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ashintheairlikesnow · 3 years

Note

Vampire Chris and jake get stranded in the middle of nowhere one night. Maybe a car crash or something. As they walk back the sun starts to rise.

CW: Car crash, bruising, seatbelt burn, vampire whumpee, caretaker turned whumpee

The moment of the crash is gone.

He opens his eyes to the aftermath.

Jake blinks, the world spinning, and his head drops back against the headrest of the driver's seat. The world is still lurching, sickeningly, in circles around him. Something is ticking, the engine maybe, slowly cooling down and shit, at least it's not on fire.

The air bag has a smear of terrible vibrant red against its pillowy white as it slowly deflates, and all he can do is stare at it until he realizes the blood must be his own.

One hand comes up to touch at his forehead, and his fingers come away wet and red, too. What he'd thought was sweat is a head wound, bleeding down one side, tickling his cheekbone and jaw. It stings, a little.

The pain seems distant, somehow, like it's being held at arm's length. As if he's looking at his pain from a distance further than he can close.

"Ch-... Chris, you okay, buddy?" He turns, and the passenger seat is empty. The air bag deployed on that side, but there's no blood.

The door is standing open, dome light still on. It takes a long few moments of staring before he can understand that the door is open because Chris forced it open, closed his hands on the metal and squeezed until it bent beneath his strength and let him out.

Jake's body aches as he shifts forwards, fumbling to unbuckle his seatbelt. All the pain is filtering into his senses, piece by piece as if he can only understand a wound once he sees it.

He can't remember the crash.

They were at a four-way stop, listening to some of the terrible pop music Chris loves about the modern world, and Jake had pulled through. They were laughing at some lyric that Jake had had to explain, that had made the little vampire boy flush a little at the definition.

Then there were headlights blinding him, overtaking everything. Chris had yelled something and Jake had yelled something and then-

The moment is gone.

So is the entire back half of his car.

He turns around with a hiss to stare right out a giant gaping hole where his backseat should be into the cool, clear night.

Parts of his car are strewn haphazardly across the road and the grassy ditch he's come to a stop in. As he looks, he can see the frame of a door, crumbled metal that must be his trunk, a tire. Another tire. The bumper on the ground. Glass and metal everywhere.

The stop signs at the fourway are all standing totally untouched, except for one bent at a hard angle, leaning like a man fighting a strong wind.

The sweater he'd been wearing when he got in the car - removed and tossed carelessly in the backseat to pick up later - is hanging off the bent stop sign.

It's fucking spotlessly clean still.

He blinks.

Blinks some more.

What the fuck?

He'd driven Chris up into the hills to go star-gazing, making the most of Chris's bubbly energy that only comes out at night and his classes being canceled tomorrow because of some issue with the campus water supply. This is countryside up here, with houses miles and miles apart. Remnants of old orchards and homesteads, still kept by the descendants of the men and women who traveled out here. Nobody drives out this way this late. It could be morning before someone finds him.

His phone. He can call for help.

Jake looks around, but his phone is nowhere to be seen. He digs around the footwell, what he can touch of it, and there's nothing. Nothing nothing nothing.

His windshield is shattered, open to the outside, and he wonders if his phone flew out of it. It was on the dash, wasn't it? On Chris's side...

Shit.

It could be anywhere in the grass, and he's a fucking moron who keeps his phone on silent or vibrate 24 hours a day. He'll never hear it out here.

First things first, then.

He settles for trying to open his door.

It's been crunched, just a little. Enough that it won't swing out, and he has to throw his shoulder against it, grunting in pain, again and again until finally it nudges just enough for him to fall onto shattered tiny squares of safety glass on the ground. A water bottle is lying there. It's Dasani.

He hates Dasani water, but it'd been free at the gas station they'd stopped at if he bought a bag of chips, so...

Oh, right. His car is full of fucking gasoline.

He groans, scrambling away from the vehicle, trying to remember what a safe distance will be if his car catches on fire or fucking explodes in the middle of the night. At least if it explodes it'll get someone's attention, right?

Shit, he's going to throw up.

Jake lays there, waiting for his stomach to settle, and then crawls again. He makes it up to the road, to the rough asphalt and the gravel that lines the side. The little pebbles sting his palms, rub dirt and dust into the cuts, but he ignores it.

He makes it to the road, twenty feet or so from his car, and then... then he just lays down.

"Chris..." He can barely think. Where has the little vampire gone? Why isn't he here, creeping out of the treeline to ask if Jake's all right? Did he run? Maybe he has Jake's phone. Maybe there was no signal and he's gone to try and find some, to make a call.

Maybe...

Fuck, it hurts to think.

Even just taking a deep breath hurts - something's wrong with his ribs. Bruised or broken. When he pulls his shirt up, he can see the seatbelt burn starting to deepen in color, a diagonal stripe from shoulder to hip written in bright red darkening to burgundy bruising, soon to turn purple and black. If he hadn't been wearing a heavy shirt it'd have torn his skin open. One side of his neck is rubbed raw, he can tell when he touches it and has to pull his fingers away at the spike of pain.

There are spots of dark on his pale shirt, blood seeping through or dripping from his forehead.

But, shit. It could be worse. Looking at the back half of his car, it seems like a goddamn miracle that it isn't.

Jake pulls his legs under him and tries to stand up.

His right leg just won't fucking do it.

Rather than take his weight, it buckles with a spike of pain so bad Jake cries out and collapses back onto the road.

As if it were a dam breaking, all the adrenaline holding off the worst of the pain seems to wear away at once.

Everything hurts, suddenly, a sickening wash of pain breaking against him like he's nothing but a shell to be worn to sand. He aches when he breathes, when he doesn't. A cough makes him whimper as his ribs creak and crack. His head throbs, his hands sting, his leg is swelling even as he looks at it, a broken bone. Definitely a broken bone.

"Jesus Christ," He groans, rolling onto his side, his face pressing into gravel and safety glass.

Nat won't notice they're not home until morning.

No one's going to know he's out here until after sunrise, until he's not up to get ready for class and Chris isn't curled up in the closet to sleep in his nest of blankets and pillows. No one's going to know what happened, and where the everloving fuck did his phone go?

Time passes. He doesn't know how much.

Maybe Chris figured they can't protect him and took the fuck off. Maybe he's going to find somewhere new to crash, some new people to care for him. Maybe he's hunting.

Who the fuck knows?

He comes and goes, in and out of consciousness.

He can't stand, and sort of scooting and crawling around does nothing to help him figure out where his cell phone has gone. No one else drives by on this mostly-abandoned country road, and it was a stroke of seriously bad luck the asshole who hit them and ran was there at all.

Asshole was probably drunk, driving back from the bar, trying to use the backroads to avoid the goddamn cops.

Bad. Fucking. Luck.

Jake wonders if the asshole will even remember hitting his car in the morning, or if he'll wake up and discover the front of his vehicle all fucked up and have no idea how it happened.

He thinks he might pass clean out for a while.

That can't be good.

His head hurts worse when he wakes up.

He raises his head slowly at the sound of a distant rumble, an ancient truck engine coming closer. It takes more effort than he ever imagined just to get himself up to sitting, ready to wave down whoever it is - whatever fucking angel is on this road at what has to be 3 or 4 in the morning by now.

"Please," He whispers, dry lips scraping against each other. "Please, please don't run m'over... please..."

Headlights wash over the scene of the crash, fading everything to nearly black-and-white. Jake raises a hand to shield his eyes, blinking rapidly, as the blue-and-white Ford comes to an idling stop.

A door swings open with a creak and then slams shut again, boots crunching on the glass and debris on the road. Jake raises his eyes to see an old man in worn jeans and a grayish t-shirt staring down at him. "Well, I'll be damned," The man says, his voice low, a little rough around the edges. His hair's dark, but speckled with silver that's visible even in the night air. "You all right, son?"

Jake slowly looks back at his wrecked, ruined car, then back up at the man. "I'm pretty clearly not," He answers, then winces at his rudeness. "Sorry. I mean... no."

"That's all right. We all of us get a little more honest when we're bleeding from the skull. I'm gonna bet you aren't a natural brunette and I'm looking at a big old ton of blood there. What happened?"

"Guy ran the stop sign, hit me... drove off."

"Well, damn. What're you doin' up this way this late at night?"

"Would you... y'believe me if I said... star-gazin'?"

The man chuckles, but it's a low sound, and he moves closer. He pulls a heavy old cell phone out of his pocket - one of those goddamn flip phones that never dies or gets destroyed. It's like Captain Fucking America. Jake has to hold back a half-hysterical laugh.

"Hm, I might. It happens from time to time. Y'didn't come with a young lady, did you?" The man looks over the scene of the crash, searching for more people.

"No, no... just... jus'... I'm just here." He thinks of Chris, the open passenger door, the total lack of a vampire nearby. Is he hiding in the woods? If he's seen, or found out, he'll be hauled back off to be locked up somewhere, milked for venom for pharmaceutical drugs, treated like an animal. They can't admit he was here, he can't be seen. He must be hiding.

That's it.

Chris must just be hiding...

"Please, man, I-I can't find my phone to call for help-"

"I got you, son. I'll make the call. Likely your phone's just buried in the grass somewhere, we'll figure it out. You stay put right where you are, you don't want to move around and make any of it worse."

"Yes, sir." Jake stays where he is while the old man makes the call to 911, feeding him details when he asks, staring off into space when he doesn't.

They can pick Chris up when he and Nat come to get his stuff from the wreck tomorrow. They'll get him then. It'll be fine.

It'll be fine.

The old man hangs up and heads back to his truck, pulling out a battered old first aid kit. "You're lucky I believe in ghosts, you know."

"What? Why? Am I dead?" Jake looks down at his hands. They're scratched and bleeding, and he's pretty sure dead people don't bleed like that.

"No, son, no. But I wouldn't be out here if I didn't."

Jake blinks. "I... I don't follow."

"Well, had a little ghost show up at my bedroom window and refuse to shut up until I drove out here. Redheaded boy. Kept calling for a medic. Felt like I was back in the war for a minute before I realized it was him."

"Which... which war?"

The man fixes him with a stare as he crouches, old knees cracking as he does, in front of Jake. He opens the box and takes out some gauze and adhesive, antibiotic cream, something else Jake doesn't recognize. "You need medics in every kind of war there is, son. It doesn't matter which one. I've fought in two. But this boy called for a medic like he's seen the need for 'em before and didn't have time to save someone. Some kind of old ghost walkin' these roads saw you and made sure I knew."

Jake exhales, almost a laugh, and feels tears burn hot in his eyes. He realizes he's going to cry from sheer relief and exhaustion and pain, and he's not sure he can stop.

A ghost in the window means...

Chris left and ran for help.

"Thank you," he whispers, and he's not really talking to the old man at all.

@mylifeisonthebookshelf @insaneinthepaingame @keeper-of-all-the-random-things @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @astrobly @newandfiguringitout @pretty-face-breaker @endless-whump @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @doveotions @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whump-tr0pes @downriver914 @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @nonsensical-whump @outofangband @what-a-whump

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pro-fangirls-unsocial-life · 3 years

Note

Could you do some soft kisses with Cody after a hard mission

Hey anon! Sorry this took so long to fill but I’m finally writing again!! School has been keeping me busy but I hope that you enjoy this nonetheless!! Also thank you to @captainrexisboo for being my beta reader for this!!!

Washing Away Memories

Cody x Reader

Warnings: Blood. Mentions of death. Nudity but nothing explicit. Injury. ANGST.

Also you can be added to my taglist here!

He had walked into your quarters without so much of a word coming from him, covered in dirt from the planet below and his posture slouched like he was carrying the weight of the universe on his shoulders. As he slowly removed his armor, you could see the small winces and pauses of pain when he moved too fast or was in an odd position for too long. His blacks were torn in some places and you could see cuts and wounds on his skin beneath them.

