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sebstanismyspiritanimal · 7 days

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Here's chapter 6! This one is a lot longer than usual, but I really wanted to showcase Eddie's trauma with this and get her and Spencer closer. Im pretty much going the slow-burn/pining route for them, so settle in boys 😂 feel free to leave any suggestions or comments! This will be posted to ao3 today as well!

Here's chapter 5 if you missed it!

Eddie had slowly started to get used to life in the FBI, she had gone on two cases with the team in the 3 weeks she had been there and was starting to really get to know them.

"I'm just saying, it makes no sense! How would the sound vibrations from a guitar-"

"Lyre." Eddie cut off Spencer's rant, "Lyre be strong enough to kill anyone!"

Eddie started laughing at the frazzled look on Spencer's face as she drove thru the quiet streets of Virginia.

"Because they rolled a nat 20 which means the weapon used, the Lyre in this case, is at maximum power. Meaning it can kill the orc."

Spencer let out a frustrated sound and went to open his mouth when Eddie cut him off again.

"Spence, it is a fantasy roleplaying game, you have to suspend your disbelief for it to be fun. Logic just makes the game boring." She laughed at the annoyed look he threw her, obviously not saying what he wanted to because they had just stopped in their apartments parking lot.

"I don't think DnD is a game I want to play." He muttered to her as he grabbed his bag from her car.

"You would just need to play a science based story line, I think that may be more your speed." She chuckled again when his expression brightened, looking intrigued.

"See you bright and squirrelly!" She called over her shoulder as they split up to go into different buildings.

Eddie did her normal routine for coming home after work, locking her door, putting her gun and badge in the safe, checking that the windows were still locked, and changing clothes.

Once that was down she changed channels on her radio and clicked the audio button.

"Max?" She whispered gently, waiting for a reply.

When none came she smiled and let go of the mouth piece and settled into her bed, it seemed like it was a night of no nightmares for Max and hopefully for herself too.

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

Clawing her chest as she gasped herself awake, Eddie wanted to laugh at the irony of her thoughts from earlier.

Once she had calmed down and realized she was clawing at her sleep shirt and not a hoard of rabid bats, she rolled out of bed and grabbed her radio, shutting herself in her closet with a flashlight.

~Eddie requesting roll call~ she called into the receiver, the loud tone needed for everyone to wake up to hear it.

The knot of fear loosened with every sleepy name called thru the radio until Dustin was the last and she let the radio fall the floor as she leaned her head against the wall.

The flashlight was shaking in her hands, illuminating the small space of her closet and she felt her breathing slowing down and her heart rate returning to normal.

Eddie set the flashlight on the floor of the closet and extended her legs in front of her and grabbed the blanket she had in here for these occasions exactly. She wouldn't be able to get back to sleep tonight and so throwing the blanket over her legs and grabbing the flashlight again, Eddie settled into her night time vigil.

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Spencer chirped out a good morning as he settled into the passenger seat before frowning in concern at his coworker.

"Are you okay?" He asked as he took in the slumped posture and dark circles under Eddie's eyes.

"Rough night. I'm stopping for coffee, you want any?" He rattled off his order and flicked thru the stations before settling on a old 70s station that played rock and country music that Eddie seemed to like.

After they had their coffee, Spencer started talking in a low tone.

"We all get nightmares, you know, our job is breeding ground for awful images." He was surprised when Eddie let out a humorless chuckle.

"I wish I was dreaming about serial killers, Spence." Spencer's mouth tightened when he realized she was referring to whatever she had went thru in the military, something no one except maybe JJ could relate to on the team.

"Still, I only live one building away, if you need anything I can be there at anytime. Just because I can't relate to the dreams doesn't mean I can't help."

Eddie parked in a spot at the bureau and looked at Spencer, smiling sadly at whatever she found on his face.

"Thanks Spence, but I'll manage." She squeezed his arm and they grabbed their bags and headed into work.

The next night it was barely 1am when Eddie was throwing herself out of bed and diving towards her closet, her breath not quite slowed as she called for a roll call again. She scrubbed her hands down her face once everyone had checked in and she could feel herself calming down.

She didn't know what was making the dreams resurface this much, she was no stranger to nightmares, no one in the party was, but hers weren't usually this frequent.

It was the second night in a row she had found herself in the closet and she knew that come morning she would be exhausted, she could never get back to sleep after a nightmare like that and it was going to take it's toll.

The next morning Eddie avoided Spencer's concerned gaze by wearing sunglasses that would hopefully hide the bags and concealer she had put on to make them less prominent.

"More nightmares?" He questioned her softly, handing her a large to go mug of coffee.

She took it gratefully and nodded, backing out of her parking spot.

"They'll stop eventually, they always do." Her words didn't seem to make Spencer feel better, but after 2 nights of not sleeping she couldn't care less.

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That night she couldn't help the sobs that started the minute she heard the last name on roll call. She was so exhausted and the thought of not sleeping this night either filled her with so much anger and hopelessness that she was calling Spencer before her mind could catch up with it.

"Hello?" Spencer's sleep roughened voice startled her into another sob and that seemed to get his attention fast.

"Eddie? Is everything okay?"

When her answer was nothing but more sobs that she couldn't control she heard a loud rustling on the other end.

"I'm coming over, unlock the door for me." And then a click as he hung up.

It took her several shuddering breaths before she could crawl out of the closet and unlock the front door, crawling right back into the closet afterwards, not caring the Spencer would have to look for her to find her.

And find her he did, as soon as he burst thru the front door and proceeded to lock it back, he followed the sounds of her cries to her bedroom closet.

He made a small sound of sympathy and crawled in to squeeze between her and the wall, wrapping his arms around her.

When his soft touch made it thru the haze of her panic, she felt herself fully fall apart.

Her mouth letting out loud, wracking sobs that sent her coughing more than once, and all Spencer did was hold on tighter, not even wincing when she grabbed his arms that were around her and squeezing, nails biting into his forearm.

After what felt like hours but was only 10 minutes, Eddie had calmed herself and was just breathing heavily into Spencer's chest.

"Let me get up and get you some water, you need to rehydrate." He whispered into her hair, unwinding his arms when she slowly pulled herself away from him.

He came back a couple minutes later with water and two more pillows, making her cock an eyebrow at him.

"I'm assuming you don't leave the closet after a nightmare, right?" at her head shake he smiled and situated the pillows behind himself before sitting back down, "then neither will I."

"Do you want to talk about it?" He asked her after she had drank most of the water bottle he grabbed her.

"I can't." Her voice was hoarse from the excessive crying she had just done.

"Classified?"

She just nodded before reaching up and flipping the light switch, making them both wince at the bright light.

"I can't tell you why, but the nightmares are about when this happened."

With that she took off her hoodie and raised her tank top up to expose her stomach.

Spencer was silent, staring at her uncovered stomach and shoulders in horror.

Her torso was littered with scars, some still angry and red and others white, all ranging in size and shape.

He slowly reached out the touch the larger circular ones, they had obviously been skin grafted and went deep.

"They had to take my appendix and gallbladder from those. Also a small part of my small intestine." She whispered as he continued to trace scars on her stomach.

She jumped when she felt something warm land on her thigh, realizing it was a tear when she looked down.

Eddie cupped Spencer's face and brought his eyes to hers, smiling sadly when she saw the tears making their way down his face.

"I'm okay, Spencer, these happened a long time ago."

The distraught genius closed his eyes as if in pain, "That's not as reassuring as you think." He croaked out.

They sat like that for a while, Eddie stroking the tears off Spencer's face and Spencer tracing her scars as if trying to erase them.

It wasn't until the next morning, her alarm startling her awake that Eddie realized for the first time in 8 years, she had fallen back asleep in her closet after a nightmare woke her up.

And it was all thanks to the sleeping genius that had her tightly wrapped up in his arms and his head buried in her neck.

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lollipencil · 6 months

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SuperMoon

I was browsing tumblr, saw a piece of fanart depicting the Shobijin (the offical name of the twin fairies that often accompany Mothra, for anyone who doesn't know) and my brain went "you can make a Moon Knight AU out of this", and promptly ran with the idea.

I'm not terribly happy about the ending, but it's finally finished, so here.

Enjoy and be gentle ---

At first, the day seemed to go as Marc expected.

Temperature just shy of unbearable. Archeologists working without a care in the world. And then, the ground shook.

The first time wasn't really noticeable. Nobody could ignore the second. But, before anyone could do anything more than stop themselves from toppling over, part of the ground just gave up.

---

A dull ache greeted Marc as his eyes opened to a single spot of light above. For a moment, he thought it was night, with a full moon staring down at him from a starless sky. Then he blinked and remembered. "Shit," he whispered before, in a violence of motion, scrambling to his feet.

The hole that yawned above was utterly silent with no signs of life appearing over the lip. "Shit!" Marc remembered that he didn't fall alone, "Doctor El-Faouly!" A groan came from somewhere in the darkness: "Spector?" "I'm here, I'm here." "What happened?" "...Think there was an earthquake," Marc's groping hands finally find Abdallah's shoulder, "You ok?" "Somehow, yes," Abdallah reached out and with Marc's help, stood up, "What is this place?"

Darkness seemed to part the longer Marc looked, and what he saw made something buried deep inside stir slightly. A vast passage lined with statues leading up to a large door. A headache started to throb behind Marc's eyes, bad enough that he almost missed Abdallah's next statement: "What's on the other side of this door?"

Blinking past the pain, Marc noticed he'd somehow walked all that way over to the door: "Hey Doc? You sure you wanna open that?" "Of cource. This could be the discovery of the decade, and if this place was built underneath, then there should be a path back up to the surface," Abdallah stated calmly, running his fingers along the hieroglyphs covering it. Both wishing he had an objection to that and praying that Steven didn't wake up, Marc made his way over.

Each step ratcheted up the pulsing in his head, eyes squinting by the time he was at the door. Each inch the door moved when pushed make Marc worried he was about to have an aneurysm. He audibly moaned when the doors finally stopped moving. "Are you alright?" Abdallah's voice came from somewhere to his left. "Yeah," Marc rasped, pressing his head against the door, "Just a headache. Not uncommon, just bad timing. It'll pass."

It didn't leave but eventually eased up, allowing Marc to look up into the new room. If the passage was large, than the room was colossal. Domed with three statues facing the centre, a raised circular platform took up most of the room. On the other side between two statues was another set of much bigger doors.

"Ok, ok," softly echoed around the room as Abdallah's eyes darted around the room. "Any good news?" Marc leaned against the platform and looked around himself. "Well, we definitely won't be able to push those doors open." "Oh, great." "But there should hopefully be some sort of mechanism to open them. See if you can find a lever or something like that."

The answer came when Marc nearly tripped over it. It was inlaid into the raised section, coincidentally angled towards him. "Found it," Marc breathed as he pushed on it as hard as he could. A full minute passed before it started to move. But not the door. Something dislodged in the raised platform with a great crash, swiftly followed by more.

After than, Marc couldn't think any more. The last clatter of stone was followed by the feeling of something trying to claw its way into his skull. Vaguely, he could hear two other voices screeching with him, then something warm and moist wrapping all around him. And everything stopped.

---

Slowly, Marc could feel sleep release him from its embrace. Something thick coated his body liberally, and dripped into his eyes when he opened them. He didn't feel quite right.

Teeth throbbed, limbs were weak like undercooked pasta, and the back of his neck itched like crazy. A lot of his skin itched in fact. Blinking past his blurring vision, Marc's eyes found Abdallah. He cowered against the wall, staring at some point behind Marc. "Doc? Is everything alright?" Marc's words were uncooperative, trying to cling to his mouth. But Abdallah said nothing. He just slowly pointed at where his eyes were still focused, and Marc's own eyes followed.

A colossal creature was perched on the lip of the platform. Pale glowing tendrils resembling bandages were wrapped around its torso, while others waved calmly through the air. Dark green feathers lined its neck, leading up to an armoured head resembling a bird skull. The legs also were bird-like but with a short back toe, and hands that reminded Marc of a velociraptor's at the end of long arms. Large bright eyes looked down at him.

Then it warbled softly. Something seemed to change the sound in his head. Like somewhere between his ears and his brain, it turned into a word. "Hatchlings," it became. Then came the tongue. "Stop it!" Marc squirmed under it, but the creature was undeterred. Just kept licking away at the slimy whatever he was covered in. Further objections only led to that tongue swiping over his face. After a couple more licks, it finally backed away.

During this, Abdallah had moved away from the wall but was still looking up causiously at the creature: "Spector, are you ok?" "...No," he admitted, "I'm so itchy." Weakly, Marc tried to reach up and scratch something, any part of himself, but his arm eventually flopped back down.

Something about this action though seemed to startle the doctor who quickly rushed over, fear of the unknown creature forgotten for the moment. "Where is it worse?" "Back of my neck."

The first few passes of nails was relieving, soothing. Then it just felt wrong. "Wrong direction!" the creature hissed above, startling Abdallah who snatched his hand back as if burned, wet downy feathers clinging to his fingers. Grumpling, it leaned down, and began to run the very tip of its mouth over the back of Marc's neck.

Marc relaxed entirely. Unconsciously, sounds began to rumble through changed vocal cords. Sounds that mirrored the creature preening him from above.

For several nerve-wracking minutes, Abdallah watched, wide eyed and alert. Marc didn't even seem to notice the noises he was making, simply arching his neck upward. Quickly growing irritated with it, the creature tore off Marc's bulletproof vest like it was paper, and pulled down his collar to access his upper back.

By the time the creature pulled back, Marc had nearly drifted off to sleep. Tendrils came over and gently picked him up, placing him on the creature's back and securing him in place. In spite of the situation, Marc couldn't find it in him to worry.

He just felt safe.

So, he nuzzled down into the feathers under his head as the creature began to move. At first slow, then they picked up speed. Their body rammed into that massive stone door and it crumbled. The noice thundered in Marc's ears. "Apologies," the creature cooed as Marc moaned. Once Marc had settled down once more, they crawled through the hole.

The great cavern within was perfectly sized for them. Even walking on their hind legs wouldn't have inconvenenced them much. Beautiful images covered the wall, lit by the creature's bioluminesence, but Marc couldn't care less. The warm embrace of safety and the stirings in his mind kept his focus.

Only the rush of fresh air over his skin drew him back to the world around him.

Night had dawned, a full moon sitting on a throne of stars. Crisp air filled Marc's lungs as he breathed in deep, something the creature agreed with, gulping down greedy lungfuls themself. That sense of peace was shattered when the sound of shouting reached them.

The creature stiffed, turned their head to the noise, and moved towards it. Bodies lay, faces of those once happily working frozen in shock. Only a few seemed unaware of their fate. And, in each body like an accusing finger, was a bullet hole. "Bushman," Marc snarled visiously, a sound echoed by the creature under him.

Looking around, the creature stepped forward slightly: "Human! Where are you?" As if summoned by the thunderous crowing, Abdallah staggered back into sight, his eyes drifting over the sea of the dead. "Ah, good. We should not stay here." "Spector? What's-?" "Bushman, he must have told the others to do this, the bastard." "I heard some popping sounds, but I didn't think- Why-?" "We need to go," the creature reminded, shuffling in place impatiently. "...he says that we need to go," Marc hesitantly translated. "'Says'?" "Yeah..."

Briefly casting his gaze about the massacre, Abdallah nodded and walked up to the creature, only pausing when they lowered their body closer to his level. Once the doctor had safely climbed on, the creature stood back up. With one more deep breath, they set off into the dark sands.

#my fics #crossover fic #moon knight (2022)#monsterverse #marc spector #abdallah el-faouly #khonshu

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toastytoaster22 · 11 months

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How do you plan out your stories/form an outline for what you’re gonna write? Any advice for it?

Hi Hello! Thank you for the ask! I love talking about my weird process for writing long fics. Hopefully you find even a bit of this helpful. Everyone is different and my process isn't going to be the same as what might work best for you.

I went through part of this a while ago for a different ask, so I'll reblog that after I answer in case I miss something (my head isn't really on today) Forgive me if there's overlap.

OKAY!

The first thing I do once I've got a good idea in my head and its fleshed out enough that I think "This is good! I will actually write this!", I start a new notebook (if the fic will be long) or grab a couple pages from a partially filled one (if its going to be shorter). I am a visual person when it comes to writing, so I like to see my story built out in front of me. It helps me organize, plan, and keep track of character arcs/specific events/details I want to include.

Issho's original story map got nearly destroyed with the amount of edits and notes I added over the course of writing it, but here it is in it's delightful, disgusting glory:

As you can see, I am a messy person. This works for me. I am sure some people will see this and want to scrub their eyes out of their heads.

But the important thing is that I have noted down where events happen across the timeline, where the chapters are marked, the three main arcs (if you can see them, good lord) and have a note at the top about what the main theme of the fic is, and Points to Make. Below are some notes on Toichiro and Serizawa that should have been on another page but ended up there somehow.

I tried to be more ... legible... with Nightjar's story map, and even color-coded it by location. It keeps track of each group of characters, when they interact, when the big events happen in conjunction to those meetings, and bc i am like this, the weather.

Nightjar has a lot more moving parts, so I just put a couple words in each spot and wrote the notes for those events in full on another paper. Nightjar has a very organized notebook with labeled tags and everything, with sections on Character Arcs and Emotional Progress, The Government's Response, Counter Attacks by Claw, OCs, and a whole back section of maps that correlate to where in Seasoning they are.

When I have a basic idea of what I want to happen and when, I go ahead and get a word doc going with the whole outline in one place. I just shorthand write down everything I want to happen as messily as I want. It doesn't matter what it says so long as i know what it means. If i get an idea at any point that i want to include, I throw it in the appropriate place asap. It could be a cool scene, a specific line I want, or a point of progress I need a character to make. Anything. The Outline Doc gets LONG. like 30 pages.

When I sit to write an actual chapter, I go to the outline doc and copy/paste the selection of events I want in that chapter into a new doc and work from there. I keep both docs open so i can throw ideas in anywhere or move events around if I need to change where the chapter ends.

I try to be open minded and flexible with my story construction. And I sure do call it Construction. I tend to change events and move chunks of story and plot around like puzzle pieces until it feels Just Right and makes the most sense.

Sometimes I do this more on paper than on the word doc bc my brain likes seeing things a lot less... up and down? Than a computer can provide. Like this section of notes I have on Issho Teru's emotional state after his parents leave:

I wanted to have a map of Teru's 5 Stages of Grief along with events that move him along toward accepting Reigen into his life and which chapters those events happen in. This got abandoned before I ended up writing any of it, so the top part about him acting out against Reigen never came into play. Originally he never went to the Children's Center, but I couldn't pull that off, so i had to send him away for his Angry period. It worked better.

Obviously not every story needs this level of attention and mapping! My Issho side stories get a few notes in the notebook and then go straight to a word doc. Anything that's only a couple chapters tends to go right to the computer bc I don't need to move events around or map out arcs.

My brain has run out of juice at the moment, but I got more out here than I expected. If you have any follow up questions, feel free to ask!

#toasty writes #toasty answers #i swear my handwriting is not always this bad #its just NOTE JOTTING in which it turns to incomprehensible squiggles #thanks anon!

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elendiliel · 1 year

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'Til All Are One

Sorry this one took so long. Life has been even more chaotic than usual. Hopefully I'll get round to the next one much sooner.

(Possible inspiration credits to @justawannabearchaeologist's "TFP Wheeljack in TFA" series here on Tumblr, and definite ones to @blueskyscribeupdates' fic With a Side of Rust; both are highly recommended.)

---

“You doing OK, kid?” Wheeljack replied to his own question before Glitch could. “Actually, don’t answer that. Something tells me you’re not.”

