ragnarok #thor love and thunder #thor mcu #MCU #mcu x reader #mcu thor #thor x reader #x reader #thor smut #god of thunder #marvel x reader #marvel x you #marvel x reader smut #loki

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bitsandbobsofwriting · 3 years

Text

The Gang FINALLY sees how much of a BAMF Merlin is:

A smidge of Angst, but only because everyone is stupid :)

Part 4 of Merlin’s angry outburst. The Gang has ridden out (refusing to let Merlin and Arthur go alone) to a battlefield that will only have two bodies on display. One of them is Merlin’s.

This was meant to be the last bit but it was getting so long and I kept thinking of extra shit to put in soooooooo. Hopefully this is the penultimate part? But who knows lol.

TW: Lots of death (the final battle yo)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 5

They ride the whole first day in silence. Not even Gwaine has any jokes or stupid stories to tell, and the atmosphere is tense.

The time between Morgana rushing into the council meeting, and the group riding towards what looked to be Merlin's death, had blurred by. No one really had any time to think, but now, riding in silence, all they could focus on was the fact that they were knowingly heading to what could be Merlin’s demise.

No one concentrates on anything but urging their horses to travel as fast as possible, and Arthur shortly telling everyone to stop and make camp were the first words spoken for the whole journey.

No one replies, they just dismount their horses, and wordlessly go about clearing an area for the fire, laying out food, and checking the surrounding area for danger.

Merlin stalks off before anyone can stop him, intent on setting up some wards before anyone settles down. He’s clearly pissed, and Arthur shakes his head when Lancelot gives him a look, “Want me to go with him?” .

Arthur follows instead, trusting the others to set up properly whilst he and Merlin have a much needed private conversation.

It doesn't take too long to find him. He's noticed that, recently. Ever since the link was forged he always seems to be able to find Merlin first try. Before, he had to scour the whole castle to have a chance of finding his wayward manservant (and then his wayward Court Sorcerer), and even then sometimes he couldn't manage it.

It's comforting. In a way. Knowing that they'll always be able to find one another.

Arthur sees him in the trees ahead, facing away from him, his hands up in front of his body. He can hear him muttering something that Arthur doesn’t understand under his breath.

Years ago, Arthur would think that Merlin hadn't noticed him. But Arthur knows him better now. He knows the ever so slight hitch in his Sorcerer’s left shoulder means "I hear you. I see you. I know you're there." .

"You can't know that everything's going to be ok."

Merlin sighs and turns back to look at him, still visibly frustrated with everyone’s obvious fretting. Neither make any moves to walk closer:

"Course I can. I had a chat with Kilgharrah on the way here-"

(He taps his forehead as he says this)

"-no other Emrys-killing weapons have been made, and the only one anywhere near us, is yours. As long as you don’t stab me, I'll be fine."

Arthur huffs and shuffles his feet at this:

"Merlin, the vision. You weren't waking up and you heard what Morgana said. Why are you so intent to ride to what is almost certainly going to be your death, when our armies could win this battle anyway?"

Arthur is trying to sound firm, but his face gives him away. He was never all that good at hiding his true emotions when it was just him and Merlin, and his expression is sad and desperate.

It's only at that, that Merlin walks towards Arthur, putting his hands on his shoulders:

"That vision doesn't show everything. And yes, that may have been the clearest vision Morgana has had during this whole bloody war thing, but the future is still fluid. Nothing is set in stone. Arthur, I'll be fine. And besides, an all out battle means blood spilt, theirs and ours. If I can do anything to prevent that, then there is no choice, not for me."

The King clenches his jaw, before pulling Merlin into a tight hug. The Sorcerer let's out a surprised "oof" but grips back just as tightly, burying a hand in Arthur's hair.

Arthur speaks aloud this time, so quietly Merlin barely hears it even with Arthur's face in his neck. Perhaps thinking this is important enough that it has to be vocalised:

"Why have you got to be so bloody self sacrificial? I couldn't bear to lose you, Merlin. I need you with me, by my side."

Merlin smiles slightly at that, but doesn't let go:

"I'll always be with you. Nothing in this life or the next, could pull me away from you. I...-"

He hesitates here, but Arthur tightens his grip, and he takes a deep breath before continuing:

"-...this is where I belong. Right here, right now. With you."

Arthur squeezes him once again and pulls back, gently laying his forehead against Merlin's, very reminiscent of the spell cast all those weeks ago.

The both of them keep their eyes closed, even as Arthur speaks:

"We're having a conversation about... this, when we get back. We're ALSO having a conversation about your self sacrificial tendencies."

Merlin laughs and pulls back at that:

“Only if we have a conversation about yours first.”

The King rolls his eyes fondly, and turns to walk back, but pauses momentarily, without looking back:

“I may not understand your magical mutterings, but I know that you’ve finished setting the wards up. Are you going to come back? Or are you going to come up with another excuse for you to watch me leave so you can stare at my arse?”

Merlin flushes at that, and lets out a mumbled “Shut up.” before speed walking past a laughing Arthur, towards camp.

The whole group seems to relax once they realise that the tension between Merlin and Arthur had been resolved (or at least... changed. A different type of tension. The type that made Leon want to lay their bedrolls on opposite sides of the camp).

The evening passes quietly, nothing of note happening, and soon enough, everyone is asleep.

The next few days aren’t quite as tense, but they still hurry their horses, taking few breaks. It was wordlessly agreed that they wanted to get there as quickly as possible, so that they might have time to assess the situation properly.

Everyone was still understandably worried, but with Merlin being so relaxed, and Arthur seeming ok (ish) with what was happening, they kept their anxieties to themselves.

It’s the second night they stop to make camp, that Gwaine informs them that if they keep the same pace and get up early, they should be there just before noon the next day.

Everyone is a little tense at that, but Merlin speaks first:

“I’d say the rain isn’t going to hit until noon. If we move quickly, we should have at least a little time to plan..”

The group once again relaxes at that, grateful that they would at least have time to think things through, and check the surrounding area, before anything happened.

The relaxed atmosphere doesn’t last long, however. When they’d first stopped to make camp (that was around three hours ago now) Morgana had sat straight down, out of the way, and began to meditate. Without warning, she opens her eyes with a flash of gold, and lets a tear slip down her cheek before looking to Merlin.

He furrows his brows, and begins to speak before she can say anything:

“Morgana? What did you see?”

She lets out a humourless laugh, drawing even more worried attention from the group, before she replies:

“I’ve been trying to look past tomorrow. The near future, the far future, anything. Anything that might clue us in to the outcome. You know what I see?-”

Everyone is staring at her, clearly anxious, but she doesn’t take her eyes off Merlin, not even when Gwen places a gentle hand on her shoulder:

“-I see your mother and Gaius, quietly crying. I see Arthur, with a golden crown on his head, and a silver crown in his hands. I see a tombstone, with a name I can’t quite make out. I see your chambers, empty and cold, unlived in and covered in dust. I see... I see us. All nine of us that is, sat around our table. But one of the seats is empty, your seat. And all of us look... blank. That, is what I see, Merlin. And through all of it, I can feel your absence like a flame on my skin. I can see past tomorrow with ease. But I can’t see you.”

Morgana looks devastated. Everyone else in the group looking various mixes of shocked, scared, heartbroken.

Merlin nods slightly, and frowns staring into his lap. He was so certain that... logically, he should be fine. He’s died before and been fine. But Morgana’s visions are rarely that inaccurate, and if she’s stopped seeing his future entirely... well. It wasn’t a good sign.

He hums thoughtfully, before wiping the expression off his face and looking up determinedly:

“That changes nothing. I either do this, and everyone bar me survives, though I still think I’ll be fine, or we ignore your visions entirely, ride back to Camelot, and risk the life of every single one of Camelot’s citizens. And that’s not an option, so we’re just going to have to see what happens.”

Everyone opens their mouth to protest at the same time, but before any of them can make even a sound, Merlin jumps up, and speaks again. His voice is sharp, and invites no argument:

“NO. I said it’s not an option. This is what I do. I always used to hate the idea of a pre-written destiny, but if I’m meant to die tomorrow, then fine. So be it. I will NOT put my own life above anyone else’s. Especially not a whole kingdom’s, and ESPECIALLY not any of yours.”

He breathes deeply, and after giving a short glare to everyone individually, he sits down again.

He’s seated between Arthur (who had barely left his side) and Percival, who takes the Sorcerer’s hand in his own, holding it in his lap.

Merlin smiles at him as he attempts to pull his hand back:

“I’m fine Perc, I don’t need comforting. I always figured I would end up dying before you lot anyway-”

Everyone shuffles uncomfortably at that. No one likes to think about outliving one of their closest friends:

“-not that I think I’m gonna stay dead anyway. But that’s not the point.”

Percival holds onto Merlin’s hand tightly, but stares into the fire as he replies quietly:

“This isn’t comfort for you, Merlin. It’s comfort for me.”

Merlin seems taken aback at this, like he had only just considered that his friends might need comforting in the first place. He forgets sometimes (read: most of the time) , that he is as important to these people, as they are to him. He can’t imagine willingly going to any of their deaths, not without putting up one hell of a fight.

He nods, after he wipes the shock from his face, and settles his hand in Percival’s, instead of trying to pull away:

“I’m sorry. I know this can’t be easy for any of you-”

(as he speaks, he lets his other hand subtly gather up the fabric of Arthur’s cloak, for his own sake or Arthur’s, he’s not sure)

“-but I need you to trust me. Believe me, I’m not trying to get myself killed permanently... I mean dying even temporarily isn’t exactly fun but... you know. I’ll be fine.”

It’s Gaius that replies first. The others were especially worried about the physician, he was practically Merlin’s father at this point, and none of them thought they could cope with having to comfort the man if they lost Merlin.

“It’s not that we don’t trust you, Merlin. We’re just... worried. And it’s not like you’re well known for considering your own safety when it comes to planning for any sort of conflict.”

Merlin looks as if he’s going to protest, but Gwen beats him to the punch:

“Don’t argue Merlin. You can’t deny that you have a habit of jumping head first into the fray.” She says it with a small smile, but it’s weak, and Merlin suddenly feels guilty for all those times he’s worried his friends.

He threw himself into situations he was sure he would be able to survive, without considering the fact that none of the people he cared about had the same assurances.

His reply makes everyone chuckle

“Yeah, well. You know me. I’ve never been much of a planner.-”

The Sorcerer squeezes Percival’s hand once more, before continuing:

“-But it’s late, and if we want to get up early we should head to sleep.”

The group nods in agreement, and all begin to shuffle to their bedrolls, having hushed individual conversations as Arthur declares that he and Merlin would take the first watch.

(No one questions it. They rarely set watches nowadays, Merlin’s wards have become incredibly reliable over the years, but all of them understand that The King and The Sorcerer need this time.)

Other than Merlin and Arthur, Percival was the last to leave his seat, ruffling Merlin’s hair as he gives him a weak smile, before making his way to his roll to undoubtedly toss and turn through the night, like everyone else.

The King and The Sorcerer didn’t move from their spots next to each other, and, at some point during the conversation, Arthur had replaced the clutched fabric of his cloak with his own hand.

They stay silent for a while, not really knowing what to say. Despite everyone’s worries, the rest of the group is asleep after not too long. It had been two days of hard travel and sleeping rough, and no one would admit it but they were all exhausted.

Both of them seem to realise that there was little chance of them getting to have those conversations at a later date. The two of them struggled individually on what would be worse: forcing the conversation now before it was too late but knowing that might be the end of it, or leaving everything unsaid and leaving Arthur with the regret.

Merlin was inclined to leave it unsaid. As far as he was concerned, he would still be fine (though he was now unsure if he was right, or if he was just in denial).

Arthur wanted to get it off his chest. He may be a tad emotionally constipated, but Merlin is... well... Merlin. It took him a while to realise his feelings for Merlin, but once he did, it was like an unending avalanche.

On some level, Arthur knew that Merlin felt the same, but would it be cruel? Or distracting? For him to voice it now, before everything?

He remembers saying weeks ago “We’ve plenty of time before things kick off” . But that time had passed. It had flown by. Arthur thought he would have forever with Merlin, even when the war was declared he wasn’t worried. But suddenly there was no more time. He might lose him tomorrow.

Did he want to taint what few hours they had left with an emotional confession that could wreck them both? Or should he leave it, steadfast in the belief that Merlin knew. Which would be crueller?

In the end, Arthur decided that he wouldn’t be able to live with it: the doubt, the regret, if he never said anything, and... something... happened.

He grips Merlin’s hand tighter in his own, and swallows, but before he could say anything:

“I know.” Merlin doesn’t look at him when he thinks it, but squeezes The King’s hand in return.

“No, I... you have to let me... I’ll never forgive myself if I don’t, so just-”

Merlin does look at him then, and gives him a gentle smile to stop him rambling:

“Ok, Arthur. I’m here, I’m listening, I hear you.”

Arthur meets his gaze, a steady stream of tears down his face that causes Merlin to frown slightly:

“I... Merlin-”

Arthur struggles with the words, thinking back, he can’t remember a time he’s actually said them out loud. Ever.

He clears his throat, straightens his back, and steels his eyes. Merlin deserved the truth. And Merlin felt the same, he had never been more sure of anything:

“Merlin, I love you. And if you don’t come back to me at the end of tomorrow, I will never forgive you.”

His resolve cracks slightly at the end, but Merlin smiles at him fondly, teary eyed himself:

“I love you too. And I already told you, Arthur, I will always come back to you.”

Arthur grips Merlin’s hand tighter, and buries his head in the Sorcerer’s neck. Merlin wrapped his arms around him, and leans back against the log they were sitting against.

They fall asleep like that, the two of them wrapped in Arthur’s cloak. At some point during the night, Arthur’s head had slipped down onto Merlin’s chest, but neither moved. If anything, Arthur found he could sleep easier with Merlin’s steady heartbeat in his ears.

The Gang woke when it was still dark, but not in the way they had planned.

They all wake with a start, automatically pulling out swords and summoning weapons, before they realise that the blizzard like wind and deafening roar, was just Kilgharrah, landing on the edge of their camp.

They settle for only a moment, before they realise that Merlin hadn’t summoned him, which meant he turned up of his own volition, and that meant he brought news. And knowing Kilgharrah, it probably wasn’t good news.

Merlin approaches him quickly, a frown on his face and Arthur close behind him:

“What is it Kilgharrah, is Camelot ok?”

The Dragon lowered his head to meet Merlin’s worried stare before replying:

“Yes, the city is safe, young Warlock. I have left Aithusa to watch over it whilst I tracked you here. The army you face is in front of you, not behind you.”

Morgana speaks up quickly after that, a frown on her face:

“What army? I haven’t foreseen any big battles in a while, believe me, I’ve been looking. The only people that should be in that meadow, is us, and whoever... and one other man.”

Kilgharrah looks over the group slowly before looking back at Merlin and replying:

“It appears, Emrys, that you will finally get a chance to show off the extent of your power. An army is waiting for you, in that meadow, and you are the only one with the capacity to defeat them.”

Merlin takes a deep breath, and clenches his hands (one of which is quickly taken by Arthur. Another example of neither of them knowing which of them the action was meant to comfort):

“I don’t know if I’m that powerful Kilgharrah, I’ve never-”

“The only reason you do not know the breadth of your power, is because you’ve never before come even close to your limits.”

“But I-”

“Your magic is tied to nature, Emrys. Use it. Bend it to your will. The entirety of the world will move at your whim, you need only ask-”

Before Merlin can reply, or ask what the hell that means, Kilgharrah lifts his head suddenly, as if hearing something, and looks briefly to Merlin once more as he replies, before flying off:

“Have faith, young Warlock, in yourself and in destiny. I must leave you now.”

Everyone stands still, not quite in shock, but definitely confused, all bar Merlin, who just looks annoyed:

“Fucking typical. What’s the use of being a Dragon Lord if my giant pet lizard is going to be so bloody cryptic all the time.” is mumbled by the Warlock, as he looks towards the sun, just about rising over the horizon.

He sighs once more, before:

“Come on then. I suppose that was a good a wake up call as any. We should pack up and get going if we want to get a look at this army.-”

The next bit is mumbled to himself as he lets go of Arthur’s hand and wanders off to dismantle the wards:

“-And I suppose I now have half a day’s journey to figure out to beat it. That’s just great.”

It only takes a moment before the group launches into action, now freshly tense at the revelation that there was an army, and there was only ten of them.

They had faith in Merlin, and Morgana was there as well. And if everything really went to shit, there could be two dragons there to lend a helping hand (or claw) as well. But still. An army. That was big.

They’re riding out on the last leg of the journey within an hour, everyone having regained the tenseness that they had on the first day. Though all of them are slightly comforted by the fact that Kilgharrah hadn’t mentioned Merlin dying. He may be a cryptic bastard, but that definitely seemed like something he would bring up.

Gwaine’s directions and timings were accurate, they reached the edge of the seemingly empty meadow around half an hour before the sun hit the centre of the sky.

They remain hidden in the trees, Merlin casting a quick enchantment to shield them from being detected, before looking to Morgana and nodding.