“Cody? Are you alright?” You stood up from your desk, slowly walking over to him as his head hung low.

He wouldn’t meet your eye, only looking down at the floor as you approached and not moving an inch since you had spoken, like he was afraid to look up at you and show you the war still raging behind his eyes.

“Cody?” You said, reaching out slowly for one of his wrists. He flinched away from you slightly, his eyes screwing shut as he angled his head as far from you as he could. You could see his lip start to quiver and his body start to tremble. Barely noticeable if you weren’t so close and if he had his armor on, but enough to make your worry spike even more than it already had.

You reach out for his wrist again, grabbing it lightly as your other hand comes up to cup his face, angling it back toward you. His eyes were still shut as the tears that he had been fighting so hard to keep from falling start leaving trails in the dirt that was plastered to his face.

You move your hand from his wrist to grasp his hand, pulling it away at the feeling of something sticky on his glove. Looking down at your own hand, you see it covered in crimson liquid, partially dried and starting to thicken. You head whips back up to look at Cody’s face, switching your gaze back and forth between him and your hand. He has his eyes closed; his face still pointed down. “Cody?” Your voice had picked up a bit of panic at seeing the substance on your hand. “Is this blood?”

The silence from before returns and you see him take a shuddering breath before finally speaking in a low, broken whimper. “It’s not mine….”

There are still tears coming from his closed eyes, falling faster now after his confession. His small whimpers now being the only thing to occupy the deafeningly quiet space.

“Oh, Cody…” Using your thumb, you wipe some of the tears from his cheek, creating a small smudge in the filth that covers him and wrapping your other arm around his back, holding him close as he starts to sob into your shoulder.

“He was just… just a kid- couldn’t have been more than sixteen biologically…” You feel his hands finally come to hold you, fisting the fabric of your shirt as he brings you closer. “Hadn’t…. Hadn’t even earned his paint yet…”

You stand there, just holding him for what feels like hours. Softly petting the back of his head and rubbing soothing circles on his back as you whisper small reassurances into his ear. “I’ve got you, Cody… I’ve got you…” Not wanting the silence to allow the newly formed nightmares to return to the forefront of Cody’s mind.

After a substantial amount of time, his cries start to quiet, his breathing becoming more even as you continue trying to sooth him.

“What can I do for you?” You whisper, still rubbing his back.

He pulls back, his eyes red and puffy and looking as defeated as you had ever seen him. He looks into your eyes for the first time that night, his jaw still trembling and his breathing still more erratic than it should be. “Just… Stay with me… Please… I don’t want to be alone tonight…”

You bring your hand up to his face, cradling it as he leans into your touch. “Of course, my love. Anything for you.” Taking a step back, you kneel down, taking off the rest of the armor from his legs before standing back up. “Do you want to take a shower, or do you just want to go to bed?”

Pausing for a moment, he looks down at his hands, seeing the dust and blood that still covered them. Every moment that led to him being covered with so much debris from the battle replaying through his mind all at once in a hurricane of terrors. “I- I want this off of me…”

“Alright,” you say, voice soft and low. “Do you want me to help?”

He nods, taking your hand when you reach out to him and letting you lead him toward the fresher in your quarters.

When you get inside the room, you have him stand, turning on the shower to let the water start to heat up. Once you have done that, you help him remove his blacks, being careful not to disturb the injuries that were littered across his skin.

You press a kiss to his shoulder before another on his lips. “Do you want to get in and I’ll join you in just a second?”

He gives you a small nod before stepping into the shower, facing the stream, and letting out a sigh as the water begins to cascade down his skin, already taking some of the dirt and blood caked onto his skin with it. Some of the tension releases from his shoulders, almost like the water is washing away some of the weight that had made its home there while he was away.

Quickly taking off your clothes, you step into the shower behind Cody, pressing kisses along his shoulders and rubbing your hands up and down his arms. “Think you can turn around for me, baby? Let me wash your hair?”

You switch places with him, standing to the side of the water so that he is getting the full spray on his back.

Bringing your hands up, you angle his head back into the water, making sure that his hair is completely wet. Then, you grab the bottle of shampoo from off the wall, squirting as much as you would need for him into your hands and threading them into his hair, tenderly beginning to massage his scalp.

A low groan comes from his chest as you work the soap into his hair, his shoulders relaxing, and his eyes fluttering shut at your fingers on his scalp. He leans into your touch, enjoying the first chance he has had to relax in weeks. The first chance he had to think about something other than the war he was forced to be a part of since his creation.

Once you finished, you helped him lean his head back into the stream, using your hand to shield his eyes from the soap as it rinsed off of his head.

You quickly repeat the process with conditioner, making sure that the water stays hot, and that Cody is still alright with your hands on him.

“You still ok?” you asked, moving your hands to massage the muscles in his neck as the last bits of soap washed off of his body. “Is it alright if I wash the rest of your body now?”

He gives you a small hum in confirmation, the tension he still holds quickly disappearing as you work your fingers over his muscles.

Slowly, you take your hands away, grabbing a soft cloth and running it under the water before gathering soap on it. You begin to delicately drag it across his skin, putting enough pressure to gather up all of the grime that had accrued on him during the weeks long campaign and wash it away, hoping that with each pass of the cloth, some of the horror behind it would be washed away as well. As you worked over his skin, you made sure to be extra careful around his wounds, trying your best to not give Cody more pain than he already had.

When you got to his hands, you made sure to be additionally tender, massaging them in your own as you cleaned the blood off of them that had soaked through the material of his blacks. As if cleaning them off would clean the guilt from Cody’s mind, making him forget the images of the little brother dying in his arms. Once they were clean, you pressed a kiss to his palms before continuing on to the rest of his body, hoping to attach his hands to at least one positive thing before the day is finished.

You turned to him once you had finished, kissing his cheek and bringing your forehead against his. “I’m gonna step out so that I can get you clean clothes and a fresh towel. Alright? Do you think you can finish rinsing off while I go do that?”

“Mhm…”

With his confirmation you step away, grabbing a towel and quickly drying yourself off. You walk back out into the room, throwing on your own clothes before making your way over to the chest at the end of your bed where you kept an extra pair of Cody’s blacks and the set of pajamas that you had bought for him the last time you were both planet side.

On your way back to the fresher, you dimmed the lights, knowing that Cody would most likely just want to sleep once he was dressed.

You grabbed a fresh towel from the shelf, stepping back inside the steamy room, the water still running as Cody finished.

When the water finally shut off, you stood ready with the towel, wrapping it softly around Cody once he stepped out and helping him dry off. He flinched, letting out a pained grunt as it ran over one of the cuts on his back, prompting you to grab all the bacta and gauze that you had in your room and to start carefully tending to his wounds.

He was silent through all of it, the only sound being the buzzing of the fluorescent light from the ceiling and the occasional wince as you patched him up.

With every wound you patched up, you pressed a kiss to it once you had finished, wanting to just give the love to Cody’s body that he had never had the privilege of possessing. You wanted to take every single bit of pain and lock it away, making sure that it could never dare to come close to the man you loved again. You wanted to make Cody forget everything he had seen and experienced and replace it with the happiness and love that he deserved. Because to you, he deserved the universe, and you were going to do everything you could to give him even a fraction of that if you could.

After applying bacta to every wound you could find, you gave him a once over, checking to make sure that you had not missed anything before helping Cody put on the soft, 212th colored pajamas that you had gotten him.

He visibly deflated before your eyes, all of his tension melting away as he let out a breath like he had been holding it for hours.

You put your hands on either side of his face, kissing every part of it that you could reach and tracing his scar with your lips before finally landing on his mouth. His arms wrapped around your middle, pulling you close to him as he pulled his lips away and buried his face in your shoulder.

“Thank you…” he whispered out, his voice being that of a man beaten down by the galaxy around him. “Thank you for everything, cyare…”

You take a step back, just enough so that you can look at his face before placing another kiss on his forehead. “Always, my love.” Taking a hold of his hand, you begin to lead him back out into the main room. “Let’s get some sleep.”

He nods, the tiredness clear in his face as he crawls into your bed.

As you settle in next to him, you wrap your arms around his body, giving him a sense of safety and overwhelming love before pressing a kiss to the back of his neck as he cuddles into you.

You feel him squeeze the hand that is wrapped around his waist, bringing it close to his chest and kissing your fingertips. “I love you, cyare. Thank you… for being here for me when I get back. You… You don’t know what it means to me.”

Giving his hand a quick squeeze, you kiss the back of his neck once more, curling in tighter to him as his breathing begins to even out. “I love you, Cody. You deserve the universe and more, and I will always be here to try and give that to you when you come back to me.” You close your eyes, feeling his heartbeat under your hand and his warmth against your skin as you fell asleep behind him. “I promise my love. I will always be here for you.”

#commander cody x reader #commander cody x gender neutral reader #commander cody #washing away memories #my writing #blood tw #death tw #nudity #injury tw

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make-me-imagine · 3 years

Text

Grief

Sensory Prompts: ‘Hollow feeling in your chest when you feel sad’ + ‘Fingertips brushing hair from your face’

Requested by: Anon (2 years ago; BIG YIKES lol)

Pairing: Spock x reader

Gender: Neutral Words: 1,557

Triggers: Angst. Mentions of fighting, and fake character death.

Star Trek Taglist: @starfleetimagines

Sensory Prompts From here (written by me)

Note: I haven’t written angst in a while, so I hope this came out good.

As the water from the shower washed over you, you tried to relax, letting the warm water relax your body, the water stung as it ran over your cuts, but you didn’t care. Your eyes closed, but flashes of what happened on the planet kept bugging you.

Bringing your hands to your face you breathed out, trying to stop the memories from rushing taking over. Staring down at the drain, you see the dirt, grime and dried blood wash away, but the pain and guilt didn’t, as much as you wanted it to.

Stepping out of the shower, your chest seemed hollow, the empty weight of sadness filing you body, shoulders heavy, body sore. Your movements slow as you got dressed, and made your way to your bed, sitting down on the floor, back pressed against your bed as you stared at the walls around you. Finally letting the memories of what passed that day flood back.

*Flashbacks*

“This planet is amazing” you wondered out-loud, the rest of your away team gazing at the surroundings “Lets get some samples of these herbs, Dr. McCoy said they might prove useful”

“I wouldn’t mind living here” your friend Zamara said as they stood next to you, meeting your eyes as you shared a smile.

It seemed like such a peaceful planet; there were no signs of any life except small land creatures. The planet was covered in foliage and minerals. The mission was supposed to be simple, collect and study. Nothing was supposed to go wrong.

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

“Y/n come in” Zamara’s voice was patchy, interference making it hard to understand them.

“What’s up?”

“I’m finding un..al readings coming from a cave to the south of yo- ..osition; I think it might be- rare ore interf-ng with the equ-ent, permission to inv-igate”

A strong feeling in the gut told you it wasn’t that, don’t let them go in alone “Wait for me, I’ll be there in a few minutes”

“Alright”

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

“Leit- t- we’r under-...-mara....hurt-....help-”

You could hear distress in the ensigns voice as they tried to contact you. The sound of phaser fire coming through the coms, as well as from their location. Running to meet them, you rounded the corner, when you did you weren’t prepared for what you would see.

Two members of your away team were crouched behind a large rock, including the ensign who tried to talk to you.Your eyes landing on Zamara, on the ground, injured, but hopefully alive.

Next your gaze moved to the hostile aliens in the entrance to the cave, firing advanced weapons at your team.

You yelled at them, gaining their attention “Stand down! You are attacking a starfleet team, stand down!’

The aliens responded with more weapons fire at you. Tapping your com’s you called out “Away team to Enterprise, I repeat away team to enterprise!”

“This is Captain Kirk to away team, what’s going on down their y/n?”

“We are under attack Captain! Hostile aliens were in a cave that could not be scanned, one officer down, requesting back-up!”