“What would that be?” The field-tech opened her optics (she had been trying, and failing, to meditate) and glanced down at her servos. And the magnets that had extended themselves from her wrists, and were still imitating an Earth crustacean’s claws until she consciously stopped and retracted them. “Oh. That.” Awk-ward. She was normally in full control of her mods, outside combat, at least.

“It’s all right. We’re all worried about Doc and Optimus.” Ratchet, Team Prime’s senior medic, had been captured by the Decepticons; Optimus Prime, the Autobots’ leader, was at that moment following an improvised drone to – they hoped – the ‘Cons’ mobile base and his Amica. “And I know you and Ratchet are pretty close.”

“Medic solidarity can be inconvenient,” Glitch agreed. Actually, she was close to two Ratchets – her mentor back in her home universe, and her senior colleague and friend in that one, both of whom had taught her to be more open about her thoughts and feelings. “As can some of the ways my processor’s wired differently. I’m scared more often than I should be, and it’s always hard to stop. Mindfulness and meditation are supposed to help, but either they’re not cutting the mustard this time or I’m not good enough. Probably both.” She’d been trying to calm down almost since Prime left, but her processor was still full of worst-case scenarios and it and her upper backstrut still felt as though they’d been electrified. And if she’d lost control of her mods, she was even more agitated than she’d realised.

“You need to look for a different solution, then.” That was Wheeljack the engineer talking – and possibly Wheeljack the Wrecker. The demolitions expert could be both at once, though Glitch had seen more and more of his inner scientist as they got to know each other. “D’you feel calm enough to try finishing those projects we’ve been working on? Maybe a distraction will help.”

“It’s worth a shot.” Glitch unfolded herself from her meditation pose and followed Wheeljack to their shared worktable. He was right; throwing herself into work did often help, and their projects might give the ‘bots another advantage in the near future. And we need as many of those as we can get.

***

“Do I look like hired help to you, Autobot?” No, Knock Out looked like a petulant newbuild as he objected to being asked to fetch a quantum cybermeasure by Ratchet. Someone hadn’t worked with another medic or scientist for quite some time. Ratchet almost sighed as Shockwave (another loner, but one who at least remembered lab etiquette) weighed in. He missed working with Rafael, Glitch and even Wheeljack, and it had been less than a day since his capture. (Or so he thought. Between unconsciousness, the cortical psychic patch and sheer boredom as – most likely – Shockwave was repaired after a battle, with Ultra Magnus and Glitch by the looks of things, it was hard to be sure.) Rafael would have scampered off to get the piece of equipment before Ratchet had finished the sentence, Glitch would have summoned it without looking up from her own work – or damaging anything – and Wheeljack would have handed it over with a sharp-sounding but clearly friendly comment. Despite himself, Ratchet had come to respect and even care about the reckless Wrecker, and thought the sentiment might be returned. But instead of any of his usual colleagues, he was stuck with an arrogant Aston Martin and an apparently emotionless tank. Oh well. He’d dealt with worse.

At least Shockwave knew what he was talking about. Discussing cybermatter and its relationship to Synth-En, Ratchet might as well have been back in Iacon before the war, or even in Hangar E on a calm day (or one of Glitch’s Bad Days, when she stayed behind to help him rather than risk becoming a liability in the field). Up until Knock Out let something very significant slip.

“And to think that had we not let you destroy the beasts, none of this would be possible.” Let you? Ratchet already knew that the Decepticons had learned that Synth-En and CNA could combine to form cybermatter from Wheeljack’s destruction of Shockwave’s cloning laboratory. But that had been part of a “regular” operation – or so it had seemed at the time. Glitch was right. It was a setup. She said it was all too convenient. They used us to do their dirty work, and Wheeljack and Ultra Magnus could have died as a result. But why destroy an asset they spent so much time and effort, and so many lives, creating? It doesn’t make sense – unless…

Knock Out clearly realised his mistake immediately, and tried to reverse, inexpertly aided by Shockwave steering Ratchet back to the matter in hand. But the damage was done. Walls don’t fix themselves when you back off after hitting them, Ratchet caught himself thinking. It sounded like something Glitch would say. I’d much rather have her here than those two. They might be far better scientists, but she’s a better colleague.

Knock Out was still in a foul mood when, some time later, Shockwave asked him for another CNA sample, and the sports car complied with poor grace, complaining about how “it wasn’t all that long ago I used to run this lab.” And doesn’t it show, Ratchet thought. Knock Out had run that lab all right – with one under-trained assistant, and a tendency to sneak off and enter illegal human races. (And that was after he and Breakdown had been recalled from their apparent extended leave of absence.) No wonder he was being so stroppy over sharing it with Ratchet and Shockwave. And his bad temper, combined with the CNA sample he had just knocked over such that the storage compartment hatch was wedged open, had given Ratchet a germ of a plan.

No time like the present. While the other medic’s backplate was turned, he made his way over to the cabinet and started trying to pull the sample free. He hadn’t got far when Knock Out turned towards him, but managed to distract him by asking for an isoprope, which kept the mech occupied for the circuit-shorting seconds it took to retrieve the canister. Ratchet was so relieved to have got away with his subterfuge that he actually thanked Knock Out for the unnecessary tool. The look of pleased surprise on the sports car’s face as he acknowledged the commonplace courtesy, and the few seconds it took him to register it, was unsettling to say the least. Medics often dispensed with such formalities, but did no one thank Knock Out for his work?

“I’m sorry about Breakdown.” The words slipped out before Ratchet could stop them, and he hastened to clarify his statement. “I can’t say I cared for the mech, but I know he meant a lot to you, and what it’s like to lose someone like that.”

Knock Out’s face was a picture, or rather a rapid succession of pictures, as he parsed Ratchet’s words. He eventually settled on something resigned and accepting, hiding the pain Ratchet knew he felt. “That little two-wheeler told you, didn’t she.”

“Glitch did, yes. You may have noticed she doesn’t have much in the way of filters, and you weren’t really her patient, so patient confidentiality didn’t apply. She told us everything, rather than keep it locked up in her spark, or let anyone’s imagination fill in the gaps. And she isn’t holding a grudge. I don’t think she can.” Ratchet would have said his junior colleague didn’t have a vengeful strut in her frame, but he’d heard her talk about her Shockwave and knew that wasn’t true. She couldn’t hate Knock Out, though. She understood him too well. And if she didn’t hate him for invading her mind and trying to kill her, nor could Ratchet. However much he might dislike the idea of anyone harming the gentle young femme.

Knock Out was spared having to respond by Shockwave reminding them both to stay on task. His complaints were probably cosmetic by that point – as was Ratchet’s apparent total focus on his work. While the Synth-En project was fascinating, he was also planning his best way out of there.

***

“Autobot base, do you read? Can anyone hear me?” Half a dozen of Glitch’s tools clattered to the floor as she jumped to her peds. She had thrown herself even more deeply into her work since Prime had reported Chip’s destruction. But Ratchet’s voice over the comm was all the distraction she needed.

“Loud and clear, old friend!” Prime’s joy as he replied to his Amica was shared by everyone back at base – until Ratchet reported that Megatron had reconstructed the Omega Lock, the device that could cyberform any planet. It could restore that universe’s devastated Cybertron, or extinguish all life on Earth. No prizes for guessing which King ‘Con would do first, even before Ratchet confirmed it.

There was blaster fire in the background of the transmission; Ratchet had to keep moving, but Glitch managed to tap his internal comms long enough to say a few words. “We’re coming for you, Doc-‘Bot. Don’t do anything I would do in the meantime.”

“I think that ship has already taken off.” Even Glitch could hear the amusement in his voice.

“How so?”

“Blew up a centrifuge by dropping an isoprope into it, escaped in vehicular mode, talked Predaking into going after Megatron rather than finishing me off. Maybe I’ve been around you too long.”

“Or you’ve always been like that. Either way, I intend for you to be around me a bit longer. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to tool up. See you on the other side.”

“’Til we meet again.” How did Ratchet know that one? Hamilton hadn’t even come out yet in that timeframe. Perhaps he’d raided her music collection.

The line went dead, and Glitch turned her attention to preparing for the battle ahead. Packing her tools, scrupulously maintained as always, back into her repair kit. Fitting her EMP generator, modified with Ratchet’s and Wheeljack’s help to act as a stun-gun for ‘bots of that reality and finished just in time, to her right arm. (Another modification; previously, it had only been worn on her left arm, hooked into the same circuits her shield used, a design flaw she’d finally corrected.) Adding one or two new gadgets to her arsenal. That stasisless night and day hadn’t been wasted.

Around her, the other ‘bots readied their own weapons and tools. Glitch took particular note of an energy bow Smokescreen had chosen, which reminded her of the one her universe’s Rodimus Prime had designed for himself. Smokescreen had always reminded her a bit of a young Rodimus. She just hoped he survived to grow up and become as good a leader. And that, to that end, he actually knew how to use that bow.

At last, everyone was prepared. Glitch hardly heard Prime’s motivational speech (some things never changed) as she stepped into the groundbridge alongside Bumblebee, the team’s only other shield user. They all knew the stakes. If they failed, Earth would fall. So they would not fail. They could not.

But success wasn’t going to be easy; that much was obvious the moment they arrived on top of the warship and almost immediately met with determined, if depleted, resistance. Bumblebee beeped a familiar statement as he and Glitch took their logical places at the front of the formation.

“’Til all are one,” she agreed.

#transformers prime #transformers animated #fanfic #autobot oc #tfp ratchet #tfp wheeljack #tfp knockout #misplaced medic au

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demonsandco · 3 years

Note

hi!! i was wondering if you could do a headcannon of the brothers + dia, barb and simeon reacting to mc asking if they could do it in their demon/angel forms?

I sure hope that by “demon form” you meant my version of their forms, because only after I finished writing, did I remember that they have canonical demon forms, too, woops! But Simeon doesn’t have a non-human form in-game so hopefully I was right gjhfkfjh

Lucifer : It’s a rare occurrence to see Lucifer speechless, yet somehow they’ve managed to stun him into silence with a single request. Being intimate in his demon form isn’t something that’s even crossed his mind before, not seeing his true form as anything more than a tool for intimidation. With too many eyes, elongated limbs, and crisscrossing scars highlighted by patches of missing feathers, he truly doesn’t understand what they see in him to pick that over his much more palatable, human form. Yet, despite his initial shock and hesitance, he can’t find it in him to deny their request. If they really want to see his true form, especially in such an intimate setting, then he’ll humor them, but the entire time he’s preparing himself for some sort of rejection, expecting them to flinch away from his touch or to ask him to switch back. He’s astonishingly vulnerable in this form, and craves a positive reaction from them.

(cont under the cut)

Mammon : When he hears their request, Mammon’s relief is palpable. Having sex in his human from has always felt distant to him, as though he were wearing a costume or a skin tight suit. He’s desperate to feel their hands on his demon form, often fantasising about how their hands would feel running across his wings or buried in his feathers, but, while he may have not so subtly hinted at his desires in the past, he’s never had the courage to initiate such a thing himself. He’s immensely excited about their request, so excited in fact that he’s prepared to stop whatever he was doing and drag them off to somewhere private to have his way with them. It also encourages him to spend more time in his demon form around them, now that he knows that it won’t scare them away.

Leviathan : Levi’s knee-jerk reaction is to say no right off the bat. As much as he trusts his partner, he can’t help but think that there’s some sort of ulterior motive behind the request, refusing to believe that anyone would actually want to see his demon form, much less touch it in such an intimate way. While his true form grants him confidence and immeasurable power, in a relationship, it becomes his biggest insecurity. It takes a lot of patience and encouragement to convince him to go through with it, and even then he’s hesitant to even touch them, worried that they’ll think he’s creepy or gross and change their mind. It doesn’t help that he’s practically useless on land and that they’d need to join him in the water to comfortably have sex. He’s understandably nervous, but praise and affection go a long way in easing his worries, and once he gets a taste of how nice it feels, he finds himself asking them to be intimate in his demon form more often.

Satan : Satan isn’t all that surprised by their request. In fact, he’d been expecting it to come up sooner or later. After all, he wants to know every intimate detail about his partner, to see them in their most vulnerable state, so he assumes that they’d eventually want to get to know his true form intimately, as well. He feels some anxiety, of course, his demon form not exactly being human friendly, all rough skin and sharp edges, but he does a good job at keeping his fears at bay and enjoying the moment. It feels freeing, in a way, to have them accept him so readily, to allow something as monstrous as him so close in such a vulnerable moment. With every soft touch of their hands and kiss from their lips, he finds himself falling in love all over again. He craves their acceptance, and the fact that they can see him at his worst and still show him love speaks volumes.

Asmodeus : As much as he wants to tease his partner for having such a lewd suggestion, or to think of it as a chance to introduce them to something new and pleasurable, the only thing Asmo feels at their request is genuine fear. There is very little that he’s afraid of, but the idea of them rejecting him is terrifying, and he’s convinced himself that no one could possibly love him if they saw his true form. He’s very calculated in what parts of his demon form he lets people see, making sure he looks cute and unassuming at all times. He has no problems showing those parts of him to his partner, but the rest of his demon form isn’t anywhere near as cutesy, and he doesn’t want them to associate him with such an “ugly” appearance. Yet at the same time, he wants to be able to be himself around them, to have them see the parts of him that he’s kept hidden. It takes a lot of worry and hesitation, before he finally shows them his true form during sex, the shared lust giving him the push he needed. He’s so prepared for a negative response that their positive reaction is enough to make him melt against them.

Beelzebub : It’s not uncommon for Beel to be seen in a not quite human form around the house, his wings and horns unconsciously coming out while he eats or works out. Knowing this, he’s surprised that his partner has seen those parts of him and instead of being scared, they want to see more. He’s not the type of person to hide who he is to make himself more palatable. He trusts them to know what they want, and he takes their request at face value. At first, he didn’t think too much of it, but the moment he feels them touch his true form, watches them search for his most sensitive areas, he becomes addicted to the feeling. The fact that he’s even bigger than normal in this form excites him more than he thought it would, too, his massive frame making his partner seem tiny in comparison. Needless to say, he finds himself letting his demon form out during sex more often, both because he wants to feel their touch again and because he finds it more comfortable.

Belphegor : Belphie is genuinely surprised that they’d want anything to do with his demon form after how badly things went the first time they saw it. Hearing that they not only want to see it again, but that they want to see it in such a vulnerable moment is a relief to him. He’s always thought that actions speak louder than words, and he sees their request as a sign of trust, something he values greatly. He’s more than happy to show them his demon form, to let them explore his body and create new, much more enjoyable, memories. He also takes it as an invitation to show his demon form more often, taking every opportunity he can to let out his horns as he cuddles up to them or conveniently resting his tail within petting range. Now that he knows they’re not scared of his appearance, he wants them to associate his form with positive and intimate moments.

Diavolo : Diavolo is positively ecstatic to hear their request! He’s wanted to don his true form while being intimate with them since the start of their relationship, but he’s held back out of worry, not wanting to risk frightening them. Truthfully, he’s not too fond of maintaining a human appearance for so long, and he’s almost too excited to let out his demonic features. Hopefully, they had nothing else planned for the day, because he’s already got them wrapped up in his many wings, with his scaly face pressed against their neck. He plans to take his time with them, practically acting as though it was their first time together again, treating them like a priceless treasure in his clawed grasp, showing them everything he can do in his true form that a human could never hope to accomplish.

Barbatos : Barbatos has been waiting for them to ask this for quite a while, and he can’t keep the small smile off his face when they finally do. While he’s perfectly comfortable in his human form, he feels as though it greatly limits his abilities in the bedroom, and he hates to think that he’s not pleasing them to the best of his abilities. He knows that his true form isn’t something a human would be used to, though, so he waited until they were confident enough to bring it up themselves. He sees it as taking the next step in their relationship in a way, knowing that they not only are willing to accept him for what he is, but that they embrace it. With his extra limbs, slick tail and long, powerful tongue, he’s more than happy to show them how much more skilled he is at servicing them in this form, and he’s also surprised to realise just how sensitive his demonic appendages are.

Simeon : It’s rare for Simeon to feel the need to turn his partner down, but he finds himself initially denying their request when they first ask, coming up with some half baked excuses in an attempt to avoid hurting their feelings. Humans never seem to react well to an angel’s true form and he can’t bear to see them regard him with fear, especially not during such an intimate moment. While his angelic appearance may not be as monstrous as a demons, the extra limbs, many eyes and inhumanly tall frame are more than enough to make him look rather disconcerting. Yet at the same time, he doesn’t like the thought of hiding his true form from them, leaving him conflicted. With enough reassurance, he eventually feels comfortable enough showing them bits and pieces of his angel form at a time, and each night they spend together his human form slips away a bit more. At first it’s just his wings, letting his partner run their hands over his sensitive feathers and getting used to the extra limbs, before slowly showing them more of him. Soon enough, he reaches a point where letting out his angel form around them is like a habit, feeling like it makes their time spent together feel more intimate, especially now that he knows his looks alone won’t scare them away.

#obey me #obey me smut #obey me shall we date #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me diavolo #obey me barbatos #obey me simeon #rip sol he's just a regular ol human #angel form #demon form #obey me headcanons #lime time

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luci-in-trenchcoats · 3 years

Text

Unspoken

Summary: Dean is cursed with the inability to speak unless a cure can be found. It begins to wear on him in more ways than one...

Pairing: Dean x reader

Word Count: 1,800ish

Warnings: language

“Stay down,” said Dean, aiming his gun at the witch.

“Why don’t you shut up,” she said, throwing something at Dean. You both shot and she was dead like that but Dean had a hand on his throat, turning to you with a bit of panic in his eyes.

“Dean!” you said, expecting him to start gasping that he couldn’t breathe but it never came. Dean only continued to claw at his throat, opening his mouth and staring at you. “What’d she do?”

You watched him move his lips and even his tongue but not a whisper came out, no sound at all. He looked like he was trying to shout but there was nothing, Dean spinning around.

“You can’t talk?” you asked, Dean nodding as he found a piece of paper and a pen, jotting something down quick.

Can breathe. No talking though. Find spellbook.

“Alright. You look down here. I’ll take upstairs.”

About an hour later, Dean was poking his head in a room, tossing a notebook at you before walking away.

Found it. Doesn’t mention anything. I dealt with the witch. I grabbed the book so let’s go home. Maybe Sam can figure it out.

“Well, I’m sure this will be an enjoyable drive home.”

“Wait. So you can’t talk?” said Sam. Dean rolled his eyes and rested his head on his hands. “Really?”

“Yes, Sam. He’s cursed or under a spell. Help me figure this out, alright?” you said. Sam held up his hands, chuckling a little. “Sam.”

“Hey, compared to the usual crap that happens to us, at least this isn’t so bad, right? It’s not trying to kill him at least,” said Sam.

Dean sighed but gave a half-hearted smile and nodded. He waved and you followed after to the library, each one of you heading off to do your own research.

Hopefully you could find a cure soon.

Four Months Later

Sam was off on another random lead that probably wouldn’t pan out. You’d managed to find a nice and easy ghost hunt but you couldn’t even drag Dean along with you. That was your rule. It was too dangerous to bring him along when he couldn’t talk. It was strange how everything around him seemed to mute. Plates didn’t make noise when they stacked together. Chairs didn’t scrape along the floor. The shower was silent whenever he took one.

He was like a ghost. Except those made sound on occasion.

“Dean. Let’s get out of the bunker, go do something fun,” you said, poking your head in your room. Dean was nowhere to be found. You checked the garage next, Baby still parked in there, no sign of him. “Dean! Where are you?”

You hoped that didn’t make him mad. He’d been having a bad week. Worse than normal which was saying something. You knew he was reaching his breaking point even if he kept it to himself.

“Dean,” you said again, wandering to your old bedroom, finding him sat on top of the bed, staring at you when you walked in. “Baby. What-”

He tossed his little whiteboard across the room and you took a seat beside him, Dean turning his head away.