The two of them close their eyes and stretch their arms forward, towards the meadow. A few mutterings and tilted heads later, they open their eyes. Merlin looking grim, but determined, and Morgana looking scared.

Lancelot is the first to speak:

“What is it, what’ve they go out there?”

Merlin looks at him briefly, before darkly saying:

“Why don’t I show you?”

With that, he once more raises his arm towards the meadow. His eyes glow brightly and he speaks quietly, other hand clenched at his side.

After a few moments, tendrils of light extend from his fingertips, and snake out around the perimeter of the meadow. Once the meadow is surrounded, Merlin twists his wrist sharply, and the tendrils turn inwards, shooting towards the centre point. After only a few metres they seem to meet an invisible barrier, and explode upwards towards the sky.

The light is blinding enough to force the gang to all shield their eyes, but they quickly open again when they hear an uproarious cacophony of noise.

What they see, is a huge army gathered at the far end of the field, packing up camp and preparing to move off, in the direction of Camelot.

It takes only a moment before a voice rings out above the noise, coming from somewhere around the edges:

“THE BARRIER IS DOWN!! WE CAN BE SEEN!”

A voice answers back, shouting for everyone to be prepared, that they would be noticed soon, and that the fight was coming to them.

Arthur furrowed his brow before quietly:

“That was their King, I recognise his voice. He must have sorcerers with him to keep the barrier going.”

Leon answers first:

“This is why our scouts haven’t seen anything, there’s been nothing to see.”

Merlin once again begins muttering to himself, drawing everyone’s attention to him (and also reminding them that apparently, Merlin had the power to take out the whole army) :

“Well, at least it’s smaller than I was expecting, underestimating us apparently. Sorcerers could be a problem though. Hmm.”

Morgana speaks up:

“I feel three. powerful, but not really fighters. They’re here for the barrier, and they don’t seem particularly happy about it either-”

She looks towards Merlin, face serious:

“-If you make it clear who you are... they might join us.”

Merlin hums thoughtfully, before replying:

“Depends entirely on if their fear of me outweighs their fear of him.”

The Gang looks taken aback at the mention of fearing Merlin. Elyan quietly saying:

“Why would they fear you? I know that you’re Emrys and everything, but I thought it was a Druid peace-keeping sort of thing you had going?”

Merlin looks back at the group, anger on his face, as he responds darkly:

“They’re threatening Camelot, her people, her King. I’m very much pissed off right now, of course they should be scared of me.”

Before he has time to say anything else, they notice that the army is about ready to move out, and Arthur gestures everyone to quickly get back and hide as he rushes towards Merlin:

“Merls! Ok... so, in the vision, the field was already empty when it started raining, and we have maybe 15 minutes at most before then, so what happens? Whatever we do, we need to do it now, they’re about to leave. Or maybe the field was empty because we let them go?”

Merlin responds quickly:

“No, we didn’t see the whole field in the vision remember, and this half is empty-”

He thinks for a moment, and Arthur looks towards the army, before looking back at the others, and then finally settling his eyes on Merlin once more:

“-Put your crown on, you and me are going to march across there, and they need to know who we are. The others will stay here, out of sight.”

Arthur looks worried, and put a hand on Merlin’s shoulder:

“You do know what you’re doing, don’t you?”

Merlin smiles back at him:

“Nah, figured I’d just wing in. Come on, I’m Emrys. I got this in the bag.”

Arthur frowns as Merlin chuckles, before grabbing his crown from his saddlebag. The others looks to him questioningly, but he just shakes his head, and gestures for them to stay hidden. They don’t look too pleased at that, but they follow his orders, and hide themselves and the horses among the bushes.

The King and the Sorcerer take a deep breath, before looking at each other and nodding firmly. They march out from their hiding spot amongst the trees, and make a beeline for the army, walking confidently.

Merlin made sure to walk just a step behind Arthur, and it takes only a few seconds for a lookout to spot them and yell.

The two of them stop in the middle of the empty space as the whole army looks towards them, their King stepping forward:

“Ah! King Arthur-”

The way he says King, like it disgusts him, like Arthur doesn’t deserve the title, has Merlin fuming, but he doesn’t step forward just yet.

“-It would seem that you have bought your druid pet, to beat my army. I WILL SEE YOUR HEADS ON SPIKES!”

Spittle flies from his red face as he screams the last part, and Merlin sees the way Arthur clenches his hand. Before his... friend? (can he say that after last night?) can reply in anger:

“Introduce me, and then go back to the others. I’ll be fine, he’s clearly underestimated me.”

Arthur’s back straightens, and he leaves his face blank as he shouts his reply to the angered King:

“You clearly underestimate us. This-”

(he gestures absentmindedly to Merlin, who steps forward and allows his eyes to begin glowing.)

“-is Emrys. He will make quick work of your... army.”

Neither of them pay attention to his reply as they look at each other. The glow fades from Merlin’s eyes as he puts a hand on Arthur’s shoulder:

“Trust me, go back to the others and I’ll take care of it. All of nature is at my fingertips, apparently. Go, I love you.”

Arthur clenches his jaw and nods, before turning and walking back to the others, smiling to himself as he notices the almost transparent shield that had formed around him as he walked.

Merlin takes a few steps towards the army (which is getting louder and louder as the King makes his way through the ranks, shouting encouragement and rallying them) before stopping in place and frowning.

Unless he wants to cause issues with time, he should probably keep it as similar to the vision as he can. He looks to the side, the same place he had seen himself look four days ago, and speaks:

“ I’m sorry. But it’s coming. I can’t stop it, I tried. This is the only way. Just... relax... it’ll hurt less. Four days.”

He narrows his eyes and focuses, and he can just about make out a hazy mirror image of himself stood a few feet away:

“Arthur loves you... me..... us. Don’t let him down.”

The image fades as he takes a deep breath, and continues his march towards the army.

There’s a clap of thunder, and suddenly the skies open, Merlin frowns to himself as he mutters:

“Oh for fucks sake, why am I always right?”

The army begins their sprint towards him, and Merlin stops his quick pace, planting his feet, and raising his hands to the sky. The Sorcerer figures that there’s already a storm, and a storm is part of nature, right? He might as well take advantage.

The golden glow from his eyes is almost blinding as his brings his hands down quickly, palms facing the floor. Lightening strikes the ground with a flash and a few hundred of the men at the forefront of the army fall to not rise again.

Merlin grunts as he realises he’s going to have to try a lot harder if he’s to succeed in taking out the 12,000 angry arseholes running at him.

He continues aiming lightening at the fastest knights, nearest the front, taking out groups of them at a time.

He feels another magical presence, and he glances to the side to see a young woman at the edge of the meadow, clothes in tatters and feet bare. She meets his gaze and nods, before looking to the army and shouting a spell. The ground shakes slightly and a large chunk of the army falls into cracks into the ground.

Those his lightening had not touched finally come within reach of Merlin, and he has to jump back as swords reach for his neck. He swings one of his arms in a wide arc, and a burst of blue fire elevates the war cries around him, into screeches of agony.

He has to banish dark thoughts as the stench of burnt flesh reaches his nose, and he swings his arm wide once more, the same again.

Now with a little more space to move, though with little time before he’s crowded again, he kneels, and slams closed fists down into the mud.

The moment his skin touches the ground, the whole meadow shakes, much more than it had previously, and the whole army stumbles and falls.

There is a moment of silence and calm once the shaking stops, everyone trying to regain their bearings, but it doesn’t last long, as the ground opens. Sinkholes and cracks expand all across the meadow, thousands of men screaming as they fall into unknown depths, or drown in mud.

Merlin stares out in wonder as he realises he hasn’t said a word since the battle began. He had used no spells, the world around him simply understood what he wanted, and obeyed his orders. Nature bending to his whim indeed.

His thoughts last only a minute before he forces himself to concentrate once more. He can feel the three other sorcerers trying to protect themselves, and prevent anyone from escaping. Looks like Morgana was right. Though they were exhausted from holding the barrier in place, and even if they hadn’t been, even combined, their power was nothing compared to Merlin’s.

He pulls his arms from the ground, palms facing towards the sky (which is still pouring). As he does, every crater, every pit, closes with a snap, the field seeming suddenly much emptier as half the army, and all the previous bodies, disappear into the mud.

Only a thousand or so men remain, and, ignoring their cowardly King’s shouts (he was hidden somewhere to the right of Merlin, out of his sight. Hmmm. He would have to take care of that later.) they try to scatter into the woods surrounding the meadow.

Merlin closes his hands to fists. Vines and roots burst from the ground, all sharp thorns and gnarled wood as they speed towards the fleeing soldiers.

The screams grow louder once more as all but a few of the knights are pierced, and wrapped, and dragged towards their muddy places of burial.

Merlin stands once more, and tilts his head towards the trees with a silent request.

He smirks as the sounds of wolves reach his ears, howling and growling and rabid through the trees. That’ll do it. No one would be able to outrun them.

The battlefield lay empty. The bodies having been swallowed by the earth, or still running around piss scared in the woods.

Merlin turns towards the sorcerers standing twenty metres away, meaning to promise them safety and amnesty in Camelot, because of their immediate willingness to help, but before he can say anything, he sees their eyes widen as they look behind him in horror.

He gasps in realisation, and goes to turn and defend himself, but before he can, he staggers suddenly forward as he feels a bursting pain in his spine and spread through his chest. He looks down to see the front of a sword poking out from where his heart should be.

With his last few seconds of lucidity he jerkily waves his hand behind him and feels the King (”How could I have fucking forgotten about him? I was thinking about him literally 3 minutes ago??”) stumble back a few steps, leaving the sword behind.

Merlin falls to his knees, still staring at the end of the blade, blood dripping from his mouth as he hears an agonised yell from across the meadow.

He finally falls completely, his face angled towards the floor and his eyes fluttering as he hears a metallic *swoosh* and a *gargle* and a *thump* behind him, before Arthur falls to his knees at his back.

The last thing Merlin remembers, is hearing Arthur muttering something or other as he gets pulled towards him, but by the time his eyes look to the sky, his mind, and face, are blank.

THIS IS COMPLETED, PART 5 (link at the top, and in the masterlist) IS THE FINAL PART!

Let me know if y’all want my thoughts on anything in particular :)

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saberstars · 3 years

Text

I'm Here

Pairing: Gender Neutral Y/N & Loki

Fluff, angst, implied smut

Warnings: Mentions of depression/mental illness, epilepsy/seizures, mentions of sex, as always if I missed anything feel free to let me know

Summary: Loki & You have a pre-existing friendship with benefits & one night you have a seizure after some spiciness. He cares for you helping you afterwards & makes sure you rest easy & safe. Reader is portrayed to have seizures more so during changes in sleep phases, not awake. The wake seizures or more of a medium ish absence/ focal aware seizure that only occur on occasion & can be “fought” through.

Word Count: 1796

Notes: This was intended to be a gender neutral reader. I think I removed all he/she pronouns.

Additionally, I know that not everyone experiences seizures the same way, and that epilepsy can affect people differently. This is all written from my experiences with it, so I ask that you do not tell me I portrayed something wrong. I can and will accept constructive criticism, But I will not accept someone telling me blatantly that I am wrong with my experiences. Therefore please keep that in mind when reading. I genuinely hope this fic brings others comfort if you suffer from epilepsy or any disorder that causes seizures. Thank You <3

It’s been three years since you found out you suffered from epilepsy. A diagnosis that came late in your life to be fair. As a young child up until you reached adulthood, you suffered from eye shakes that would eventually turn into stuttering spells that made it difficult to breath or not breath properly at all. You never passed out though, you got close a few times, but you managed to stay awake and “fight it off.” You started to notice over time that you’d also get a strange taste in your mouth, almost like metal or as if you were sucking on a battery and it had that zing flavor. You knew that was a precursor and would panic on cue rightfully so. You hated when you had your mini stutter fests because all you could do was hope it didn’t happen.

Of course you complained to your parents as a child but they didn’t think it was anything. They said it was just a panic attack. So you took their word for it. That was until you started having grand mals in your sleep. At first you thought they were just a part of some strange dream, that wasn't real to you, not yet anyway. You would wake up exhausted, sore, sometimes unable to move properly, walk, open and close a fist, and you just overall couldn't stay conscious sometimes. Again you complained to your parents about it, but they said it was nothing. You probably had night terrors or some form of minor sleep paralysis. So you dumbly believed them.

When you moved out, You sought answers, and eventually got them. You were grateful. The medication they prescribed helped tremendously though, it did make you tired but it was worth not having your episodes. Thankfully your case wasn’t as severe as others and it was manageable so long as you took care of yourself and took your medications. Though you were warned, breakthroughs were common, and missing your dose can and would cause a seizure.

Despite having such a diagnosis, you kept it to yourself. You never really told anyone. It wasn’t until you started sleeping with a friend, that you finally divulged your secret too in the event that it ever happened whilst they were with you.

It was someone you randomly slept with on and off with. A friend with benefits, his name was Loki. You had met the god shortly after his father had passed and his home, destroyed. You found comfort with each other despite it being more of a sexual comfort. You both used sex as a way to fight your own demons, a distraction, a quick grab at serotonin. Despite the sex you both developed a very deep friendship. You’d read together on occasion, have very interesting debates on current events, history, as well as other nuances, and a lot of other things. You even met his brother and the avengers at one point.

You both slept soundly after spicy events had taken place 2 hours prior, Loki had come over desperate for attention of any kind. He didn’t say why, but you knew it was a rather serious topic he wished not to discuss and rather lessen the pain with ecstasy. Little did you know, on this day a few years ago he indirectly murdered his mother. He blamed himself dearly, he knew if he would have kept his mouth shut for once in his life she may be here today. So he needed a genuine distraction. One of any kind. Preferable you. Due to the spicy events that took place you missed your dose, due to falling asleep promptly after, which cost you dearly. Missing doses always caused this to happen no matter what.

You gasped for air like usual, your body contorting outwards first with a thrust. You were awake, conscious, and terrified for the few seconds you normally were given before blacking out. You began to stutter violently all the air leaving your lungs as it happened. Until no sounds were made and it was just you chattering. Loki woke immediately, with a completely calm exterior despite a raging mixture of emotions internally. He knew you never called an ambulance for these things because you were normally alone & unaware until you became conscious again. She made him promise to never call 911 unless it was over a certain time length, to save her medical expenses, or unless she stopped breathing for good.

Loki dare not touch you though as you shook and curled up. The last thing he wanted was his godly strength to crush you somehow or cause you more pain. Instead he watched and hovered until you finally stopped. It was a short 50 second one, which was under your time limit, but he still debated calling. It’s not like You would’ve known he lied.

His breathing hitched as he went to check your pulse and airway, ever so delicately, which were both clear and strong.

“Oh thank you.” he whispered

A few hours had slid by with still no response from you. Loki sat next to you, staring down at you, to the point where he would fight the urge to blink, waiting for a stir of some kind from you. He did give the courtesy of redressing you though, in a nightgown from a drawer after an hour slid past. He even went as far as ensuring that you were adequately covered by the blankets to avoid being chilled. It has been 3 ½ hours now, with no stir of any kind from you. He knew it would be awhile before you showed any signs of movement possibly but this worry tore him to his core. In the midst of waiting he refused to just idly go back to sleep next to you, he was determined to stay awake until you were conscious again, so that you knew, he stayed there waiting for you. Loki didn’t know when he found himself talking to you as if you were awake, but all he knew was that it made him feel a bit better, and he hoped that when you woke it would make you feel better too.

“You know, I’ve been reading this really dumb gothic romance novel. I think you’d like it because of how naive the girl is. I know you like to criticize and pick on how they make decisions.” he spoke with a chuckle in his voice thinking back to how you’d flail your arms and drop your book to scream about how dumb some main protagnist could be.

“I'll have to buy you a copy or give you mine when I’m done.” Loki shifted his weight from his right to his left brushing your bangs out of your eyes.

“I don’t know why you keep those so long, all they do is get in the way of your gorgeous eyes.”

It was in that moment you rustled, you shifted your neck ever so slightly, Your eyelids twitch. Loki leaned forward parting his lips as he watched with a heart of hope completely overwhelmed with joy when he saw the color of your iris’s. He exhaled a shaky breath cupping your cheeks which caused you to flinch sending a wave of shocks through your body. It was at that moment you knew. You knew what he saw, what he had gone through. Your heart sank and you immediately berated yourself internally despite your exhausted state.

“It’s ok you don’t have to say or do anything. I’ll stay, I’ll take care of you for as long as you need.” Loki assured you, wanting you to know that you didn’t have to go through this alone. You never really had anyone stay, let alone worry about you. Your eyes began to water as tears rolled down your face.

“I’ll go grab you some water, you’re probably parched. I’ll also grab you a banana. I read that potassium can help with the cramping.” Loki said leaving to yourself for a moment. He also grabbed tissues for your eyes and nose just in case. Upon returning her placed everything at your side offering help to sit up. “Do you need to use the bathroom or help sitting up?” He asked with a gentle tone.

You nodded trying to take a good deep breath so you could speak a bit. “I’m so sorry you had to see that… but thank you. Thank you for staying, for helping. I do need the bathroom and I would appreciate help. My legs are still...” you mustered out with all your might but after a point your tongue refused to work with you.