“We’re coming Y/n, hold tight!”

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

More weapons fire, yelling, an explosion. How did these aliens get such powerful weapons, and why are they here, why are they attacking?

Your train of thought was distracted as you were knocked to the ground from another blast the the cliff-side. Taking the chance as the aliens retreated a little further into the cave, re-charging their weapons. You ran to Zamara’s side, quickly grabbing them and dragging them behind a large boulder.

Checking their pulse you contacted starfleet again “Where’s my backup!?”

“We’re almost there Y/n, hold on” the voice was that of Spock’s, he was coming too. He was almost here, just hang on.

Your gaze landed on a nearby ensign, clearly dead. Your heart clenched as you felt a wave of grief and guilt. They were here because of you.

Peaking over the rock, you fired more at the aliens as they tried to advance.

“Y/n” the voice was quiet, staggered.

Looking down you see Zamara gaining consciousness as they stared up at you. “Hey, good you’re awake, just hold on”

“It was so sudden. They came..out of the cave....all at once-”

“Shh, shh, it’s okay, you can tell me later, just hold on, ach!”

You crouched down as a blast hit the stone in front of you, sending sharp stones blasting through the air. You grunted, anger and fear rising in your chest.

Hearing the explosive weapon charging again, you felt fear grip you. Grabbing a hold of your friends shoulder, you pulled them back before shielding them with your body.

The explosion was quick and loud, sending both you and your friend tumbling. As the debris from the stone fell down on top of you. You grunted as you struggled to see around you. Looking down at your friend you turned them over “Hey, Zamara are you-”

Your breath hitched in your throat as you saw them. Eyes open, but no life left in them. You checked their pulse, only to find nothing. Your heart seemed to crumble in your chest as your friends non-gazing eyes met your own.

Hearing something behind you, you look up, seeing a weapon pointed directly into your face. The aggressive stare of one of the aliens peering into your eyes.

Just as you thought you were about to die, the alien was shot down, your gaze landing on Spock running towards you, the Captain himself and other officers behind him, firing and protecting the rest of your team.

Spock kneeling down next to you, checked the pulse of your friend. Feeling nothing, and realizing they were dead, his eyes met your own, seeing the repressing grief deep in you eyes.

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

The scanner was being waved over your body by Dr McCoy as Spock and Captain Kirk watched from nearby. Another medical officer patching the cuts you had acquired during the attack. The rest of your team being treated by others. Your away team consisted originally of 7, now consisted of 4.

You had experienced death before. Seen innocent starfleet officer’s lives taken. But this was the first time you knew them, this was the first time it was your team. This was the first time you lost a friend. A very good friend.

This was the first time you tried to save a friend, and failed.

*Now*

A tear rolled down your cheek as you came back to the present, your eyes burning from the sadness that was finally taking over. Memories of Zamara’s death plaguing you.

You almost didn’t hear the signal at your door, the persistent knocking, not until you heard a familiar muffled voice from the other side.

“Y/n, are you in there?” You could hear the concern in Spock’s voice. An emotion he only ever shows for a few.

You didn’t rise from the floor, but instead called out “Come in”, unsure if he really heard you.

The doors sliding open almost immediately told you he did. As he stepped inside, the door sliding closed behind him. His gaze roamed over the room before landing on your form on the floor.

Hair still wet, eyes red, tear presently rolling down your cheek. A deep feeling of regret and pain moved through Spock’s body as he slowly approached you. You looked so fragile, and tired.

Kneeling down in front of you, he met your eyes for a long moment before his hand slowly rose, as he brushed aside a piece of hair from your face, his fingertips gently gliding across your skin before he tucked the hair behind your ear.

Next, he brought his hand to your face, gently wiping way the tears still present on your face. His voice came out quietly, gentle “I’m sorry. I...know, you must be hurting, and grieving for Zamara, but. I need to make sure you know that this wasn’t your fault.” his eyes stared deeply and softly into your own “There was no way for you or your team to know of the aliens presence. No matter what guilt you might be feeling, it is false. This was not your fault, and no one involved believes it to be.”

Another tear fell down your cheek, immediately stopped by Spock’s hand as he wiped it away. He wished he could take the pain away, teach you to push it down until it fades, but he knew you were too...human, to do that. He knew that you needed to grieve, and he insisted he be there to help you through it.

Though it took him a while after the two of you entered into a relationship, to admit he loved you. He really did. And he would be there for you through whatever happens, just as you were there for him.

He felt a pang of relief as you moved forward, wrapping your arms around him as you pulled him closer. Spock wrapped his arms around you as well as he now sat fully on the floor, pulling you closer as he let you cling to him. He was relieved when you started to cry, relieved that you trusted him enough to show him this part of you.

And you felt the weight of grief and guilt lift, not all the way, but slowly beginning to fade as Spock wrapped his arms around you and continued to quietly comfort you. Reminding you again and again that it wasn’t your fault, and that he was there, and he wouldn’t leave you alone, ever.

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

Hope you guys liked it, not sure if it was super angsty, but I tried lol.

If you’d like to be added to a taglist for any character or fandom let me know.

Also, please consider reblogging, as that is one of the best ways to help share creators work past their followers!~ Comments and likes are appreciated as well :) <3

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namelesswolffreak · 3 years

Text

"Boyfriends"

I've been working on this story concept for....3-4 years now and I've finally managed to work everything out to the point I'm confident in posting this little blurb of the main characters. So, I hope you enjoy and feel free to ask questions about them and their world.

Context: This takes place in a world of super powered people heavily inspired by MHA / Marvel / Miraculous. Waker (Way-kur) Atlas is Dare City's main hero who is put through quite a lot on a daily to weekly basis trying to beat the baddies and Cyrus Fauthrin is his infamous thief arch nemesis turned lover and best friend who causes trouble around the city just to get the Hero's attention.

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

The melancholy of the day was waning on Waker as he patrolled the quiet streets of one of Dare’s many neighborhoods which was quite unusual considering every seven seconds a villain was after his head. The sun was barely above the clouds, no one was really awake yet and the only thing that accompanied him was his footsteps as he jumped, hopped and skipped to the next platform he summoned under his feet. He happened to be bounding over Lay Wind Park, the foxes fast asleep in their dens to his disappointment, but the Hero Monuments were still a sight to behold in the early sunrise as they shone with brilliance in what little light was filtering over the surrounding hillsides.

The wind blew past his frizzed locks as he stood above the park near a tree in the shade, expression steeled and focused as he watched for signs of trouble as he waited for a certain someone to arrive. Today was uneventful and rather slow, the kind of day Waker preferred if he were being honest. Heaven knew being bored all day was ten times better than returning home to the countless kitchen sink surgeries he’d have to do with worn needles and his mother’s thread pinching into his skin as he sewed up bloodied wounds full of shrapnel and debris. Much better. The birds were chirping a happy, lazy song as they flew by on the breeze and the distant hum of an awakening city filled the natural ambiance of cicadas and crickets quite nicely as he watched and waited. He dare let out a sigh as the scene took hold of him fully, a warmth washing over him that he hadn’t felt in the recent weeks.

Which wouldn’t be for long as the rustling of tree leaves and a “Boo!” have him falling off of his platforms and hurtling towards the ground with an embarrassingly shrill scream.

“Waker!” A concerned voice follows as a blue blur dives after him.

Ground spiraling as he falls, Waker braces for impact, too late to conjure any platforms beneath him to break the fall so, he readies himself, waiting for the hurt and pain that would surely follow with some scrapes and bruises…………...But it never comes. He unscrunches his eyes and removes his arms from his head to see a blue, sparkling light surrounding him.

Irritation and embarrassment take over him immediately.

His face turns a copious amount of red as he’s carefully scooped up in pale arms that hold him close and, humiliatingly enough, in bridal style. Oh god no, he curses mentally, murmuring a soft “No…” into his shield of arms. This was so not how he wanted to show up in front of his partner after their long and grueling few weeks of not being able to see each other outside of villain fights and breaks in between their testing week.

The sudden warmth of a chest presses against his side and the delicate rhythm of a frantic heart race beneath his one hand as the other quickly grabs for his cape to hide his strawberry cheeks. There was no way in hell he was letting ‘he knew who’ see him in such a state, there was no possible way he could let the witch-like thief catch him like this. A brave hero didn’t get scared or spooked by rustling leaves and the word boo! Absolutely absurd! Though a voice in the back of his mind said he already had.

“You are such a fucking clutz, I swear.” And a huge scaredy cat, the blue-clad ravenette doesn’t say aloud, but his tone implies anyways. “I should take you to my ballet classes sometime, maybe then you’d actually learn some balance.” The comment only makes him clutch the soft fabric tighter around himself.

He’s loathing the thought of unveiling himself now, but he knows he’s been caught, his normally stoic or serious persona now broken and practically burned away as he knows his cape isn’t doing much to hide his warm face or the tenseness of his grip. Plans to forever sink himself into a hole where nobody could possibly ever find him again after this mess are shortly abandoned for now and gaining courage Waker swallows the huge lump in his throat and tries to cleverly reply. “H-hey, what’s a-....What’s up, Witch Boy?” And he knows the intended playfulness doesn’t go through as he’s met with a narrowed glare.

The other isn’t amused. “Witch boy, really? Did I actually scare you that badly that you lost a couple of brain cells?”

“Shu-shut up, Cyrus!” He defends as this “Cyrus” just sighs at him, though his stare more sly than pointed now.

“Get out of that stupid thing so I can see your face.” He says with a tremble in his voice that Waker can definitely tell is laughter, the prick. “Or I’ll totally drop you again.” And like hell he will, Waker knows, but he takes the threat seriously nonetheless and loosens his grip on the cape just enough to see the Ravenette’s brilliant and ever playful smile.

For a moment Waker just stares and admires him, those brilliant blues sparkling, no, literally sparkling as he says something Waker doesn’t catch. The sun is framing his face so perfectly in the light, highlighting those perfectly red cheeks he would love to kiss every morning, and the slight upturn of his lips as he smiles down in reverence at him, and the slow flutter of his lashes that compliment his features nicely. Though braided off to the side Cyru’s hair never fails to make him look so ethereal as the gentle morning breeze brushes back his loose strands. Waker swears it looks like its made up of space itself when he lets it go during the night time, convincing himself he can see stars within the strands when he stands beneath the moonlight. It doesn’t take much to make the hero swoon regarding his partner nowadays. Daydreams of peaceful nights alone on the couch watching movies together after his nightmares keep him awake and alert run through his mind, or the times Cyrus has saved him from getting beaten to a pulp and they spent hours talking over stitching him back together about nothing at all, and every single time Cyrus has stuck up for him at school, reminding him of the warmth this person carries with them and all the love and affection he’s constantly showered in when they’re together. It’s strange how much Cyrus has changed over the past few months from raging emo to ride or die friend, but he wouldn’t change it for the world. He doesn’t even try to stop the lofty sigh that escapes his lips as more dear memories cross his mind.

And Cyrus is all too quick to recognize that dumb look on his face.

“Oh, hell no!” Is the only warning he gets before being promptly dropped, this time no blue aura to save him from hitting the dirt below, landing with a thud. “Not this early in the morning!” Though Waker could have sworn Cyrus was sharing the same look with him not minutes prior.

“Ow! Why’d you drop me, asshole!?”

Cyrus cocks his hips as he floats there, his wide brimmed conical now covering his eyes in an intimidating manner, making him way more menacing than he should considering his current attire. “Oh please, don’t even act like you’re hiding that stupid look on your face, Idiot! I ain’t dealing with your whole sappy dappy act this early in the morning.”

By “sappy dappy” Waker knows exactly what he’s referring to and scowls accordingly. Apparently, holding hands and having morning cuddles while complimenting everything about Cyrus is considered sappy and lovingly disgusting. Well at least to some people, it’s called affection and admiration!

“It’s a look that means I like you, asswipe!” Waker shoots back, malice nowhere to be found in his tone though, barring more on playfulness.