“I love you,” you said, wrapping your arms around him, giving him a kiss. “I know this is hard and I miss talking to you. So let’s talk, okay?”

He tilted his head and moved to stand but you kept him in place.

“Maybe the conversation is going to be a bit one sided but we can still talk, can’t we?” you asked. He nodded, looking over to where he’d thrown his whiteboard. He went to grab it but you shook your head.

“What?” he mouthed. You pressed your lips to his, gently laying the two of you back. He blinked when you moved away, eyes watching your hand slide up into his hair. Your fingers ran through his stands, green eyes flickering up and back to your face. He was thinking, trying to understand as you grabbed his shoulder and moved his head, resting it closer to your own. You smiled as he kept watching you, still thinking.

“For all the things I hate about this situation, you know what I love? Whenever I tell you how amazing you are, how wonderful and good and handsome and strong and intelligent and witty and awesome you are, you can’t make that tsk noise or scoff or sigh or grumble or interrupt to tell me I’m wrong. You have to sit back and take it,” you said.

He gave you a bitch face, rolling his eyes as you kept playing with his hair. He started to nuzzle into the touch though, his face turning soft.

“I love you,” you said. He nodded and pecked a kiss on the top of your nose, big green eyes staring softly. “I know you love me too, Dean.”

He let out a silent breath of air, pulling you flush to him.

“I don’t care what happens. I’m with you,” you said.

He smiled and grabbed your hand, pressing it flat against his chest and over his heart. You felt his heartbeat and smiled.

Two Months Later

“Dean! Lunch is ready!” you shouted from the kitchen. “Bacon lettuce tomato with extra bacon for you!”

You waited a beat, no tuft of brown hair coming around the corner. You grabbed his plate and drink, carrying them out to the library where Dean was researching again.

“You want to eat in here?” you asked. Dean lifted his head and shook it, waving you over. “You don’t want bacon...okay. That’s not concerning or anything.”

He tapped his book and you set the food down, peering over his shoulder.

“A transference spell? You want to transfer it to someone else?” you asked. Dean nodded, tossing his whiteboard at you.

We can’t break it so let’s move it. Move the spell to someone it won’t affect, like someone in a coma that’s never going to wake up. You think that would work?

“Actually, that’s not a half-bad idea,” you said. “Lunch first and then we’ll see if it’s possible.”

“It was a good try,” you said that night. Dean was in the gym, smacking hits against the punching bag. “We’ll get your voice back.”

He looked around the bag, taking deep pants, hitting it once more.

“Dean,” you said, his face scrunching up as he swung again. Hard. He did it a few times, the bag bouncing around, Dean not letting up until he was breathing hard, falling down onto his butt. He shut his eyes and put his head between his knees.

You sat beside him, Dean letting you pull off his boxing gloves. You frowned when you saw he’d cut up his knuckles.

“Let’s clean this up,” you said when his breathing was more even. He followed you to the kitchen, his head low as you wiped down the cuts and dried it off. “I can’t imagine how hard this is. I can’t. But if you need to go and let your anger out, you will do it the right way. Tape up your hands next time, Ali.”

He nodded, glancing up through his eyelashes.

“What would you like for dinner?” you asked. He shrugged. “Pizza?”

“Uf,” you heard him say, both of you wide eyed. “Igaf!”

“You can talk!” you said. Dean did a fist pump and jumped up and down, his sneakers making the cement floor smack. “Sammy! I think the curse is broken!”

“Really? That’s awesome!” he shouted back, wandering into the kitchen after a moment. Dean was still making baby noises though and he was quickly frowning. “So it’s been about six months. Could have been a timing thing.”

“Yeah,” you said, staring at Dean.

“Ea,” he said, pouting. “Ea icese.”

“I have no idea what he’s trying to say,” said Sam.

“Dean,” you said.

“Ea,” said Dean, finding one of his white boards laying around.

I’m trying to say Dean Winchester. That’s all that comes out. It’s like my mouth doesn’t know how to make the sound.

“Y/N. This may sound strange but...I think I know what the witch did,” said Sam. “I read about it like, years ago.”

“Don’t keep us in suspense, Sam,” you said, Dean throwing up his hands.

“Infantiliccum curse. Six month initial period,” he said.

“Well what is it?”

“I think Dean is very lucky that witch only decided to mess with his voice,” said Sam. “It basically reverts whatever the witch chooses in the afflicted to become that like an infant. Babies can’t talk right? Dean couldn’t talk. The other sound thing might have been a side effect.”

“Yeah but he knows how to talk. Why-“

“Yeah, he does but this is the part Dean’s gonna be pissed about. There’s another six months before it fully wears off,” said Sam.

“Ic uns!” said Dean, his face scrunched up. “Fff mfh uc afh!”

“Pretty sure there was an f bomb in there somewhere,” you said. Dean nodded, glaring at Sam.

“Hey, I said fully reversed. Maybe now you can like, learn to talk again in the meantime,” said Sam. “Get some phrases back.”

Dean growled but he still smiled at being able to make sound.

“I think that’s a good idea. I’m sure you’ll pick it up fast.”

“I know this one’s hard,” you said about a week later, holding up a flash card.

“Owiop,” said Dean, opening his mouth wide. “Owiop. Uckin etter. I ate tat etter.”

“L’s are hard. Come on. Tongue up behind your teeth, narrow your cheeks in and drop your jaw. Lollipop.”

“Ollipop,” he said with a bit of a smile. “Oll...Lol...ipop. Loll...ipop. Lollipop. Uck it L’s. I ot tis now.”

“You want to take a break? We’ve been going all morning,” you said.

He just smiled and stared at you.

“I love you,” he said, no struggle this time.

“Been waiting a long time to hear that again,” you said, kissing him for a few long moments.

“Tank you,” he said. “Th...ank you.”

“Thank you for trying. We keep working it and you’ll be back to your old self in no time,” you said.

“Love you,” he said, kissing you again.

“I love you too, Dean. Even when you couldn’t say it, I knew baby. I always knew.”

#supernatural #spn #dean x reader #dean winchester #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester x reader #dean #winchester #dean spn #dean supernatural

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anyi-arts · 2 years

Text

Some self indulgent fluff with child!Alucard and his father, hope yall like

----

Vlad let out a breath, turning a page in his notebook and resumed his ruminations. He was sure there’d be a way to increase the strength of his astroscope, but the materials used to create it haven’t been made in at least 100 years, and unfortunately a key piece he’d need had been destroyed by Adrian by accident while he was playing.

He might be able to make it himself, it would take a while though, and he’d have to look to see if he’d written down anything about it. He should have... but it would hardly be the first time he’d thought such a thing only for it not to be so.

Glancing at the clock, he realized he’d need to go make breakfast soon, but what? Maybe an omelette? Or some soup? Tomato was nice, or onion, or maybe they’d like some steamed meat-buns? Perhaps he’d make all 3.

Adrian *was* a growing boy, after all, and Lisa could always do with a bit more meat on her bones. Just in case.

He pressed his pen to the paper, and pulled it off again, glancing to the side. He hadn’t missed hearing the door quietly creak as it was opened ever so slightly, nor the faint sound of padding paws and clicking claws.

He set down his pen, turning a bit more to face his son who was curiously in the form of a wolf.

“Adrian, my boy? What are you doing up?”

He of course got no answer, apart from the young pup cowering back a bit, clearly not expecting to get caught.

He patted his lap gently, concerned about what got his boy in such a state. It wasn't often he'd wake up and search for whoever wasn't yet asleep, rather than just finding them already in bed and curling up next to them.

After a moments hesitance, he finally jumped up onto his lap, curling up and hiding his face in his fathers tunic.

Vlad gently ran a hand through his sons fur, frowning more as he felt him shake. There was nothing he could do though, not without knowing what the problem was, so, with a sigh, he returned to his work. Hopefully, Adrian would calm down enough to turn back and tell him what was wrong soon.

He’d worked through a page or three of listing and calculations before he felt the weight in his lap shift and become heavier, he himself moving to adjust to his sons new form. He didn’t take his eyes off from the paper though, waiting for Adrian to speak before reacting. A few more minutes passed before he finally spoke, his voice barely a whisper, though it was no trouble for him to hear. “I had a nightmare...”

He took this as his cue to set his pen down, pushing away from the desk slightly as his arms wrapped around his son, pulling him closer, a hand going to run through his hair. “What was it about?”

Another few minutes pass before Adrian speaks again, just as quiet. “Hunters. I was hiding in my room and, you were there. They hurt you, badly. And then,,” He cut himself off, hands gripping his fathers tunic, face smushed into his chest.

Vlad cursed at the Belmonts internally, pressing a kiss to his sons head. “And then?”

“They killed you... you turned to dust, and,, I woke up after that. I was so scared, what if it happens?! I don’t want them to kill you! I,, I don’t want to die either.”

“Adrian, my boy, that will never happen, I promise you. Those Belmonts have been trying for over 4 centuries now and they’ve never gotten close to even touching me, and I’d end this world three times over before ever letting them harm you.”

“3 times?”

He nodded. “At the very least. As long as this castle stands and I still live, no hunter shall ever lay hands on you, I’ll make sure of it.”

“But what about you?”

He scoffed. “Even if they did get their hands on me, they wouldn’t manage to actually hurt me. They could try, but I’m very tough, they’d be no more bothersome than a fly. Now, how about we get you some warm milk, you can drink that while I get started on breakfast.”

Adrian nodded and Vlad picked him up, holding him close as he stood and headed to the kitchen, paying no mind to any of the servants or guards traversing the halls as well.

When they arrived he set Adrian down and got to work, pulling out a small pot and setting it on the stove, lighting it with a bit of magic before grabbing some milk from the icebox and pouring it into said pot. As it began to heat up he opened a drawer, pulling out a stick of cinnamon and a pod of star anise, tossing the pod in and crushing the cinnamon into a fine powder before adding it to the milk, stirring it to make sure it was mixed in well. After a moments thought he decided to add a bit of sugar as well, not wanting it to be too bitter.

After that, he got to work on preparing the rest of the food, making sure to keep an eye on the pot of milk, stirring it whenever he passed. The heat was on low so there shouldn’t really be much to worry about, but one could never be too careful with milk.

He figured a nice soup with a side of bread and eggs would be good, and grabbed a larger pot to replace the smaller on the stove; the milk was well heated up now anyway, the edges bubbling a bit, and he transferred the milk into a cup before setting it on the table in front of his son, and the pot by the sink.

The soup was easy enough to do, adding a bit of water mixed with some broth he’d made a while ago and stored away, along with an assortment of veggies and spices. After tasting it to make sure it was on it’s way to something good, he covered the pot and sat at the table by Adrian, gently patting his head.

“How are you feeling? better?”

Adrian nodded, sipping his milk.

He smiled. “Good. I’m glad you came to me, I’d have hated to know you were suffering with this alone. This goes for anything else that might be bothering you, alright? No matter how small you think it might be, I want you to tell us, alright?”

“Alright.” Adrian set down his cup, having finished more then half of it.

“Good, now, why don’t you go get your mother, breakfast will be ready soon. After that we can discuss what we’ll do for the day.”

Adrian nodded, hopping off his chair and running out of the room, leaving Vlad alone for the moment.

He got up, checking on the soup before preparing the rest of the food.

As he worked, a part of him wondered if all of this, everything he had now, was a way of God trying to apologize, or ask for forgiveness maybe. He doubted it but, how else could he explain the utterly striking resemblance between Lisa and Elisabetha, from their looks to their personality all the way down to the hold they had on his heart.

And their child... he’d always wanted a child, they both did really but,

And now he had one, and he was perfect. He couldn’t ask for a better son, really, and wouldn’t give him up for anything in the world but sometimes he wondered, the same part that wondered about everything he had now, if it was worth it.

Yes, but also... if he could go back, if she never died, if none of what happened happened, would it not be better? Would it not be a kinder fate?

He sighed, plating the food and setting it on the table, waving these thoughts to the back of his mind. He could wonder later--not that he’d get any answers--and let a small smile rise on his lips as he heard the chatter of those he loved most draw close.

#i've never written any of them before so hopefully it's not *too* ooc #i just want cute tepes family content. is that so much to ask? :crycat:#netflix castlevania #castlevania #vlad dracula tepes #adrian tepes #alucard #this has been sitting in my drafts for almost a year now so like. i'm throwin it out now lol

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pastelxmelx · 3 years

Text

✰︎ you’ve got to be kitten me ~ S.R.

⤷ a/n: just wanted to start off with something simple ♡︎

⤷ pairing: spencer reid x reader

⤷ word count: 1.2k

⤷ summary: you take in a stray cat and wait for Spencer to come home so you can tell him

⤷ genre: fluff

It was a good day. Not because of the nice weather, the easy day at work, or the wonderful morning you had with Spencer. No, those were all great, but they weren’t the full reason why it was a good day. It was a good day because you found a cat. And, you may or may not have taken in said cat. Though it was a good day, not a great day. Because, there was still a small problem you had yet to resolve. Spencer didn’t know.

He was going to know, one way or another. He could come home and find you miserably attempting to hide the mellow animal, or you could call to tell him and hang up before he had a chance to respond, giving him time to think it over on his way home. He’d be okay with it, right? Why wouldn’t he be? All you did was take in a stray animal whose essence was to hate humans. Yeah, this was gonna go well.

Choosing to surprise him when he gets home, you pick up the tired cat and take her to your bedroom where you place her on the bed. Watching as she steps onto your pillow and lies down, you realize something. “Oh, you don’t have a name yet, do you?” you ask rhetorically. “How about...Duchess? Like Duchess from Aristocats!” It seems like a fitting name, so you go with it. After all, what could be better than Disney?

You don’t want to spend too long fawning over your new feline love, as you have no idea when Spencer will be back. You make sure she’s alright on the bed, then scurry out of the room, closing the door behind you. Eyeing your phone on the counter, you consider calling Spencer to ask when he’ll be home. But, what are the chances he’ll pick up? So instead, you brew some Turkish coffee to help convince Spencer that you should keep the cat. You were hoping that he’ll be home in time for the two of you to enjoy it.

By the time you’re finished with it, Spencer’s still not home. Checking on Duchess, you notice that she’s fallen asleep. It’s an adorable sight, but you can’t help feeling antsy as you wait for the said brunette. You dither for a few moments before giving in, you return to the counter and pick up your phone to call him. It goes to voicemail, which isn’t too unexpected. Hopefully Spencer will be home soon, right? He did mention that he’d try to be home early. But then, early is a wide range for an FBI agent.

Thinking there’s no harm in rewatching Friends as you wait for him, you end up falling asleep on the couch. It’s not until near midnight that you wake up when you feel something hitting your face. Opening your eyes, you see a familiar blur of grey fur extending a paw out to wack your face with. How Duchess managed to get in her current position is beyond you, but it’s not the most important thing to think about. You spring off of the sofa and scoop the small cat up in your arms.

Before attempting to hide her away again, you step into the kitchen. The coffee you made had gone cold and you sigh, it looks like he didn’t make it home in time for the coffee after all. You may have jumped the gun on making it, but it was alright. You could always brew a fresh pot in the morning. For now, your main focus should be what to do with the sedentary animal you were holding. Like, finding a new place to set her down while you both wait.

This time you take her into the bathroom and place her on the counter to wait for Spencer. To keep her busy, you grab one of your boyfriend’s ties that he hasn’t worn in forever and let her toy with it. She’s surely going to tear it apart, but you know Spencer won’t mind. Speaking of him, you were starting to get worried. It was a quarter past midnight and he still wasn’t home. Checking your phone wasn't any help, as he hadn’t called or left any messages. If he wasn’t called out on a case, is he alright? It wasn’t often that he stayed at work this long.

Luckily enough, before you can begin to panic, the door opens and Spencer steps inside. He was home! Walking over to him, you engulf him in a tight hug and ask, “Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine love, I’m sorry I got caught up with paperwork and lost track of time,” he explains. As long as he’s safe, coming home late at night isn’t an issue.

“Alright, well I’m glad nothing bad happened,” you smile up at him, mind racing about the best way to bring up the feline you’d taken in. “Though, um, there is something I need to tell you,” you say sheepishly.

He begins walking towards your bedroom, most likely to take a shower. “Did something happen while I was gone?”, he doesn’t sound worried, which is good.

Though you can’t let him stumble upon the cat before you tell him about her. So, you try to rush in front of him, hoping to delay him just long enough to spill the secret. Unfortunately however, he was just a bit faster and made it into the room before you could do anything. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

He stops at the bathroom door, his hand on the doorknob and asks, “Oh? What’d I miss?”

“Well,” you start, but you’re interrupted by a soft purring noise coming from inside of the bathroom. Spencer whips his head over to the room and temporarily removes his hand from the door in shock.

He turns back to you with a raised eyebrow and asks, “y/n, what was that?” His curious tone is laced with amusement, and you’re sure he’s already caught onto what was happening.

“That would be what happened,” you answer. You watch as he opens the door and is instantly met with the sight of the cat that you’d brought home with you.

“Is that my tie?” he asks, noticing a piece of fabric between her claws. Without waiting for you to answer, he picks up Duchess and says, “You know cats are really smart. Their sense of smell and eyesight aren’t as strong as ours so they rely on body language for the most part of their communication. They’re like small, feline, profilers!” He was talking with joy, and you were taking that as a good sign.

“I can’t tell if that’s a good or bad thing,” you softly laugh.

“What’s her name?” he asks.

“Duchess,” you tell him. “Like the movie.”

“What movie?” he stares at you as you answer.

“Aristocats,” you reply, but he still looks confused. “Don’t tell me you’ve never seen it!”

“Maybe we can change that tomorrow?” he says with contentment.

“We’re gonna have to,” you agree.

Spencer looks down at the small animal in his arms, then back up at you. “So, does this mean we get to keep her?”

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #reid x reader #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #writing.♣️

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michaels-two-dads · 3 years

Text

Interrogation Room (Beeduo)

AKA If Tubbo won’t write Nuke Lore, I’ll do it myself.

“Tubbo.. why are we here?” Ranboo asked, “What is this place?”

Tubbo had led him to one of the gray towers outside of Snowchester. It was one that he had been working on lately, but it’d changed since the last time Ranboo had seen it. When he’d last seen it, the inside of the tower had been hollow. He hadn’t been sure exactly what its purpose was before, and to be honest, he hadn’t exactly been paying much attention at the time. Clearly, though, Tubbo had made some drastic changes in interior decorating.

The floors and ceiling were made of a mix of blackstone and obsidian, absorbing the flickering orange light of the lanterns that hung from chains above. The room as a whole was claustrophobic to the next degree, hardly large enough to fit the single table and two chairs that served as its only occupants.

Ranboo couldn’t help but be reminded of another room, one with hastily-written signs on the walls, a jukebox in the floor, and water dripping in through the ceiling. It wasn’t a pleasant thing to be reminded of.

“Have a seat, Ranboo.” Tubbo said.

Ranboo frowned. Tubbo hadn’t answered his question, and his tone of voice had taken on that toneless, hollow quality, the way it got when someone mentioned Technoblade, Schlatt, or Dream. Something was very wrong.

“Uh- okay?” Ranboo said. He hesitantly pulled out the closer chair and sat down.

Ranboo wasn’t used to feeling this uneasy with Tubbo- usually, it was everyone else that he felt uneasy around. His eyes tracked Tubbo as he made his way past Ranboo to the other side of the small room, taking a seat in the chair opposite to him.

He watched as Tubbo opened a small drawer on the side of the table and pulled out a piece of paper, placing it in front of Ranboo theatrically.

“What were you doing on this date at this time?” He asked.

Ranboo let out a laugh, unsure of how else to react as he looked at the piece of paper, “How am I supposed to know, Tubbo, I- Mining, probably?”

He searched Tubbo’s expression for a sign of whether he accepted that answer or not, but his husband offered nothing, expression staying blank.