“Of course, I may be a monster but I’m not entirely cruel. If it helps… you can just think to yourself and I can listen that way. So that you're not struggling too much.” Loki admitted with a tone of self depreciation.

“You're not a monster just because you're different & have made mistakes.” you thought as Loki picked you up bridal style walking you to the bathroom. Of course he placed you down on the toilet and waited outside for you to do what you needed. Since he had only added a nightgown to your previously naked body it made things easier. It was exhausting to just sit up and do everything but you pushed through. You even pushed yourself up and limped to the sink best you could to wash your hands. Upon hearing the faucet though Loki came back in standing behind you offering support if needed.

“Catch me~” you thought before falling back into his arms with a snort.

“You're lucky I have godlike reflexes you minx.” He replied with a hint of flirtation. You had used more than you had in you to wash your hand. Loki caught you obviously and carried you back to the room placing you back on the bed. “No, more like I knew you were ready to catch me.” you slowly thought as exhaustion tugged at your consciousness again. Loki noticed the pill bottle on your dresser before prompting you to take it. Instinctively opening it and sliding one into his hand.

“You should probably take this before you fall asleep.” You took it mentally saying thanks drinking the glass of water with it.

“Yeah that would probably help avoid some added breakdancing.” You joked trying to use humor to lighten the situation. Loki stared plain faced trying not to entertain your joke though, despite finding it secretly witty. Maybe he’d laugh at it when you felt a bit better. Soon after you began to dance between awake and sleep. Loki took note based on how your thoughts jumbled around between multiple things, laughing to himself a bit before minor intrusive fears began picking at you. Loki immediately jumped into action in an attempt to squash them soothing you a bit.

“You can sleep soundly, please get some rest. You don’t have to force yourself to stay awake out of fear or guilt.” Loki spoke in the most caring and sweet tone he could muster up. Trying to convince you that it was going to be ok & it worked. Somehow you knew he was right & that you could trust him completely. You drifted back to sleep peacefully thinking about how for the first time in your life, you didn’t fear sleeping in your bed. You didn’t have intrusive thoughts about whether or not you’d wake up in the morning or not. Which honestly brought tears bubbling their way up and out of Loki's eyes. The amount of trust you had in him in your thoughts, at that moment completely took his breath away. And that was something he wasn’t going to break or ever lose.

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maplecornia · 3 years

Text

chapter 7

𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱: 2.04K

𝔰𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: You watched them from the sidelines ever since you were a young teenage girl. Now you’re grown up, they’ve returned after 2 long years and everything has changed. What happens when you pull back the mask and find the darkness within? What happens when you see that they’re broken?

𝔞/𝔫: so yeah, i've decided to start uploading every day for this story until i'm caught up with the chapters i have. i'll tell you guys when i'll go back to posting once a week.

tags:@kookaine |@fangirl125reader |@kookiebbyxx |@taradevonne

You almost faint in disbelief.

It's him, it's him.

Jeon Jungkook.

That's his face, those are his eyes, and that is his body.

Real, and right in front of you.

Heart pounding in your chest, you find yourself unable to breathe, your chest constricting and your mind going blank. You're faintly aware of the towel crinkling in your hands, and your feet propelling you backward, away from him. If he notices, he doesn't show it, seeming almost as frozen as you are.

You would know him anywhere.

The golden maknae of BTS, the one who’s made you laugh over and over multiple times before, the one who's good at everything, the sweet and handsome Jeon Jungkook.

Even after all these years, he still looks the same.

As he looks up at you, his hair falls in strands across his forehead. It's his natural color, a deep midnight black, with brown undertones. It looks as though he tried to do it in the morning, but a little too much dance practice has destroyed his efforts. There’s a slight sheen of sweat on his skin, complimenting the smooth soft complexion and making him shine as though he were a drop of moonlight befallen on the earth.

As he blinks, long feathery eyelashes cast small shadows on his cheeks, complementing the dark brown color of his irises. He opens his mouth to speak, but no words form, the same curve to his lips making it seem as though he were smiling even the tiniest bit your way. In the back of your mind, you recall how those lips would spread whenever he smiled, transforming his sweet face into one similar to that of a bunny.

As he moves even the slightest bit, your gaze travels to his jaw and you swallow hard.

Even his body is the same.

He's still tall and strong, sure and trained muscle rippling beneath his slight build. The coffee has even helped in this aspect, his shirt sticking to his chest and accenting his toned pectorals and sculpted abs beneath. You can see it in the muscle of his thighs, showing through his jeans, and the strong structure of his forearm. It even shows in the veins on his hands.

He looks the same as the day he left with the rest of BTS, leaving you behind.

At the thought, you sadly look away.

You had forgotten those days, forgotten the emptiness you felt in their absence.

You had forgotten about them for a while.

Perhaps that's the worst part.

What are you going to do?

You just bumped into Jeon Jungkook, probably the most beloved and adored member of BTS. Spilled his coffee all over him with not so much as a drop falling on you, and then proceeded to gawk at him.

You can't get all starry-eyed over an idol.

Especially not now.

Inwardly, you remind yourself that he’s just another person. He's just another human being, just someone else who lives on the same planet as you do.

Yeah, he's just another globally renowned person.

Half of the world's population is either in love with him or wanting to be like him.

Not to mention he's incredibly talented, with a great personality and heart of gold.

Nothing to worry about.

Glancing up at him, you can see he seems to have forgotten about you and is currently trying to rub the coffee stains off with the edge of his sleeve.

Smiling softly, you remember the towel you had retrieved moments ago and look towards him, swallowing hard.

“Mr. Jeon Jungkook?” your voice is soft, almost inaudible, and you silently curse yourself. Seriously, how much further are you going to embarrass yourself? Nevertheless, it draws his attention and he immediately looks up. At the sight of his eyes on you once more, your heart skips a beat.

“Here, you might need this.” Noticing the towel in your hands, he takes it from you, your fingers brushing against each other for a split second.

Almost as soon as he takes it from you, you snatch your hand back, trying to ignore the rapid beating of your heart and the faint blush rising in your cheeks. He smiles at you, politely, before nodding his head and murmuring what you think is a thank you, but you can't tell.

Looking away, you spy the mess on the floor.

Eyes widening, you immediately drop to your knees, pulling out another towel and starting to clean up the marble tile. It’s the least you can do after making a mess such as this. As you scrub up the floor, you can hear people whispering behind you and are faintly aware of a janitor in the far corner gazing at you in amazement.

You don't care, this is keeping your mind off of him.

This is distracting you from reality, at least for a moment.

But Jungkook has other plans.

You don't notice it when he pauses from cleaning his shirt and stares at you on the floor. Nor when he kneels and peers at you almost curiously. You don't even notice as he waves away a few staff members who inquire if he’s okay, or if he needs any help. You don't spy the faint smile playing on his lips as you dutifully clean up your mess.

Nor do you see when he takes the towel you gave him and cleans the floor beside you, setting the empty coffee cup to the side.

When you glance up from your work, and his face is there, just a few inches away from yours, you blink, startled.

His eyes meet yours, just like before, but this time they aren't as scared. This time, they’re friendly, almost nervous, but welcoming as they hold your attention once more. He smiles, softly, before reaching forward and taking the towel from your hand.

Inhaling sharply, you flinch away, surprised by the touch.

At the movement, his eyes falter in confidence and he looks away, shutting down once more. Only, you don't want him to shut down again. Frantically, you search for words, anything to say to him.

“I...” As he looks up at you, it's as though all your butterflies are gone and your mind is no longer blank. Things become clear and you know what you have to say.

“I’m sorry.”

At your words, he seems taken aback, as though he weren't expecting that. He blinks, surprised and you continue.

“I didn't see you behind me, and I should've apologized earlier or at least said excuse me or….” Trailing off, you sigh. Rambling won't do you any good now.

“The point is, I’m sorry.” You murmur, softly, before bowing your head to him.

You can't see his face or the way he looks at you tenderly, completely awestruck by your behavior. You don't see the soft, kind way he smiles before he playfully knocks on your head, and you raise it.

“It's alright, you don't have to apologize.” He reassures you and you flush deeply at the sound.

Jungkook’s voice is soft and almost melodic, as though he’s always ready to break out in song, exactly how you've heard it on videos and during concerts.

And yet, now that you're hearing it in person, it's a bit different.

You can hear the soft rumble in his throat as he speaks, a tiny hint of his Busan dialect mixing in with his words. Every syllable is straightforward and clear, every word having a purpose.

It's slightly raspy but refreshed, like the feeling after you've just had a good workout or have just accomplished a really hard dance you've been practicing for a while.

But what's most important is that at the sound of his voice, unexplainable emotions run through your heart.

You have to look away or you're afraid he would surely detect the rapid beating of your heart, the chaos in your mind, the way your body has suddenly gone weak.

Looking away, you spy the discarded cup on the side and lunge for it, startling Jungkook a bit. He dodges you, his eyes widening slightly. Pulling back you smile a bit sheepishly before standing and giving him a small smile.

“Wait here.” You instruct before turning and hurrying to a trash can.

As you look up after throwing away the coffee cup, you notice a vending machine and spy a canned coffee cup on one of the slots.

Glancing back at Jungkook, you watch as he offers the soaked towels to the janitor who has come behind you and is currently mopping up the mess.

Turning back to the vending machine, you pull out your wallet, taking out a couple of won and inserting it into the slot. Pressing the numbers of the coffee can, you receive your change, bending down to retrieve your prize and turning back to Jungkook. Taking a deep breath, you pocket your wallet and hide the coffee behind your back before walking back over to him.

As you reach him, he greets you with a friendly smile, and you return it, almost nervously.

“Here.” You say, and he takes it from you, peering at it in slight confusion. “To replace the other one.”

“Thank you.” He murmurs, opening it and taking a drink. As soon as he tastes it, he pulls back, overdramatizing how delicious it is. At the sight of his expression, you snort, chuckling softly.

“It's really good!” he exclaims, and you laugh, covering your mouth with your hand. He laughs as well, a soft chuckle that warms you from the inside out and makes your smile grow wider.

You open your mouth to say something else, but a voice behind you cuts you off.

“Jungkook!” at the sound, Jungkook looks behind you, and you turn around.

A staff member is standing near an elevator, holding it open. She frantically points to her watch, a phone held desperately between her shoulder and ear. She seems distressed as though she’s late for something, and as you think about it, you realize she probably is.

You couldn't meet with Kim Namjoon due to a meeting he had with BTS, and Jungkook happens to be a member of BTS. He was probably on the way when you bumped into him.

“You should probably go.” You mutter, a bit disheartened at seeing him leave. “It sounds important.”

As you say the words, you turn to him and he seems a bit down himself. He nods to the staff member before looking at you and smiling once more. A bit bashfully, he holds out his hand, grinning that bunny smile as you take it.

“Thank you for the coffee, miss. It was nice to meet you.” He says politely, shaking your hand softly before bowing his head to you.

“You're welcome, I’m sorry again, by the way.” You chuckle softly, and he shakes his head at you almost in disbelief.

“I thought I told you,” he murmurs, letting go of your hand and starting to walk past you. However, as he reaches your side, he pauses, whispering in your ear...

“You don't have to be sorry for anything.”

At the feeling of his breath against your skin, you shiver, a slight blush exploding on your cheeks. You refuse to meet his eyes, unwilling to let him see your blush.

So you don't see him smirk at your reaction before turning away and heading to meet the staff member who has started to pace in anticipation and worry.

As soon as he leaves your side, you turn, watching him as he walks away. When he reaches halfway to the elevator doors, he pauses. As though he could feel your eyes on him, he turns his head, glancing over his shoulder at you.

Smiling, he meets your eyes, raising his hand in the air to say goodbye. Letting out a small laugh, you roll your eyes before doing the same.

After a moment, he turns once more, completing the distance and vanishing behind the elevator door, your eyes unable to break from him the entire way.

And once he’s gone, you hold the same hand you waved goodbye to him with, close to your chest.

As though that would calm the rapid beating of your heart.

𝔫𝔬𝔱𝔢: pretty spoicy no? (¬‿¬)

chapter 8 here

check the Infinite Stars masterlist for more chapters

check my BTS masterlist for other BTS content

check out my masterlist for other kpop fanfics

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airashisakura · 3 years

Text

For @ssskmonth Prompt used: Favorite food

Present

A/N: Major spoilers warnings for those who don’t follow Boruto Manga. After chapter 55 events.

Part 1

Part 2

FFN | AO3

Sarada scrunched her nose in irritation. The rice porridge she had been trying to cook didn’t taste right. Frustrated, she dropped the ladle on the granite slab. A few minutes before she had tasted it, and it lacked salt. She was so sure that she had sprinkled in the right amount, and now she couldn’t understand how that could ruin the taste.

I never have trouble with this recipe! She cried in frustration. And why is it happening TODAY of all days?

It was a simple recipe that she knew how to cook. Perhaps it was things around her that distracted her.

She twisted the knob of the burner with much more force than required, turning off the stove. She dropped the lid over the pot forcefully and cringed at the sharp metallic sound.

The start of the day had been good for her. Like every year, this birthday also started with the sight of her mother grinning widely. It was a bit too early, however.

Her mother had given her a squishing hug as she wished her birthday, and like every year, she giggled and returned her mother’s embrace. Everything around her could change, but maybe this routine never would.

Perhaps it could. She was no longer a child who hid behind her mother when she was afraid to face something. She had been on her fair share of missions and was beginning to grasp the essence of shinobi life. She was a kunoichi now, and she had confronted the death of her comrades. She had accepted this ugly truth, but watching her father recuperate had made things worse for her. Sitting beside her unconscious father in the hospital had almost given her a taste of what it felt like to lose someone close.

Trying not to concentrate on her thoughts, she padded towards the refrigerator. She tried to occupy her mind with how to fix the porridge. One thing she could do to balance the salt was to add more rice to porridge. She sighed in relief when she spotted a bowl of rice in one of the cabinets.

She turned on the stove again, adding the rice and water to adjust its consistency and let it boil.

She tapped her fingers on the granite slab, eyeing the bubbling water. With nothing to do at the moment, her mind wandered off to her teammate.

She reached for other ingredients and measured in each carefully. While she was stirring the porridge, she realised that with her team on suspension from missions, she hadn’t seen Boruto lately. Boruto seemed to be doing fine, but she had realised she was wrong when Shikadai pointed out that of all people, Boruto was the one who’d been affected most by the incident.

Maybe I’ll call him up, Sarada thought while she cracked eggs into a bowl.

However, she felt like he had been ignoring her, and decided not to call him while she gathered the chopsticks and started beating the eggs.

She had mixed feelings regarding Boruto. Although she understood it wasn’t Boruto’s fault at all, every time she saw her father’s injuries, she couldn’t control the anger that surfaced. She tried to shake off the feeling as she poured the beaten eggs into the porridge. She didn’t want to blame Boruto for what had happened.

After closing the lid on the pot again, she buried her face into her palms, leaning against the counter. She really hated this cycle — understanding Boruto’s helplessness and then ending up holding a grudge against him. No matter how hard she didn’t want to think about it, the thought of what havoc he might cause when he lost control of his body again dreaded her. She knew Boruto was now a potential threat. What if she had to do something in future herself?

She was too confused to think straight. With a sigh, she removed the lid to see if it was done. Satisfied with the consistency, she sprinkled in some spring onion and reached for a bowl to pour some for her father.

Sarada knocked lightly on the door, announcing her presence to her father. Although it had been routine for a few days, she waited till her father responded. A small smile adorned her face when she heard him ask her to come in.

She realized she rarely had any time with Sasuke like this. They usually trained together or ate dinner when he came back from his mission. She never had felt his day-to-day presence as such.

She pushed the door open. She tried to suppress her excitement, but she didn’t have to work hard when she saw her father reading a scroll.

“Didn’t mama tell you not to strain your eye?” Sarada asked him, pretending to be offended.

She kept the tray on the bed-side table and heard the scroll falling on the bed with a light thud.

Sarada fidgeted on her foot sheepishly, waiting for her father to wish her a happy birthday. She looked around the room, trying not to be obvious. The silence stretched, and it became a bit uncomfortable, so she asked him.

“How are you feeling today?”

"Better," Sasuke nodded, his voice as reserved as always.

Sarada adjusted her glasses, and scrutinized her father's face. He didn't look any better than he had the previous days. Although her mother assured her there was nothing to worry about, she sensed that her father wasn’t doing well.

She wasn't quite sure if her father was sad or if he really was better. Sometimes she was really amazed by how her mother managed to read behind her father’s stoic mask.

His long absence from her life made her sad because she knew Uchiha Sasuke only in two ways — one when he was happy and proud of her, and the other when he was indifferent and unattached with his surroundings. She didn’t know much about her father, and maybe her father didn’t know much about her.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked, patting his hand on the side beside him and gesturing for her to sit.

Sarada plopped on the bed beside him; and replied, “Boruto.”

He listened with a rapt attention as Sarada recounted her concerns and could only wonder when his little Sarada, who hardly could make coherent sentences when he had left for his mission, had grown up. He had missed so many years and so many things, he realized.

Sarada frowned when she asked him, “Papa, do you think anything is going to happen to Boruto?”