“Do you think I’m in love with you or something!?”

And they then stand there -well float there- in silence, both looking each other in the eyes, narrowed brows testing the other to make the next move or say the next snappy comment. And for a moment it looks as if the words really have cut too deep, but Waker isn’t one to remain serious for long as his shoulders begin to shake, prompting the other to clutch his stomach and stifle a grin as their eyes water over with laughter.

“Oh, no, not me, I could never.” Waker quips, leaning back and hugging both his arms, not caring for the dirt now caking his suit. Cyrus is quick to come back with his own natural snark.

“Pfft, as if! Absolutely not. Me and you, the orange haired frizz ball who kicks my ass more than twice a week over that one time I stole a candy bar? You gotta be fucking with me!” He bellows, Waker taking note of the boy flipping upside down where he floats in the air, his face a contortion of joy and happiness as his ripped dress flows with the wind.

He finds the display rather adorable, recalling that such a thing only occurred by accident when the thief was getting emotional. His inept ability to control his powers never failed to amuse the Hero. The little wrinkle of his nose didn’t quiet his thoughtful admiration either as he blushed in between bouts of giggles.

"I wouldn't have time to be your lover anyways!"

“It’s only 6am, when can I admire my boyfriend so it fits within your busy schedule?”

And the laughter is immediately quieted, a heavy silence filling the air, even the crickets and cicadas falling victim to it. The world is waiting in bated breath as if listening to the drama unfold.

Waker holds in a breath. Oh shit, oh fuck, he really fucked it up this time! Way to go, Atlas, you really did a number on today!

…………

………….

“I-I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to, I just did-”

“It’s ok……” Cyrus breaths out, taking a long drag of air before finally finishing. “It’s….ok.” He manages to lower himself to the ground, dress falling at his sides, and crosses his arms in doing so. “We’re-I’m going to have to get used to it eventually.” He shrugs. “Right?”

There’s a weight to his words as Cyrus steps closer to the redhead that Waker recognizes near immediately. They’ve had this talk before, a talk that has led to a misunderstanding or two between them in the past and a verbal fight at that. The term “Boyfriend.” It was a touchy subject to say the least and while it had been a challenge for even Waker himself to start using it, it also seemed Cyrus was struggling to accept the lofty title. A long time ago before the two even met, the word had a different meaning to it for them both, but Waker had long since come to terms with it himself, but understood Cyrus’ hesitation in saying the word freely. He considered his next words carefully.

“I know you don’t exactly like the ter-”

“It’s not that I don’t like it Waker…..”

“I know, Cy, but.” Failing to put his thoughts into words Waker scrambles forward to catch Cyrus’ hands in his own, pecking each delicately, square on the knuckles, gauging his reaction whilst he does so. When Waker is met with a soft smile, he returns it, though his much softer and kinder in Cyrus’ eyes. “I shouldn’t have said it when you’re not ready. Just because I moved past it doesn’t mean you have.” Noticing his smile slipping he clumsily adds in, “And that’s ok! Really, it’s ok and I mean, and I love you and-uh, I get it and I mean I just say boyfriend because that’s what everyone else says, expects- wait no- I didn’t mean to phrase it like that uh-I don’t really get the need for a title for what we have anyways, like so dumb right!?”

Followed by more ridiculous rambling that has Cyrus covering his mouth trying not to giggle. It’s a nervous habit that has come to amuse the thief to no end. “And-it not like it means anything to us, its just there for other people so they know that um, we, us, you and I are an um item I guess wow that was cheesy and dumb and I am so sorry that you have to put up with me oh god I’m rambling and no, don’t look at me like that. I’m doing the thing again aren’t I-” Shaking with laughter again Cyrus has to put a hand on his shoulder to get him to shut up because he knows if he doesn’t Waker could go on well into the night and has before. It didn’t help that he could feel the tremble of the others fingers, realizing Waker was going to throw himself into an anxiety attack if he didn’t.

“Waker!” And Waker promptly closes his mouth, panic clear in his eyes that Cyrus quickly combats by brushing strands of orange out of his face and behind his ear. “Just take a deep breath.” And Waker does, following the instruction intently. “And let it out, slowly.” And Waker follows that too, looking that much calmer as Cyrus pulls him closer. “Slowly.” He rubs his thumbs over Waker’s hands. The trembling is still present, but less so. “There you go.” And doesn’t stop telling him to breath calmly until he feels Waker’s grip relax in his own.

Delicately and softly, each flyaway is combed back into place only to immediately pop out again, but Waker appreciates the sentiment anyways and Cyrus has no problem being given an excuse to keep combing through such lovely soft tufts. He loves the soft mane of fluff on his partner’s head that even since their first meeting has remained as untamed and wild as ever. -Such a shame he always ties it back when he’s on duty though- It just adds to the contrast between his actual self and hero persona, the sweet and endearing ball of anxiety vs the serious and battle ready hero of Dare city who couldn’t catch a break. And he wouldn’t be ashamed to admit to which one he preferred.

“You don’t need to tell me-er.” Waker quickly corrects, trying not to sound patronizing. “I don’t need you to explain yourself Cy. You-we don’t need to have a name if that’s what you want, that’s what I’m trying to say. Official or unofficial or whatever, I won’t treat you any different.”

“I know Waker. I…..I really want to call you that, just I-.......I just like what we have right now and-”

Waker just pecks him on the cheek quickly and pulls away to pat at a spot on the ground, looking longingly back up at him. A soundless “You don’t want to lose me.” goes unsaid as Cyrus complies, Waker taking the shorter one in his arms once more.

It wasn’t a matter of Cyrus being afraid to commit, though maybe it was, not even he was sure of what was going with himself anymore, but a fear that the wonderful friendship he’d built up with the hero would end or change or just not be the way it is now because they suddenly started calling each other boyfriends. He’s had it happen one too many times at this point, every one of his previous “boyfriends” changing everything once they started dating, acting as if kissing and romantic outings were supposed to be their only interactions from now on. They were no longer interested in the random silly things he found on the internet or just hanging out doing whatever, but were interested in using him, his body, parading him around and rubbing it in peoples faces, being denied having fun if it wasn’t their idea of “fun” and more. Cyrus' stomach curls remembering being ignored for weeks to months at a time because he wasn’t feeling up to being in bed with them or awkwardly sitting off to the side while his one boyfriend at the time showed him off to his friends and bragged. It was the same guy who he used to play videogames and eat cookies with on the weekends, talking about anything and everything…...It hurts him to realise there probably was never a friendship there to begin with. Just an elaborate ruse to get him into bed at some point.

And that was one thing Cyrus feared when they had held hands for the first time after awkwardly admitting to harboring feelings for each other after the high of a fight they were forced to join sides on. Never had the thief felt more relieved that his feelings were reciprocated, but also more scared that he had just ruined the one healthy relationship he managed to make in those many months spent together.

Cyrus removes his hat and huddles under Waker’s chin, placing his head right on his heart that gives out a steady, comforting rhythm and brightens when the taller of the two puts his head on him in return. No, Cyrus thinks, this is different.

A long silence falls between them as they cuddle in each other's arms, just watching the sun come up. Basking in each other’s presence, taking in the warmth of their bodies pressed together in this nice early morning, and relishing in the calm which was far and few in between with their double lives and they were thankful. There’s no need to exchange words now as a quiet understanding befalls them both.

It’s only after the sun seems to peak at the crest of the hillsides does Waker make himself heard again.

“Is that why you dropped me?” And Cyrus blinks for a quick second, processing the question before understanding and then playfulness cross his expression.

“No it’s because you’re a dunce.” He huffs. “And fucking heavy as hell.”

Waker chooses to ignore that last bit. “But I’m your dunce.” He boops his nose.

“Damn, straight you are.” And Cyrus retaliates with a kiss on his.

Boyfriend or just “friend who I like to kiss and hold hands with sometimes”, Waker loves him and Cyrus doesn’t doubt that for a second.

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bubble-tea-bunny · 5 years

Text

where the grass is greener

[sebastian x reader]

author’s note: just a quick thing i wrote over the last couple days, idk where the sudden inspo came from but enjoy <3

word count: 4,532

The twinkling lights of Zuzu City are the stars of some faraway galaxy, and Sebastian wishes he were an astronaut.

He’s yearning for the great beyond, and that’s the natural course of things, isn’t it? To look past the edges of the world within reach, and hope to one day explore the unknown, a search for life, for the future, for a place to call home. The rolling hills of the valley never seem more restrictive or suffocating than when he stands here, high on a cliff, elevated enough to view the bustling city. For a while now he has felt an urge deep in his gut to go there and experience a life so different from his own as it is currently, with the noise and the vastness. The mountains are walls keeping him contained and in the hours that bleed into days that bleed into weeks, he resolves that he’ll break past them when he’s older, and he’ll set course for his goal, for those glittering skyscrapers. What should he name his space shuttle?

Winters in Pelican Town are a special kind of cold, colder than normal due to the basin-like structure with the mountains on either side. The cold crawls in, settling at ground level, and the heat rises and seeps out. Pelican Town, sitting right in the middle, is forced to deal with the remaining chill.

This morning, the tip of Sebastian’s nose is flushed red from the harsh winter wind. His preference for not wearing scarves leaves him with nothing with which to shield the sensitive skin of his face. It may reasonably be believed, then, that this is cause to hasten his trek to the town center, but his decision to take the long way into town serves evidence to the contrary.

An old man had once owned the large farm to the west, but since his passing, the weeds have festered, and the few buildings on the property are in various states of disrepair. Sebastian walks by on occasion, observing the debris and decay. In winter, the weeds have rotted away and left the wide field barren save for rocks and stray logs. But by spring, they’d be back, and perhaps the new bursts of color from the trees still standing there will lessen the eyesore the steading has become.

Some nights Sebastian comes here to sit with himself and think because he knows he won’t be disturbed. No one comes this way anymore. He likes to sit on the edge of the porch and observe the expanse before him. The small house behind him has darkened windows, once illuminated with a soft yellow glow in the late hours. If Sebastian were to pull open the door (which would require some tools, given that it’s been boarded up, though acquiring them wouldn’t be an issue given his mom’s profession) and glance inside, there would only be cobwebs and silence.

The ponds on the property are frozen and snow clings to dead tree branches and Sebastian can see it all even without the aid of lights, for there are hardly any in this tiny town. Instead, the moon is the main source, a gentle white glow washing over the farm. Sebastian takes a long drag from his cigarette and exhales steadily. The cloud of smoke looks like a puff of air similarly breathed out in cold weather like this, except without the numbness he loves to find in the stick between his fingers. His brows furrow and he glances down, flicking off the ash. It lands on his jeans. Is he just tired all the time, or has he been carrying a pack of sleeping aids in his pocket?

Tired of this place… Sebastian huffs, is faintly amused, is exhausted.

Spring arrives and with it, another year bundled together with another bout of wishful thinking. Sam’s sitting by his desk, one leg crossed over the other and strumming lazily at his guitar. Sebastian sprawls out on the bed, staring at the ceiling and focusing on the sensation of the blood rushing to his head. They’ve been looking into securing a small gig in the city, nothing too big, but something to get their name out there. It stirs Sebastian’s thoughts of moving to Zuzu City permanently, and he loses himself in them as Sam experiments with riffs for the opening of their newest song.

A wrong note is plucked and Sam curses under his breath, then with a heavy sigh he sits up straight to stretch out his spine. During this momentary break, he seems to remember something, for once he relaxes, he grabs Sebastian’s attention.

“Hey, did you hear?”

Sebastian hums and he isn’t certain whether it’s meant to be a hum of question (Hear what?) or of half-hearted approval (That progression sounded good). Perhaps it’s neither, merely a signal to show he’s actually awake, listening for whatever Sam has to say.

“Someone’s moving onto the farm this week.”