“Check your memory book.” Tubbo said.

Ranboo blinked, “Uh, my memory book isn’t like a- like a diary. I don’t date my pages, and I don’t write in it every day. I just use it to.. to keep track of important things- things I need to remember.”

Tubbo tilted his head to the side, a crack in his cold facade as his curiosity showed through, “Like what?” He asked.

Ranboo tapped a claw on the surface of the table, “Major events.. Michael..” He paused, making eye contact with Tubbo, “..You.”

Tubbo flushed, kicking him in the shin underneath the table, causing Ranboo to yelp in pain, “Stop flirting with me.” He commanded.

Ranboo bit back a grin, “I wasn’t!”

“You were.” Tubbo shot back.

Ranboo let the grin spread across his face, resting his chin in his hand, “Well, maybe a little.”

Tubbo kicked him again, “Stop it! This is serious!”

Ranboo rose his eyebrows, “Is it?” He asked. “Because you still haven’t explained what’s happening.”

Just like that, the temporarily light-hearted tone dissipated. Tubbo sat up straighter in his chair, his hands moving to fiddle with the zipper on his coat. After several seconds of silence, he finally responded.

“The thing is, big man, that something.. something has happened. Something bad. And I.. I need to ask you a few questions about it, just in case.”

A thousand scenarios flashed through Ranboo’s head. Was everyone alright? Did someone get hurt? Had something happened to Tommy? Or Michael?

“Wha- Can I- Can I ask what it was that happened?”

Tubbo didn’t answer for a few seconds, “..Let’s just say..” He trailed off, then started again, “Let’s just say that something has gone missing- something very, very important, and something very, very dangerous.”

Dangerous? What on the server was dangerous that had to do with Tubbo? There was nothing that Ranboo could think of, except for-

“Wait, Tubbo, you’re not- You’re not talking about-“ Ranboo lowered his voice, “Tubbo, are you talking about the nukes?”

Tubbo’s expression shifted, and Ranboo’s eyes widened.

“Is one of the nuclear weapons missing?!” Ranboo asked, even though he was pretty sure he knew that the answer was yes.

“Be quiet!” Tubbo shouted.

Ranboo shrunk back a little, startled by the harshness in his husband’s voice.

“I’m the one who will be asking the questions here.” Tubbo said firmly.

“Alright, that’s fine, that’s fine.” Ranboo said. “Sorry- That’s my bad.”

Tubbo wavered for a moment, and then his expression softened a little, “It’s alright, big man.” He said softly. He cleared his throat, “The thing is, Ranboo, the thing is that when Jack Manifold and I left the object that I will call a ‘firework’, and when we came back to find that it was missing.. you were the only other person online.”

Ranboo frowned, “Wait.. you don’t.. you don’t think I took it, do you?”

He knew it was a stupid question. Of course Tubbo thought he took it. Why else would he be here? But something in him still had trouble believing it.

Tubbo wavered, “I.. I don’t..” He set his shoulders, “We have to explore all possibilities, Ranboo. There’s no other suspects left.”

“So you think I took your nuke.” Ranboo said.

“Firework.” Tubbo corrected. He formed the word strangely.

Ranboo averted his eyes downwards, “Right, sorry.”

There was a moment of tense silence, eventually broken by Tubbo.

“And I never said I thought you took it, I just said we have to consider all possibilities.”

Ranboo looked up, “So you don’t think I took it?” He asked hopefully.

Tubbo didn’t respond.

“..Tubbo?”

Tubbo looked him dead in the eyes, “Did you?”

“Of course not!” Ranboo responded automatically. His tail twitched nervously.

Had he taken the nuke? He liked to think that the answer was no. He liked to think that he wouldn’t do that- but what he hated was that he had no idea whether he had or not.

According to his memory book, his enderwalking self was motivated by stopping “conflict”. Nuclear weapons definitely fell under the realm of “conflict”. But even in his enderwalk state, would Ranboo really steal from his own husband?

Out of anyone in the server, Tubbo was probably the person that Ranboo trusted the most. Ranboo certainly trusted him more than himself. And though Ranboo would admit that he had never liked the nukes, he had always tolerated them, because Tubbo assured him that he would never use them, and he trusted his word.

However, the idea of his enderwalking self with that kind of power.. that was terrifying.

When Ranboo looked back up at Tubbo, he had to look away. His blue-gray eyes pierced right through him.

“You don’t seem very sure.” Tubbo stated.

Ranboo exhaled a sigh, shutting his eyes tightly as he hung his head. Tubbo knew him too well.

“I’m not sure.” Ranboo admitted softly. He felt a familiar feeling of guilt clawing into his chest.

Ranboo felt a hand over his own, and he opened his eyes to see Tubbo smiling at him with an earnest expression. “Come on, Ranboo. What possible reason would you have to steal it?”

“I.. I don’t know.” Ranboo said.

“Then why would you not be sure?”

“Because-“ Ranboo stopped, suddenly gripped by a sense of urgency. He moved his other hand to clasp onto Tubbo’s. “Tubbo..” He inhaled deeply, trying to find the right words, “There are things I’ve done that I.. regret. Things that I don’t remember doing.”

Tubbo frowned, “Then how do you know you did them?” He asked.

Ranboo let out a pitiful laugh, “I just.. I just do.” He choked out.

Tubbo was quiet for a few seconds, taking in Ranboo’s words.

“I think we’ve all done things we regret.” He finally said. “Just because you don’t remember them doesn’t make you any different from anybody else.”

“But-“

“Nope! I’m right.”

Ranboo laughed fondly, blinking away the sting of tears that had been threatening to fall, “Alright, fine.” He said.

At that, Tubbo moved to sit down properly from where had been leaning far over the table, a smug smile on his face. “Good.” He said.

Ranboo smiled at him, reminded, as he often was, of how much he loved Tubbo Underscore-Beloved.

They sat in silence, until eventually Tubbo began to tap his fingers on the table, a far-away expression on his face. He appeared to debate something for a long time, before the tapping finally stopped, and he turned his head towards Ranboo solemnly.

“Ranboo, I need you to do me a favor.”

Ranboo tensed. The word “favor” immediately put him on edge. A voice in his head said danger, danger, tread carefully.

Despite all of that, Ranboo found himself saying, “Of course. Whatever you need.”

Tubbo’s brow furrowed slightly, before smoothing out again, “Tell me you didn’t steal the nuke.”

Ranboo’s heart dropped, “What?”

“Just tell me you didn’t.”

“Tubbo, I- I can’t.” Ranboo said.

“Why not?” Tubbo responded.

“I- There’s no way for me to confirm that.”

“So?”

Ranboo stopped for a moment, taken aback, “So there’s a chance I’d be lying to you!”

Tubbo was quiet for several seconds, staring at Ranboo with an intense expression, “Then lie.” He whispered. “Lie to me, Ranboo. Tell me you’re certain.”

Ranboo’s eyes widened, “Tubbo-“

“Please, Boo.” Tubbo’s voice was quiet, soft, and wrought with emotion.

Ranboo’s heart twisted painfully. He opened his mouth to say something, to force out a response- an argument- but the only sound that came out was a distressed enderman thrum.

He paused, took a deep breath, wiped his eyes with his sleeve, and tried again, “I-“ Ranboo’s voice cracked as he took in Tubbo’s appearance. At the sight of the desperate, pleading look in his husband’s eyes, his resolve broke.

“Okay.” Ranboo said weakly. “I didn’t take the nuke.”

“You’re certain?” Tubbo asked.

Ranboo held back a sigh, “Yeah.” He said. “Yeah, I’m certain, Bo.”

Despite the pit of dread that had already begun to settle in his stomach, seeing Tubbo’s shoulders visibly relax at his words made it difficult for Ranboo to regret his decision.

Soon enough, Tubbo had plastered on a cheery smile, all traces of vulnerability gone in an instant, “Alright, then!” He exclaimed, standing up. “Interrogation over, I reckon.” Then, he actually winked at Ranboo, “What do you say we get out of here, Memory Boy?”

Ranboo let out a startled laugh as he felt his face heat up, completely caught off-guard by the shift in tone, “I- I, uh- I-“ He stammered, “I- Um-.”

Tubbo’s smile widened, clearly proud of himself, and Ranboo laughed, his heart fluttering, “Sure.” He said. “That sounds good.”

Then, Tubbo walked out of the room with a skip in his step, leading the way out.

Ranboo began to follow him, but stopped after the first few steps, hesitating. He surveyed the room around him, swallowing thickly as their conversation fully set in.

His hand twitched at his side. He needed to write this down. He knew he did. As much as he’d like to ignore it forever, as much as he wanted to deny it in the way that Tubbo did, he had to remember. He had to know if he had really done it.

Ranboo took out his memory book, the leather cover feeling familiar against his clawed hands. He opened it carefully, then turned to the next blank page. After a moment’s deliberation, he took out his quill and wrote:

One of Tubbo’s nuclear weapons has gone missing.

He paused, then scratched out “gone missing”, replacing it with:

One of Tubbo’s nuclear weapons has been stolen. He asked me about it today. I was online on the day it was stolen, but Tubbo doesn’t believe it was me.

“He trusts me” Ranboo began to write, but he scratched it out halfway through, feeling silly about how much warmth the phrase made him feel.

Tubbo’s voice called to him from outside, “Ranboo? Are you coming?”

“Yeah!” Ranboo called back, “Yeah, just give me a second!”

Ranboo jotted down a simple question in his book:

Did I steal the nuke?

Then, he closed the book, put the quill away, and he jogged out of the room to catch up with Tubbo, who cast him a smile.

“Finally.” He said. “I was just about to file for divorce.”

Ranboo laughed, because it was a joke. At least, he was pretty sure it was a joke.

“Please don’t do that.” He said to Tubbo.

“Don’t worry, bossman.” Tubbo said, bumping their shoulders together, “You know I would never actually do that.” And before Ranboo could swoon too much, he added, “You’re too rich.”

Ranboo smiled, and they left together.

But even as they went, even as Tubbo took Ranboo’s hand, even as their fingers interlaced together, the weight of his memory book sat heavily in Ranboo’s pocket, and the weight of that unanswered question sat even heavier on his mind.

#Beeduo #Beeduo fanfic #Tubbo #Ranboo #Dream SMP #dsmp #dsmp fic #:D #Please reblog if you enjoyed and let me know what you thought!#My writing

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xoxo-teddybear · 3 years

Text

S/O with a Werewolf Quirk

Bakugou x f!reader

Warnings: fluff, 18+, cursing, Bakugou being a simp

BAKUGOU’S MASTERLIST

A/N: my references mainly come from Teen Wolf, and if you haven’t watched that show, I highly recommend it ;)

*Everyone is aged up to 18*

Man, when Bakugou first laid eyes on you, he only thought of one thing

“Yea, I’ll beat wolfy’s ass any day” cocky bastard

He took notice of how you could control whether or not you wanted your ears and tail to show up. In his mind, he thought it was way cuter

Not that he would ever tell anyone

But what really grabbed his attention was your control and power when it came to your quirk

At first he thought “so what, she’s a wolf. Those wild dogs could easily be beaten.”

BABY BOY BABY BOOYYYYUHHH!! Miss Y/N ain’t just a wolf NO BABYYY, she’s a WEREWOLF

So when he saw you’re superhuman speed, strength, sight, smell, and hearing you can say he was thoroughly impressed

What sealed the deal was when he watched you spar with Kirishima

That’s when he saw you do a front flip into your giant wolf form. Your white coat, sharp claws, and razor fangs threw the blonde off guard

Then your E/C eyes changed to red (symbolizing your alpha status)

Yup. Katsuki was awestruck. And when you easily took down his best friend in your sparring match, even he was sure that he felt something towards you

And now here you both are, almost in the 2nd year of your relationship

Katsuki absolutely loved and adored everything about you

He’s definitely a simp for you

Forgot your notes? Have his. Need some food? Your favorite meal is on the table. Lost your eye-liner? Katsuki is giving you his entire supply

(C’mon, we all know that boy uses it for his hero mask)

One time you started tearing though because you poked your eye with your eye liner and Katsuki threatened it

.....Yes. The boy threatened the eye-liner

Don’t make fun of him, he just loves his pup too much

Speaking of pup, it’s one of his many nicknames for you

Of course there’s the basic “babe, baby, princess, and my love” and also the very Bakugou names like “dumbass, nerd, shitty woman, and loser”

But there’s also the ones involving your quirk! Like pup, wolfy, Alpha girl, and she-wolf

Training was always fun with Alpha girl

Bakugou thought fighting a creature of the night would be exciting

Y’all never held back against one another, so you were the perfect matchup for Katsuki. Your human form alone could definitely take him on but oh boy, when you went into wolf form

You were IN👏 THE👏 ZONE👏

You definitely stay giving Katsuki some of his hardest matches but he loves it all at the same time

You were definitely an outdoors typa girl, which was great for Bakugou!

Picnics on top of the mountains? Definitely. Hiking in the forest? Duh! Rock climbing? Girl he gonna marry you

But it wasn’t just the dates

He loved how affectionate and loyal you were and How you would always have his back no matter what

You really made him feel secure in your relationship

Cuddles are the best

His favorite types of cuddles are when you decide to bring out your soft and fluffy ears and tail

He loves to hold onto your ears and tail and just pet you, it works as stress relief for both you and him

That’s not the only stress relief he experiences while dating you though👀

Heat season baby!!!

While it only happens once every 6 months, and for 5 days at max, Katsuki enjoys it every time. He enjoys helping his pup with this certain problem

It’s definitely the most exhausting and euphoric week Katsuki gets every once in awhile, but he loves every second of it

Nasty teenage boy hormones

You can bet everywhere y’all went, y’all christened the place. From yours and his beds, y’all tables and desks, not to mention the floor to even the school building in places like empty classrooms, small closets, and even the locker rooms

Y’all some Nasty freaks

Moving on

Katsuki overall just enjoys your fierce passion for everything you do. It inspires him in a way

Your devotion, determination, intelligence, loyalty, and charming personality had Katsuki wrapped around your finger and he knew this

And he didn’t mind it at all :)

A/N: My first headcanon! What do you think? Still getting used to the writings and I’ve been given some awesome tips. I will definitely be exploring other forms of writing pieces like Drabbles, short stories, headcanons etc. Hopefully I get better in the future. Once again, NOT spell checked, my apologies for any mistakes. Thx bear Cubs! Hope you enjoyed <3

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marvels-writings · 3 years

Text

Piece of Your Heart

Natasha Romanoff Masterlist

Requested by Anon: Hi would you mind terribly writing a established R/Nat fic where R was fighting Thanos with Tony and Nat thinks she got dusted because obviously Nat has heard nothing from her but really she’s been on that ship with Tony the whole time? I love your writing and I’d love reading something like that it’d make me so emotional 💖

Word Count: 2.2k (longish and an amazing mix of angst and fluff)

A/N: Damn I loved writing this, and I wrote it to a particular song so it ended up revolving around dancing more than I thought it would. It’s really good though and I hope you like it as much as I do!!

Dull white light shone down; music blanketed the room, feet shuffled across the marble floor. Reflections played in the mirrors, all showing the same image. The image of a woman with bright red hair, dancing alone, trying to fill the piece of her heart she lost.

Natasha moved elegantly across the floor, twirling and twisting where she saw necessary. She made a perfect pirouette across the floor. Shifting her weight across the pointe shoes, the redhead moved to the other side of the room with ease. Another perfect pirouette as she waited for something she knew wouldn't happen.

Strange, pirouettes are always perfect. There's never the chance for it to be flawed, for there to be a mistake. Stumbling wasn't an option for her, falling a pleasure denied. Yet, her feet faltered, losing her balance as she caught herself on the metal bar.

Staring at herself in the mirror, she saw the redness of her eyes matching her hair, the dark circles underneath her eyes. Her face, devoid of any emotion except for loss. Ignoring everything she could, she moved back to the center of the room, dancing once again.

It wasn't right without you. The room was a little too big, the music a little too quiet, Natasha's heart too empty. You'd always joked that you held a piece of her heart and she a part of yours. Never did she think the joke might be more real.

She faltered again, losing her balance without you to catch her. Sighing, she picked herself back up, trying to be the perfect pirouette they trained her to be. Her feet always fell to the side, refusing to keep balance. Reaching down, she slipped off the pointe shoes before trying again.

The cold floor served as a mild shock as she continued. She let go of being perfect; she was letting herself be flawed again, letting herself feel her loss. Her hips swayed in a broken rhythm, shuffling imperfectly across the floor. It wasn't how they trained her.

It wasn't perfect, not near it. It was how Natasha danced with you, throwing herself away to feel you.

Her skin remembered the way your hands rested on her waist, your fingers tapping a steady beat on her ribs. Her feet recalled the way you danced without rhythm, letting the music take control instead. She remembered how you hummed the tune of the song, the notes vibrating through you. She remembered the sweet nothings you whispered to her, words she'd die to hear again.

Wanting desperately to feel your presence, even the ghost of your touch, she reached out her arms, pretending they were around her as she swayed from side to side. Her eyes fluttered shut, seeing you rather than the darkness of her eyelids.

The way your eyes crinkled when you smiled, the lines on your face as you lit up in a bright grin. The way the light always hit your face in just the right way, making you look like an angel. Maybe you were an angel, one that she couldn't be sure was truly gone.

Natasha had almost begged you not to go after Tony. She should've known she could never convince you out of saving someone. If only you were here to save her now. She didn't know if you were dusted, gone like the rest of her family, or just lost in space, waiting to be whole again.

For now, part of her was whole again. She could almost feel your breath across her neck as you rested your head on her shoulder. You felt so near to her, even if it was just for a blissful few seconds. Natasha let her eyes remain shut, dancing by herself, clinging onto to ghost of you.

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

Soft music played from your earbuds, enveloping you in a dream of their own rather than your nightmarish reality. The beat reminded you of dancing slowly with someone you loved. You leaned back in one of the seats, letting your eyes flutter shut as you absorbed yourself into another daydream.

Everything about her came back to you when you closed your eyes. It was almost a nightmare to keep them open, to keep yourself occupied in an awful place without her. The ship was so devoid of color, filled with dull blue and purple hues rather than the bright red you craved oh so desperately.

Curling into yourself, you pulled the jacket around your shoulders tighter, trying to keep any warmth you could. It was colder when you were daydreaming rather than working. Maybe remembering what you might have lost can take away from what you have.

Now, you didn't have much. A crashing ship with a billionaire from Earth and one of the daughters of Thanos. At least everything would be over tomorrow. No more crushing daydreams of the past, no more hopeful dreams of Natasha being with you.

You heard Tony record another message for Pepper in a different part of the ship. Pulling out your earbuds with a sigh, you decided to do the same. Looking around to make sure the words you only intended for her, you took out a piece of your suit.

Never had you meant for it to function in this way. Never did you think it would record a dying message. With a sigh and a heavy heart, you propped it in front of you and set it to scan you. It was going to take a hologram, to record not only your words but also your movements.

Taking another minute, you pulled your hair back into a ponytail, trying to look better for her. Leaning back in the chair, you let out another sigh as it beeped. Now that you were about to record your words, you didn't know what to say.

Should you tell her you're sorry? It would be a lie to say that; you wanted to help your family, you don't regret that. You regret leaving her alone, but not leaving. Biting your lip, you started speaking in a vain hope that the right words would come to you.

"Hey Tasha," You began, breathing in and looking away from the hologram. "If and hopefully when you find this recording, please don't show it to anyone else."

Chuckling, you turned towards the recorder again. Now, you didn't know what to say to Natasha. You tried to imagine that she was here, sitting in front of you, waiting. Instead of her apprehension, all you could see was her beauty. It all made you only miss her more.

"I miss you. So damn much Tasha." You continued, running a hand through your ponytail. "I always dreamt of going to space, but now that I'm here."