Sasuke knew what she was talking about, but didn’t interrupt her.

“Since he is a potential danger now,” she explained.

Sasuke sighed, closing his eyes, partly in relief and partly agitated. “Don’t worry about that. This isn’t the old Konoha. The present council doesn’t take any harsh measures.”

Sarada gave him a perplexed look, and Sasuke realised what he had said. However, he didn't falter, and waited for her next question.

“What about old Konoha?”

“A lot,” he paused and thought about whether to complete his sentence.

“About the old system.”

About that unforgivable system that ran on blood and filthy tricks.

“About the old councilors.”

About those insensitive bureaucrats who didn’t think twice before ordering a thirteen-year-old to butcher his own clan and family.

“And about our clan.”

About the family I once had.

Sarada was thrown off by his sudden straightforwardness. He had always measured the amount of information he fed her and had always dismissed her when she pried much about the clan and the doujutsu. She couldn’t help but feel a little awkward, and she didn’t know how to react until she noticed.

“The food,” she squeaked. Sarada touched the bowl and wailed, “Oh no! It turned cold.”

It reminded him of Sakura, and he smirked before he said, “Ah, but I can eat.”

“You sure? I can go and reheat if you say so,” Sarada said as she set a low table on the bed and placed the bowl there.

Sasuke nodded, and murmured, “Itadakimasu.”

He took a spoonful of porridge, and asked her, “Did you cook this?”

Sarada nodded eagerly. “Mama had to leave early for the hospital today, but it isn’t like mama’s, though,” she pouted. “I messed up while adding salt.”

“No, it’s fine,” Sasuke lied. The porridge was too watery with a lot of rice, and it tasted disbalanced.

He wondered again when his daughter had grown up so much. Although he knew they were shinobi and they were supposed to, he couldn’t shake off the image of the tiny girl born to them years ago, and the shiny big black orbs that had stared at him when he had held her in his arm for the first time.

Sasuke took a few more bites of food and decided to break the silence, “What do you want for your birthday?”

“Eh?” Sarada blushed, although she tried hard not to overreact.

So Papa remembered.

She grinned harder and nodded her head, saying, “Nothing. You being at home is more than enough for me.”

But when the words slipped, she realised perhaps her reply wasn’t apt. Some unfortunate events making him stay home wasn’t what she wanted.

“I didn’t mean that way,” she reprimanded herself. “This is the first time you’re home on my birthday and...”

She didn’t know how to explain further, looking at the ground.

As far as she could remember in her childhood, Sasuke had never been home for her birthdays except a few years during which she didn’t have a clear memory.

Sasuke again took a spoonful of porridge and said, “Aah,” and smiled lightly and added, “maybe training?”

“You know mama won’t be a bit happy about this?” Sarada deadpanned.

Sasuke scoffed and after a second, both were laughing.

It was the first time she had seen her father so unguarded. She had made many memories, spent precious time with her father, and learned a lot, but this Sasuke was an entirely new one to her. For that moment, she stopped blaming all the wrong things that had happened to her, to her father, and to her family and cherished the moment. Seeing him so casual, she decided to say something she had been thinking about.

“I’m sorry. I had always resented you because you couldn’t live with us. I wondered why you had to go on a mission for so long.”

Sasuke was a little taken aback at the moment. Years of sacrifice had created a large mass of guilt inside him. However, Sakura always supported him, but he knew he owed an apology from Sarada for his absence. He wasn’t sure how. Words weren't his way, and he was too overwhelmed to say anything after what her daughter said.

Sarada smiled widely, and added, “Thank you for protecting us, Papa”.

“Aah.”

(Since chapter 55 was released in March, I assumed it to be around Sarada's birthday)

Part 3

#ssm21 #ssm2021 #ssm21d12 #ss fic #uchiha sasuke #uchiha sarada #haruno sakura #sasusaku #SasuSakuSara #SSS #and yes! I'm late again.

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uniquevocashark · 3 years

Text

A Good Servant

Part 2

16+ please. Content warnings:

Casual mentions of death, body modification, mention of whipping (not in a sexy way in the bad way), mention of tongue removal, mention of murder, mention of strangling, infliction of grievous bodily harm, improper firearm use

There are many servant passages in the castle, mostly forgotten, and you use them to ensure that your staff behaves as desired. They help you find and smooth any kinks that arise, like Rachel's inability to not have an affair and Daniela's nightly harassment of Louise.

And to keep an eye on the Lady's pet, of course.

She's too far out from your sphere of influence in the household for any actions you take to be beneficial in the long run. Lady Dimitrescu will only listen to you so long as you don't run contrary to what she wills; the wellbeing of her pet is something she considers seriously to be a personal affair and completely out of your hands. To accept that she doesn't know best would feel like a diminishing of herself.

Yet, at the same time, being the cause of another pets death would greatly grieve her. If you can stop that, then you can consider your time well spent.

"Bertrand." You call as you enter the kitchen.

This time around, they are a thickly built muscled human, displaying traditionally masculine traits and being perceived as such. You know them as your sibling, even as their face is changed over the years.

Their voice this time is booming and filled with a deep timbre. But while you both talk big and about nothing, you watch their hands.

"Alex," you sign discretely, "I've run into a hurdle."

"A breach somewhere?" They sign back.

"No, I'm taking care of that. It's about her pet."

"What about it?"

"It's malnourished. Lady Dimitrescu isn't feeding it enough."

They bend their fingers in a way to convey a calm down gesture, "Don't sign so angrily. Its obvious." A pause, "I will ensure something smooth and energy dense is made."

"Apologies," you say out loud, folding your hands in front of you and matching the severity of their tone, "But it seems Miss Daniela has an upset stomach."

"Well see what can be done, ma'am," They said, crossing their arms, "But preparations have already been made."

"Then remake them." You say, signing a loving farewell and exit the kitchen. You steel yourself and walk over to the Heisenberh retainer.

...

By four in the evening, the meeting is still dragging along, half the Heisenbergs are gone and Mihaela is still passed out on her bed. You've been cleaning for the past 30 minutes around her, packing her things, preparing new sheets, so on and so forth.

When Mihaela finally wakes up, while you're busy dusting the candelabra around the room, she still has that wild shaken look on her face.

"You, you have to change her mind." Mihaela begs.

"I can't." You say firmly, not looking away from your cleaning.

"Can't you try?"

You put down your duster, "Would you prefer to watch me get lashed, Mihaela?"

She squeaks. You find that most staff are too timid to risk others, terrified of being perceived as a monster, but you can see she still wants to push it. You clear your throat and continue, "In my absence, you answer to the Dimitrescu family. If a Heisenberg comes to you, tell me immediately, otherwise I cannot protect you."

"Right." She mumbled.

You picked up half her things and she hastened to pick up the rest. "It is imperative that you wake early enough to dress the Lady and that you remain on call for her at all times during the day."

"Okay."

You held the door open for her as she waddled into the hallway. "You'll be in close proximity with her pet," she paled and you rolled your eyes, "do not speak to her and do not touch her unless Lady Dimitrescu says so. That includes eye contact."

"Right."

"And remember not to stare at her pet either. She took the last maids tongue for that."

"Okay."

"You'll be picking every outfit for the Lady and her pet in the morning. Pay close attention to the colour, it would not do to have either of them wearing peach in summer or grey in winter."

"I'll remember that." Mihaela huffed, struggling to keep up as you strode down the hallways.

You pause before the next junction. When she catches up shes red faced and sweating, and you can see that she's shed a few tears along the way.

"Don't fret over it," You say, "You'll make yourself slip up." When she looks sick, you smile and take care to keep the amusement from your voice. "Let's get you settled into your new room."

...

You abandon Mihaela to her dread. She'd sort herself out before long or die in the process.

When you get to the kitchen, you find your staff milling about quietly. You take the extra time to whip them back into shape until the kitchen is buzzing with moving hands and feet. More energy towards a better, emotionally frugal existence rather than wasting it indulging in panic.

When that's done you take a tray from Catherine, stopping her shaking hands from making a mess of the hors d'oeuvres and sending her to work on the dishes instead. You take a glance at the food offered; lots of bacon, small samples of fruit and what looks to be the jelly Miss Bela made from the leftovers of her last meal.

You checked the clock. Fifteen past five.

You walk steadily into the dining room and then down the table to her side, where you deposit the small plates. The stares of the others follow you, but you've never let a Heisenberg or a Moreau distract you. By the way they stare, you wonder if they've never seen a blonde before.

They're dug in like fleas, none moving but to recentre themselves. An intimidation technique, though without the stalwart grace that Lady Dimitrescu holds.

She doesn't even spare you a glance, her entire focus on the tone of her voice and the way she tilts her head to watch all her guests. She moves smoothly, her pearls never clicking together, her hair barely moving as she turns to the head Moreau.

You could watch her talk all day and never run out of things to admire.

Instead of pursuing that, though, you move to stand with your staff members, whose curling shoulders are disgraceful. Its second nature for you to stand tall, proud but reserved; the posture of a learned being rather than some common miscreant. As if on cue, your staff follow your lead and you almost frown. They're usually so composed, the ones you let serve guests.

When Lady Dimitrescu calls your name, you walk over smoothly. You lean towards her when she gestures and almost startle when her lips brush your ear. She smiles, a just there curve of her lips, and you relax just a bit. Her pet, though, is no where to be seen.

"Your other skills are needed," she murmurs, quiet enough that the others can't hear, and you note steel in her voice, "The smell of the room is different and my pet is missing. Find out why."

When you lean away, you keep your expression neutral, "Of course, Madame."

You bow respectfully and turn to leave, when you hear a Heisenberg call out to you.

Each Heisenberg has this odd smugness to their voice, you find. Despite their familial history, you find that there mutations seem to have exacerbated their material indulgence rather than birthing a smarter breed of human. It's unforgivable but you tolerate them for your Lady.

"Do you know what happened to my last retainer?"

"As I recall," you say without stopping, "they went for a trip to a natural aquarium."

"Do you know where?"

"I'm afraid not." You lie pleasantly and leave. Killing the last Heisenberg retainer had been a personal vendetta, one that not even the Lady knew of with any great detail. And it would remain so.

...

You check the kitchen first. Her pet was a social being, even if no one would talk to her, and would often come to your side to watch your staff work. You did have to admire that she kept herself apart, at the very least.

When you don't find her, you walk calmly to your room and grab your gun. You reload it and then attach the silencer to it before walking to her secret room. You'd found it one day while exploring the hidden passages, looking for a quicker way to the servants quarters.

It was barely a closet but it had small memorabilia from her home life which must bring her comfort. Lady Dimitrescu was not surprised when you told her, her curled hair shining as she took long drags from her cigarette.

You would have done something about it, had she not forbidden you from acting.

It was empty when you got there but you noticed that one of her pictures was rumpled and the air had a faint whiff of cologne.

You followed it.

Half an hour later, you were pleasantly warmed up and found her pet in a subterranean level. Ruined only by the fact that she was held at knife point. The Moreau staff member looked at you, cutting her throat slightly, and you fired a bullet into his hand. His knife hits the floor and he shrieks, which is a sound you're very sick of, and you fire another bullet into his kneecaps.

"The Madame is looking for you." You say to her pet when he's stopped screaming.

She steps away as you haul him over your shoulder, putting the gun away into your apron pocket. The man kicks and you squeeze his knees.

You give the pet a once over, trying hard to maintain a neutral face, "Quite the predicament you're in, isn't it?"

She dips her head and stands perfectly still, "Yes," she whispers, "you cannot tell her—"

You shut her up with a dismissive gesture, "Don't be a fool."

"I'm not trying to be. What am I suppose to do?" She asks doefully, her lip wobbling.

"Be silent, if you can manage it." You sigh, covering how you're rolling your eyes at the melodramatic display and grab her by the back of the collar.

You drag her down the corridor, making sure to avoid the well used hallways. For her part, she keeps her eyes wide and scared, letting herself be dragged and curling her shoulders in. You wait until you're in the ballroom before you speak.

"What did he ask?"

"I'm not sure, it was in a weird language." She's crying now but it only makes you angry.

You walk the entire length of the massive area, "Could you repeat one of the words?"

"I can't." She sobs and you wish she would stop. "It was gibberish."

"Try to understand," you say, "I will safeguard this castle, if you can't help me then I suppose I wouldn't mind watching the Lady punish you."

She stares, "What?"

"It seems that I may have to omit some things. I would need to lie a bit, of course, but only if you're dishonest with me now."

"Why would you—?"

"Because," you say waiting for her to stand so you can descend the steps, "you're a walking information leak. I will stopper you, even if I must goad the Lady into doing it."

She stumbles beside you, hiding her expression before looking at you with a strange gleam in her eyes. "You care about this place?"

Its presented too innocently for you to think it isnt loaded and you wonder who she has been talking to, "She breaks things when she's angry," you say instead of answering, watching her jolted reaction, "It's why you are so important. Pets don't break quite as quickly as vases."

She averts her eyes. You can understand why the Lady picked her, really, but you wish she hadn't. If this pet doesn't survive after today, you may advise that she pick another who is a great deal more stupid than this one. Or just not keep cattle as a pet and get a dog instead.

You're almost certain she was talking with the man before the knife was pulled. You can't trust her, even if the Lady seems to.

You banish the thought when Miss Daniela appears before you. Her face is stony and she looks upset when she sees your passive expression.

"Mother doesn't like when people touch her property. You know that."

You'd completely forgotten. You release Lady Dimitrescu's pet. "Apologies," you say blankly, "I was unsure if she would be able to follow after what happened."

"What happened?" Daniela repeats, with the same mechanical blankness.

You take a second to build up an appropriate level of hesitance in your voice and she waits patiently for it, "This Moreau staff member tried to— force himself upon her," you pause, "was that enough?"

"A tad under done," Daniela critiqued then cleared her throat, "I am sure Mother would excuse handling of her property after such a traumatic event."

"Thank you for your leniency."

The pet watches both of you with wide eyes but without the usual shake she effects. You find yourself in the odd position of wanting to throttle her, "What shall I do with this?" You poke a finger into the man's bullet wound and hear him scream.

Her face lights up and she checks his face. "I shall take him. Oh, and Mother wants her pet by her side."

"And where is she currently?"

"The foyer. One of the Moreau cousins are waiting for this man."

You nod, "He doesn't appear to speak English. And, remember, Miss Daniela, no biting."

"Yes, alright. Let's go."

You herd the pet after Daniela, who continues her unsure meekness by drawing closer to you. You find it ironic. Despire sharing a race with the woman, you know she has more in common with Daniela than she ever could with you.

Thats by design, of course.

By years of education and careful association. But that's worth dust when you enter the foyer and see Lady Dimitrescu's thunderous expression.

And then it hits you. You forgot to talk to Rachel.

#alcina dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu #lady dimitrescus daughters #lady dimitrescu x reader #resident evil 8 #A Good Servant #my writing #16+ my friends #specified age do not touch #does it flow 🤔 you tell me i dont write multichapter stuff its hard #no catholic jokes this time round sorry guys :(

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multimilfs · 3 years

Text

Eda Clawthorne x Fem!Reader: Once A Rival (Now Something Better)

Summary: Anon requested “Eda x reader, School rivals turned lovers? Meet at a bar.”

A/N: I can’t find any gifs of Eda playing grudgby and I’m so sad about it

Warning(s): None

2-2

“We have a tie. You all know what that means.” The grudgby coach said, making all of the other players ‘ooooh.’

You and Eda stood across from one another, panting heavily. This was the third year in a row that you had faced off for grudgby captain. And this year, you’d given it everything you had. Only to end up here. In a tie breaker.

“Clawthorne, you’re up first.”

Eda gave you a cocky smirk, before grabbing the ball. Whoever was able to cross the field and launch more shots through the hoops would win captain. The opponent was allowed to do anything they could to block them.

“Ready?” The coach called, Eda gave him a nod, “Get on it, then!”

She took off down the field. Using your plants and anything you could get a hold of, you attempted to block her. None of them came close. Until you wrapped a thin vine around her ankle, lifting her from the ground.

You felt triumphant for a moment before Eda summoned all of her strength, throwing the ball from her upside down position, and sending it cleanly through the hoop. A growl left your mouth.

“Your turn, Y/L/N.”

This went on for ages, with neither of you missing, until Coach called a final face-off between the two of you. Whoever scored first was Captain. It was clean and simple. Unfortunately, you and Eda wanted the position equally as bad. Nothing was going to stop you.

Eda managed to grab the grudgby ball first and took off past you. She nearly made it to the hoop, until you used a strong vine to pluck it from her arms. It was easy. Too easy. As it was plopped into your grasp, you ran as quickly as possible towards the other hoops.

When your nose started to itch.

You let out an unexpected sneeze, immediately moving to cover your face. Then you sneezed again. And again. And again. In horror, you realized that Eda had covered the ball in a sneezing potion. Try as you might, you couldn’t stop long enough to get the ball into the hoop.

It left it open for Eda to manipulate your own vines and launch the ball through her hoop. Making her captain for another year. While you sneezed so hard in the middle of the field that you worried you’d never stop.

“Nice job, Clawthorne,” The coach congratulated her, “A good start to your third year as captain. Now go help Y/L/N out.”