Upon this revelation, Sebastian feels a mild irritation. He’d enjoyed having time to himself on that property. It offered an isolation he couldn’t get anywhere else in town, since he was basically the only person to bother passing through. The only ones to know about his late night visits to the abandoned farmstead are Sam and Abigail, but they don’t interrupt him when he’s there, understanding his need for space. Now, however, Sebastian would have to return to the train tracks.

“So the old man did have relatives after all,” he comments quietly.

The reason nothing had been done to the property is that no one in Pelican Town had the authority. After the previous owner’s death, the land had come into the possession of his family. The news had been passed along to said family a while ago, but there wasn’t a response, nor did anyone even come to appraise the farm with the intention of selling it. So there it remained, untouched for months, long enough that some grew skeptical that anyone would ever come to reclaim it.

Sam chuckles. “Guess so. But you have to wonder why now.”

“Yeah…”

If Zuzu City is a galaxy, you’re an asteroid drifting away from that system into the vacuum of space, floating aimlessly until you’re pulled into the orbit of another. And perhaps it is your aspirations and dreams of what you hope to find in this sleepy town that reside within the shooting star Sebastian sees pass overhead a few nights later, outshining the rest who hang in place.

Though if Sebastian’s honest, he has no idea what dreams might involve the valley and the town. It might be a great place for tourists to visit, sure, to bask in the quiet and the freshness, a temporary change of pace from the city. But for him, the quiet is too overbearing to stay here, and he wants to get away. He’d like to switch places with you. You, for some reason, have growing interest in the country life, and he has always had vested interest in the city life. A fair trade, right?

You’ve got quite the fixer-upper to take care of, that’s for certain. However, the sheer amount of work it will require to get the farmstead in an acceptable state doesn’t appear to deter you. You make many trips into town to buy supplies, and Sebastian has seen you when you stopped by his mom’s shop, the two of you working out blueprints for adding a new water well here or a chicken coop there.

The first time he spotted you had been in passing as he ascended the stairs from his room with the plan to get lunch from the kitchen (his first meal of the day). He heard the front door open and close and his mom’s friendly greeting, and he turned to see you walk right up to the counter she stood behind.

You didn’t look like someone from the city. He wouldn’t have guessed that you were if he hadn’t been told previously by Sam, who’d heard it from his mom, who’d heard it from Pierre. You wore a yellow t-shirt beneath light blue overalls (scuffs and dirt marks already marred the denim), the bottoms of which were rolled up neatly, and a pair of dirtied work boots. A red backpack sat on your shoulders and you had your hair pulled back into a messy ponytail.

He briefly listened to your conversation, and you sounded bubbly, excited as you shared your ideas for repairing the farm. And he still might not understand why you had the dreams you did of leaving the city and coming to Stardew Valley, but they’re yours, and you’re making them real, and he’d never fault anyone for that.

Day by day, new life is breathed into the steading you’ve come to call your own. The rocks and logs have been cleared out and you’ve set aside a small section to grow crops. There’s a fenced off area designated to be the site of a new chicken coop, with work beginning tomorrow. You even have a dog now, a stray Marnie came across and brought to your doorstep. Her name’s Daisy. She follows you into town sometimes.

Sebastian sees you often but hasn’t talked to you, other than a curt hello during your first meeting. The short of it is that he doesn’t have much interest in being your friend. He likes his small friend group, and when he isn’t hanging out with them, he’s perfectly content to be alone in his room. Maru brings up over dinner how nice you are, having stopped by the clinic earlier to drop off a basket of strawberries. Then she turns to him and mentions how he really should talk to you because You’ll like her, she’s sweet! But instead of convincing him, it does the opposite and only continues to dissuade him, and he merely sighs, shrugging noncommittally.

Sam and Abigail have taken a liking to you too. They wave you over on a Friday night at the saloon, and you join them in the game room. You excuse yourself from a conversation with Gus and walk over, but once you see Sebastian, you slow down, standing by the doorway. Grinning politely, you lift a hand to wave and give a quiet hello. Evidently you’ve been able to sense Sebastian’s disinterest in you, having kept a similar distance as he at any other time. But tonight, given Sam and Abigail’s invitation, such a distance would be impossible to maintain.

The two of them tell you to relax, and Abigail assures with a laugh Don’t worry, Sebastian doesn’t bite! and you chuckle good-naturedly but Sebastian can surmise you are nervous. For Sam and Abigail’s sakes, he will be a good sport and be friendly. He’s not so childish as to carry on as if you aren’t there. So with a smile, he grabs another pool stick for you.

“We can reset the game,” he informs you as you gently take the stick. “Sam was getting his ass kicked; I was expecting him to ask for a do-over soon anyway.”

“Wha—I was not!”

After that, Sebastian is considerably less averse to speaking with you if you happen to run into each other. He’s still curt, and never tries to carry on a conversation longer than the basic hello’s and how-are-you’s. You don’t push or pry either, to get him to open up, and he appreciates that. You understand he likes his space, and you let him have it.

Ultimately, it’s Sam who encourages him to get to know you better, and he won’t take no for an answer. She’s got plenty of stories to tell about the city, he remarks. I’m sure she’d be happy to share them if you asked.

Sebastian begrudgingly agrees to have an actual conversation with you the next time he’s able to, and he already knows he can’t lie and pretend that he has because you’re friends with Sam, and Sam will inevitably ask if you and he have talked lately. Though ironically, after this, Sebastian doesn’t see you a lot. The end of the season has you scrambling to harvest and ship the remaining crops, and your farm has grown quickly since you’ve been here, which means you’re out in the field most days.

It isn’t until the final day of summer that Sebastian gets the chance. The appearance of the moonlight jellies has everyone out on the beach this evening. Multiple lanterns have been placed on the water to provide better illumination, both for the purpose of viewing the jellyfish and to ensure no one accidentally slips off the edge of the docks. You’re one of the last to arrive, looking tired but satisfied as you speak with Elliott. You make your rounds saying hi and sheepishly brushing off comments on your diligence in preparing the farm for the next season.

Conversations die down to quiet murmurs as the ethereal glow of the jellyfish illuminates the water. Sebastian notices you in his peripherals coming to a stop a few feet away, sitting down and letting your feet dangle over the edge. He hesitates momentarily, but takes a deep breath, resolving himself to just do it, and, sticking his hands in his pockets, he walks towards you.

His boots thud quietly on the wood but if you notice, you don’t react. Not until he talks.

“No Daisy tonight?”

You blink and glance up to see him standing next to you, at a far enough distance that you don’t need to crane your head back painfully to meet his eyes. At his question, you smile lopsidedly and shake your head.

“No, she was too tired to come. She’s been working hard all day.” Usually Daisy accompanies you to the beach, running up and down the shore while you get comfortable on the docks, fishing rod and bag of bait in hand.

Sebastian smiles too, then points at the space to your left. “Mind if I join you?”

“Oh, of course!” You scoot over slightly as Sebastian sits down. The jellyfish are closer now.

“I was thinking of bringing her tomorrow,” you continue the original topic regarding your dog. “To take in that crisp fall air.” The humidity of summer had been fading this past week, leaving in its wake a colder, fresher breeze.

“I bet she’d really like that.” Sebastian might not have much to say, but what he does, he finds himself saying with ease. Perhaps it’s due to to the relief of tension now that he’s finally talked to you past a few courteous remarks, that he’s no longer anticipating the moment because it has already come to pass. And suddenly the prospect of talking to you more doesn’t seem so bad, despite his initial reservations.

“I hope so,” you respond quietly. You flash him a quick smile, then you both turn your attention on the ocean.

The approaching jellyfish are soundless, and with everyone silent, all that can be heard is the gentle lapping of the waves on the support beams of the docks. Spots of light move beneath the surface, the blurry forms of moonlight jellies venturing closer. They pass beneath your dangling feet and the lanterns on the water are poor competition for these creatures.

Sebastian feels you tap on his shoulder a couple of times to grab his attention, and he glances at you. But you draw his attention back to the jellyfish, pointing at one in the distance. Whereas most of the jellies are blue, as is their natural coloring, you’ve spotted a lone green jellyfish. Sebastian smiles and whispers you have a good eye. He’s not sure if anyone else has noticed, but he doesn’t bother to speak up, the silence so full of awe and wonder that he doesn’t want to break it.

The jellyfish congregate near the docks, as if to say goodbye, then slowly they drift back out to sea, and maybe the galaxy called Pelican Town has its own twinkling lights right here.

Green leaves fade to brown in the following days. They detach from the branches and float to the ground, and they’re the satisfying crunch beneath Sebastian’s shoes. The temperature has dropped quickly, and many townsfolk are bundling up to fend off the impending winter chill. The Stardew Valley fair comes and goes, and Sebastian doesn’t understand quite how to appraise the grange displays, but from the passing comments he overhears from Lewis, you put up an impressive arrangement for your first year. However, you don’t win, coming second to Pierre (it was close though).

Sebastian waits to the side as all the participants are given ribbons. You saunter over to him afterward, red ribbon in hand, and Sebastian pulls out his hands from the pocket of his hoodies to clap a few times. You smile shyly and rub the back of your neck, muttering a thanks.

“Hey, not bad for your first go of it,” he commends.

You shrug as you glance down at the ribbon. “I’ll win next year,” you resolve, and he doesn’t doubt it one bit.

The next event on everyone’s minds the second the sun sets on the valley fair is that of Spirit’s Eve. Sam, in particular, has begun to brainstorm costume ideas, first only for himself until he proposes a group costume—for him, Abigail, Sebastian, and you. He starts rattling off movies and games from which to draw inspiration, and Sebastian guesses he was meant to give his approval (or disapproval) for each idea, but Sam is listing them so quickly, excited as he is, that Sebastian hardly gets the opportunity to speak up. But he’s fine with simply listening.

“We really should have a costume contest,” Sam murmurs, voice low in a way that Sebastian isn’t sure if he’s talking to himself. “I wonder if I could ask the mayor to have one this year…”

Sebastian chuckles before he sits up and stands from Sam’s bed. He stretches his arms above his head and glances out the window: it’s completely dark out. The daylight is minimal this time of year, so this fact isn’t satisfactory evidence for the time of night. Rather, it’s the glance at the alarm clock on the nightstand that alerts Sebastian that it’s time to leave, for it’s growing late.

“I think I’m gonna head out,” he announces once Sam’s rambling has quieted down.

Sam nods and stands up as well to walk Sebastian to the front door, but pauses with his hand on the doorknob of his room as he twists around.

“You wouldn’t be taking the long way to your house, would you?”

Sebastian tilts his head. Walking past the farm? He hasn’t done that since you moved in. “I wasn’t planning to. Why?”

“Well it’s just my mom patched up one of [Name]’s shirts and asked if I could give it to her when I see her, but I figure if you’re going to pass by tonight…”

Sebastian nods. “Sure.”

With a smile, Sam picks up a folded long-sleeve from his desk and hands it to Sebastian. “Thanks, man.”

It feels strange to make his way towards the bus stop instead of the park on his way back. He hadn’t taken this route for almost a year, having never been one of the people to pay a visit to your farm. He’s not sure why he never did. Perhaps he didn’t want to be a bother. You’d always given him his space, and he figured it would only be right for him to do the same in return. Though unlike him, you never shy away from visitors, always glad to greet whoever comes over for a quick chat. So perhaps you won’t mind. Hopefully. The last thing he wants is to be in your way.

He’s unsure if you’ll even be awake at this time because you work a lot, and it leaves you exhausted. You don’t tend to stay up late. But as he approaches your farm, he not only spots the light shining through the windows, he sees you sitting on the edge of the porch, right where he has sat so many times prior.

He calls out your name to grab your attention and you look over, smiling when you see him.

“What’s up?" you ask as he comes closer, and your smile widens when he holds out your shirt. “Oh, Jodi’s fixed it! That was fast… I’ll have to bake her a cake to say thanks.” Then you turn to Sebastian and thank him for dropping it off.