"It's so lonely without you here."

The void of space stared back at you when you turned away. It taunted you, keeping you away from whom you wanted most. Letting you stare into the emptiness of it instead of the fullness of your dreams. Tearing your eyes away; you turned back to the recorder.

"I thought that if I left, we could have that happy ending when I come back." You continued, trying desperately to put into words what you felt. "But now, I don't know if we're ever going to have that ending."

Your eyes fluttered shut, letting you into a surreal daydream; the house you'd imagined buying lined the inside of your eyelids. Natasha joined you on the large patio set, her arms around your waist as you looked outside. Maybe you had children. They would be running around the front yard, calling out to you while your wife whispered sweet nothings.

It all faded into silence as you took another step into reality. The silence surrounded you, taking away any hope, any dreams you might have ever had. Taking the last step into this dreaded nightmare, you fell back into this reality.

"Tony and Nebula are here with me," you croaked, trying to change the topic. Bringing yourself back, you took another deep breath as your dreams faded back into the void you'd been staring. You began talking about them instead; everything they were trying to do, letting it distract you for a treasured few moments.

It helped, just for a bit. A minute passed while you talked about them, stopping with a loud sigh. You bit your lip, clawing through your memories for something, anything else to talk about. All you saw was her.

"I wish I could dance with you," You whispered, biting your lip tightly. The familiar sting of tears came to your eyes at the memory. You shook your head, clearing yourself of it, adamant not to cry. Leaning forward, you tapped on the recorder.

"If and when this is all over," You whispered, offering a timid smile. The memory came back to you again, this time you didn't stop it. You paused, letting all of your emotions wash over you.

The timid, lovesick smile as your hands slid around her waist, pulling her closer to you. Her warm breath fanning across your face as you leaned your foreheads together. The tingle of her eyelashes fluttering against yours. Her whispers of love and adoration as you swayed slowly, dancing.

"I'll always be dreaming of dancing with you."

The recording stopped, your fingers pressing the small red button. Pulling away from it, you leaned back in the chair again, tugging your jacket tighter around you. The cold seeped back into you, leaking into your bones, making you shiver.

Sighing, you curled further into yourself, forcing yourself to sleep. Maybe if you weren't awake, it would be over faster. It wasn't, you kept clearing your mind of your dreams just to fall asleep. Eventually, you were, oblivious to the world around you.

That was until a rumbling brought you back.

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

The same rumbling sounded where Natasha was dancing. Her motions stopped at the sound, looking outside the window hopefully. Nothing was there, just the same pitch-black she had grown accustomed to. A glow emanated from above it, casting everything in a light golden tint.

Her feet pounded the floor as she rushed out the door, towards the glow. The sound was accompanied by feet following her, rushing as much as she was. Steve and Pepper rushed behind her. All for the small sliver of hope that someone else survived the snap and made it home.

It's strange how hope is always associated with light. It's as if Natasha had wandered in the dark, stumbling her way through till hope showed her the way out. You can never truly find anything in the darkness without the slightest shred of hope, of light.

The light was what she ran towards, staring up at the glowing ship as it touched down on the grass outside the compound. Her heart thudded in her chest, watching as the ship's doors opened. Three sets of feet appeared, walking and stumbling down the steps.

Tony leaned against a blue woman, staggering slowly down the steps. His bones are shown through his tank top, cuts on his face bleeding. His eyes were dull, glancing around the compound, lighting up only when they stumbled across Pepper.

Steve ran up to him, helping him off and talking to him. But all she could see was you, stumbling out of the ship by yourself.

Your hand clung desperately to the railing, not wanting help but needing it anyway. The t-shirt you wore was a few sizes too big, your skin had lost some of its tone, your hair messy and in a ponytail. It was still you, you who had promised her a happy ending.

Natasha ran up to you, breathing erratic, heartbeat pounding in her ears as she wrapped her arms around you. Her breath hit your neck, followed by hot tears on your shirt. Your arms wrapped around her tightly, your face tucked into the crook of her neck, breathing her in.

The redhead shook in fear, scared she was going to let go of you again, scared you were going to disappear. She was terrified you were going to leave her dancing alone in the dark again, without even the dream of you to keep her warm.

But there you were, your skin warm to the touch as her fingers sneaked up your shirt. Your skin against her palms, warm as you moved with every breath. You were there, the light she needed to see.

You clung onto her as tightly, using all your strength to keep her close. Everything about her was so warm, so full that you were sure you could never feel empty again. Your hands stroked the length of her back, providing whatever reassurance you could muster.

Natasha held you close, pulling her head away to look at you. Your face was gaunt, your eyes hollow, but full of so much love and longing, for her. Your hand slipped from her shoulders, resting above her collarbone as you wiped the tears off of her face.

Smiling to yourself, you swayed from side to side, dancing with her. Natasha pulled away slowly, looking at you in curiosity as you rested her forehead against hers. Her hands around your waist kept you up, moving slowly on the grass. The exhaustion would take over you soon, but she wanted to keep this moment a little longer.

Heaven couldn't hold a candle to this, to how whole you felt around each other. It was truly as if a piece of your heart resided with each other. It would tear you apart to be away from each other. But for now, maybe even forever, you could dance.

A/N: Tell me what you think!! Reblogs and comments are amazing!!

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leviaju · 4 years

Text

forgiveness

pairing: belphegor x GN! reader, hints of everyone x reader

words: 8.1k+

genre: angst, fluff at the beginning and a bit at the end if u squint

warnings: mentions of mc and lilith’s death, foul language

preview: “I’m sorry,” He begins, voice much weaker than anticipated. “I know that will never cut it, and it will never be enough, but I’m sorry.”

“You’re right, Belphegor. It won’t cut it.”

hey guys what up. so... i’ve done a lot of thinking about belphegor’s dynamic with MC, and, like many others, was really bothered by the sudden switch after... he killed them. u know. typical stuff. i wanted to fill in the gaps!!! if im being completely honest, this has sat in my wips for.... like half a year. it’s my first time writing for obey me, so i hope that everyone’s not too terribly ooc LOL

anyways yeah. i mention how belphegor killed mc a couple of times, so proceed with caution! hopefully, if i get any ideas, the next stuff i write will be a lot lighter. hope you enjoy! (also requests r open soooooooo)

The weight on your chest crushed your rib cage, threatening to snap your bones like they were nothing more than twigs. All you could see was the pitch black of eternal night, and whether your eyes were opened or closed you couldn’t tell. What commanded your attention was the searing pain in your lungs, growing exponentially every half-second, and the unrelenting grip that was slowly shattering your esophagus. No matter how hard you struggled, squirmed and fought against the weight holding your body down, there was no use. It was pointless. The pain spread from the raging fire in your lungs to the tips of your fingertips, and everywhere felt as if you had been set aflame. Slowly, a light illuminated the force keeping you down.

You couldn’t make out much, save for the cackle that rang insufferably through your ears, and the intense eyes that were staring you down.

They held no remorse.

Bones ache as you rest against your bed, finally allowing the tension in your muscles to melt away. You’d never mistake this feeling for regret of a busy day, having spent so much time with the people you care about, but it certainly took its toll on you.

It began with Satan, who’d asked you the night before to accompany him on an early morning walk. It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence — he’d invite you to join his morning routine on every day off, and you’d never refuse — hence, at the wonderful time of 7:00am, you were venturing around the Devildom, hand in hand with the Avatar of Wrath. The two of you would walk, occasionally resting on a park bench for longer than either of you would like to admit, for about an hour and a half before you took an official break. The time was filled with pleasant chatter and comfortable silence. Every so often he’d squeeze your hand, and when you’d look over, the fondest of smiles crossed his face. It was a reminder of how glad he was that you joined him.

At around 8:30, he took you into a café for breakfast, and two of you spent only about thirty minutes there chattering away happily. For the most part, he was vividly and excitedly discussing a book he’d just finished the night before…

Until you were interrupted.

“Hello, lovely!” Asmodeus wrapped his arms around you from behind, just before pressing a kiss on your cheek. Satan sighed, resting his head in his hand as he watched the interaction.

“My selfish older brother’s been hogging you all morning, I couldn’t help but want to whisk you away!”

Despite the glare Satan was sending his way, Asmodeus took a seat next to you, happily engaging in conversation as he completely ignored his brother. He told you that the mall was opening in about an hour, and Asmo desperately wished to get his perfectly-manicured hands on a new makeup product being revealed that day.

“But of course I can’t go alone! How positively dreary that would be.” His fingers twined with yours as he looked at you hopefully, and you ran your thumb across his hand. A sheepish smile crept its way onto your lips, and you looked over at Satan. He simply nodded, flicking his hand as a gesture for you two to leave, and Asmodeus didn’t hesitate. He was quick to stand and pull you with them, holding tight to you as he whisked you away. You called out to Satan, now alone at the table with a reluctant smile on his face as he waved goodbye.

“Thanks for breakfast! Get home safe!”

You almost missed the chuckle that left his lips, the café door closing behind you.

Asmodeus kept you until noon. He got a hold of the lipstick he wanted almost right away, but insisted on buying an outfit to match the colour. Regardless of what you’d initially thought, the outfit wasn’t for him.

“Oh, we’ll look positively stunning together!” He exclaimed after about two hours of forcing you in and out of changing rooms, putting his hands all over you to “adjust the clothing” as he deemed necessary. Near the end, you could feel soreness deep in your muscles creeping in from such an active morning, but Asmodeus’ cheery face and constant flirtations helped you forget about it almost completely.

It wasn’t until you got home that you truly felt the effects of on-and-off walking since early in the morning. Be that as it may, your stomach was growling, loudly reminding you that it was now past lunch. As much as you wished to give up on food for the time being and instead head to your room to collapse, the pain in your belly was enough to urge you to cease any arguments, instead ready to try and ignore the ache in your bones in order to quell the angry rumbling of your stomach.

Unfortunately, when you finally made it to the kitchen, there was no food prepared. Instead, what you found was a dejected Beelzebub, frowning softly as he once again was at the receiving end of a lecture from the eldest of his brothers. As quiet as possible, you snuck into the kitchen, trying to listen in on their conversation.

There was silence, followed by a sigh.

“It’s easier to simply ask what’s going on as opposed to trying to eavesdrop, MC.”

You jumped, then bashfully made your way into the kitchen, a sheepish grin on your face. Lucifer was rubbing his temple.

“Beelzebub was supposed to be on lunch duty, but ended up ‘taste-testing’ to the extent that he ate it all. Again.” Lucifer sighed. The typically perfect eldest brother was being run ragged, if the bags forming under his eyes told you anything. “So, instead of working on the papers I have to get finished for tonight, I’m stuck making lunch while he cleans up.”

Beelzebub’s frown tugged at your heartstrings, and in spite of the exhaustion clawing relentlessly at your bones, you relented.

“Why don’t I help? Four hands are better than two,” you proposed, and a small smile graced Lucifer’s face. He lifted his hand to brush the disheveled black hair out of his face, and your chest ached just a bit at the sight. You made a mental note to drag him to bed for a nap the next time you saw him like this.

“That would be more than welcome. Please, if you may.” Already you turned to start working, but Lucifer’s voice made you pause.

“But no feeding Beel. He’s eaten more than his fill already, he can wait until we’re all done.”

Needless to say, every so often you’d slip Beelzebub a piece of chopped vegetable or cooked meat, and he’d very happily (but quietly!) munch away, his expression radiating warmth and joy. And Lucifer, who seemed to almost be omniscient at times, never once mentioned it. Once the three of you were done cooking, Lucifer placed his hand on your head, patting you gently.

“Good work, MC. I must leave now, but I trust that the two of you will be able to clean everything up. Your help was much appreciated. You will be paid back in kind for all of your hard work.”

If nothing else, the slight blush on Lucifer’s face as he ever-so-gently pressed his lips to the crown of your head was more than enough payment.

“Thank you.” Beelzebub cleared his throat, washing the dishes as you dried them. “I… Thanks for helping. And feeding me.”

His smile warmed your heart, and you nodded, bumping your arm with his gently. The small bit of pink that dusted his cheeks compelled you to coddle him, but you resisted the urge. Barely.

“Anytime, big guy.”

After you ate lunch, the only thought in your mind was the prospect of curling up under your covers and passing out. The fretful, broken sleep the night before wasn’t helping at all in keeping you awake, and that on top of the rest of the day’s events had you yearning for the feeling of your pillows.

Unfortunately, you hadn’t even made it through the door when your phone began to blow up, one notification after the other in quick succession.

GGKKJFLFJG

CMOE QUIC K

PLS

SUPE R RARE EVENT IN MONONONOKE

PELASE

YOU HVE TO BE PARTNERED WIHT SOMEONE TO GTE THE PRIZE

PL E A S E

HURRYHURRYHURRYHURRYHURRYHHHUUURRRRRYYYYYYYYYYY

You found yourself in Leviathan’s room, sat in his lap as he explained the event to you. Your half-asleep brain did its best to keep up with his quick speech, but that, along with the warmth of his chest against your back, became the most soothing lullaby.

“Hey! Normie! I agreed to let you sit here so I could easily help you through the event, but if you’re going to fall asleep on me, I’m pushing you off—“

“I’m awake! I’m awake.

...Now, what was I supposed to do?”

The unintentional giggle that escaped your lips at his expression caused Leviathan to huff, exasperated, despite the flush of his face. Diligently, however, he thoroughly explained the event, for the second time, and the method to obtain the rare prize: a level 2000 I’m Going To Murder You So Hard That You’ll Come Back To Life Just To Die Again Death Sycthe, the strongest weapon ever released in the game. It was a partner event, which explained Leviathan’s desperate and urgent request for aid. You didn’t mind though. While yes, you’d probably never be able to get to his level of gamer, you were more than happy to go along for the ride. It made him happy!

Leviathan rested his chin against your shoulder as he played on his phone, focused to such a degree that the usually easy-to-fluster demon was completely unphased by your proximity. Your phone, set to AutoFight, rested untouched near Leviathan’s leg, abandoned on the floor. You watched him expertly take out enemies that would have one-hit KO’d you through heavy eyelids, and every time he beat a wave of enemies, his attention would momentarily avert from the screen, looking at you from the corner of his eye expectantly. A kiss on his cheek was more than enough to motivate him to continue on, albeit with a pink glow on his cheeks until his attention was once again completely wrapped up in the game at his fingertips.

“Levi! I said open up, goddamnit!”

The pounding against the door was enough to distract Leviathan from his game, subsequently killing his character in the process. He groaned, cursing the demon who interrupted the two of you as he gently lifted you off of his lap, before getting up to open the door.

“The hell do you want?!”

To be completely honest, you were so wrapped up in watching Leviathan play his games that you had forgotten about your weekly movie night with Mammon, who had come over to his younger brother’s room to drag your ungrateful ass back to your own. Leviathan had cleared the event in Mononoke Land hours ago, but not wanting you to leave just yet, invited you to keep watching him play. Setting aside how tired you were, how could you say no? You’d wanted to spend time with him, too.

Unfortunately, you lost track of time, and your phone, battery completely drained from the event, rested uselessly in your pocket. A consequence of this happened to be missing the countless messages and calls Mammon had sent your way, before he began his hunt for you throughout the house. The last place he checked was, of course, Leviathan’s room.

“Come on, human, I ain’t got all day. No one keeps the Great Mammon waiting!”

“Except for MC,” you heard Leviathan mumble under his breath, and a laugh escaped you before you had the chance to slap a hand over your mouth. Mammon flushed deeply, before striding into his brother’s room.

“Hey, wait, you moron! I never said—!”

The force of Mammon throwing you over your shoulder wasn’t enough to hurt, but it certainly was enough to leave you breathless for a moment. “Let’s go, fragile human. I picked the perfect movie already.” Mammon’s words came out in a bashful mumble, but he had enough courage to lift his head and smirk at Leviathan as he carried you out of the room. All you could do was smile apologetically at the blue haired demon before Mammon turned, bringing you out of sight.

Mammon was all complaints as he carried you to your bedroom, but you knew it came from a place of love. Even though he’d never admit it, you could tell he was hurt by you unintentionally ignoring him. Because of this, instead of demanding he let you down, you allowed him to hold you like this, not a single complaint leaving your lips.

When he brought you to your room, you were set on the bed you’d missed dearly and he went to put the movie in the player.

“Hey! No sleepin’ on me, alright? I wanna watch the movie with ya, and I can’t if you’re passed out, now can I?”

And so here you are now, bed frame creaking as Mammon climbs onto the mattress. Rubbing your eyes, you nod, and lean into him once he gets close enough for you to.

“Seriously, I’m gonna hafta have a serious talk with Levi,” Mammon grumbles, slipping his arm around your waist and pulling you in so that you’re almost in his lap. He pulls the blankets over the two of you as you rest your head on his chest, and hum quietly in return. “He used up all your energy, and now we won’t be able to get to enjoy the movie as much! Honestly…”

The vibrations of Mammon’s words can be felt through his chest, and you simply cuddle into him more and try to train your bleary eyes on the television screen. The Avatar of Greed shuts up completely when you take his hand in yours and press a gentle kiss to it, before doing your best to focus on the movie. As time passes, however, the idea of giving into your whims grows more than tempting, and oh-so-easy for you to do.

“Hey! Yo, MC! Seriously… You’re hopeless.”

A chiding, yet gentle voice draws you from the confines of rest. You puff air from your nose in response, cuddling closer to whatever it was that had been so comfortable in the first place.

“MC… Come on. Ya gotta wake up, ya didn’t even watch any of the movie! It was really good, y’know.”

Mammon’s hand rubs circles on your back as you mumble incoherently, a noise to acknowledge the fact that he‘s been talking, and that you are indeed awake now.

It takes a good amount of time, as well as some gentle encouragement from Mammon, to get you to finally open your heavy eyes, and even longer for you to be able to apologize to him for missing out on the movie he was so excited to watch. He pouts a bit, but the blush on the highs of his cheeks lets you know that he didn’t mind all that much. You smile and yawn, and his chuckle resonates in your ears.

“I gotta go now, otherwise Lucifer’s gonna kill me for staying so late. Sorry I woke ya up, but ya look so tired now that you’ll probably fall back asleep right away.”

And so, after a quick goodbye and a kiss on the cheek (which made Mammon turn the prettiest shade of red), you close your door and… sigh. If you had been able to stay asleep, the fact that you aren’t in pajamas and haven't brushed your teeth wouldn't be that much of an issue. Now that you‘re slightly more conscious, however, it’s hard to convince yourself to simply climb back into bed. Your breath is bugging you a bit, and the jeans you’re wearing certainly aren’t at all as comfortable as your pajama pants. For that reason, to your own dismay, you begin getting ready for bed — properly this time.

A small “finally…” tumbles from your lips after you finish your nighttime routine. Lacking any form of grace, you plop into bed once more and pull the blankets to your chin, nuzzling into the pillow. Your bed still smells like Mammon’s cologne, and you hum softly to yourself before closing your eyes and waiting for sleep to take over once more, and hold you hostage until late in the morning.

Alas, sleep seemed to be evading you now, similar to how you had ignored it during the day. The mattress you lay on simply isn't comfortable anymore, and the blankets that hug your body cause you to overheat. Unfortunately, if even one limb is out of the blanket, you get so cold you start shivering. None of your typical sleeping positions are anywhere near as effective as they typically are, and you’re left to wrestle with sleep alone, hoping to beat it into submission so you can finally get some proper rest.

After about 45 minutes of tossing and turning with no results, you finally relent. The nap you’d taken while watching the movie royally fucked you over, and you groan. Eventually you decide to give up on trying to fall back asleep, and huff as you sit properly on your bed.

Blanket dragging behind you as it drapes from your shoulders, you slowly make your way through the silent hallways of the House of Lamentation. The only sounds floating through the walls were the light buzz of electricity running through the wiring of the house, and your own footsteps as you began walking up one of the many staircases in the large building.