Eda smiled, coming over and handing you the anti-sneezing draft. You gave her a heavy glare when you stopped.

“Hey, no hard feelings, right?” She said with a smile.

“Sure. Good luck, captain.” You rolled your eyes before turning and leaving. Eda said something after you, but you didn’t stop to hear any of it.

It wasn’t the losing that made you bitter. It wasn’t even the sneezing potion. No. What made you bitter was that becoming Captain was the only thing keeping you at Hexside. Now, you’d have to leave.

You weren’t going to make it any harder by saying goodbye.

---

“Here, Y/N.”

You looked up from the bar, taking in the large drink that the bartender was placing down in front of you. It was huge. Larger than should probably be allowed, not to mention it was bright yellow.

“I didn’t order that.” You said.

“I know. She did.”

He motioned behind you, making you turn boredly. Though your eyes widened. Sitting in the booth across from the bar was a face you never thought you’d see again. The smug face of one Eda Clawthorne.

She tilted her drink in your direction, giving you a grin. And as if in a trance, you grabbed your own, and moved over to where she was sitting. Like you were in some sort of trance.

“Of all places I expected to see you, this was not one of them.” You said in greeting, sliding in across from her.

“Even I enjoy a good drink.”

“I never said you didn’t. But you’re not just Eda now, you’re the Owl Lady. Isn’t it a bit risky?”

“Not unless you’re going to report me.” Eda said flatly.

“Not likely. I have no interest in doing anything to help the Emperor.” You admitted.

That caught her attention. During your shared time at Hexside, you’d been an almost devout rule follower. The idea of getting in trouble had left you shaking. It interested her that you had changed so much.

“Well, it seems I picked some good company then.” Eda said.

Silence surrounded the two of you. The only sounds were the two of you sipping your drinks. It was nice, almost. There was an underlying tension there. Unspoken questions.

“I never thought I’d see you back in Bonesborough.” She said after some time.

You looked up from your drink, meeting her eyes. She’d attempted to make the statement casually. Though you could tell there was more there, some emotion she was doing her best not to show you.

It’d been hard to leave Bonesborough. Especially without saying goodbye. Eda may have been your rival, but she’d also been your friend. Sometimes. Leaving it all, leaving her, had been the toughest thing you’d ever done. But you couldn’t handle saying goodbye.

“I missed certain things here. Thought maybe it’d be a good idea to come back, see how it had changed.” You said slowly.

Eda scoffed.

“You were in such a hurry to leave, now you miss it?”

You flinched at her harsh tone. It was well deserved, sure, but it still hurt.

“I was never in a hurry to leave.” You said softly.

“You could have fooled me. Was not being captain so terrible? I… I would have given you the position if it meant you’d stay.” Eda said.

She looked at you intensely. You’d forgotten what she was like. All you had for years were the memories, moments to replay in your mind. Now she was in front of you, looking nothing like the witch you’d left. Her hair was bright white and she had a gold fang where she’d never had a tooth.

It was a good look on her, you admitted to yourself.

“I never had a choice. My family made the decision to leave. The only thing that would have changed it was getting Captain, but I never wanted it out of pity. I wanted to earn it or not have it at all.”

Eda raised an eyebrow. It was a different story from the one your absence had left. But you’d spoken with such conviction that she couldn’t help but believe you.

“And you couldn’t say goodbye?”

“We didn’t even like one another half the time, Clawthorne. I never expected you’d care.”

It was a lie.

You knew it and she could tell. Sure, maybe you hadn’t always gotten along, but neither of you wanted the other to leave. No matter how tenuous the relationship, it was still a relationship. Sometimes losing a rival also feels like losing your greatest ally.

“Well, I did. Sue me.” Eda said.

“Hmm. I could sue you, but where is the fun in that, when we could take it to the grudgby court instead?” You suggested.

Her eyes lit up with that familiar spark. The same one you had seen before every game and every practice. That was the Eda you’d missed; the one who reveled in the challenge.

“You’re on,” She grinned, sliding out of the booth, “You’re also paying.”

She let out a wild laugh before leaving the bar. With a sigh, you handed more than enough money to the bartender. You couldn’t help but shake your head. Eda’s looks may have changed, but she was definitely the same.

----

Finding yourself back on the grudgby court felt surreal. Like something you could have dreamed up, but never expected you’d live. It felt comfortable to be back on the old court.

You and Eda had spent more time than normal warming up, though it was probably a good thing. The last thing you wanted was to lose because of a leg cramp.

“You ready to lose, Y/L/N?” Eda asked, cocky as ever.

“Not happening, Clawthorne.”

She gave you a smile, before the two of you raced towards the ball.

Eda snatched it up first and evaded an attack expertly. She moved down the field, sending the ball flying through the hoop. You let out a low growl.

Not a great start.

The next play was all yours. While Eda had believed she was getting away, you used magic to grab the ball away. She was shocked for long enough, giving you time to score.

It went on like this for hours. Back and forth, score after score. Eda was starting to slow down. And though you hated to show it, you were too. It reminded you that you’d been away from the court for far too long.

“Next point wins.” Eda panted out, “So get ready to admit defeat.”

“Not this time.” You said back, hands on your knees.

The both of you managed to collect yourselves for one last play. Your palms felt sweaty, but there was a surge of confidence through you. This was going to be your game. You could feel it.

You launched yourself from your spot, speeding towards the ball. Only to narrowly miss it as Eda grabbed onto it. Without thinking, you grabbed at her, knocking the ball into your own arms. You froze. It was only a second, not nearly long enough to mean anything, but it felt like an eternity. Then you ran. Ran as quickly as your legs could manage after all of this time.

Eda could be heard chasing after you, even as you managed to dodge her attacks. So you put all of your focus into getting within range of the hoop. In your haste though, you missed one of your own vines, still sticking out of the ground. You tripped and the ball flew out of your hands.

You prepared yourself to hit the ground. Hard. But it never came. Instead, a sturdy pair of arms caught you before you hit the ground. As she lifted you up, you found yourselves very close.

She looked shocked at her own speed, before her eyes scanned your face. Darting to your lips. Eda unconsciously licked her lips, drawing your attention. She was so close. It would take barely a breath to close the gap.

“You win.” Eda whispered, before you could kiss her.

“What?”

“You win.”

Motioning to the scoreboard, you saw it. You had won by a single point. The ball that had flown out of your arms had just cleared the hoop, finally making you the winner.

“I won…” You muttered, before it hit you, “I won!”

You laughed, pride surging through you, as Eda watched on with a grin. So overcome with joy and pride, you pulled her into a deep kiss. She froze. You worried that you had misread the situation, before she finally started to kiss you back. It felt like winning a grudgby match ten times over.

Eventually the two of you pulled away for air. You had a smile on your face, a subtle blush spreading across your cheeks. Eda looked similar, but rolled her eyes, and spoke with a smile.

“It seems I won too.”

#edalyn clawthorne #eda x reader #the owl house #eda clawthorne #the owl house x reader #eda the owl lady #eda clawthorne imagine #the owl house imagine #wlw #wlw imagine #eda clawthorne x fem reader #dec2020 #multimilfswritings

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blackcherrykiss · 3 years

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BLOOD BOUNDARIES - Enhypen OT7 Fanfic (ch.9)

[CH.1] [CH.2] [CH.3] [CH.4] [CH.5] [CH.6] [CH.7][CH.8] previous chapters

[CH.10] next chapter (unavailable on tumblr but avaliable on wattpad!)

You wait outside the nurse's office beside Jay in complete silence. You were both waiting for someone to burst out the door in front of you to rest assure Jungwon's condition.

"You can go to class, I'll stay and wait for Jungwon." Jay broke the noiseless lounge as his eyes laid flat on the grim grey floor. You were willing to stick around but realized it would be better if you were to just leave. Jungwon probably wouldn't want to see you after the minor argument. You simply nodded your head and left without another word.

When you had arrived in your astronomy class you carefully explained yourself, explaining Jay would be gone for most of the afternoon. Your teacher listened intently and understood every word well. Sitting in your usual spot, a wave of frustration washes over you once you remember Sunghoon had stolen your book for the class. You could only hope the new interesting concept of the class would jog your mind off of things to which it did. However, as the class came to a close you couldn't help birdwatch Jay's desk. Jay's absence for the entire class continued to make you worry about Jungwon and his condition.

Sending yourself out of the class in a daze, you began to join the trail of the halls. You met Nana and Dahee walking out of their class at the same time to your surprise, "Oh! Y/N!" With an abrupt slide to slow down you let the two girls catch up to you, "Sorry we couldn't eat lunch with you and Hyesun, we went to track tryouts." Nana gleefully explained.

"It's fine, I had detention for half of lunch and then got caught up in something..." Your head going straight back to Jungwon, "We should all be apologizing to Hyesun right now..." Immediately you got reminded about what Hyesun had mentioned to you earlier, "Hey, Dahee... I actually really need to speak to you about something in private." You asked shamelessly.

Nana looked at you both suspiciously but ultimately respected the privacy you desired, "I'll get going to my last class then, girls." She tapped both of your shoulders before joining the flowing current of the hallway.

You went with Dahee to a more private space, under one of the stairwells of the school. "Dahee, Hyesun told me about you and Sunghoon..." You trailed off, hoping you didn't have to say much more as to what you were about to say.

"So you do like him?" Dahee gasped happily to your surprise, "Don't worry I'm not that into him yet... But you should've told us a long time ago!" She nudged you gently in the elbow.

"Yeah! Sorry about that..." You lied with deep despise. You now had to act like you liked Sunghoon and that was the worst feeling ever, "I'll tell you about it later then, you should get going!" You cut the conversation very short so Dahee could both get to her class in time.

"I will! See you!" She waved in a much brighter mood now that you told her you supposedly liked someone for the first time forever.

"Dear Lord, what am I getting myself into?" You muttered furiously. Were you really going the extra mile to protect your friends over some gut feelings? You were literally praying to God that you would receive some sort of reserved spot in heaven for the shadow work you were doing. That is until you were interrupted by a somberly slow clap and a couple of shoes that clacked against the stairs above you.

"Wasn't expecting such a plot twist..." Sunoo came into clear view after reaching the final step at the bottom of the staircase. This was now the second time you were caught being heard by people separate from your plan. "So you didn't like Jungwon, but Sunghoon?!" He giggled in interest and cheap pity. He seemed rather thrilled to overhear your bullshit.

"I..." You could not come up with a reply in fear of both outcomes. By telling the truth or carrying out the lie to people, you were putting yourself in a very sticky situation.

"Dahee and Sunghoon were hitting it off so well the other day, it's a shame you're in the way..." Sunoo made an overly exaggerated glum face to piss you off, "You don't actually like him now, do you?" Sunoo caught on to your intentions, circling around you, "You're just doing it to save her, yes?"

You remained silent, causing Sunoo to stop right behind you where you felt the heat of his body getting closer.

"You're a lot smarter than some girls... It's enticing really... Perhaps that's why the boys are so fond of you?" Sunoo snaked around his arm to have the dull edge of his nail touch the flesh of between your jaw and neck. Slowly he etched a line down until it was right against your throbbing pulse.

You pulled away in shock as to how scandalous the act was, "I need to go... I'm supposed to check on Jungwon." You stepped away to face Sunoo in an abrupt manner.

"I heard about Jungwon's situation from Jay," He held the sharpest part of his chin between his index and middle finger, "Jungwon will just continue to get sick. He's so malnourished."

"Malnourished?" You echoed Sunoo.

"He chose to end up like that." Sunoo walked toward you again but this time passing you, with his shoulder slightly bumping yours, "Don't pity him, darling."

You shuddered. Sunoo was the most mysterious with his hints. He was the hardest to read between the lines with. For some reason, only he out of the boys influenced your thinking pattern.

...

After school and a mediocre meal at dinner, you regretted not at least peeping your head by the nurse's office just once that afternoon. Jungwon had probably been released from health watch but you thought you could've come to terms with him that evening. It was unsatisfying as you didn't feel any closure between the war of words you had with him. What wasn't helping was the stress you also had from Sunghoon.

The daylight vanished rather quick in the colder season of the year and dusk approached rather faster than a candle blowout. Since Sunghoon didn't set a specific time, you just headed out with not a glance at the clock. Your guess was to sneak out as soon as the sun came falling down. Due to the hallway monitors of your school during the late evening, it suddenly became an obstacle you had not planned for. You were confused yourself as to how Sunghoon could sneak out at this time of day, surely sneaking out super late at night was possible but not in the evening. Eventually, you took a trip out of a window on the bottom floor of the dormitory to bypass one of the school monitors.

You were well aware of how idiotic you looked running down the concrete steps and toward the very back of your school where the shadows of the forest shined brightly. You didn't see Sunghoon at all insight which was making your heart thump in fear and anger. There was no way this guy was going to set you up like this? You bit around random parts on the inside parts of your mouth as the sky grew darker every few seconds. With no one around and nothing around to do as you waited for Sunghoon, you approached the line between the woods and open grass field. You began to get deja vu of Jungwon which made you nervous as you felt the same wispy grass tickle at your calves.

"You actually came?" Sunghoon's voice rang in the open air from behind you, scaring the literal hell out of you.

"Y-yes I did." You sighed as to how close you were to exploring that forest, "Let's just get to the point." You turned your head back just for him to be in your personal space, you almost lost your balance trying to add some room.

"Walk with me." He ignored your jump into things while crossing the boundary between the skylight of dusk and the darkness of the woods. With hesitation and no clue as to what was about to go down, you followed him. "What did you want to hear from me again?" He asked carelessly with hands in his pockets as he guided you over a pile of soil and dead leaves.

"Kyungeun." You answered bluntly. "Why is she tied down to you?"

"That son of a bitch. She told you, huh?" He rolled his eyes in dear annoyance, "I guess you could say I have some information about her that would totally diminish her image." He kicked and crunched around a couple of leaves as he dragged his feet. You remembered Jaeyun had told you Kyungeun had secrets, perhaps that was it? Were you allowed to ask him about it?

Making a mental note to ask Kyungeun about it later you brisked forward to the next question, "Okay? But you said she'd be of no use to you when you get your hands on Dahee... What exactly did you mean?" Your heart thumped in loud eagerness as you move behind Sunghoon.

"She doesn't taste as good." Sunghoon paused to have you hear him clearly, "Her blood."

Your face heated up, a vibrant blush sparkling your face before the sickening realization hit you, "D-don't tell me..." The horror spreading like wildfire in your body from your head downwards. You were frozen to the very core as all the puzzle pieces came together. All the times including the gash on Kyungeun's neck, the warnings Sunoo gave, and Heeseung licking your hand... It wasn't just Sunghoon who was a vampire, it was all of the boys...

What Sunghoon faced you with a gentle eyes he withdrew the small book from inside his blazer, making your ankles shake. "I suppose you'll know why I took this now." He shook the book before throwing it in front of you with pity. You simply watched the book plop on the bed of dead leaves before your shoes in no ability to process or produce words. You didn't even feel like picking up the book as you were afraid of reading it's horrific contents.

"W-well you won't be getting your hands on Dahee any time soon." You tremble with a paralyzing fear as you tried to speak. You were regretting the bold comment, for fuck sakes the boy standing before you could kill you right then and there.

He stepped closer and closer to which you stepped further and further. "Well, then I guess I'll keep Kyungeun under my power until the day she dies." His scornful laugh made you shudder painfully. In full defeat, you were sincerely helpless. You felt you couldn't run nor report the boys, who would ever believe you? You began questioning how you even got in this position.

"Wh-why does it have to be them? Can't you just live without blood?!" You cried pathetically as you backed into a hard tree.

"And end up like Jungwon?" Delight crept onto Sunghoon's white face as yours grew in confusion, "He hasn't drunk blood in months, he's so weak to the point where he can't even stand sometimes..." Sunghoon went on to speak his mind, "Heeseung and I were convinced he was messing around you for your blood."

Your eyes shot wide open in disbelief, "Well he's clearly not like you if he's abstaining from blood."

"It's true... Something changed in him recently after he started talking to you. Perhaps he has fallen for a mortal?"

"Go to fucking hell." You muttered at a volume that wasn't loud enough for Sunghoon to hear.

"As soon as I sensed your presence that day in the library, I knew you would fall down this rabbit hole." He hummed while bending to have your eyes both at the same level. "Curiosity killed the cat."

You held your tongue with no desire to respond to Sunghoon as the closeness was now more than dangerous. But your muted self only gave Sunghoon the opportunity to proceeded to taunt you. He began caging you against the tree, causing you to press up against the rough wood where you couple feel every detail of the bark on your back.

"I remember Heeseung telling Jaeyun and I about just how good the blood from finger tasted... How about a deal?" He caught your attention as you met eyes with him. A full set of upper teeth being exposed between his rosy lips. If there was one thing you had been taught by the caregivers of your school, it was to never make deals with the devil. You knew exactly what kind of bargin Sunghoon had in store for you "I'll leave your friends in peace if you promise me this," He said with a small lean forward so that his chin rested on your collarbone earning a gasp from you,

"You'll give me your blood in exchange for theirs."