But he’s not in a rush to leave, and he inquires what it is you’re doing staying out here so late. You shrug. Just basking in the quiet I guess… and taking it all in. You motion to the field, and Sebastian understands why you’re content to sit and observe the fruits of your labor. He hardly recognizes the expanse, so different from the way it was just a year ago. You’ve poured your love into it and it shows.

“You deserve to be proud of it.”

You smile and the lack of lights conceals the reddening of your cheeks at the compliment. Momentarily your eyes are downcast at the ground, but then they slide back up to observe Sebastian standing there. You take the thermos next to you and hold it out.

“Hot chocolate. Want some?”

He glances at the thermos but shakes his head no thanks, and you retract your hand. The nights are increasingly colder as winter nears, and even if he’s wearing a hoodie and jeans, you’re certain that he’s feeling the brunt of the weather. You speak up again.

“Okay. But it is cold and, well…” You grab the edge of the large, fluffy blanket around your shoulders and stretch out your arm to extend it. “There’s room for two.”

Sebastian catches on to your efforts to ensure he doesn’t freeze, and while he isn’t bothered to stand in the chill for a few minutes, he appreciates your gestures and agrees to this one, closing the gap between you in a several short steps and settling down on the porch. You drop the blanket around his shoulders as well, and both of you look out on the farmstead. In place of weeds and stray rocks are crops and pastures for the animals you’ve started raising. You’ve mentioned before they can be a handful given how many there are when there’s just one of you, but you’re happy to have them. And Daisy helps with the herding at the end of the day, so it could be worse!

The silence is comfortable, but Sebastian finally breaks it.

“Why’d you leave?”

You glance at him, confused as to what he’s referring to. He elaborates.

“The city.” He turns his eyes from the field to you. “What made you want to come to the valley? I mean… it’s so quiet, too quiet sometimes. I’ve always wanted to move to Zuzu City. I want to get away from here. But you did the exact opposite.”

This is the most he has ever opened up to you, and it surprises him how easily it slips out. But it’s too late to take back the words now, as they hang in the air between you, and his breath catches in his throat because, frankly, he’s embarrassed. He’s never this quick to share his feelings, his thoughts, his one wish to leave this sleepy town and not look back. And he’s worried what you’ll say, what you’ll think, of the candidness springing up from nowhere.

You don’t respond immediately, which fuels his concerns even more, but he realizes it’s the time spent putting your own words together carefully, as you smile gently, a reassurance that it’s okay to talk about these things. You’ll listen to whatever he has to say, and you’ll still be there even if he says nothing.

With a deep sigh, you face forward again to survey the farm. And you explain to Sebastian that you’d been in the city your whole life. Before your grandfather passed away, he left you a letter with explicit instructions only to open it when you grew tired of the hustle and bustle, of the fast pace of the city and the same thing day-in, day-out at your corporate job. I thought I could handle it, you muse, but I just cracked one day. One boring day… I can’t even remember if it was a Wednesday or a Friday because they all felt the same. You chuckle dryly.

Sebastian is watching you closely, patiently waiting for you to continue. You’ve followed his lead and opened up, and he has found himself intensely curious to discover more about you.

You take another deep breath, acutely aware of the crisp air that floods your lungs. “In the letter, he called the valley the place where he truly belonged. And I thought maybe it would be the same for me.” You stay quiet after this for several moments, both of you contemplating what you’ve said, but then you perk up and look at him. “Of course, if you want to go to Zuzu City, if you truly feel you’ll thrive there, then go. I’m not trying to dissuade you.”

It’s Sebastian’s turn to give you a smile of reassurance. He has taken no offense to the story you shared. He understands where you come from. People are different, have different desires and goals. But he’s not ready to turn the conversation on himself, still wanting to focus on you, if only for a minute or three longer.

“Is it the same for you?” he inquires quietly. “Do you feel this is where you truly belong?”

It’s a reasonable follow-up to your story, yet it still gives you pause and you mull it over. Even before you speak, Sebastian can already see the answer in the softening features of your face, as you stare at the field you have worked so hard to turn into something worthwhile. He’s not sure what you’re thinking, but he’d like to have penny for your thoughts because your eyes slide towards him now, and they are fond and your smile is soft and he wonders if it means anything.

“Yes,” you state finally. “I think it is.”

You watch each other, and the corner of Sebastian’s lips lifts in a small smile, unable to be contained after witnessing yours. His chest tightens and he wonders if all this—the town and the valley and him and you—if maybe it means everything. Because the air seems fresher and the moon seems brighter and he finds he doesn’t want to lift off in his space shuttle if it takes him farther away from you. So maybe he’ll stay on the ground just a little longer.

He drops his gaze to the thermos you hold. “I’ll take some of that hot chocolate if you’re still offering.”

You laugh and nod, twisting off the lid. “Yeah, here, hold on…”

The autumn evening is beautiful, and for once, the valley feels like home.

#stardew valley imagine #stardew valley sebastian imagine #stardew valley x reader #stardew valley sebastian x reader #stardew valley #bubble-tea-bunny #queue

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sserpente · 4 years

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24 little kinks | Doors 20, 21 🎄

“You remember that chocolate advent calendar I got you for December?”

“I do,” he chuckled and pressed a tender kiss to your temple. “You made me display it in the kitchen so I would not eat it all at once.”

Your smile widened. “How about we get another one?”

Loki raised an eyebrow, only now paying proper attention to the sex toy ad. Then, he frowned. It was an odd mixture of disgust, genuine curiosity and even a hint of arousal flashing in his blue eyes.

A/N: Christmas is approaching! ♥

Loki and you had agreed to celebrate on Christmas Eve already—to enjoy some alone-time together, with mulled wine, hot cocoa, biscuits and a lovely Christmas dinner before you would both join the Avengers at the compound on Christmas morning.

Now you were merely hoping that you would get to celebrate the holiday at all. It had started with a call from the local police, alerting Tony Stark for ‘alien activity’ at 42nd street station. You really wished you had a code for that. Any public disruption containing the word ‘alien’ usually caused a mass panic.

Loki took the call before you could reach your phone, reading Thor on your display. You had just put on those naughty panties with the little vibrator inside which he had pulled from yesterday’s door when his face suddenly fell.

“We are on our way.” He hung up without a word of goodbye.

“What happened?”

“Chitauri. They are as of right now raiding New York.” Fuck.

When you arrived downtown, the areas the police had named were on fire. Debris, broken cars and injured pedestrians scattered on the hard and cracked asphalt. Loki took a deep breath. It was like a flashback, like a distant memory which came crushing back into him with full force, like a blow in the face by Mjölnir.

You could feel his discomfort. Like heat, it was radiating off of him as he clenched his daggers. Suppressing your sudden trembling, you gave him a quick and reassuring nod. You would get through this.

The woman you saved was in a wheelchair, her eyes filled with pure terror. You slit the Chitauri’s throat before her eyes. It was anger that kept you going. Anger at these creatures for their involvement with Loki’s past actions. Anger at what he had had to endure with Thanos and anger at the destruction they caused.

FRIDAY had translated their somewhat cryptic language. They were ready to tear the whole city apart, kill every man, woman and child until the artefact was returned to them. They had learned from their attack on the compound—so they took innocent lives instead.

You blinked away the tears forming in your eyes when you spotted the huge Christmas tree in the middle of a roundabout falling, ripping with it a power line which caused hot sparks to fly. It dropped on a car whose driver had been unable to duck fast enough.

It was almost Christmas, for Christ’s sake. You were going to kill them, each and every one of them.

“We’ll have a cup of mulled wine when this is over, right?” You heard Tony’s voice over the earpiece you were wearing, making you roll your eyes. You admired his optimism, for all you could see right now was death and violence.

Your gaze flicked over to Loki, to see if he was alright. His elegance during battle kept impressing and fascinating you over and over again. Yet at the same time, as you watched his new vibranium daggers slice through the alien’s bodies, you felt incredible fear washing over you. The man you loved, at war…

A blow in the stomach made you gasp for air desperately. You dropped one of your daggers in an attempt to strike at the Chitauri bashing at you from the left. You flew through the air, the impact of its force knocking all air from your body as you were thrown against a fire hydrant. It broke instantly, flooding the street with water and wetting your clothes to the bones. The sudden and brief electricity shock between your legs you ignored.

Your hair stuck to your skin when you stood with shaky legs, checking if you had any broken bones. With all the adrenaline cursing through your veins, you felt not a single sting of pain. Hopefully, this would not cost you a limb later.

You moaned when the Chitauri who had caught you off guard started at you once more, this time trying a frontal attack. You narrowed your eyes at him, ducking its strikes with but a few skilled movements. When you buried your dagger in its calf, it howled, dropping on its knees for you to slice its neck. You will pay for causing this much pain and fear so shortly before Christmas…

Turning around, you dragged your wet form back to Loki. It wasn’t all water. You were bleeding. But it was fine, you were fine. Your eyes met, Loki’s lips slightly parting. You raised your arm, meaning to help him when behind him, another Chitauri approached. They were circling him, one by one—it was clear they recognised him, remembered what he had and had not done all those years ago.

One of them you hit in the head when you threw one of your daggers, watching its dead body drop to the ground in a satisfied manner but you were not fast enough for the second one. Loki had just killed the alien before him and took a deep breath to cast illusions of himself to distract his opponents when the Chitauri behind him already bored its sharp weapon into his lower back from behind.

You screaming his name was the last thing he heard before he lost consciousness.

“(Y/N), can I speak with you for a second?”

Steve was holding his shield so tightly his knuckles turned white. With a worried expression on his face, he nodded at an empty corner on the helicarrier. Only reluctantly did you leave Loki’s side. Thor had helped carrying his unconscious body on board after the remaining Chitauri had been eliminated. Only a few escaped—a handful which would not be able to cause any more harm anytime soon.

The police was alerted, arrangements were made, people were brought to the hospital. All you cared about, however, was Loki. You held his hand with trembling fingers, looking for a sign of consciousness on his beautiful face. Thus far, nothing. There was so much blood on his armour…

“The others and I,” Steve began right away, “we think that maybe you should take a break from your duties as an Avenger.” He phrased it like you were a soldier in a military camp.

“What do you mean by that?”

“I mean that… Loki has strong… feelings for you.”

“And for reasons we do not quite understand,” Tony interrupted, “You have strong feelings for him too.” You rolled your eyes.

“What we’re trying to say is that out there, on the battlefield, on a mission, whatever you want to call it, you’re a threat for one another.”

“What are you talking about? Loki would give his life for me and I would give mine for his! I know what you think about him, Tony, I know you all hate him but even if you don’t want to see it, Loki is a good man, he has a good heart! It would be a Christmas miracle if you guys finally saw that.”

“That’s not my point. You’re constantly worried for each other. Reindeer Games is… possessive over you, he’s like an alpha animal protecting its omega.”

Steve nodded. “His worry for you during a mission could sooner or later cost him his life—or yours.”

Your face fell. You had never seen it like that. It was true—during a fight, Loki and you always looked out for another. You had seen his concerned look before he got stabbed and dropped to the ground like a broken marionette.

FRIDAY had already run a quick test and examined his body as soon as you boarded. The wound was not fatal and hadn’t hit any vital organs but it was deep and severe enough for him to lose consciousness. He would heal again, sooner than later. But that also meant that he was to take it easy for the next few days. You’d make sure he would.

You insisted they dropped you both off at your flat. Thor helped you lay Loki into your bed, then disappeared after a quick goodbye hug. While you wetted a wash cloth and cleaned his face from any dirt and blood, Steve’s words came to your mind again. You’re a threat to one another on the battlefield… was it really true? Was it possibly you could cause harm to each other when you were only trying to protect what you loved?