You aren’t sure how long you’ve been walking, the passage of time different at night to a hazy mind, but eventually you arrive at your favourite area in the house, second only to your lush bedroom. There are no artificial lights, only the gentle cast of the night sky providing the ideas of shape in the planetarium. You’ve never seen stars so vibrant and bright, and there are so many more in the Devildom than anywhere you could go back home. Even though the only light comes from the stars, it’s enough to create soft, fuzzy edges around everything in the room; this includes the bundle of various blankets mussed in the centre of the floor. Slowly, cautiously, you make your way towards the pile.

Since you’d arrived in the Devildom, the planetarium at the top of the House of Lamentation became your safe haven. Your room, without a lock on the door, was way too easy for intruding demons to enter without permission, and on nights when everything became too much for you to handle, you’d head up to the planetarium to clear your mind. There’s just something so calming about a starry sky on a clear night that releases you of your fears and anxiety, and helps you get a grip on the situation around you.

After freeing a certain someone from their attic-based captivity, however, you learned that the planetarium was a place favored not only by you. Since he’d been freed, you’d been kind, but there were still fears plaguing your mind, reminding you of everything that has transpired between the two of you. It’s something that you can’t escape, following you even - especially - in your sleep, when you wished you’d be the most at peace. It makes sense, considering the sin he embodies, but you wish it wasn’t like that nonetheless.

Once you’d learned that this was one of his favourite rooms in the house, especially on nights when he can’t fall asleep, you found yourself avoiding this area. It’s not that you hate him; it’s the opposite, really. Nevertheless, you can’t help but feel the tightening of his fingers around your neck, and the burning sensation in your lungs that’s screaming for oxygen, and the desperation to alleviate the seer of deprivation.

Still, you trek on. Closer and closer to the pile of blankets, your gut cries to you to run away. You ignore it. The nearer you get to the nest of blankets, the faster your heart beats, the more lightheaded you feel. But you continue.

Eventually you get close enough to make out the shape of a familiar pillow, the cow print on the case worn and well-loved. From the moment you walked in the room, you knew he was here. All the same, you walk on, and the only sounds in the room are the gentle taps of your clothed feet against the tile, and the quiet noises of your quickened breaths.

You’ve avoided being alone with him since… Since you… Since the event. Your heart screamed at you to forgive him, to love him just as much as you love his brothers. That said, there’s nothing in you that can stop your stomach from churning whenever he gets too close.

Butterflies beat aggressively within your heart and stomach, and it’s years before you get within his range of sight, but you sit down on the floor, holding the blanket tight to your body.

There’s one beat,

two beats,

three beats of silence before you can hear him sucking in a breath through his teeth. In your peripheral you can see his lips parting, closing, parting again as he tries to find the words. He heard you walk in, and was pleasantly surprised when you didn’t immediately bolt in the opposite direction. However, this proximity leaves him with an entirely new predicament. He wants to talk to you, he wants to laugh and joke with you the way his brothers do, but one look at your face and he notices the dark bags under your eyes, and the frown that tugs at your lips as you stare up at the stars. He can hear your heart racing, and feel his own in the tips of his fingers. He opens his mouth again, but the crack in his voice betrays his usual collected personality.

“I’ll go,” Belphegor begins, begrudgingly starting to gather his blankets. His body freezes when his eyes pass over your figure and you’re looking right at him, through him, and he swears he can feel the blood in his veins stop pumping. Your expression is unreadable, almost scary, and he’s never in his life been in fear of a human until this moment.

The seconds pass as years do, both of your bodies chilled to the bone but neither of you able to look away. In the end, the one who casts their gaze somewhere else is you, and he exhales loudly.

“Don’t.”

Your reply is simple, but he’s stuck in place. Slowly, he nods, sitting down again the way he had been prior, and pulling his beloved pillow close to his chest. He can’t breathe, the tension suffocating. It doesn’t help that now you refuse to look at him.

“... If you want,” he replies dumbly, staring at the floor. He feels trapped in place, afraid to move and scare you off. Despite every nerve in his body screaming at him to leave you be, he stays. You told him to, after all. Slowly, you sit down, his blankets creating a low wall between the two of you.

It’s only now that he gets a good look at you. You're tired, he knows, watching as your eyelids droop and your lazy movements when you get more comfortable under your blanket, but there’s more to it than just that. You seem so fragile, like sugar glass, breaking with even the slightest amount of pressure. He feels he can reach over and shatter you with the gentlest of touches, and that thought alone roots him in place. Since you came back, he’s never seen you without a smile. Your genuine smile was the prettiest, he decided rather early on, one that lights up your face and brightens those around you. Belphegor really, truly loves your smile.

He knows there was a point in time, not long ago, where he could have made it so no one saw it ever again. He can’t help but be grateful he didn’t succeed when he sees you smiling at his brothers.

That’s never the smile you show him though. It’s not for lack of effort; you certainly try, and he loves you for that. But the smile you show him is always plastered on, and he knows you’re doing it for his sake. With Belphegor, your smile never reaches your eyes. Be that as it may, you’re never weak around him. Fake smiles prove exactly how strong you really are, but your heart races every time he enters the room. As much as he wishes your palpitations are out of excitement, he knows better than to give himself false hope.

That’s why he’s so taken aback when he looks you over and you seem so vulnerable. Never, not in a million years, would he ever let himself believe that you’d allow yourself to look weak in front of him, not after what he did. Even so, here you are, shaking, knees drawn into your chest, and his heart soars because you’re showing him a new side to yourself. It aches at the knowledge that you’re feeling so vulnerable because of him.

His eyes burn holes in the side of your head. You know he’s watching you, studying you, but you can’t bring yourself to meet his gaze. Not when the hands he uses to pull the blankets over his body are the exact same ones that led you to your untimely and violent demise, and not when every time you look at his face, you can also see Mammon’s above you, sobbing as he tries to will you not to fade away into nothingness.

There’s no putting it nicely. You were murdered, and Belphegor was the one who killed you. As much as he tries to pretend it never happened, to act around you the same as his older brothers do, you would never forget. Neither would he, regardless of the effort he puts into pushing the memory out of his mind. His chosen way of coping was to laugh with you, to get close and have you forgive him without acknowledging the situation. It was too painful to talk about, after all. He willingly, happily snuffed out the life of someone his brothers love, and someone he’d find himself loving too. You became someone who changed him, helped him grow and be better. It was easier, simpler to act as if you’d met him the same way you’d met any of his brothers.

Belphegor killed one of the last remaining parts of his past, a part that, while once warm and light, mutated and infected him, causing his anger to grow out of control, like a weed that suffocates any flower that tries to flourish. He killed a descendant of his sister, and the fact that you’re here now is more of a second chance than he thinks he could ever deserve in all his millenia of living.

And yet, here you are. Scared and shaking, but here. The silence has stretched on for longer than he’d like; he wants to be able to love you, openly and happily, but knows it won’t happen. It can’t, unless he does what he thought was the very last thing he’d do.

“I’m sorry,” Belphegor begins, voice much weaker than anticipated. He can hear your heartbeat pick up, and he curses himself mentally. Your lip between your teeth, you remain silent. His nerves force him to speak more.

“I know that will never cut, and it will never be enough, but I’m sorry.”

There’s more silence. He feels like he can’t breathe, the tense atmosphere forcing its way around his throat and tightening its grip. He doesn’t know how long it takes you to even contemplate replying, let alone allow yourself to respond. Belphegor’s ears ring almost deafeningly loud. He can’t take it.

“You’re right.”

His eyes, which he trained to the ground, dart up to your profile once more. You pause, wetting your lips.

“You’re right, Belphegor. It won’t cut it.”

There’s not enough time to process your words before he really, really looks at you. Almost fearlessly, you meet his eyes.

Almost fearlessly.

The shaking of your hands betrays the strength of your voice. Belphegor’s chest aches.

“But…”

There’s a pause as you speak. He can’t look away again, even as your eyes meet the stars once more. There’s no chance he’ll miss a word you say, even if it tears him apart.

“It’s… it’s really difficult. I know you know that, but…”

Each time you pause, Belphegor’s mind begins storming. He can’t figure out what you’re going to say, or how you’re going to react, and it drives him crazy. He’s usually so good at reading people, but you’re an enigma. It sends a chill down his spine.

His throat is caught. Even if he had words to say, they wouldn’t be able to come out. So he sits in silence as you find your own.

“I don’t want you to feel worse than you do.” You lick your lips. “Or maybe I do? I… I really don’t know. I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel about you, Belphie.”

The nickname tugs at his heart, more than he could ever admit. He wants to cry, wants to scream, wants to do anything other than look at your melancholy face, knowing he’s the problem. He wants to run and hide, to sleep forever. He can’t, though. Not when you’re here. Not now.

Knuckles turn white as he clutches desperately onto his pillow. His breath shakes as he draws in air.

“I want to love you. I want to love you as much as I love your brothers, and care about you as much as I care for them…”

You struggle to find the words.

“... But it’s hard.”

You curse your lack of eloquence. Now, of all times, when your words are the only thing that enable you to communicate how you truly feel, they fail you. This might be your only chance to ever properly show Belphegor how you feel, what makes you so conflicted every time he walks into the room with a smile on his face, and yet all you can say is “it’s hard”. Obviously.

A breath finds its way into your lungs, and the sound of your lips parting in the otherwise silent planetarium echoes in your ears.

You continue.

“It’s hard because every time I see your face, or I hear your voice, or I-”, you falter, heart catching in your throat, “or you touch me, I can’t help but be reminded of what happened.”

Belphegor doesn’t dare tear his eyes away from your form. The grief that settles into his face perfectly matches your own, eyebrows upturned and bottom lip quivering just the slightest bit. Even the trembling of your hands is replicated in his own. He’s never seen you like this, so incredibly vulnerable, and it tears him apart inside to know that he is the cause of it.

A shuddery breath comes from Belphegor, and you fight your instincts to check if he’s okay. You know he isn’t.

The silence deafens you, thundering in your ears so harshly that you're tempted to place your hands at the side of your head to muffle how quiet it is. You don’t, however, and whether it’s because you don’t want to look crazy, or because you’re afraid you might shatter if you move, you’ll never know. Do you want him to talk? Do you want him to say anything? Do you want an apology?

If you had an answer for that, you’re sure that things would have patched themselves up much quicker than this. You caution a glance at Belphegor, and the weight pressing down on your chest gets heavier at his expression. It feels almost as if you can inhale the guilt he feels, the emotion radiating off of him in waves.

“I… Logically, Belphie, I get it.” Again with that cursed nickname. Usually, hearing it from your lips makes Belphegor feel warm and goddamn near giddy, but now it only seemed to drive the knife in his gut further.

“I understand what happened and why you did it. I may not agree… but I get it, you know?” You swallow.

“In the end, I’m still here. And… and I’ve come to learn that you’re nothing like that anymore. You’ve grown, and changed, and the guilt and anger that consumed you took control, and that's why you-- that’s--”

You pause, clutching the blanket around you to try and ground yourself. The shakiness in your voice is not missed by Belphegor, and even if it had been, there’s no way he’d be able to ignore the tears that threaten to spill from your eyes. Slowly, subconsciously, one of your hands comes up to rest against your neck, a phantom of the grasp that once threatened to crush you.

“S-So… I understand why you did it. And I’m alive, and we’re friends, so it should all be okay, right?” Belphegor casts his glance away.

“But Belphie… as much as I want to forgive you, I also know that I’m never going to be able to forget what happened. It’s there in my dreams, and it’s there in your smile, and it’s there every single time your arm brushes mine and I flinch like a total loser.”

A weak chuckle makes its way out of your chest, and the halfhearted smile that follows forces a tear from your eye. You’re quick to wipe it away, hopefully quick enough so that it goes unnoticed by Belphegor.

It does.

What he does notice, however, is the frustration that holds tight to the edges of your sentences. The frustration is not directed at him, no. You would be yelling if that were the case, and maybe that would be easier for him to hear. No, this frustration is directed at yourself. You’ve been trying so hard, and all Belphegor has been doing is running away. His teeth dig so hard into his bottom lip, trying desperately not to show any anger he feels at himself, that he tastes iron.

“And then we became all buddy-buddy, you know? Like I was never lied to, or used, or manipulated, or-- or--”

Belphegor is torn from his self-pity when you continue, and he almost wishes you’d stop speaking. The thought that you might break him with your words has him shaking, and a feeling similar to fear courses heavily through his veins. Please, stop. He wants to go back to running away.

But you continue, as you always have.

“And I’m left not knowing how to feel. I’m so mad at myself for being such a coward and not being able to just get over it like everyone else, and I’m so fucking pissed that I can’t just exist around you like I do for everyone else. I mean, I used to be terrified of Lucifer, too.” Another fragile laugh, and you sweep the hair from your eyes with a shaky hand. Belphegor swallows hard.

“But I… I can’t pretend like nothing happened. As much as I want to be near you, and hug you, and take naps and play pranks on Luci with you… I can’t. I can’t act as if what I feel isn’t real, and what you did didn’t happen. It’s so hard, Belphegor.” You sigh, and finally look at him once more. He can’t meet your gaze, slumped over himself and hugging his pillow so tight to his chest it seems as if he wishes to disappear into it. “Especially because I really, truly want to understand why everyone loves you so much. And I want to love you, too. I want to know why Beel smiles every time you’re brought up in conversation, and I want to smile just the same. But… But right now, I can’t.”

Talking has gotten easier. The words that used to escape you have become accustomed to being used again, and confidence has restored in your gut. You sit a bit straighter as you watch Belphegor carefully, a sad smile lifting your cheeks.

Belphegor knows that this is when he should swoop in, say something so intellectual that you’re caught off guard, and he can save you from… himself. This knowledge does nothing to save him from himself. He can’t even open his mouth to mime a sentence, let alone actually speak. The thought of how pathetic he must look settles under Belphegor’s skin, and he can feel his irritation rising. Not at you though, never at you. Not even when… When it all happened. His anger was misplaced, but he has never been angry at you.

Finally, when the quiet becomes too much, he forces himself to meet your gaze. The way you look at him, just as vulnerable and bare and scared as he is… he feels safe. He knows, even though your words sear his heart, that you never mean to hurt him, especially now. You’re being honest, and simply expect the same from him.

Belphegor inhales a deep breath, before willing himself to speak.

“I thought--” he croaks, and quickly clears his throat. Fuck. “I thought that if… if I could pretend that nothing happened, then I wouldn’t have to face any consequences.”

He curses audibly. Just how pathetic can he sound? Belphegor’s voice is hoarse and quivering, and weak. “Weak” is never a word that he would have used to describe himself, but now it echoes hauntingly against the confines of his skull. One of the most powerful demons in existence, and he finds himself quaking before a mere human. He cares for you, though, and he cares for you viciously. Something in Belphegor knows that he’s never going to be able to prove that to you unless he pushes his way through this.

So he forces himself to continue, even with every cell in his body desperately screaming at him to stop.

“I did what I did out of a place of guilt… and regret. I couldn’t stand the fact that it was because of me, that it was my fault, that I’m the reason that Lilith--”

Belphegor stumbles over his own words, and he sets down his pillow before he accidentally tears a hole through it. Instead he braces himself on the cool floor, in need of something steady to hold onto. This whole conversation shook him to the core. He can hardly believe he’s talking about his sister. She’s a topic that he’s avoided even around Beelzebub…

But if Belphegor ever wants even the possibility that you’ll forgive him, he knows he has to. Everything is on the line. His blunt nails press against the tiles and he focuses on steadying his voice.

“I couldn’t accept that it was my fault.” A newfound steadiness weaves its way around his words, and he finds himself sitting a bit straighter. “I’m the one who introduced her to the human world, and kept bringing her back. I’m the reason she suffered, and why the war started, and why we fell, and why she…” Belphegor coughs. “In the end, I couldn’t accept that I’m the one who killed her.

Your heart yearns to tell him that no, he’s wrong, it’s not all his fault. You know it won’t help right now, though, and that it isn’t your time to speak. Settling back a bit, you let your blanket fall from your shoulders.

Belphegor’s heart stutters, and pounds so hard that he feels like it's trying to tear through his chest. Even so, he doesn’t miss the way your hand reaches out to smooth over his own, and for a moment he feels himself wanting to melt just from the simple touch.

Belphegor pulls away. He doesn’t deserve your comfort, not yet.

“So… So when you said that you’re a descendant of Lilith, I-- I couldn’t help myself. I jumped at the chance to get to know you, learn about what makes you similar and what makes you different. Her blood flows through your veins, and I was quick to ignore what I did in favour of getting to know you, and… and inevitably, becoming just as fond of you as my brothers… but that can’t erase what I did.”

The feeling of understanding floods you and you find yourself nodding at his words. To be completely honest, even now, you’re scared. Your heart beats for many reasons, fear one of them, but you don’t run away. Not anymore. You couldn’t bring yourself to even if you wanted to.

Your hand, abandoned next to Belphegor’s, lay dormant. The need to comfort wills you to once again place your hand on his, but you don’t move. When he’s ready, if he ever is, you’ll be there.

Just as he’ll be there for you.

“I killed you, MC. And in doing that, I killed Lilith. Again.”

Countless emotions storm their way through Belphegor’s conscience, despair clawing at his throat, regret snapping his back, and guilt slowly crushing him under its weight. How is it that one can feel so empty, and yet so filled to the brim with misery?

“And not only that, but if I succeeded… I would have completely missed out on getting to know you, and caring about you as much as I do now. It would have been a loss that I never would have understood, but know for a fact that I would have felt. Even… Even when I was proud,” he spits out the word as if it’s poison, “of what I’d done, watching my brothers’ hearts break at the sight of your body… Even then, I felt it. The ache. It’s so fucking stupid.”

His tone, now bubbling with anger, stills you. It’s not directed at you, and you know this, but despite yourself, you freeze. Belphegor notices, and quickly clears his throat, relaxing his shoulders. He allows your heart a moment to slow as he regains his composure, and you find yourself breathing again.

“I know that me saying sorry is never going to cut it.” Belphegor turns his body to fully face you. He’s no longer running from his feelings, or from you. He knows he can’t anymore. Hesitantly, he lifts his trembling hand to place over yours. The muscles in your fingers tense, and he pauses to gauge your reaction. When you slowly nod your head once, he delicately places his hand on yours, using his thumb to gently begin massaging the tension away. “And I know that even if I do everything right from here on out, that there’s a chance that you won’t ever forgive me. And I understand why.”

Your heart sinks at his expression, his gaze locked on your joined hands. As aloof as he normally is, you can see none of that on his face now. When you turn over your hand he quickly pulls away, but your shaky movements to bring his hand back and intertwine your fingers urges him to go on.

“But I want to try. And really try this time. I want you to be honest with how you feel, whether I’m frustrating you or scaring you or anything like that, and… and I want to be honest with you too. I…”

Belphegor trails off, but you squeeze his hand. He draws in a slow breath.

“No matter what happens, no matter how you feel, we’re stuck together for the next few months. I want to spend that time getting to know you, and I want us to be as close as you are with any of my brothers… but I also want you to know that you shouldn’t feel forced. If it’s ever too much, I need you to tell me, and I promise I’ll back off.”

The smallest of smiles makes its way onto your face as you quietly agree. Belphegor doesn’t allow himself to try and figure out if it's genuine, out of pity, or sadness, but in spite of everything, it makes him feel a bit lighter. Just a bit.

“This won’t fix everything right away,” you say, and he now knows that your smile is a combination of the three. Along with this, though, Belphegor also knows the small sparkle in your eyes is hope, and he’s willing to take that hope and nurture it for however long he must.

“I know,” he sighs, but even he can feel the small tilt of a smile on his face, “but I’m willing to take as much time as you need to decide how you feel about me. And… And if you decide you hate me, which is fair, and that you never want to even be in the same room as me, I’ll respect your wishes.