#enhypen au #enhypen x reader #enhypen fanfic #enhypen ot7 fanfic #jungwon fanfic #yang jungwon fic #heeseung fanfic #lee heeseung fic #jay fanfic #park jongseong fanfic #jake fanfic #sim jaeyun fic #sunghoon fanfic #park sunghoon fic #enhypen fic #kim sunoo fic #sunoo fanfic #niki fanfic #nishimura riki fic

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shipping-receiving · 4 years

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“Is there a chance you won’t be okay?”

An Analysis of Hwang Si-mok and Han Yeo-jin’s Final Scene in Stranger/Secret Forest Season 2

Alright, it’s been almost a week, I’m still crying every time I re-watch this scene, and somehow I’ve written 3,500 words about five minutes of this damn show, so here we go:

As with Stranger/Secret Forest Season 1, Si-mok and Yeo-jin’s final scene in Season 2 ended with a farewell meal, complete with soju. On a very basic level, this meal felt significant in a season where Si-mok was subject, more than ever, to interrupted meals or meals he didn’t particularly want to be present for – at least until he was able to have a drink with Yeo-jin in 2x12, and then lunch with her in 2x13.

More importantly, though, this scene is the most loaded scene we’ve ever witnessed between these two characters. That’s saying something for such a nuanced, detail-oriented show, in which two people placing their phones in a storage locker at a detention centre can possess such emotional weight, particularly when played by two actors who make very subtle and sophisticated acting choices.

I’m struck particularly by the way this scene bursts with subtext – things unsaid and unresolved – when Lee Soo-yeon could just as easily have written a neater, more light-hearted exchange that reaffirmed their connection, more along the lines of their final scene in 1x16. There are a thousand other ways their farewell could have been presented to us that would have given a greater or at least a more comfortable sense of finality, even taking into account their character development over this season. This lack of resolution is evident not just from what happened during the scene, but also when the scene happened within the episode itself. The meal occurred after Yeo-jin had been bullied by her colleagues, but before she met her new boss – at this point, it seemed to the viewer that her promotion would likely bring not the pride she experienced in S1, but more challenges and isolation.

More so than the Seo Dong-jae cliffhanger, this scene makes me think that this was written with a future Season 3 arc in mind, one in which Si-mok and Yeo-jin’s relationship will continue to evolve and deepen substantially (whether that will be ‘romantic’ remains to be seen). Considering they’re the core partnership of this series, there was a deliberate withholding of stability in their farewell, rather than an affirmation of it. I won’t go so far as to say destabilisation – because despite their separation, I think their bond is more profound than ever – but at the bare minimum an absence of certainty, when it could have been written otherwise.

Anyway, on to the breakdown:

The scene opens with Si-mok carefully folding a napkin and placing cutlery on it for Yeo-jin, a simple gesture of care that Cho Seung-woo plays with a startlingly gentle attentiveness. Immediately, it signals that there’s been a shift in Si-mok – how he’s able, at least with Yeo-jin, to do something that isn’t just polite, but also thoughtful. The director even snuck in a little clue that Si-mok is thinking of Yeo-jin as he’s doing this – Yeo-jin actually appears at the left side of the frame from the start, as the camera pans over to Si-mok:

In this shot, Si-mok is visually separated from Yeo-jin by a pillar. This could be read on the one hand as a kind of sectioning out of his mental space – a visualisation of his thoughts of her as he prepares her cutlery – and on the other hand, as a foreshadowing of their impending separation. (I do, however, enjoy the first interpretation more. It reminds me a little bit of her sketch of the inside of his head from 1x06.)

Back to the napkin: if you look closer, Si-mok didn’t fold a napkin for himself – his spoon and chopsticks are on the table next to his bowl – so this isn’t just a matter of neatly setting the table for their meal. In a very small way, he’s anticipating her needs, just as she has done with him in much more demonstrative ways in both seasons (helping him with his headaches being the most obvious one). This isn’t something he’s necessarily actively worked on in the past two years; he’s still the person who doesn’t instinctively say ‘hello’ over the phone, or ask after someone’s kids without being reminded. Yet, it’s a capacity for care that has expanded significantly, at least where Yeo-jin is concerned.

Compare his behaviour with the equivalent scene in 1x16 – back then, he only ordered a bowl of noodles for himself and not for her. Interestingly, Yeo-jin’s comment to Si-mok during that part of the S1 scene was, “Gosh, you haven’t changed one bit,” suggesting that he was, by nature, somehow unable to be considerate to someone else. Just from the opening to the S2 scene, we see that that comment is not or no longer true, at least when it comes to the way he acts around her. In both the S1 and S2 scenes, he was the first person to arrive for their meal; in S1, the first thing he said was, “Why are you late?” and had already ordered his soju and noodles. This time, however, Yeo-jin asks him, “Why didn’t you order something first?” – implying that although she was late again, he was patiently waiting for her to arrive.

There’s also a difference in the way he responds to her appearance. Now, I personally don’t think we can frame Si-mok’s connection with and care for Yeo-jin in conventional understandings of romantic attraction (which is not to say romance isn’t possible for them canonically, I just think it will manifest differently). Nevertheless, I’d say that he responds to her haircut in a way that is probably as close to the mechanics of attraction as we could possibly expect from Si-mok – not just the shock of “oh, you cut your hair,” but lingering looks and nostalgia for when they first met; nothing at all like noticing that she’s wearing lipstick and saying, not so kindly, that it looks weird. In fact, in a direct parallel to this moment in 1x16, Yeo-jin asks him if her haircut is “weird”, and he says, “I just meant it’s different.”

(I think the way he stares at her is not wholly due to being ‘transfixed’, but also because he’s trying to figure out what such a drastic change means, and why now, and whether he has to worry. Basically, his brain is trying to compute; part of his stare is him trying to analyse her behaviour, just as part of it is him revisiting his memories of her from two years ago, and part of it might well be an attraction he doesn’t quite understand or know how to reel in. He does stare at her for an inordinately long time.)

Switching over to Yeo-jin, I really enjoy this little routine of hers when they have meals together – how she narrows down options for him to a series of questions, and even helps him decide on occasion. It never feels like she’s trying to speak for him, but rather that she knows his likes and dislikes. Her question in this scene – makgeolli or soju – is phrased like her question in 2x02, when she asks him to choose between stir-fried octopus and hot pot; when she specifically requests a lot of cabbages, she must be thinking of how he ate lots of them in 2x12. This kind of care comes naturally to Yeo-jin – we’re talking about the person who took in a murder victim’s mother in S1 – but it’s still a form of intimacy, and one that Si-mok is clearly used to as well.

Soon, though, we have our first indication that things might not be so comfortable – not in the sense that their bond has weakened, but that there are fundamental shifts occurring in both of their lives that affect this bond. Si-mok, after a lot more staring, points out that her short hair reminds him of when they first met. (He wouldn’t have needed to take that much time to come up with that simple observation, which makes me think he was trying to choose his words carefully.) With enthusiasm, Yeo-jin responds with, “I haven’t changed a bit, right?” – echoing her comment about Si-mok in 1x16.

Perhaps Yeo-jin had meant this comment sincerely in the moment, but given context, her cheerfulness feels performative. We’ve just witnessed her crying after being bullied by her colleagues, in contrast to the warmth that she enjoys with her old Yongsan team; we’ve observed her changes – a result of maturity, disillusionment, a loss of innocence – throughout the whole season. In fact, she seems to have cut her hair precisely because she feels weighed down by all that has unfolded, just as one might after a break-up or some kind of painful life event. It’s a decision that seems to say: I acknowledge that everything has changed around me, but maybe doing this will make me feel like myself again, or the ‘myself’ of two years ago.

Si-mok, of course, isn’t quite so able to agree that she hasn’t changed. Multiple times this season, he’s observed the changes in her – “You don’t draw these days?” in 2x06, “Didn’t you want to work in police administration?” in 2x08, “You weren’t the kind of person to postpone things.” in 2x12. Now, he doesn’t respond to her question, and instead looks at her in silence, smiling only ever so slightly when she shakes her head playfully (and we know that she can make him smile wider than that). Perhaps he’s even choosing to withhold any judgment of her. But this is a moment, I think, that factors into his decision to ask her that question at the end of this scene.

Next, we have confirmation that Si-mok was the one who asked Yeo-jin out for dinner, just as he had in 2x02 once he’d settled into his new posting. It isn’t clear in 1x16 if it was Yeo-jin who’d asked to meet Si-mok when she found out he was being posted to Namhae, but it’s been affirmed twice this season that he prioritises this time with her (even more so than meeting his own mother). Then, he breaks the news to her that he is leaving for Gangwon Province this weekend.

In 1x16, Yeo-jin finds out that Si-mok is leaving from the special investigation team, without Si-mok being present. At the time, they still think he’ll be sent to the US for training, and Yeo-jin is visibly disappointed. She has the same crestfallen look on her face in this scene, in front of Si-mok. She doesn’t want to be separated from him, and when she asks about his cases, it seems she’d expected him to stay for quite a while longer to see them through. Mind you, Wonju is only about 1.5 hours drive from Seoul (yes, I mapped it), but Yeo-jin still looks like she’s had the rug pulled from under her. Perhaps, in an uncertain time, she’d hoped that Si-mok would be in her life more than the few weeks he’d spent in Seoul.

Yeo-jin’s responses in both 1x16 and 2x16 are a pretty big indicator that she has feelings for Si-mok (whether she’s aware or willing to acknowledge those feelings is another matter). I suppose one could argue that her reaction is simply out of sadness at the thought of being separated from a friend, but based on certain events in S2 – for example, Choi Bit questioning Yeo-jin about her relationship with Si-mok, and Yeo-jin deflecting – I think the viewer is at the very least meant to question whether their bond is truly ‘platonic’. This isn’t the type of show to include superfluous details just to tease their viewers, and in any case, Si-mok and Yeo-jin’s connection has only deepened through the course of this season despite being on opposing sides of the council. It feels like the emotional stakes are much higher this time than back in S1.

As Yeo-jin is absorbing this news from Si-mok, there are a couple of little details here that feel significant to me, but could be nothing: first, the way Si-mok half-holds out his hand as Yeo-jin is pouring her soju, just as he’d held out his hand when she was pouring makgeolli in 2x13. Second, how she pours out a cup of soju for herself first, but not for Si-mok. In any other situation, it might seem impolite – after all, Si-mok is the one who’d chosen the drink – but here it seems that she’s pouring a drink to steady or busy herself more than anything, and she doesn’t drink from it till after their toast.

Following this, Yeo-jin confides in Si-mok that “I never thought the council would end like this. [...] Will the higher-ups be replaced with more honest people while I’m catching bad men out there?” When he replies with, “Why are you talking as if those two are the same?”, it’s yet another of his probing questions, questions she never seems to have an answer to. The Yeo-jin of old would never have assumed that all the higher-ups are dishonest – she has always seen the good in people – but she feels betrayed by Choi Bit, the one person she sincerely respected. Here, she changes the topic rather than opening up, reverting to her most comfortable mode of showing care for someone else by asking Si-mok why he looks so tired. It’s a guardedness that we’re not used to seeing from Yeo-jin; when Si-mok met with Choi Bit at the start of the episode, he describes Yeo-jin as someone who “opens up easily”, even if she doesn’t “blindly trust or respect just about anybody”.

While Yeo-jin is evasive, Si-mok is more willing to be vulnerable in comparison. His openness isn’t surprising, given that Si-mok has shared more about his life and thoughts with her than with anyone else, but it is still heartwarming to see. Instead of brushing off Yeo-jin’s comment, he tells her about his dream of the prosecutors from the Western Office. For anyone else, this might not seem like a significant conversation topic, but for someone who hardly ever dreams (which Si-mok mentioned in S1), it feels like he’s sharing something special with her. This dream, and his factual recounting of it, seems to be a means for his brain to process the traumatic events of two years ago.

Before Si-mok tells Yeo-jin about his dream, there’s a quick insertion here – a lament about seeing your boss in your dreams – that suggests that she is still troubled about Choi Bit, more than she’s letting on. Again, Si-mok doesn’t push her to elaborate, though I think he’s been absorbing all the things that seem off with Yeo-jin since she arrived. Yeo-jin proceeds to analyse his dream in her head, but doesn’t verbalise her interpretation (that Yoon Se-won might be considering suicide, since he went off in the same direction as two characters who have both passed). As she’s deep in thought, Si-mok tilts his head questioningly at her; she says that he probably won’t have time to go anywhere else this weekend, implying that she was thinking of bringing him with her to visit Yoon.

Knowing that Si-mok won’t be able to come with her, however, leaves Yeo-jin resigned. As she announces, “All right, then,” I wonder if this is the moment that she’s choosing to steel herself. The two people she treasures and respects most in her life (Si-mok and Choi Bit) are disappearing from it, and she will have to learn to move forward without them.

Now, we come to their toast. In the corresponding scene in S1, their toast is bittersweet, but has a sense of resolution; upbeat piano music plays in the background as Yeo-jin says, “Goodbye, I won’t be able to see you off,” while Si-mok echoes that with, “Good luck in your new position. Sorry I can’t attend the ceremony.” In S2, the music is quieter, and much more sombre – I’ve been describing it in my head as ‘breathy sad wooooo music’ – even as Yeo-jin laughs and says, a little helplessly: “It feels like we keep repeating this.”

Si-mok, on his part, doesn’t even echo her laugh with anything more than the barest smile. Instead, he says, with a deep sincerity: “Take care, Senior Inspector Han.” As I mentioned earlier, there are many ways that they could have written or played this scene to convey even a little more resolution – choosing different music, or having Si-mok smile along with Yeo-jin, or even giving Yeo-jin a bit more notice of his departure so that she can prepare a gift (as if to say, she doesn’t draw as much these days, but she would for his sake). But the viewer is made to feel all of their reluctance, even sadness at this separation, even if those feelings are hidden beneath pleasantries. “Well, I guess I’ll be okay,” Yeo-jin says, as if there’s a possibility that she won’t be – that this is something she has to recover from in the future.

Si-mok considers her words, her phrasing, her demeanour, tilts his head at her again and says: “Is there a chance you won’t be okay?”

This, above all other lines, shows how much Si-mok has grown in the past couple of years because of Yeo-jin’s influence. Whereas he started S1 cold, guarded, and isolated from the rest of his colleagues, he has arrived at a point where he has cultivated enough of an emotional sensitivity to ask her this question – to show her care, just as she has shown care to him and other people around her. I’d even venture to say that Si-mok feels, himself, that there’s a chance he won’t be as okay with their separation as he might have been two years ago. In 2x05, during the conversation with Seo Dong-jae outside the prison, Dong-jae asks Si-mok: “You don’t feel a tad bit sad even if you’re sent far away, do you?” Si-mok answers, “No.” That doesn’t feel so definitive anymore. There isn’t anything either Si-mok or Yeo-jin can do, given that they both prioritise their careers and understand that these careers follow a certain trajectory, but parting feels a little bit harder this time.

Yeo-jin answers Si-mok’s question as reassuringly as she can, with an adorable smile and shake of the head; she lets out an “ah” after she downs her soju, as if to reorient herself. Yet, her cheerfulness in the rest of the scene – her excitement at the food, her over-enthusiastic chewing – rings empty as the sombre music continues to play in the background. For perhaps the first time in the entire series, there is something about Yeo-jin that seems feigned. Strangely, it is Si-mok’s blank expression that represents the more authentic emotion in this scene – communicating the very resignation that Yeo-jin must be feeling inside, beneath a facade that might read as comical in any other context.

“Is there a chance you won’t be okay?” is, in fact, the last thing that Si-mok says in this whole scene, despite quite a few more lines of dialogue from Yeo-jin. The way he looks at her for the rest of the scene, though, is charged with meaning. It seems to say: ‘I don’t really believe that you’re okay, but I’m going to give you space because I can tell you don’t really want to talk right now.’ It’s not as if Yeo-jin hasn’t confided in him before – their phone call in 1x15 was especially intimate – so it’s not that Si-mok is incapable of listening to her. Still, he respects her choice to deflect, and continues to observe her closely while ignoring the pajeon, even leaning forward right at the end of the scene. This very overt concentration on her is something we’ve never really seen from Si-mok before; even in the rooftop scene in 2x06, which is probably the most loaded scene they share after this one, they’re standing beside each other and rarely make eye contact. Here, his focus on Yeo-jin is palpable.

As much as this scene felt heartbreaking to me (thanks breathy sad wooooo music), it actually left me with a lot of optimism for the development of their relationship in the future. Lee Soo-yeon has said that she has enough material for five seasons of the show, and while I’m not so sure we’ll get as many seasons as that, it feels like she’s pushed Si-mok and Yeo-jin out of their comfortable friendship – planting the question, “is there a chance we won’t be okay?” I wonder if we’ll see something quite different in the third season (which is apparently in discussion!), which surely won’t see them on opposing sides again.

I’ve been burned by enough ships that can potentially be read as ‘platonic’ to know that I shouldn’t hope for any overt romance, but Si-mok is such a unique character and has such a unique connection with Yeo-jin that I’m hopeful that their relationship could be deepened with nuance, even if it doesn’t become romantic in ‘recognisable’ ways. (I have other thoughts on his asexuality/aromanticism that I won’t get into here.) It’s precisely because their connection is built on mutual trust, respect, and understanding that it remains so compelling, and I think this scene promises growth, and some resolution, whenever we see them next.