You swallowed thickly; and it was then Loki opened his eyes and coughed. Reacting quickly, you brought a glass of water to his lips. He swallowed the cool liquid eagerly.

“Thank you,” he choked out.

“How are you feeling?”

“Like I have been stabbed, my sweet. How are you?”

“You’re asking me? I’ve been wearing vibrating panties during a mission.”

“I forgot you were still wearing those.” He stated bluntly, an exhausted and weak smirk tugging at his lips. You let out a relieved sigh. If he was able to be amused by this predicament of yours, his wound could not be that bad.

“The battery died after I got hurled against a fire hydrant.”

And you were still soaking wet. Loki gave you a reproachful look.

“I’m okay, just a few bruises. It’s you we need to take care of. Can you magic off your clothes for me? So I can clean you up.”

He nodded. It took him some effort to use his seidr in this condition but he managed. As soon as he was pretty much stark naked and for just a split second, you admired his godly body, you went to work and gently wiped his skin clean off all the blood.

“What happened? Did they kill the other Chitauri?”

You nodded. “A few are still on the loose. They won’t get very far, as far as I’m concerned, Tony is using FRIDAY right now to track them down. Do you need more water?”

“No. I need you. Lie with me.”

Smiling, you obliged, careful not to come in contact with his wound. Now that it was cleaned, it did not at all look so bad—he was already healing. As soon as you had removed your wet clothes and simply dropped them to your bedroom floor, you lied down next to him, resting your head on his shoulder.

“We forgot today.” He suddenly said.

“What?”

“We forgot to open our calendar.”

“Oh, no we didn’t. I checked this morning.”

“So what was in it?”

“A penis pump.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Don’t make me explain it to you, not now.” You giggled gently. “But I think you will like what it does to you.”

Loki smiled, his blue eyes already falling shut again as you tenderly stroked his raven hair.

“I am sure of that.”

A/N: Nothing really naughty happened today, I know. But it’ll make the last days before Christmas even sweeter, I promise. ;-)

Door 22 will be opened on Sunday, December 22nd.

Check out my blog to find more Imagines and take a glimpse at my first (to be) published novel! Also, if you enjoyed this story, I would appreciate so much if you supported me on Kofi! ko-fi.com/sserpente

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static-fanatic-1 · 3 years

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Before We Begin

-| Stuck at a StandStill |-

StandStill: Prologue

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: Mentions of blood and broken bones, Bullying, Anxiety attacks, Creepy behavior.

A girl covered in blood and dirt howled, scrapping at the concrete slab that had fallen on her leg with cracked nails. Fat tears streamed down her rosy cheeks when it seemed as if no one was coming for her, her once silvery eyes now blood shot from crying. "Papa!" The little girl hyperventilated when she was given no reply, hand shaking as blood pooled underneath the fallen debris, is this how she dies? Barely even ten and crushed by debris caused by a villain? "Momma! Daddy!"

Thousands of questions ran inside her head, shaking her body to the core with the unrelenting fear of death. The small girl croaked out a long cry, tears and snot making her look all the more pathetic as she flutily clawed at the concrete. "Papa! Papa-!" Loud shifting resonated from above, the fallen walls of the large building she was in moving aside to make way for a hulking figure. Whoever it was was framed in an ethereal, golden glow from the setting sun, like an angel sent from heaven to save the ten-year-old.

The bulky figure swiftly tossed away the fallen wall and jumped down into the cavern, flinging the concrete slab like it was a leaf and wrapping the child in his large arms. His muscles tensed at the loud booms above, the villain clearly ruining more of the city, but that did nothing to deter the figure's bright smile when he looked down. "What's your name, kid?" His voice will be forever engrained in her memory as an enthusiastic theatrical of hope.

"Aiko." The little girl meekly replied, curling into his muscular arms for some form of comfort.

"Well Aiko Shonen, everything will be fine. Why? Because I am here, All Might!" The bunny like hairs on his head waved as his smile only grew. Aiko only ever felt so safe around her papa, and this All Might figure made her feel just as safe as she would feel in her papa's arms.

A deep rumble echoed through the cavern, the hero's smile faltering the slightest bit, but quickly returned when he crouched down and jumped out of the cavern. Wind rushed through her long white drapes, her doe like eyes glowing from the immense strength the blond possessed. An old man dressed in hero's wear sped past All Might, the little girl following the yellow blur to what was happening behind her.

That was a mistake.

A deep feeling of dread washed over the entirety of Aiko small frame and made her feel utterly sick. A man clad in a crisp black suit loomed above all else. Red lightning like sparks shooting through the sky as his bulky frame floated above the toppled buildings and skyscrapers. Just how many bodies were under those buildings? And that mask, that terrifying, black, skull-like mask would forever be burned into her memory like a horribly large scar. Under his pristine black shoes were villains and heroes alike, bloodied and broken and dying.

A large hand turned her facing the sunset, a beautiful display of deep purples and bloody reds littered with fluffy stained clouds. "Don't worry, Aiko Shonen... you are safe now." All Might's bright, toothy grin brought her only more discomfort, it felt strained and off, as if he didn't believe his own words.

A certain yellow blur knocked Aiko and All Might out of the sky and into the debris of a near by building, a loud boom and an intense vacuum of air brushing past. The larger than life blond shielded her from the fall, sliding down and holding her close to his heaving chest. "Toshinori, watch out! Don't look away for one second or you'll give him the advantage!" Scolded the older man, not realizing All Might was carrying a small child in his arms.

"Perfect timing Gran Torino, take Aiko Shonen and get her out of here!" He handed her off to the elder, leaving nothing but dust in his wake as he jumped back into the fight. "Have Nighteye take her somewhere safer!"

Gran Torino swiftly pulled her into his arms and dashed away from the villain. The two made it safely out of the danger zone, a new, slim figure running to Torino. "Take her, T-All Might needs my help against All For One." His gruff voice reverberated off the fallen walls of what used to be a wealthy district. Once again, she was thrust into the hold of another hero, wincing at her broken leg.

Sir. Nighteye dashed across the debris ridden streets, blood and bodies littering them like trash. Aiko whimpered and curled in on herself, each and every detail of the villain attack being engraved into her brain. Not even a moment later she was given to a random citizen, probably a nurse or doctor from a nearby hospital. The citizen took her somewhere safer, away from the villains and heroes.

Aiko looked back one more time, All For One and All Might clashing against each other like titans or gods fighting for the mortal realm. Maybe that's what the fight is about, two titans fighting for power over the weak. That's what it looked like at least, wind pressure from their attacks brought more walls toppling down. She bit her bottom lip, being carried away from the carnage of the clashing gods.

~~~

White hair rushed through the small bedroom, scrambling to find her favorite pencil she must have dropped last night. She ducked under her bedframe, no not there, what about under her desk? Not there either. "Come on!" She whined, shuffling through sketchbooks and notebooks for the fifth time just to find her favorite mechanical pencil. "Oh, thank god!" She exclaimed, grabbing the old pencil, and stuffing it into her bag.

Quickly she collected the rest of her things and rushers out of her room. "Aiko! Hurry up you're going to be late!" Yelled her mother, a woman with a thin yet pear shaped frame and deep bags under her dull violet eyes. A messy bun made of curly turquoise hair rest upon her head. Her shrill voice echoed through the halls and into her room, drenching the little girl with a new sense of urgency.

"I'm leaving!" She reaffirmed. She dashed through the house to the front door. Slipping off her house shoes she quickly put on her outside shoes before opening the door.

"Oi! Aiko, where's my goodbye kiss?" Snarled a new figure, large and muscular with deep brown hair and yellow eyes. He tapped a thick finger against his cheek as he leaned closer to his adopted daughter's form.

Quickly she slipped off her outside shoes, she had quickly learned to never wear them on the floor, and leaned to kiss the man on the cheek. She returned to the front and waved a goodbye as she scurried out of the small house.

The young girl brushed her white hair out of her face, her roller blades now clipped onto the bottom of her shoes. Slinging her backpack securely on her back, she dipped out of the front yard and skated her way to public school.

Wind rushed through long locks of hair, her curly bangs framing her face as she sped through the busy sidewalks. Wide, hopeful, doe-like eyes watched the trees blur past. People and faces smudged by her speed, a grumpy pedestrian yelling at her to slow down. "Sorry sir!" She yelled back.

Aiko sighed at the sight of pink Sakura trees in the distance, indicating how close she was to her school. Skating past the iron gates and into the school, she threw her shoes into her locker and rushed into her homeroom class with only a few seconds to spare.

The skinny teacher glared at her. "You were almost late, again." His hands fell to his hips in a relaxed pose, eyes boring into the much smaller figure. If you moved his impossibly long blond bangs you would be able to see the orange, slitted eyes he had.

"Sorry Hagake Sensei, I woke up late again." She scratched the back of her neck and waved an apology.

"You can't be late if you want to be a hero, Aiko." He scolded, the thin tail and small cat ears waving disapprovingly. "Anyway, everyone here wants to be a hero so I'll go ahead and give you all the course selections." The cat-quirk teacher stalked through the desks, handing out papers that would change everyone's lives.

"Komori, you were going for UA right? Aiko, you too?" She sheepishly nodded when the orange eyes glanced into her own, taking thick strands of her hair and covering her mouth and cheeks with it. A habit she had developed after the incident. Her ice blue eyes looked over to the other name called, a young yet surprisingly fit boy with an impressive quirk.

Komori, a young man with a bat quirk and the physic to make it powerful. He was tall for his age, with a slim yet strong build, the only thing that wasn't conventionally attractive were the thick glasses on his button nose. But even then he made them look good. He had large ears, long fangs, a thin tail and huge wings draped behind his back. Pale, almost grey skin, with sharp purplish-red eyes complimented his short, yet messy, black hair.

————————————————

Name: Komori Suzuki

Quirk: Bat Mix

Quirk Details: Komori's quirk is pretty self-explanatory, he is a bat. Wings, tail, ears and fangs, he has both White-Winged Flying Fox (Mother—Kistune Suzuki) and Common Vampire Bat (Father—Kyūkestuki Suzuki). He has the best of both bats at his disposal.

————————————————

He cackled. "Ha! Really? That coward can't become a hero! Look at her, and her quirk is useless for hero work. The only thing she's good at is being a housewife!" Waving his leathery wings and kicking his feet up on the desk he continued to laugh at her flustered expression.

Komori could only be described as a misogynistic bastard. Aiko and him used to be friends, but when he was young he started all misogynistic towards her, typically using the housewife card against her. Still, throughout the years the two of them stuck around each other. Maybe it was a sense of familiarity between the two of them?

The girl shrunk into her chair, pulling her hair closer to her face. "I can be a hero...." Her soft tone drifted off until nothing but a pen dropping could be heard.

"Eh? What was that? You want to be a hero to avenge your old man?" He jumped on the desk and leaned down, the pearly fangs flashing dangerously. "There's no way you'd be able to do that, you can't to anything for yourself! You're just a damn damsel in distress, so give up."

The teacher glared at him and smacked a clawed hand on the back of his neck. "Shut it Komori! You'll never be a hero with that attitude!" Sensei growled and handed the both of you your papers. "It won't hurt to try, Aiko." He reassured with a pat on the girl's shoulder.

"R-right." Komori got up from the floor and glared at the teacher comforting the smaller girl. He scoffed and returned to his desk, there was no reason for him to be so mean to her, but he did anyway. Maybe he took a sadistic pleasure in messing with her.

"Anyway, this is due tomorrow," waved the teacher as he sauntered back up to the front of the rowdy class. "I forgot to give it to you guys on Monday so don't forget. If you guys don't turn it in tomorrow you won't be going to a hero school." He waited for an answer, his eye twitching when he didn't get one. "Am I clear?"

"Yes sir!" Yelled the class.

~~~

Aiko leaned on her tippy toes to grab her outside shoes and clip-on roller blades, jumping when a clawed hand slammed beside her locker. She squealed and whipped around, coming face to face with collared shirt. "Wh-What do you want, Komori?"