Until then...Until you decide that you really, truly hate me, I won’t stop trying.”

There’s no way of telling how long his words linger in the air around the two of you, circling around your heads and making their way through your body. Even so, Belphegor diligently watches you, wanting to make sure he’s not overstepping his bounds. He even contemplates letting go of you, but is reassured when slowly, almost unnoticeably, you begin smoothing out the lines on the back of his hand with your thumb.

As much as you want to tell him that you could never hate him, you also know you can’t promise anything. Still, for now, just as much as him, you’re willing to try. You stay in silence, more comfortable than you’ve ever been in his presence, gently caressing the hand held in your own.

Eventually, Belphegor clears his throat once more. The vulnerability has made him tense and rendered his voice weak.

“Can… can you hug me?” He all but whispers, fragility making his body quiver once more. He was completely open about his feelings for the first time in a lifetime, and the intensity of it left him craving affection. He knows how unfair this is to you, but he can’t help himself. He wishes to be held, for his fears to be quelled by someone so much stronger than him. “If you don’t want to,” he falters, speaking quickly, insecurely, “I won't even touch you. I-If you do, I promise I can keep my hands behind my back, and I won’t even--”

His words end abruptly as he feels you release his hand, and his heart sinks. He debates running away again, until he hears you moving towards him, and he finds he’s frozen in place. Slowly, but surely, with more courage circulating through your veins than you’ve had all night, you make your way over the blankets that divide you and position yourself right next to Belphegor, pulling him into your chest. Even now, he can feel how quickly, persistently your heart races, and yet you stay. True to his word, Belphegor rests his hands on the ground behind his back, but he doesn’t stop himself from nuzzling into your chest… and he cries. The complete, uninhibited release of his emotions hit him like a truck, and he sobs heavily into you, tears slowly but surely staining your shirt. You adjust yourself so you can hold him closer, slowly and reassuringly rubbing his back as he lets go of everything he’s been holding on to for longer than you can even imagine. This is a man who’s run from his emotions for centuries, and the fact that he’s willing to face them for your sake comforts you, cradles your heart and presses gentle kisses against the cracks. You know that you’re not going to wake up tomorrow with everything okay, but for now… for now you’re comfortable with his touch. Heaving in a deep, steadying breath, you reach down just enough to take Belphegor’s arms, and guide them to rest his hands on your hips. At this silent permission, he slowly, delicately wraps his arms around your waist, despite craving your body closer, wanting to hold you tight and never let go. He cradles you like you’re made of the most brittle glass, and you smile. The gesture touches your heart, and… and you feel safe. You know that all he wants to do is embrace you as tight as he can, but he doesn’t, even with permission.

Here, in Belphegor’s arms, you feel safe. Here, where Belphegor’s grip on you is so gentle that it wouldn’t even crumple paper, you feel loved. As he cries into your chest, holding you as if you were an antique, hope slowly fills your heart.

Everything is far from perfect, but it’s still on the right track, here in the quiet planetarium.

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ladyloveandjustice · 3 years

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Spring 2021 anime overview: Quick Takes

Now for my Spring 2021 anime thoughts! I’ve decided from now on if a season’s like, 20- to-24 episodes I’m just going to wait ‘til it’s done to review it unless I feels super passionately, so though I watched To Your Eternity (it’s good!) and MHA (eh), I’ll comment on them next time. Also, for the record, I watched the first eight eps of Joran: Princess and Snow of Blood but I dropped it because it had clearly crossed the line from entertainingly dumb to boring dumb.

I will probably give Supercub and some other stuff a shot later, this was a stacked season! May give updates on all that later, but this is what I have for now.

ODDTAXI

Quick Summary: A mild mannered middle-aged walrus taxi driver is drawn into a case involving a missing girl, yakuza, Youtube clout-chasers, manzai comedians and idols with big secrets.

It’s rare to walk away from media and be like “that is a singular experience I will definitely never see repeated again” but ODDTAXI is definitely one of those. A tense noir thriller murder mystery starring cartoon animals that spends an entire episode detailing the one (cat)man’s very fall into darkness triggered by addiction to gacha games and an online auction for a novelty eraser? Also there’s a porcupine Yakuza who speaks entirely in rap? Also there’s tons of meandering conversations about stuff like manzai comedy and the struggle to go viral on Twitter?

Admittedly, I had a hard time getting into the first episode, the dry meandering humor not being enough to hold my attention while I was sitting still, but once I watched this while I was working out at the end of the season, I found it an easy binge. A ton of characters with dark secrets or dangerous ambitions, each with their own part to play in a tableau of intersecting events- and it all actually comes together really well.(As for the female characters, it’s a pretty dude driven story, but they do get nuanced characterization and even some good heroic moments from one of them.)

It’s a great example of a carefully planned narrative paying off, with all the twists appropriately seeded and foreshadowed to reward viewers who paid attention. Even when it ended on a perfect “OH SHIT” moment and denied me closure, I couldn’t help but respect it. If you that all sounds interesting to you, definitely check out the first couple episodes and see if you like it- you’re likely to have a memorable, satisfying experience!

Shadows House

Quick Summary: Emilyko is a ‘living doll’ who’s told she was created to act as the ‘face’ of her shadow master, Kate. The shadows and their ‘dolls’ all reside on the mansion and are required to pass a ‘debut’ to prove they’re a good pairing. If they don’t pass, they might be disposed of. And so the mystery of the Shadow mansion grows...

This slice of gothic intrigue was my favorite of the season, tied with ODDTAXI. With an interesting premise, slightly tense undertones and a strong focus on character building and relationships, it kept me hooked the whole way through. And for any squeamish fans put off by the hype about it, don’t worry, while there are some suspenseful elements, I wouldn’t qualify it as horror. I thought the relationship between Kate and Emilyko might end up being a completely sinister one, but it’s thankfully a lot more complex than that and it’s really interesting to follow how both their characters and relationship grow. The focus of the show is, unsurprisingly, on the “dolls” slowly discovering their autonomy and personhood as they struggle under the rigid system imposed on them by the mysterious elders of this weird Victorian mansion. Can they develop a more equitable relationship with their shadow “masters” (who are also shown to suffer under this system)? There’s a lot to dig into there, and the show has the characters develop through learning to understand and appreciate each other, which is pretty heartwarming. Our hero, Emilyko, is the typical plucky ball of sunshine (they even nickname her sunshine), but she’s also shown to be clever in her own off-the-wall way and she bounces off the far more subdued and cynical Kate well, not to mention the other ‘dolls’ she ends up befriending.

What’s more, the show spends plenty of time to developing several other character pairings and combinations, and they all have their own interesting dynamic that makes you want to see more of them. Same-gender bonds are at the forefront of this show, and many of them are ripe for queer readings (I definitely appreciated the healthy helping of ladies carrying ladies), but even outside that it’s nice to see a show where a strong, complex bond between girls is at the forefront. My only real complaints about the show are the anime original ending is noticeably a bit rushed (though it’s not too bad, and leaves room for a season 2) and I wish the animation used the whole “shadow” theme more strikingly (like the opening and endings do)- instead the colors are a bit washed out which makes the shadows blend into the background sometimes. The “debut” arc also drags a bit in places, but it makes up for it by having a lot of good character integration.

I hope to check out the (full color)! manga soon and see more of this quirky, shadowy story. There’s some physical abuse depicted, sad things happening to characters and naturally the whole “oppressive familial system” thing, but otherwise not much I can think of to warn about. I give this one a big rec, especially If you’re a fan of gothic fairytales and stories of self discovery.

Zombie Land Saga Revenge

Quickest summary: In this sequel season, everyone’s favorite zombie idol group must claw their way back into prominence after a disastrous show- the fate of the Saga prefecture LITERALLY depends on it!

This was a fun follow-up to the first season- if you liked the first zombie-girl romp, you’ll probably enjoy this one. In fact, there were a couple areas it improved on- namely, Kotaro failed, ate crow and embarrassed himself a lot more this season, which made him more likeable (as did the fact the girls gained a lot of independence from him). This season also shed more light on what the ‘goal’ of this zombie raising project is and what kind of shit Kotaro got involved with to make this happen, and it’s appropriately off-the-wall and ridiculous. We finally got some backstory for Yugiri too! I wish it had focused on more of her interiority, but she got to be a badass in it, and it was a treat to see this zombie idol show turn into a period piece for a couple episodes (also her song ruled).

Tae also got a cute focus episode and there was a particular SMASHING performance early on! Also That revelation last season that had the potential to turn creepy hasn’t yet, and hopefully never will. The finale was heartwarming with big hints of more drama to come- I’m definitely down for more zombie hijinks!

Vivy: Flourite Eye’s Song

Quickest Summary: A songstress AI named DIVA (nicknamed Vivy) is approached by another AI named Matsumoto, who says he’s from the future and they must work together to prevent AI exterminating all of humankind 100 years from now.

This show is absolutely gorgeous visually with some really nice action scenes, but when it comes to the story my feelings basically amount to a shrug. It’s fine! I guess! Vivy starts out as an interesting layered character- and I guess still is by the end- with her stoic but stubborn determination bouncing off her fast-talking bossy partner Matsumoto well. She never listens to him, which is delightful. The way the show took place over the course of 100 years was an interesting conceit as well. However, it bought up a lot of themes and then sort of... dropped them. For instance, Vivy interprets her mission (PRIME DIRECTIVE if you will) as protecting humans at all costs, no matter how destructive said humans are or what their fate is supposed to be, and is perfectly willing to murder her fellow androids to do this, showing she inherently thinks of androids (herself and her own people!) as less worthy. Which is a little alarming! There’s a very dramatic point in the show where they bring this up as a potential conflict for her character but then it’s sort of...dropped. Pretty much.

Actually, despite the premise, the show doesn’t dip into the “AI rights” as much as you think it would with the main theme being more about Vivy’s search to find her own creativity and discover what it means to ‘pour your heart into something’. Vivy herself doesn’t actually care if she has rights or anything. Which is in some ways fine, because ‘AI as an oppressed class’ has been done to death, but IT’S ALSO KIND OF IN THE PREMISE, so that means that the show just shrugs really hard at a lot of the questions it brings up basically just going “humans and AI should work together probably” and that’s it. There’s a lot that feels underexplored. The antagonists in the show also either have motivations that don’t really make sense or have boring hackneyed motivations. In the finale in particular, it feels like a lot of things happen “just because” and it falls a little flat.

I also have to warn that one of the arcs focus on a robot ‘pairing’ where the dude-coded robots actions toward his partner are straight up awful and rob her of her autonomy, but it’s played like a tragic love story. I suppose you could read it differently too, but it definitely made me go ‘ew’ the story seemed to want me to sympathize with this robo dude,

Overall, I wouldn’t anti-recommend this show, it’s an all right little sci-fic romp (and definitely SUPER pretty). My favorite element was definitely the episodes where Vivy develops an entirely new (an loveable) personality, because it played with the idea of of an AI getting “rebooted” really well and interplay between her two “selves” was done really well. But there are a lot of other parts of the show that just feel...a little underexplored and empty, making me have an ‘eh’ feeling on the show overall. It’s definitely an ambitious project, and while it didn’t quite stick the landing, there’s something to be said for a show that shoots for the stars and falls short over a show that just languishes in mediocrity.

Fruits Basket The Final

Quick summary: The final season of that dramatic drama about that weird family with a zodiac curse and the girl who loves them.

It’s very weird that after not cutting a lot out, they kinda sped through some material for, you know, the finale. I guess they thought they couldn’t stretch this final arc to 26 episodes? Or weren’t cleared for another double cour? However, though there were a couple places that felt awkward, despite being a bit condensed it mostly held together pretty well for a D R A M A T I C and ultimately heartwarming conclusion. I was really disappointed they kept the part where Ritsu cut their hair for the ‘happy ending’, I thought their intro episode not showing them in men’s clothes meant the anime had decided their presentation didn’t need to be “fixed” but WELL I GUESS NOT. That was the only big upset for me though, otherwise the adaptation went about how I expected, sticking to the source material. Furuba has a lot of bumps, from weird age gap stuff to ...gender, but it also has a lot of important feels and great character arcs. It was a gateway shoujo for many and has its important place in animanga history, so I’m glad it finally got a shiny, full adaptation.

#anime overview #spring 2021 anime #shadows house #oddtaxi #zombie land saga #fruits basket #vivy: fluorite eye's song #zombie land saga revenge #fruits basket the final #anime #my reviews #long post

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justanother-unluckysoul · 3 years

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CS Fic: You Are My Shelter

Rating: T

Word count: 5k

Summary: An unexpected blizzard hits while Emma and Killian are enjoying a quiet vacation in their forest cabin, forcing them to shelter in place until it passes. The temporary isolation probably wouldn’t have been so bad if Killian hadn’t also gotten injured.

A completely self-indulgent story that hopefully some of you will enjoy.

A/N: Bet you weren’t expecting another story from me so soon but this one kind of appeared out of nowhere, built from one sentence and a vague vibe. It was basically just an excuse to whump Killian a bit, but also to write snuggly cosy CS scenes when real life weather was cold and gross.

Read on AO3

You Are My Shelter

“I’ll be back soon,” Emma had said with a quick kiss to his lips, “Just be careful up there, okay?”

Killian had told her not to worry, that he’d spent centuries climbing the rigging on the Jolly Roger and that clearing the chimney of their holiday cabin would be easy. She had been worried, but he’d placated her, and she’d cautioned him one last time before reluctantly leaving for town. There was a storm brewing, carrying a threat of heavy rain and early-season snow, and both of them wanted to be prepared in case it turned out worse than predicted. But either way, the fireplace was certainly going to get some use, hence why Killian was clearing bird nests from the chimney. It was overdue really, but they hadn’t been out here for a few months, their little cabin nestled in a forest about an hour’s drive away from Storybrooke. The sun was getting low, but the work warms him up quickly, enough to be quite comfortable in just the shirt and trousers he’d stripped to before he’d started. He hadn’t been lying when he said he was used to heights and climbing. Even the slipperiness of the shingles wasn’t unexpected, and he was carefully bracing himself and planting his feet firmly. So Killian isn’t sure what happened. The wind was getting stronger; he could see rain on the horizon, creeping closer and maybe he tried to rush a little bit, wanting to get the job done and get off the roof before the weather turned. Whatever the cause, his foot slips, he scrambles for a handhold and there’s none, Killian is sliding and falling and he really should have had some sort of rope to hold him. The benefit of hindsight. There’s a moment of weightless terror as he goes off the edge of the roof and plunges unchecked towards the ground. He doesn’t remember landing.

Wake up, Killian, please. I can't carry you.

Emma is panicked, almost in tears, the urgency with which she pulls at his shirt and pats his cheeks drawing him back to a groggy awareness. He is so tired. He's not certain he's even awake now, his surroundings taking on a surreal, distant quality as he tries to blink Emma's frightened face into focus. He thinks he’s lying on the ground, though he’s so numb and tired he’s not certain of that either. What happened? he tries to ask, but the sound he actually makes is more like a weak groan than anything comprehensible.

Killian, please wake up. I need you to help me.

Somehow he’s on his feet. His body doesn't feel like his own, slow and so, so heavy. Emma dragging him forwards, the world blurring around them, just a little further, Killian, we're almost there. He stumbles through the cabin doorway into the dark room beyond, only Emma's hold on him keeping him from collapsing right there. When he does fall, it's onto something soft - a bed, perhaps. He thinks Emma is trying to get his damp clothes off; that's a good idea, he'll surely catch his death from cold if he stays in them. He should help her. But his strength is depleted, the world is going dark once more, and he knows nothing after that.

He comes to with a scorching pressure against his back, and when he tries to squirm away, he notices the arm wrapped around his middle, searing and restrictive.

"Lie still, Killian," Emma murmurs and he feels as though his skin blisters under her breath on his neck.

Emma, stop, it hurts, he tries but he is weak and trembling and the words are too quiet, slurred between his numb lips and dry tongue.

"Lie still. It's okay."

He groans, giving up. He is too bloody tired to fight anymore. His fingers and toes have started to prickle with sensations, as though they are just coming back to life. And now the shivers begin to roll through him in earnest, relentless and uncomfortable, rattling his teeth.

"Shhh. You’re okay. Come back to me, Killian."

He whimpers and groans and keeps shaking, while Emma maintains her tight hold on him and coaches him gently as his breath drags roughly against his parched throat, relax, Killian, it's okay, everything's going to be okay, I promise. As his body slowly crawls back from the brink of frozen death, Killian can hear the howl of wind against the cabin walls, the storm shaking the window panes while something in the roof rattles threateningly with each gust. He’s wrapped in Emma’s arms, her body pressed against his naked back, blankets piled atop them both.

“Are you with me, Killian?” Emma asks softly, and her breath doesn’t burn him this time, his skin slowly warming.

“S-swan,” he whispers; all he can manage right now.

“Oh, thank god.” Her voice is a damp sob against his neck.

She shifts now, sliding away and rolling him onto his back, the warm blankets pulled away. He wants them back. He wants Emma back.

“I have to… I have to stitch this. Shit, Killian, it’s-”

Her breath shudders, and Killian wants - needs - to see what’s happened, what’s upsetting Emma. He needs to reassure her that he’s okay. But he hasn’t the strength to move; with his blood warming, awareness trickling back in, his head has begun to throb and spin woozily, and there’s a growing cognition of the deep pain in his thigh. He can do nothing but lie there helplessly, teeth gritted against the discomfort as Emma pokes at what he supposes is a nasty wound on his leg. He misses the blankets. He’s still shivering miserably, though he can no longer tell if it’s from cold or heat or simply the pain. There are too many sensations, the agony in his thigh increasing exponentially under Emma’s hesitant ministrations and despite his best efforts to stay conscious, Killian is soon floating away in a daze. The wind roars - or perhaps that is him, he can’t tell. His mind is entirely lost to the pain and the misery; no amount of soothing words will be able to reach it now, though he can hear Emma trying anyway. The wind is going to tear this cabin apart, as surely as the pain is tearing him apart, his agonized cries lost beneath the scream of the storm.

***

The world is muted, soft sounds filtering into Kllian’s ears as though from a great distance. He's more exhausted than he's ever been in his life, yet at the same time it feels as though he's been lying in this bed for days, drifting in a haze of restless sleep amid the pain that's still twinging in his leg. His leg twitches without conscious thought, and the twinge becomes a vicious bolt of pain, his teeth gritted against it and the encroaching darkness as his back arches, hand clawing at the blanket to steady himself. Staying as still as he can, taking deep lungfuls of precious air, vowing to never move again if that is the result, waiting for the pain to ease. Killian remembers Emma being with him before - remembers a soft touch and gentle words - but there had also been a searing, deep agony in his thigh and a terrible pounding in his head, and he had been cold and confused and so weak, desperate for Emma just to hold him. For her soothing embrace to allow him to find some measure of peace amongst the torment, to ground him in reality as the pain and exhaustion twisted the world around him. But she hadn't held him the way he wished, too busy trying to piece him back together, her voice distant as she worked. And peace had come for Killian, eventually, in the form of blissful unconsciousness, ignoring Emma's increasingly desperate pleas for him to keep fighting the lure of the dark; she should know by now that Killian had never been good at resisting darkness. But he is awake now, the room bathed in weak daylight that doesn’t hurt his head, a roaring fire lit in the hearth casting a warmth through the room. The blankets are thick and heavy and soft, and Killian is in no hurry to move from this position of relative comfort, the ice finally gone from his veins, the pain ebbing away. Emma creeps into the room holding a cup of something steaming and sweet, her thick socks barely making a sound on the floorboards, smiling in relief when she sees him awake.

“How are you feeling?” she asks, setting the cup on the bedside drawers and easing herself onto the mattress beside him.