#tvn stranger #secret forest 2 #stranger 2 #stranger #hwanghan

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cafeinthemoon · 3 years

Text

From the Human Heart - Chapter III

Chapter: 3/4

Wordcount: 2905

Title: The Lamb and the Knife

Fandom: Jujutsu Kaisen

Pairing: Ryomen Sukuna X reader

Previous chapters

1 . 2

Symbols: ⭕ . ➕ . 💛 . ▶️▶️

Warning (s): Mental breakdown, mental instability (one occurrence in the beginning of the chapter)

N. A.: I confess I was a bit afraid that this chapter ended up too sad or depressing during reader's return to the village, because what she sees there is something that could break anyone's spirit, and with her things are not different. However this story has a happy ending, so I guess I can make up for it 😅 Also, I was planning to finish the story in this chapter, but the text ended up being too long, so I had to add a fourth chapter. I usually avoid establishing a number of chapters in my wips because they always get longer than I plan, but this one should be a short story (guess I failed in this smh)

A shiver ran all over your body and woke you up in an instant.

You didn’t open your eyes yet, but you knew you were lying on something cold, having your cloak to protect you from the chilling breeze of the morning. Morning? Something was telling you that it was morning already. Well, in that case… when did you fall asleep? What happened to you while you were not awake?

The rustling noise of the leaves was heard when you moved on your spot, your right arm aching after spending a long time in the same position. You opened your eyes at last and found a gray, autumnal day around you, the fainting light barely breaking through the dense top of the trees. All you could see was brown, red and yellow, as expected. Fortunately, winter hasn’t reached you yet.

That was strange, to be honest. Why would you think you’ve spent more than one night in that place, long enough to not see the change of seasons?

You sat on the forest’s ground and checked your own state. Everything was in its place: your dress, with the slit in the cleavage made by the King of Curses; the cut in your cloak’s stripe was still there, but the stripe was tied up again around your neck, a bit tighter; your empty bag was on the ground, serving as a pillow in that wild, improvised bed. Was it you that arranged things this way? Was it him? You didn’t know, and you didn’t think that finding out the truth would bring you any comfort.

In an urge to make sure you were alright, you opened your cleavage and checked your skin in the spot touched by Sukuna to seal the pact. There was no stain, no wound, no mark there; you weren’t feeling pain, burning or ache. Nothing changed in it. Of course not, you old yourself: what he did was an enchantment to change your soul, not your body. Any change that could come from it would not be visible to the eye.

With effort, you took your bag and stood up. You shook the leaves and tugs off your dress and cloak and took a second look at your surroundings. That was the same clearing in which you met Sukuna, and you were lying among the roots of the same tree you stopped at to read the sentences of the ritual.

The clearing didn’t seem so large and mysterious now that you were seeing it under the day light. It was silent, unlike the moment when you found it, full of sounds of night birds and small predators rushing their paws through the leaves, out of your sight. All that life was now gone, as if it has never existed.

A blow of cold wind twirled and passed by you before you could see where it came from, carrying leaves and dust with it. You took it was a sign to leave, as if it was saying to you that there was nothing there but death and oblivion. You protected your eyes and once the column of dust moved away, you ran out of that place.

You didn’t know how you managed to run through the same way that brought you to that cursed forest without ending up breathless, aching and out of your mind. Your feet were carried down through its declined territory, full of traps and roots, not stumbling in a single one of them, nor your clothing were ripped or got stuck while you ran.

To you, you’ve been running forever: the more you moved forward, the more the scenario around you looked the same. Was it part of the enchantment or were you just tired, eager to return to your village and see the results of the treaty?

You relied on this latter and continued to move.

***

The village, seen from the high spot of the hill, was the same since you left it. Not that you should expect something else – you were changed, nor your old home. Besides, you couldn’t have left for so long. But it felt like years in your heart, and the night before landed as a dream in your memory now. You adjusted the hood upon your head and tightened your grip around your cloak: the cold breeze ran free without the trees to obstruct it and you wanted to protect yourself; and, despite your trust in the results of the enchantment, you still had no ways to know exactly who were going to see you or not, so that you didn’t want to expose yourself before you had the chance to explore the territory.

Well, when you were reaching the lowest spot of the hill you were left with minimal choices regarding this.

A commotion was happening at the village’s entry, not so far from the place you where standing: a group of people stared with desperation to two or three men who you recognized as members of the Jujutsu council, the ones your father used to refer as his closest allies among them; these men were trying, with great effort, to contain a man who screamed incomprehensible words in a harsh, animalistic voice and scaring the villagers. The man was dressed in the same traditional clothing of the sorcerers, but all the noble aspect of it was gone, replaced with rips and blood as if its owner was kept locked inside a cage and tried everything in his reach to escape it, fighting with people and weapons.

Your blood ran cold in your veins when you recognized the insane man as your father.

After that, it was like your ears were uncovered and you started to understand what he and the other men were saying. They were arguing under a case of thievery: a treasure has vanished from the Jujutsu collection at your father’s house; the masters were convinced that the responsible for the crime was now far away from the village and must have been a clever Jujutsu sorcerer since they managed to deceive all of them, including your father; however, they were confused by the story your father was telling.

Between one growl and another, this was what you could understand from his speech.

- I know exactly who did this! My daughter did this! My own daughter! And I will hunt her till the end of the world!

His own daughter. You.

Your feet stepped back in an unconscious urge to run, but somehow you stood to listen to the rest. You immediately understood the agitation among the Jujutsu masters: the treasure that disappeared was the flower, without which they could not stand a chance against its true owner. Without the jewel, all the lies told by them and their leader were going to be brought to the surface and the whole village was going to pay for their dishonesty.

But none of this has hit you like the realization that your father was talking about you, that he still remembered about you and was willing to come after you to recover the jewel.

And that the situation was not the same to anyone among the people around him.

- Please, enough with this nonsense, master y/sn! – one of the sorcerers was saying, struggling to hold the furious man by his arm.

- Enough with this! – a second man shouted with less patience – You have no daughter! You’ve never had!

Yes, it wasn’t that surprising that the elders couldn’t see you – they never hid their distaste towards you, the greatest obstacle to their ascension in your Jujutsu society. But you didn’t take too long to notice that they weren’t the only ones who have forgotten about you: the entire village has, or at least all the people who were at your sight, some of them known to you for years. Some of them you yourself used to love and respect, and have trusted with your life in the worst moments of your relationship with your father – people you could swear to love you back.

Could it be that you, known by your connection with the most important sorcerer of the village, was an unpleasant presence to them as much as your father must have been? Could it be that they only tolerated you because of him?

A tear rolled down your left cheek, dried by the cold wind that passed at that moment, strong enough to take off the hood of your head. You still weren’t sure of what was more painful: to realize that your father was the only one who remembered you or to see that not even the people you liked were able to reciprocate you just enough to not forget you after an enchantment.

Something died inside you while you saw that. So you just put your hood back and turned your back on your old home, restarting your way up the hill again and hurrying up before your father noticed your presence.

***

It wouldn’t make a great difference if you decided to stay in that forest if the next night reached you there, for you had nowhere to come back as much as you had no place to go to. You were no longer on a hurry: running up that hill twice in so little time has taken the remaining energy in your body and your spirit, so you started walking; if you were passing by the same paths you’ve crossed before, you didn’t know and didn’t care.

To say you were walking was too much. Your legs were shaking, and your numb feet were stumbling even before reaching the obstacles; your hands were doing their best to hold on to the branches and any other support they were able to find, since you couldn’t count on your eyes to guide you: you hadn’t go blind, but you weren’t seeing anything in your way. Your attention was all in what you just witnessed, not in what you had in front of you.

It was as if you just died and had the opportunity to come back to see how the people you knew were dealing with your absence. If you were honest to yourself, you would have already accepted that what you saw wasn’t unexpected at all; still, it wasn’t something that you could completely understand until it happened to you.

At some dense spot of the grove you stopped, despite not having any hopes of finding some rest. You held tight on a low branch to not fall of exhaustion and concentrated on your breath. It was when you noticed you didn’t sense the expected harshness of wood while touching its surface.

You looked at your hand and screamed – your skin, exposed until your fist, was blue. Blue, but not just as a way to say it was cold: it was indeed blue, as a frozen lake reflecting the winter sky. You stepped back as if that was the hand of a stranger, but it followed you and obeyed all your commands, not letting any space for doubts; it belonged to you. You turned it to see its back and noticed variations in the blue, stains of a darker shade, and saw that your nails were now indigo, all of them in a sharp shape, just like…

Just like Sukuna’s nails. A curse’s nails.

You gasped at the memory of his warning. This was what supposed to happen in case you didn’t accept the result of the enchantment. You looked again at your palms and saw no cut nor wound that the branches could cause to a human’s delicate skin – yours were intact, as expected from a resistant curse’s body part. You rolled up your dress’ sleeves to see if your arms were blue as well and observed in horror as the slow transformation reached them.

You adjusted the sleeves and stopped looking. There was no use in desperation. You adjusted the cloak around you and crossed your arms around yourself, accepting the punishment.

- For someone who was so determined just one day before, you do not seem so happy now… child.

His voice grew from the depths of the forest and reached you as if it vibrated by its own will, shaking every nerve you had in you, waking you up to the darkness of your new reality.

You turned to find the King of Curses in the middle of the clearing, just like the first time you’ve met, but now the day was still there above you, with no sign of the red shadows of the summoning. That could only mean one thing: he hasn’t left after the treaty; instead, he remained in those lands, perhaps observing you while you were unconscious or waiting for the next events in the village to take place.

Having him witnessing your downfall in all its bitter details disgusted you in a way you didn’t think to be possible. Still, you found strength to give him a verbal response.

- Haven’t you had enough fun by now? – and after a gasp – Why are you still here?

Sukuna shrugged, not even a little upset by your hostile reception.

- I was just passing by and happened to meet you again – he raised an eyebrow –I am surprised to see that you are still here, to be honest. I thought you have left these lands yesterday. This is the reason why you wanted the enchantment, is not it?

Before you could formulate an answer, he approached and lowered his four eyes to your hands; you clenched your fists and tried to hide them behind your back as a last attempt to save your dignity, but your move was ignored by him, who passed his hands around you and brought yours to his sight, examining their skin with simulated preoccupation. You gave up on any attempt to pull them back: though there was no harshness in the way he was holding them, you knew he had enough strength to break them in such case, or cut them off with the same easiness he has cut the stripe of your cloak or the lock of your hair.

- So it is happening already? – he frowned while caressing them with his thumbs, speaking more to himself than to you – So soon…

- Soon?! – you spat the word – Are you telling me you deceived me?!

Sukuna’s gaze turned to you in surprise at this accusation.

- What do you mean, brat?

- I gave you back the jewel my father stole from you and didn't ask for anything near its price in return, and yet look at me now!

- You knew that I was going to… that this was going to happen to me anyway… is this what you’re telling me, right?

- Hm?

His carefree manners were making you more and more furious and desperate.

- What did I do for you to deceive me like this?!

- Who said I deceived you? – he sighed – I thought you were smarter than this, dear. I was honest with you in our whole treaty. The seal was established according to the rules and the enchantment worked as well. Otherwise you would not have noticed any difference or, in a worst hypothesis, you would have died in the process. Well, not even I would be here in such case. If I broke the rules, I would be punished. You must know that.

You fell silent. That was true: in the Jujutsu world, if two individuals established a pact, both of them were under the obligation to respect the rules of the said pact, otherwise they would be punished – with death in the case of a human and with exorcism in the case of a curse. Still, you were convinced that something was wrong with your own deal.

- It cannot be…

You felt your eyes burning, full with tears that you weren’t able to contain. The weight of what you have done has reached you at last, and from it you couldn’t escape. But were you capable of carrying it? You doubted that.

You felt his hand wiping the tears of your cheek.

- Shhh… No more whining, dear – he lifted your chin to make you meet his gaze – Now, tell me what is going on... What is it that is upsetting you so much regarding the enchantment?

You were impatient, of course, but didn't offer any resistance. You spoke all at once before your voice could crack in a new burst of desperation.

- I came back to the village and found out that the only person who was able to see me was my father. No one else remembers me. And this situation made him insane… – you sobbed – Tell me, how is this possible?!

He giggled and assumed the tone of a Jujutsu teacher.

- You want me to confirm what you are not willing to tell yourself even in thoughts? Alright. I think I can do this for you. You know the rules as well as I do. If someone does not love you, they will forget about your existence. If they do, they will remember you, whether they are the only one in this case or not – and then, he had nothing for you now besides the logical conclusion of the case – So, if your father is the only one who can see you now… He must be the only one who loves you.

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk fanfic #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #sukuna #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #jjk x y/n

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elvendara · 3 years

Text

Sugar and Spice Day 2

July 13th

Cheerleader/Stoner HS AU

“He’s looking at you again.” MC said and nudged Yoosung with her elbow.

“Stop it! No he isn’t, he’s probably looking at you.” He retorted and continued to stretch, reaching for his left foot as he sat on the ground, legs spread apart as far as they would go. MC shook her head.

“Uh uh, he’s gay, and you’re the only one with a penis over here.”

“Oh my god! How would you even know he’s gay? What a rotten rumor, just because he isn’t interested in any of the girls that throw themselves at him. Maybe he has standards.” He scoffed.

“Sure, all the standards of a stoner.” MC scoffed right back.

“Wow, way to generalize. You don’t even know him.”

“And you do?”

“I didn’t say that, I just mean, don’t judge.”

“I may not know him, but you’re right about one thing, he isn’t your general stoner.”

“I know, he’s like super smart. The teachers love him because he doesn’t cause any problems and does all his work fast. He’s probably the smartest kid in the school…” Yoosung stopped when he heard MC laughing. “What’s so funny?”

“For someone who isn’t interested, you sure know a lot.”

Yoosung snapped his mouth shut. So what if he’d asked a couple of questions about Saeran? It was only because he’d overheard the teachers talking about him while Yoosung was in the office helping out.

“Just, be quiet OK. He’s going to hear you.” They both stood, side by side, legs apart and began to bend at the waist, stretching more. It was important to prepare their bodies before beginning practice.

He couldn’t help it, he snuck a peek at the bleachers and locked eyes with Saeran. He looked away quickly, as if it had been an accident. His heart rate increased and sweat broke out all over his body. It happened every time he saw the guy. Something about him just seemed to ignite a craving that was insatiable. He’d bleached his hair during summer break and added pink tips at the beginning of the school year. He wore a red shirt, a leather jacket, skinny jeans and biker boots. He usually wore eyeliner and a spiked collar, but Yoosung couldn’t see for sure if he did now. It looked good on him though.

“Sure.” MC rolled her eyes, as she stretched in the same direction as Yoosung. His blond hair was pulled back in a small tight pony, his white school t-shirt was cropped, and his gym shorts were tight around his ample ass and crotch. His amethyst eyes strayed to the bleachers continuously.

It certainly seemed like Saeran was looking at him. He could feel those brilliant amber eyes on him. He tried to shake himself, it wasn’t very manly to swoon. Though he supposed being a cheerleader wasn’t manly either, but he’d like to see one of those jocks try and do a backflip into a perfect split!

There was movement out of the corner of his eye, and he glanced back just in time to see Saeran step down from the bleachers and head around back. It meant nothing of course, but he felt a little sad. He’d been looking forward to try and show off his moves. Flexibility was sexy right? No use in wallowing in his absence, time to practice.

They both ran towards the group already practicing and joined in. They rehearsed the cheers they knew by heart and learned the new dance routine their captain had prepared. Yoosung liked dancing, even more than the gymnastic and cheers part of being a cheerleader. But his head just wasn’t in it. His thoughts wandered back to Saeran. Was MC right? Was he gay? People said that about him all the time, but they were just assholes, trying to make fun of him because he didn’t want to join any of their cliques.

“Ow! Damn it Yoosung! Pay attention! You almost dropped me!” Hena screamed at him as she hit the ground roughly but still on her feet.

“Ah, sorry, sorry.” Yoosung shook himself, it was dangerous to not pay attention while doing the stunts they did. He felt terrible.

“I think that’s it for you Yoosung, why don’t you hit the showers.” Ashie, the cheer captain ordered with a shake of her head. She didn’t even look at him as he walked away. MC gave him a pitying look as he passed her and a squeeze of his upper arm. He nodded his thanks but knew he was in big trouble. He wouldn’t lose his spot on the team, but Ashie would make him pay for sure. He did as he was told and showered then put his uniform back on. The top was of the same style as the females, but with sleeves and longer, and the pants were plain white and loose fitting with stirrups for his feet so they wouldn’t ride up.

Grabbing his bag, he set out towards the busses. It was the last run but wouldn’t leave for another hour because it was set to take the kids home who had after school activities. Crossing the grassy area next to the track where the football players and cheerleaders were practicing, he glanced towards the bleachers and saw Saeran standing underneath. At least, he assumed it was him, all he saw was a patch of bleached hair. Without making a conscious decision his steps carried him towards the area. Before he realized where he was, he stood under the bleachers almost eye to eye with the taller boy. He held a newly rolled up joint, but only played with it as he watched Yoosung approach.