“Tired,” he admits, “Hurts to move.”

Emma presses her hand against his forehead briefly before tugging the blankets down so she can check his wound. He tries not to flinch as she carefully peels the bandage away and prods gently at the sensitive skin around the injury.

“No sign of infection,” she muses, “It’s just going to take time to heal. It was very deep.”

She covers him back up.

“You should drink something. I know you’re hurting, but can you sit up for me?”

Sitting up is agony, but with Emma’s help he manages to get upright, propped against the pillows, his arm wrapped around his middle as he sucks in sharp, shaky breaths. The room tilts away from him and he grabs clumsily for Emma’s arm, his head pounding.

“You okay?” she murmurs, and he shakes his head, swallowing thickly, “Shh, I’ve got you. Take some slow breaths, that’s it.”

She has procured a wet washcloth from somewhere, and she uses it to wipe the cold sweat from his face as he struggles against the urge to vomit, the combination of pain and dizziness rising to an unbearable level. It feels like hours before his body calms, before the pain eases back to a dull ache and the room settles, and he can take the offered cup of tea. Though it must not have really been hours because the tea is still quite warm. The gentle spice of it soothes his churning stomach and calms the trembling of his hands as he sips at it, watching Emma stack more wood onto the dwindling fire.

“The storm…?”

“Still here,” she replies, “But it’s snowing now.”

Killian can’t see out the window well from this angle; there’s only white nothingness beyond the glass, but he doesn’t dare move again so he simply takes Emma’s word for it. He’s content to stay where he is now, leant against the pillows with tea in hand and the blankets pooled around his waist as the fire begins to roar in its box once more.

“Do you need anything else?” Emma asks, when she’s satisfied with the state of the fire.

“Just you, love.”

Emma smiles and ducks her head, a slight blush rising on her cheeks at his statement. She is still not quite sure how to respond to Killian’s casual affection, the openness with which he loves her, and so he’s made a vow to himself to say such things to her as often as possible until she accepts it without this uncomfortable hesitation. He pats the space next to him.

“Come sit with me, Emma. It’s too miserable a day not to spend it in bed.”

It doesn’t take much to convince her. She tucks herself close to Killian’s side, pulling the blanket over herself as well, her socked toes pressed against his legs as she rests her head on his shoulder.

“Like this?” Emma asks.

“Perfect,” he says, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

He drinks the rest of his tea in silence, letting the crackle of the fire fill the room instead, the soft warmth of Emma’s body curling into him lulling him into a contented doze by the time he’s finished the drink.

Killian wakes lying on his back once again, his eyes sticky and his mouth dry. The room is darker now but no less warm, the fire still crackling away, the outside chill barred by the heavy curtains now drawn across the windows. Killian’s hand flexes towards the thick bandages around his thigh. The pain is a deep, relentless ache, but it’s nothing he can’t handle. Tentatively, Killian takes a deeper breath, shifts his legs a little, relieved when it doesn’t hurt too much more than lying still does. He’s not brave enough to try sitting up yet, not without assistance, though it would be nice to soothe his parched throat with the glass of water he can see sitting on the cabinet beside the bed. After a moment, his thirst overrides his reluctance to move.

“Emma,” he rasps, and it’s a bloody miracle she actually hears him from the main room.

“Hey.” She’s at his side in a moment, checking his forehead again, fussing over him anxiously. “What is it?”

“Thirsty,” Killian whispers.

“Okay. Did you want to try sitting up again?”

He nods, and she gently assists him upright, stuffing pillows behind his back, brushing her fingers slowly through his hair until the spinning in his head settles and he can take the glass. The water is delicious, fresh and cool, and he has to resist the urge to gulp it all down as fast as possible, taking slow, small sips instead until the glass is empty.

“I’ve got some soup on the stove if you want to eat.” Emma tucks the blanket higher around his waist. “You should eat.”

The smell wafting into the bedroom is actually making him salivate a little; he hadn’t realized how hungry he was until now. He wonders how long it’s been since he last ate. Once he’s eating a bowl of steaming soup, Emma stokes up the fire and then settles cross legged at the end of the bed, tucking into her own meal.

“How long has it been?” Killian asks, “Since… since you found me.”

Emma glances at her watch.

“Uh, that was yesterday evening. So, about a day, I guess?”

“Bloody hell.” He’s stunned to know he’s been barely conscious for such a long time. No wonder Emma was worried. “It’s not still snowing, is it?”

Emma bites at her lip anxiously. “It is. The rain had turned to snow by the time I got home, and you were just… just lying there, soaked through. God, Killian, I thought you were…” She can’t bring herself to say it.

“I’m going to be alright, love,” Killian assures her, wishing Emma wasn’t sitting quite so far away that he can’t reach out and comfort her.

“I’ve phoned for help last night, but nobody can get in because the snow is too thick already. We… could be stuck here for a while.” She picks at a loose thread on the blanket, her dinner forgotten.

Her fear is palpable, and not unwarranted. Killian hasn’t gotten a look at his leg yet, but he knows Emma had to sew it closed, and knows it must have been a vicious gash. He must have caught it on something on the roof as he’d slid. Whatever the cause, it’s a nasty injury; he can feel that much.

“There’s no one I’d rather be stuck with,” he says, with far more cheerfulness than he feels.

Emma smiles at that, but her eyes are still troubled. Killian gestures at her half finished bowl, you need to eat too, my love. She does, but slowly, and he can tell she’s struggling to get it down, her worry ruining her appetite. His heart aches. He’s annoyed that he didn’t have the foresight to use a rope, because he should have known better. More than anything, he hates being the cause of Emma’s stress. She’s been through enough without having to worry about him over a stupid mistake.

After dinner, Emma helps Killian limp to the bathroom. It feels good to be out of bed, although Emma is quick to coax him back when he’s done.

“I’m okay, Emma,” he says, feeling like he’s said it so many times already, “I’m not going to break.”

Truthfully, walking around is hurting his leg and the dizziness has returned now that he’s standing up, but it’s a small price to pay for the freedom of being on his feet again. Emma observes him with a furrowed brow, her lips pursed, but Killian gently kisses that expression off her face.

“I’m sorry I scared you, love. But I promise I’m feeling better. You’ve done a good job here.” He gestures to his thigh, where the neat line of stitches are pinching at him if he’s not careful enough. “But just for you, sweetheart, I’ll go back to bed for a while. Okay?”

“Okay. And I… I should check your leg again. We can’t risk infection.”

It hasn’t been long since she last looked at it, but Killian asquieces, shimmying his trousers off and settling back on the bed, knowing she needs this to allay her fears. Her hands are steady as she presses her fingers lightly beside the line of stitches, and Killian can’t help the tensing of his stomach muscles as she does, fighting with his body’s instinct to pull away from the touch so close to his wound. A soft grunt is all that escapes him, but it’s enough to make Emma’s face crumple in guilt as she pauses.

“Sorry,” she whispers, and Killian quickly shakes his head.

“It’s alright.”

She watches him for a moment longer and he is careful to keep any sign of pain from his expression, before she returns to her task. Emma’s brow furrows in concentration as she tends his injury, the corner of her mouth pulling in a small grimace, before her eyes dart back up to meet Killian's. He tries to give her a reassuring smile.

“How does it look?” he asks.

“It’s… it’s okay. I think.” Emma sighs, looking tired and stressed. “I’m not good at this, Killian. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“You’re doing fine, love,” he tells her sincerely, “And as soon as we get back to Storybrooke, you can use your magic to heal it completely.”

He tugs her closer so he can kiss her again.

“I know,” she says, “I just worry. Between the concussion, and the hypothermia, and the nearly bleeding to death…” She presses her fingers against his lips, halting the words that he’d been about to speak. “And don’t just tell me you’re a survivor.”

Killian chuckles softly as she moves her fingers, stroking along his jawline. Emma knew him too well; that had been exactly the line he was about to say.

“Alright, I won’t. But I will be alright, Swan, in your care. And I’m sure we’ll be out of here soon.”

***

The following day had started a bit brighter, the snowfall easing, and Killian had spent the morning on the couch, trying to read but his eyes refused to focus, and stubbornly trying anyway had only brought his headache back. So he set the book aside and watched Emma potter about the cabin instead, fetching firewood and melting snow for drinking water. The frigid nights had frozen the water pipes solid, and with no sun to warm them during the day, there was no running water. It didn't bother Killian much - he still considered such modern conveniences to be a luxury. And though he would have appreciated a warm bath or something today, he's not about to ask Emma to fill one for him. He feels useless enough, frustrated and bored, stuck sitting on the couch while Emma does all the work, without adding to her list of chores.

“Hey, are you doing okay?” He’s pulled out of his self-pity by Emma sitting beside him, taking the book from his loose fingers.

“I’m fine,” he says automatically, his voice distant and hollow in his own ears.

Emma doesn’t believe him, he can tell. She reaches out to smooth the furrow between his brows, fingers carding through his hair as he leans into the touch. The gentle pressure against his scalp feels so good, easing the tightness his attempt at reading had caused.

“You can be honest with me,” she whispers, “Please. I want to help.”

“No, it’s okay. You’ve already done so much, Emma, I can’t...” I can’t ask for more, it wouldn’t be right.

“But you’re hurting, aren’t you? Is it your head?”

He nods, eyes falling closed as he accepts the comfort she offers him.

“Maybe reading wasn’t the best idea.” Killian hums in agreement. “Do you want to go back to bed? Maybe lying down will help.”

“I’m tired of lying down,” he complains, sharper than he intended, his head lolling against the back of the couch miserably.

“Okay.” Emma’s quiet, patient tone only makes him feel worse, angry with himself for lashing out.

Instead of saying anything else, Emma simply picks up the discarded book, tucks her knees up and cuddles closer to him, and begins to read the story aloud. Killian’s protest is instinctive.

“Swan, you don’t n-”

“Shh, I’m reading,” Emma says firmly, and continues.

An amused, affectionate chuckle escapes Killian. Gods above, he is so lucky to have this woman in his life.

Emma has hardly stopped pacing all evening, stealing fretful glances out the window, where the snow is falling thick and fast once more. The power had gone out around midday but they were prepared for it, candles for lighting and the fireplace for cooking. It was cosy like this, in the warmth and dimness. After dinner, Killian had moved from the couch to the rug by the fire, much to Emma’s concern, but here he can be useful, stoking the fire when it gets low, and with the blanket wrapped around his shoulders at Emma’s insistence, he’s really quite comfortable. He’d fallen asleep while she read to him earlier, like a child which was rather embarrassing, but when he woke his headache had gone and he’d felt quite a bit better. But Emma had been anxious again by then, the calm softness she’d exuded as she read to him now entirely gone from her demeanor as she walked the length of the cabin. Back and forth, over and over.

“If you keep that up, you’ll wear a track into the floorboards,” Killian teases.

Emma doesn’t seem to appreciate, or even notice, his attempt at lightening the mood.

“It’s still snowing,” she notes worriedly.

He pushes himself up from the floor, wincing at the pull of healing skin and the ache in his knees from too long spent folded. Emma reaches for him quickly, in that fussing way she has whenever his face twists in pain, but he takes her into his arms before she can do anything.

“We’ll be alright, love.”

A slight shiver passes through her as she returns his embrace.

“I’m just… I’m scared, Killian.”

“Nothing is going to happen to you, Emma. I won’t let it.”

She pushes her hand against his chest, creating just enough distance so she can look at his face.

“I’m not scared for myself,” she whispers, her eyes shining bright with unshed tears, “Killian, I’m scared for you.”

It hits him hard, hearing her fears spoken aloud, and guilt wracks him at the expression on her face.

“I’m sorry,” he says, pulling her close once more, “I’m so sorry, love. But we’re going to be fine, I promise you.”

She hiccups a sob into Killian's chest and he shushes her, his hand rubbing soothing circles on her back as he holds her tight.

“You can’t promise that," Emma whimpers, and his heart shatters because he knows it's true.

They are going to be trapped in this place for gods know how long, and Killian’s utterly helpless to do anything about it. Even if he wasn’t injured, the unpredictable and freezing conditions outside makes any attempt to leave ill advised, if not impossible. And he knows his wound worries Emma, bringing her fears of infection and complications, though her medical prowess had so far proved commendable.

“We’ve faced worse odds than a little snow, darling,” Killian says, with far more conviction than he feels, “We will be alright.”

“It’s more than a little snow,” she argues, but her voice is steadier now, Killian’s strong front doing as intended to unleash a little more strength of her own.

He holds her a little longer, his hand moving to smooth her hair until Emma takes a deep breath and pulls away.

“Sorry.” She wipes her eyes and sniffs a few times. “Sorry. I’m okay.”

“It’s alright, love,” he says, “It’s been a rough couple of days.” Killian palms her cheek gently, his thumb brushing an errant tear from her face. “Do you want to come to bed now?”

She nods, taking another deep, shaky breath.

“Let me just put some more wood on the fire first.”

“Okay.”

Killian’s already settled into bed by the time Emma returns, stomping the snow off her boots as she enters the cabin, a blast of frigid air following her before she can slam the door shut. In a few minutes, the firebox is filled with extra logs and Emma slips under the blankets beside him, tucking herself close, her toes like ice against his legs.

“Bloody hell, Swan,” he yelps, flinching away, “Where are your socks? Put your socks back on.”

Emma giggles, having entirely too much fun poking him with her freezing feet, making him squirm and curse until he flips over, pinning her solidly beneath his body. She’s grinning up at him, more relaxed than Killian’s seen her in days. The movements have caused his injury to throb again, but he carefully hides any sign of pain in his expression. He doesn’t want to bring down the mood.

“That was bad form,” he tells her in mock-irritation.

“Yeah?” Emma breathes, and she’s clearly flirting with him, trying to goad him into something more.

Killian leans down slowly, until his lips are nearly brushing her ear, feeling her body shiver with anticipation before he growls-

“Where did you leave your socks, Emma?”

And she dissolves into giggles again, as expected, and Killian can’t help laughing with her as he rolls back over onto the mattress. They’re terribly tangled in the covers now but neither of them care.

“Seriously though, my love, please put your socks back on.”

She goes quiet, suddenly, a morose mood falling back over the room and Killian turns to look at her.

“What’s wrong?”

“The snow has gotten too deep,” she says, quiet and shameful and anxious, “It went over the top of my boots tonight and… my socks got wet.”

“They’ll dry, love.” He doesn’t understand why she’s so upset about this. Surely she’s dealt with damp socks before? “Have you put them by the fire?”

“Yes, but I’m not worried about that, Killian,” she snaps, frustrated, and Killian rubs her arm soothingly, “My socks might dry tonight, but the same thing will just happen again when I go out in the morning. Because it’s still snowing. We’re trapped, Killian, and you- What if- How much longer-”

Killian gathers her into his arms and kisses her forehead, silencing her panicked rambling as her mind jumps from one horrible thought to another.

“Shh, my darling, don’t fret,” he murmurs, “My wound is healing well, you know that. And we still have enough food and firewood for an entire week. Perhaps even longer, if we rationed it out. We’ll figure a way around the sock thing, okay?”

Emma sighs, relaxing into his embrace.

“Okay.” She nuzzles the tip of her nose against his chest. “I’m sorry. It’s just… I just worry. I hate being…”

“Trapped?”

“Helpless.”

“You aren’t helpless, Emma. Trapped, yes, but only for now. This foul weather won’t last, and we’ll be home soon enough.”

She hums softly. Killian can’t tell if it’s in agreement or dismissal, but either way, Emma burrows tighter into his hold and not long afterwards, her breathing has deepened in sleep. Killian lies awake much longer, his own mind racing with possibilities and plans that could get them out of here, before he finally succumbs to his own tiredness as well.

***

Dawn finds the fire all but burned out, but weak sunlight is creeping between the curtains for the first time since the storm. There’s a steady dripping sound from somewhere; snow melting off the roof, perhaps - he hopes. Killian slips out of bed, careful not to wake Emma, and pads quietly to the window, peering out at the white surroundings. The sky is clear, brilliantly blue in contrast to the snow. He calls out to Emma, jubilant and more relieved than he can remember feeling in a long time.

“What is it?” Emma mumbles groggily, sitting up with the blanket pulled up to her chest to ward off the chill in the room.

“See for yourself,” he says, pulling the curtains open and allowing the sunshine to fill the room.

Emma gasps in delight, her sleepiness forgotten as she throws the blankets aside and quickly joins him at the window.

“It’s stopped snowing. Killian, we… we can leave.”

Giddy with relief, Emma spins around to hug him tightly.

“I told you we’d be alright, didn’t I?” he says, and before he knows what’s happening Emma is kissing him hard, her body pressed impossibly close to his, a hand sliding down the bare skin of his back to bring him even closer as the days of stress and worry pour out of her in one deliriously hot kiss.

“Just one more thing before we go,” she mumbles against his lips.

Killian groans into her mouth, his body immediately responding to her actions, to the need and urgency with which she’s kissing him and he’s kissing her, his hand in her hair and his hook at her hip. Hardly breaking for air, he manuevours them smoothly back to the bed, falling onto the rumpled blankets, hissing in pain as his wound makes itself known again. Emma grimaces.

“Sorry, I-”

“I’m okay, love,” Killian assures her, “We can keep going.”

He kisses her again, slow and sensual this time, the mood changing from the frantic urgency to something gentle and easy, but no less passionate. Perhaps they won’t go further than tasting each other’s lips, enjoying the reassurance of a loving embrace - though with Emma gasping his name, whispering I love you as Killian’s hand and mouth trace teasing patterns across her soft skin, the allure is almost too strong for Killian to hold himself back. He’s so focused on Emma, on their closeness and how good it feels, that he doesn’t register the sound of an engine until there’s a knock at the door and someone calling out to anyone home? Of course. Now that the storm has passed, they are being ‘rescued’.

“Bloody hell,” Killian gasps, the realization like a wave of cold water thrown against his face.

Way to ruin the mood. Emma is soft and warm and needy beneath him and he is sorely tempted to yell out give us a few more minutes, mate! but he knows he shouldn’t. Emma laughs breathlessly.

“Damn it,” she says.

“My sentiments exactly.”

He rolls off her to flop onto his back, running his hand over his face in annoyance.

“Aren’t you going to go see who it is?” Emma giggles, sitting up and raising an eyebrow at the state of him, and Killian frowns at her, not nearly so amused by this situation as she seems to be.

“I think I need a minute,” he mutters, his voice ragged.

Emma jumps off the bed and tries to smooth down her tangled hair, pulling her clothes on in a rush as the knock sounds again.

“I’m coming!” she calls out, and shoots Killian a glare, hissing, “Don’t even say it.”

He quickly shuts his mouth against the dirty innuendo he was about to say, smirking instead and Emma rolls her eyes at him, but she’s smiling as she leaves the room.

Once Killian has calmed down enough he thinks it won’t be too obvious what they’d been up to, he slips his own clothes back on and limps to the door. The rescue team is determined to take them both straight to the hospital, although Killian insists he’s fine, that Emma had tended his wound already. Besides that - though he doesn’t give this information to the strangers - as soon as they’re over the town line again she can simply use her magic to heal it completely. But they won’t be swayed. Killian clenches his jaw and glares fiercely at their rescuers, his annoyance only tempered by Emma’s gentle hand on his arm.

“It won’t take long,” Emma murmurs, “And then we can go home and finish what we started.” Her quiet, sultry tone is only for Killian to hear as her hand slips into his.

It takes the anger right out of him, her voice and the expression on her face. And Killian thinks she’s never looked more beautiful than right now, her face lit by the sun for the first time in several days, cheeks still flushed with the heat of their almost earlier, her eyes bright and her smile wide.

“Aye, love. I look forward to it.”

The End

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#cs ff #cs fic #whump #hurt/comfort #angst #but not too much of the angst lol #snuggly snowstorm fic #yams #my fanfics

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