“Oh, uh, hi…” he stumbled and felt like an idiot.

“Hey.” Saeran answered and took a few steps towards Yoosung, standing close to him. Yoosung watched as Saeran reached his hand and traced his finger down his face. He swallowed at the touch, shivers crawling down his spine. They were so close! Close enough to kiss! The thought sprang into his mind, and he could feel himself burning up. He wanted to look away, but he was held firm in those amber eyes. They were clear, so he it seemed he hadn’t smoked anything yet. There was indeed black eyeliner around his eyes, the edges smudged to give him an edgier look. His nails were painted black, and he wondered what their hands would look like intertwined as his own nails were currently a bubblegum pink.

“Can I tell you something?” Saeran asked, so close he felt the warmth of his breath on his cheek. Yoosung nodded numbly, his body beginning to vibrate. “You are beautiful.” The sentence was short and to the point whispered intimately into his ear. Yoosung’s heart stopped beating, his eyes widening. He felt faint and stumbled towards Saeran, who caught him in his arms easily. It only made his reaction worse to feel the boy’s hands on his body. Once he was steady on his feet again Saeran took a step back.

“Sorry.” He let go of Yoosung and moved an arm’s length away. The joint was back in his hand as he turned and looked through the bleachers at the track and everyone still at practice. It felt like someone had doused him with a bucket of cold water. He wanted to reach out and touch Saeran again, but his body’s response left him shocked and confused. “Saeyoung says I’m too intense sometimes.” He kept his gaze away from Yoosung. “Heh…that’s me I guess, either no interest or too much interest.”

“Am I…interesting?” Yoosung asked.

“Very.” Saeran answered. There was a full minute of silence as they both let that sink in. There was a small smile on Saeran’s lips as he seemed to be mulling over something. Yoosung thought he could stand there and stare at the boy for the rest of his life. That smile was heavenly. Beautiful? Yes, Saeran was an angel!

“Do you read poetry?” he asked, his amber gaze once more piercing through Yoosung’s heart.

“Poetry? No…I…no.” the question took him aback, why were they now talking about poetry?

“I do. I like poetry. The way it flows, the language it uses to describe something so sublime there really are no words, yet…they try.” He turned towards Yoosung again and took a step forward.

“Cloaked in darkness with an icy heart

I roamed this earth.

Head held low with a shuffling step

Denied of every warmth.

Into my sight and in my world

A ray of sunshine

With golden hair and cherub lips

A vision so sublime.”

As he spoke Saeran again traced his fingertips down Yoosung’s face to his jaw and back again.

Yoosung swallowed, “What…who…wrote that?” his brain was buzzing, was Saeran really quoting poetry to him? He wondered how his legs were still able to hold him up, as they felt like noodles.

“I did.” He whispered into his ear again. “The first time I saw you, it was like the rainclouds above my head opened up and for the first time let the sun’s rays in. You glow. Your light is so radiant it puts the sun to shame. How anyone can be in your presence and not be blinded is beyond me. And now, here I am, touching that light.”

#my posts #Yooran #Yoosung Kim #Saeran Choi #Sugar and Spice #Day 2 #Cheereader/Stoner (High School AU)#Saeran is for sure intense and Yoosung is here for it #Ahh....

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angelqueen04 · 3 years

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Hamliza Month, Day 19

@megpeggs @historysalt

Pain Summary: Alexander races back to Philadelphia after receiving a terrifying letter. Warning/Note: Discussion of miscarriage, references to/implied depression (hence why there is no preview for this one and everything is under behind the Keep Reading link). The angst and sadness is strong in this one, folks. Fair warning.

Among other reasons for wishing your return is Mrs. Hamilton’s earnest desire. It seems she has had, or has been in danger of a miscarriage, which has much alarmed her. But Doctor Khun by whom she is attended with Doctor Stephens, assures that she is in no danger. However she is extremely desirous of your presence in order to tranquilize her. [1]

The words, read only once, still managed to burn through his mind. A miscarriage. This had never happened before, not once. Eliza always maintained excellent health when she was carrying their children. She seemed to blossom, keeping a rosy, healthy color about her cheeks as her belly grew. The births were always painful, that was true, but she came through each time without cause for alarm. Why was it different now? What had happened?

He really ought to be truthful with himself. He knew what had happened, what was different. Barely a year ago, both he and Eliza had nearly lost their lives during the yellow fever epidemic. It had only been thanks to the miracle of Ned’s tender care that they had survived. Then, there had been a great deal of sickness among the children, particularly little Johnny, which had only added to the stress Eliza labored under.

Then, of course, there was Alexander himself. Though he had done as much as he could to aid her in caring for their children while they were ill, he had seen even then that Eliza was not doing well. Then he had insisted on accompanying the army as they dealt with these rascals in the back country. She had asked him not to go. Just once, but she had asked. When Alexander had insisted that he had to go, if only because of Henry Knox’s lengthy and irritating absence from Philadelphia, she had fallen silent and not brought the subject up again, not bothering to argue with him.

He could still remember his last sight of her as he’d ridden off. Pale almost to the color of milk, a strange thinness about her person even though he knew she was eating regular meals. She’d looked exhausted, despite her frequent efforts to rest whenever possible.

Her condition had not improved in his absence. Mother Schuyler and his brother-in-law, Philip Jeremiah, had visited Philadelphia while Alexander had been away, and they had been much alarmed by Eliza’s fragile health. They had even tried to convince her to travel back with them to Albany, where she could rest among and be supported by the family. She refuses to leave without you, Philip wrote, and will not hear of the children leaving either.

Hurry back, brother. End this and come home.

Alexander recalled wincing when he read of Eliza’s refusal to leave the state without him accompanying her. He could guess very easily as to why she refused to go, even if she had not confessed her reasons to her mother and brother. So, he had had done his best to hurry things along, but everything could be handled only so fast. After Philip’s letter, there had been little news. Eliza wrote to him when she could, but she said little of her health, focusing instead on the children. She said nothing of him coming home either. The tone of her letters was brittle, almost wooden. It had only increased his disquiet, but there was little he could do except keep doing what he was doing so that he could return home.

And then, finally, came the letter. Knox said Eliza was ‘extremely desirous’ of Alexander’s presence. Knox wasn’t known to exaggerate in his choice of words, and really, they had only confirmed the unease he had been living more and more with as the weeks passed.

She needed him. She had needed him before, but he had still gone away, so certain that he was indispensable to ending this crisis with the whiskey rebels. So he’d left her alone in a way he had never done before while she was carrying a child.

And now that child was gone.

Alexander could feel the tears stinging his cheeks as he guided his horse onto Market Street, the setting sun shining now directly into his eyes. He barely noted passing the Presidential Mansion, his focus solely on locating a familiar gate in front of a lovely house of red brick.

He spotted the hitching post first, the one Alexander had ordered installed in front of the house for the use of guests or government officials that might arrive there on horseback. It was deserted at the moment, but that meant little. The doctors might have arrived on foot, or their horses may have been put in the barn behind the house, particularly if their stay was going to be of some duration.

Bringing his horse to a halt, Alexander vaulted off of his horse, and stumbled a bit when he landed hard. It had been a long time since he had done something like that, and he was no longer twenty-one. Getting his feet back under him, he looked toward the men of his escort, who had actually managed to keep up with him. Tossing one of them the reins of his horse, Alexander turned on his heel and strode to the front door.

Someone must have been watching for him, because the door opened before he could even reach for the knob. In the doorway stood Ned, stripped down to his waistcoat and breeches, with tired, dark-rimmed eyes. “Ham,” he greeted solemnly, stepping back to allow Alexander to enter the house.

“How is she?” he demanded as he entered the front hall. He struggled out of his military coat, both because it wasn’t needed – the house was more than sufficiently warm – and the sudden feeling that it did not belong, that it was almost insulting to be wearing it in this house of mourning. Eliza had not wanted him to go, had not wanted him out there risking his life when his family needed him here, but he had insisted on doing so, had insisted on playing soldier again, to relive the glories of his youth.

Well, he had, and now he, they, were paying the price for it.

Ned, to his credit, didn’t try to delay or prevaricate in his response. “Mrs. Hamilton is resting comfortably upstairs,” he said. “Mrs. Washington has been here for some hours, sitting with her so that she is not alone.”

Alexander barely waited for him to finish before he started to move toward the stairs, but was brought to a halt when Ned’s hand closed around his arm. “Ham, wait.”

He tugged at the other man’s grip. “Not now, Ned,” he said impatiently. “I need to see my wife.”

Ned didn’t relent, however, meeting him with an equally firm gaze. “You need to collect yourself first, Alexander,” he said. “You’ll do Mrs. Hamilton no good if you go rushing in there and disturbing her from the sleep she needs to preserve her health. Plus, there’s more that you need to know.”

Alexander wanted to shrug his old friend off and continue on his way to reassure himself of his wife’s survival, but his words struck him. Eliza needed to rest to get better. He shouldn’t disturb her. This was about what she needed, not him.

“Fine,” Alexander said through gritted teeth, and allowed Ned pull him into the dining room. There remained a fair bit of food on the table, looking like the remains of a buffet. There had been others here, but must have left before his arrival. At Ned’s gesture, he sat down at the table, eyeing the food warily. He wasn’t hungry.

“You should eat, Ham,” Ned said firmly as he joined him, seemingly reading his mind. “The last thing anyone needs is you fainting from lack of food.”

He shot his old friend an impatient look, but decided not to bother arguing. He picked at some of the meats and bread, avoiding the fruits.

“The children?” Alexander asked suddenly as he began to eat, the silence of the house falling heavy on his ears. Surely there should have been some noise coming from them? It was too early for them to have gone to bed.

“The President took them to stay at the Presidential Mansion,” Ned informed him. “He thought it best so that Mrs. Hamilton wouldn’t be disturbed.” He paused before adding, “Young Philip proved himself very responsible, keeping his younger siblings in hand.”

Alexander nodded. Under any other circumstances, he would be pleased by the news that his firstborn had handled himself so well. When he finally finished what was on his plate, he made to stand, asking, “Are you satisfied now, Ned? Can I see my wife now?”

“Just a minute, Alexander,” Ned said. “It’s important that you know her condition before you go up there.”

He stilled. Her condition? What did that mean? Was Eliza in further danger? “What is it?” he demanded.

Ned took a deep breath. “While I know that Secretary Knox’s letter intimated that Mrs. Hamilton suffered a miscarriage, Dr. Kuhn and I are more inclined to judge it a stillbirth. The babe was well formed, but was small, too small to have survived.”

Alexander closed his eyes. Poor, poor lamb, he thought, fighting back a wave of tears. He’d focused so much on Eliza that he had not given the child much thought. “What was it?” he asked. “A boy or a girl?”

“A boy,” Ned responded, his expression shifting from professional to sympathetic.

Another boy. They’d hoped for a girl this time, to give Angelica and Fanny a baby sister on which to dote, but they would have welcomed a son with equal joy. In either case, he and Eliza hadn’t had the chance to discuss names. Their poor boy would go into the grave without anything to mark his existence.[2]

Taking a deep, shaky breath to stem the tide of tears, he whispered, “I’d like to see my wife now.”

Thankfully, this time Ned didn’t try to stop him when he stood and strode toward the stairs.

Just as Ned had said, Mrs. Washington was with Eliza, having pulled a seat close to the bed. An embroidery hoop sat in her lap, but it was clear she had given up on working on it, perhaps due to the fact that only a single candle was lit in the room. The older woman looked up as he pushed the door open further and stepped into the room. A relieved expression crossed Mrs. Washington’s face.

“Ah, Colonel,” she said upon seeing him, “I’m glad to see you’ve returned.” She glanced toward the bed. “She’s been dreaming, and calling for you.”

Mrs. Washington was kind enough to quickly vacate her position and depart, leaving Alexander standing at the foot of the bed, staring down at his sleeping wife. Though the candle provided little in the way of light, he could see how, if anything, Eliza’s color seemed worse than it had been when he’d left. Her dark hair had been braided back away from her face, but that only emphasized how gaunt and haggard she looked. Even with her eyes closed in sleep, he could see the furrow of her brow, and Alexander knew that if he touched her cheek, he’d feel the clammy sensation of dried tears.

“Oh, love,” he murmured, drawing in a ragged breath. Sliding around to the side of the bed, Alexander unbuttoned his waistcoat and shrugged it off, tossing it carelessly onto the chair Mrs. Washington had left behind. After removing his boots, he crawled into their bed and curled himself around Eliza’s side, draping an arm over her and gently pulling her close. He buried his face into the crook of her neck.

Her belly was still swollen, he realized, like the baby was still there, though Alexander knew from experience that that would soon fade. Eventually, Eliza’s body would begin to return to its normal shape, and although the marks of her pregnancies would remain, there would be no other sign that there had ever been a sixth Hamilton child.

She’d had to deal with this all by herself. While Alexander recognized that she had had the support of friends like the President and Mrs. Washington, and the care of talented physicians like Ned and Dr. Kuhn, Eliza had still been alone. Who had been here that could truly share in her grief and sorrow?

Who should have been here? He should have, but he hadn’t, placing the suppression of a bunch of unruly rascals over Eliza’s health and wellbeing. Oh, there had been many good reasons, all of which Alexander listed to Eliza before he left, in his own head in the ensuing weeks he was away, and on the frantic, harried race back to Philadelphia.

But now… lying here, cradling Eliza’s frail, fragile form in his arms, he realized just how hollow those reasons were. Alexander should have been here, taking care of his wife during her time in need. But he had turned his back on this duty, the sacred duty of any husband, and now God saw fit to punish him for it.

The tears came silently and, while part of him fretted about disturbing Eliza, once they started, he had not the strength to stop them. “I’m sorry, my Betsey,” he whispered into her neck, clutching her even more tightly to him. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Alexander held her close all through the night. He must have slept at some point, because when he opened his eyes, he found, first, that the dawn’s earliest light was beginning to creep through the window, second, that he was lying on his back and, third, Eliza had shifted away and now lay on her side, her back to him. Tremors shook her body, and he could hear the sound of repressed sobs.

He sat up hurriedly and reached for her, saying, “Betsey?” He pulled at her shoulder gently, urging her to turn back to him. He could feel the stiff resistance in her body for a moment, but then it gave away and she let him bring her around to face him.

Eliza’s cheeks and eyes were flushed and red from crying, and he wished he had a handkerchief to wipe away the tears. Instead, Alexander gathered her back into his arms, cradling her close and letting her bury her face in his chest while he rested his chin on top of her head. He rocked her as he would rock one of their children when they were ill, trying to soothe her even as he struggled to keep his own grief in check.

They stayed like that for a while, remaining undisturbed by the outside world, for which Alexander was grateful. Much as he longed to see his children, right now it was their mother who had to be his first priority. She had suffered his neglect, his disrespect, for far, far too long, and this was the terrible, terrible result.

“We’re going to leave, Betsey.” The words flew from his mouth before they’d even fully formed in his head, but as they settled into his thoughts, everything began to take shape. Correspondingly, her shaking body stilled in his arms. “I’m going to start writing my resignation.[3] I’ll submit it to the President, and I’ll start making preparations for us to return to New York.” He leaned back and looked down into her face. “We can perhaps stay with your parents for a time? Would you like that?”

She stared up at him with watery eyes, and he was not blind to the naked skepticism in them. He winced, knowing that she had a right to be doubtful. Alexander had talked of resigning before, had made vague promises that they would return to private life, but he had never followed through. He had made excuses for it, citing this or that crisis that required his guiding hand. Eliza had endured and soldiered onward, even as their continued residence in a city that she had never truly warmed to wore on her. She’d even endured a scolding by letter from Angelica when she heard the rumors of Alexander’s considered resignation from public service, though he didn’t think she ever responded to it.

“It’s time to go home,” Alexander said, and then he pressed his lips to her forehead. “I know you have cause to be suspicious, darling, but I truly mean it. We’re going home.”

Eliza did not respond, but she slowly sank into him, relaxing into his embrace for the first time in months. She buried her face into his chest, and her fingers gripped his shirt in the grip of someone who had been drowning, but now had something to keep them afloat.

Alexander refused to disappoint her. Not again.

-----

[1] Henry Knox to Alexander Hamilton, 24 November 1794.

[2] In truth, we don’t know the gender of the baby Eliza and Alexander lost at this time. No record was ever left that I know of, not even where they might have buried the poor mite. I chose to go with the baby being a boy because it seemed more likely to me. Out of eight children who came from successful births, six were sons, indicating that, on a physical level, Alexander was more apt to father boys.

[3] Alexander Hamilton to George Washington, 1 December 1794. Alexander certainly did not waste time, did he? Knox’s note above was dated November 24th, and literally within 7 days, Alexander had received it, raced back to Philadelphia to Eliza, and then wrote his dated resignation, which I imagine Washington received that same day or close to it, given its important contents. One week.

#my fanfiction #hamliza month #hamliza #alexander hamilton #elizabeth schuyler hamilton #edward stevens #martha washington #tw: depression #tw: miscarriage

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