Glazed over plum eyes glared through thick lenses. "Why do you even want to be a hero? It's not like you'll be able to fix what the villain did so you should just give up." His throat rumbled a growl. "Seriously, you should just leave it to me, I'll get the job done unlike you." The violent eyes hardened slightly at her scared expression. "Seriously, Sweetheart, you'll get your weak-ass self hurt."

The white haired girl glanced up and shriveled into the locker. "I-I'm still going to try... Sensei said I should."

Komori opened his mouth as if he was about to say something but was interrupted by a few other delinquents. He scoffed when she dipped past his arms and wings and ran out of the school, struggling to run and clip on her skates. "When are you gonna kiss her Komori? Seriously you've been closing in on her from the beginning." Chattered one friend.

"Oh fuck off, she's just going to get herself killed." The aspiring bat hero puffed his chest and flared his wings. "And what type of hero would I be if I didn't try to save a lady-in-waiting, huh?"

Aiko stumbled past the school gates, recommendation paper in hand. Once she made it far enough she dipped into a dark alleyway and curled onto the ground. Fat yet silent tears streamed down her cheeks as she did her best to calm her anxiety. The girl tightly gripped her hair and shoved it in her face trying to calm herself. "Breathe... breathe... breathe...." She chanted.

Slowly but surely her anxiety levels died down with her calming strategy. She wiped away her tears and sipped on the last of her left over water. "Brrreeeeaaaaatttthhhhheeee...." She tensed at the buzz in her pocket, pulling out her small flip phone to see who texted her.

[Mr. Takahashi] 'Get some Tokoyaki on the way home.'

[Aiko] 'Yes Sir.'

She bit her bottom lip and furrowed her brows, waiting for a reply, luckily there was none so she relaxed. Taking her leave out of the alleyway, the small girl made her way over to the best Tokoyaki shop nearby.

A loud boom erupted out of the same street the shop was on, Aiko worriedly rushing over to the sound. Smoke covered the skies as more explosions went off. A chattery crowd formed at the street entrance, but Aiko wasn't worried about what was happening. She quickly pulled out her phone and started texting.

[Aiko] 'I'm sorry, I'm going to be late. The shopping district is under attack by a villain.'

She worriedly waited for a reply, doing her best to shuffle through the crowd to get a good look at the commotion. A blond, skeleton of a man coughed his way next to you, leaning on a lamppost and looking above the crowd. "Sir? What-what is going on?"

The blond slightly jumped in surprise at the delicate voice, looking down and taking in the little girl standing before him. Something about her seemed familiar, though he couldn't exactly place it. "A villain, nothing to worry about the heroes will take care of it." In all honesty, he couldn't exactly see everything that was going on. Between the explosions and smoke, all he could see was the sludge villain he failed to detain.

His deep, sultry voice calmed her, but the intense expression he wore had the opposite effect. Biting her bottom lip, she shuffled her way to the front of the crowd. Pedestrians around her worriedly talking to themselves, every time another explosion went off they would flinch. She would too.

Finally squeezing to the front of the crowd she saw what was happening. An ash-blond, about her age, writhed inside the sludge monster, gasping every time he could get some air. He screamed when his mouth was free, a violent cry for help that no hero seemed to be answering.

Aiko took a step closer, the water hero yelling at her to stay back. "He-He needs help! He'll die if no one helps him!" She screamed back, staring at the hero with a pleading expression. "You guys need to save him!"

"We can't, no one here can stop that villain. We are holding off until someone more prepared saves him!"

'He can't wait that long', she thought, looking at the frustrated features of the blond middle schooler. But she waited, too afraid to mess up and make things worse. Her quirk would only make things worse.

Anxiously she held her hair to her face, waiting for someone more adapt to the villain to save whoever was trapped. People happily cheered a new hero, Mt. Lady running to the scene. She stopped however, obviously she wouldn't be able to help with her quirk.

The small female was pushed to the side, another middle schooler, this time with fluffy dark green hair, stared at the scene in front of him. His freckles face contorted to a look of pure horror, a strained voice quietly calling out a name. "Kacchan!"

She watched as his feet controlled his body, taking him into the smoke ridden streets to the sludge monster. She gasped and lunged forward to grab him but missed, the small boy slipping through her fingers.

"Kacchan!" He yelled, tossing his backpack into the villain's face.

Aiko watched with admiration for the obviously weaker boy who ran in like a true hero. The ash blond also thrashing with strength and aggression she would never have. Unlike Aiko, they looked like they would be fine heroes.

She is a coward, too afraid to even try in fear of ruining everything. It reminded her of what happened six years ago, how helpless she was when all hell broke loose, how she was saved by All Might before loosing everything. She was frustrated, small tears dripping down her face at her pathetic display of bravery.

Wind smacked her long hair in her face, bringing her back to the present. It was him, All Might! The best hero to ever exist rushing to stop the bad guy and save the kids.

With a single punch, her hero saved the day. The once blue skies turning a dark grey and drenching the debris covered streets. Her tears replaced by cold rain as the crowd waited for All Might to make a move.

He raised his fist high, stumbling only Aiko seemed to notice, but remained victorious none the less. The once silent crowd burst into cheers, praises and hallelujahs for the savior of the two middle schoolers.

A ping from her pocket took her away from the heroic sight. With a heavy hand the little girl looked at the messages flooding her texts.

[Mr. Takahashi] 'Hurry up.'

Quickly she replied back.

[Aiko] 'Yes Sir.'

She would have to appreciate All Might and the middle schoolers online once she got back home. Swiftly Aiko squeezed past the crowd and skated over to the nearest Tokoyaki stall.

~~~

Unlocking the front door and balancing the packaged Tokoyaki drained the last of Aiko's energy. She took off her shoes and plopped the food onto the kitchen counter.

Mrs. Takahashi undid the wrapping, disregarding the younger girl and the paper in her hands. "Go do your homework, Aiko."

"You have to sign this. It's for the hero courses I want to sign up for." A small hand calmly pushed the paper in front of her adopted mother, a delicate smile upon her features.

"Fine, here." The azure haired woman signed the paper, the man of the household walking up behind the two.

"Hero courses huh? You better sign up for UA and get in, you'd be able to pay for our retirement!" The brown haired man bellowed, taking some of the food Aiko brought home and stuffing it into his mouth. "Seriously, you better get into UA." He scolded through chewing.

"Yes sir, I was planning on doing that." Thinking about All Might, the middle schoolers and all the reasons she want to be a hero to begin with, if she had the opportunity she would take it. This was her opportunity and no one would change her mind.

She took her food and went to her room, finishing up her homework and taking a shower. Now with her sleepwear on, all her homework finished, she plopped into her bed.

Aiko's light blue eyes glanced over to a treasured photo, the moonlight seeping from the closed blinds providing just enough light to illuminate the three of the six figures. She was very young when her family took the picture, her host mother and host father's smiles bringing a pang of joy through her heart. Her host mother had long, pink hair and a curvaceous body, while her host father was a muscular lean figure with pitch black skin and sharp teeth.

The fifteen year old decided to wear a yellow sundress that day, a big smile knowing her family was standing behind her. She wished they were still here and she wasn't with Mr. and Mrs. Takahashi... but that was too much to wish for.

She curled in on herself under the thick covers, letting the sweet memories of her past lull her into a dreamless slumber.

#my hero academia #my hero academia Oc #fanfiction #fan fiction #Aiko Takahashi #Komori Suzuki #mha #bnha #mha fan character #mha fanfiction #mha Oc #prolouge #StandStill #There’s actually plot #fluff is later #angst too #staticfanatic

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fromkaermorhentolettenhove · 4 years

Text

The Eternity of Bliss - Chapter 6

Previous - Next

Chapter Summary: Of injuries and longing

Chapter Rating: T

Words: 2048

A/N: hey uh what story should i work on next: amnesia au or different first meeting au

AO3

“I’m starting to hate the shipyards,” Jaskier muttered, tugging the collar of his coat closer to his ears.

The two men had been there multiple times since the first incident, each monster worse than the last and there was no sign of infestations slowing down. After Jaskier had almost been dragged into the water, his uncertainty of the place had only grown, dark thoughts entering his mind as soon as he could see that awful warehouse.

“Just stay next to me,” Geralt reassured.

Jaskier grumbled as they made their way to the docks, igniting his Trace as soon as he could. If they could finish this quickly, that would be a miracle in itself.

“You should go,” Geralt muttered, his hand gripping tight to Jaskier’s wrist.

“What?” Jaskier frowned. “I haven’t even located the monster yet.”

Geralt shook his head and pushed Jaskier behind him. “I don’t need a Trace for that. I’ve felt this before and it’s all too familiar.”

“I’m here to help you, Geralt,” Jaskier began to argue.

Then, the sky went dark, a shadow blocking out the sun as it loomed over the two men. Jaskier felt his stomach twist as he stared at the towers of legs that could easily crush him with one hit. He had heard about these types of monsters, the ones made of mountain rock, but he thought they were long gone. With a body like a bull, the monster turned its enormous head to stare at them, eyes glowing with flames that matched Jaskier’s own. The monster stamped a hoof, the ground trembling and debris flying through the air as it opened its mouth.

“Get out of here!” Geralt shouted over the monster's screams and shoved Jaskier back with a shot of magic.

Jaskier scrambled away, but his concern for Geralt stopped him as soon as he was covered by a stack of crates. The situation could sour fast and Jaskier couldn’t leave Geralt vulnerable. There had to be something more he could do.

Watching over the top of the crates, Jaskier’s stomach twisted every which way as Geralt tackled the monster head-on. His weapons seemed to do little damage, only agitating the monster more.

Jaskier could hear Geralt yelling at the monster, shooting spells, but he couldn’t do this forever. Inhaling shapely, Jaskier held out his hand, sending a beam at the monster. It reared its head toward Jaskier and snarled before it charged.

Swearing to himself, Jaskier scrambled off the crates and ran towards the next big thing. The steps of the monster thundered behind him and when a leg came dangerously close to him, the sheer force knocked Jaskier off his feet. The creature lifted another leg, ready to come crashing down, but before it could, it let out a piercing screech and Jaskier barely caught the blur that was Geralt.

Geralt had found a weak point and continued to stab at the monster’s neck, dark blood spraying everywhere. Jaskier jumped to his feet and ran some more, glancing over his shoulder while doing so.

Geralt seemed to have the upper hand but when a pincer-like limb came hurtling towards him, Jaskier shouted in horror. It had hit Geralt but not before the man landed a fatal blow.

The monster and Geralt fell together, shockwaves bursting through the ground, creating jagged hills of rock and dirt. Jaskier ducked to shield himself and when the last of the debris rained down on him, he slowly got to his feet. The dust was beginning to settle around the creature, but there was no sign of Geralt. With fear rising in his chest, Jaskier rushed over, calling out Geralt’s name.

There was nothing at first. Jaskier panicked, his mind convincing him that Geralt got crushed under the monster. As he tried to fight the thought away, a low groan caught his ear and Jaskier almost cried as he followed the sound. Geralt lay on the ground, his weapons neatly by his side as if he had meticulously planned this all along.

“Where did it get you?” Jaskier grabbed hold of Geralt’s shoulders.

“Arm, I think,” Geralt grunted, his breathing long and drawn-out.

Guiding Geralt to his feet, Jaskier threw Geralt’s uninjured arm around his shoulder before forming a portal in front of them. Once in the safety of their flat, Jaskier laid Geralt on the ground, immediately pulling his upper layers off of him, his hands trembling. There was a deep gash on Geralt’s arm, blackened veins trailing from the wound, and Geralt hissed in pain when Jaskier jostled his arm some more.

“We need a Healer,” Geralt said through gritted teeth.

There was no time for that. The poison was spreading and Jaskier took hold of Geralt’s arm, screwing his eyes shut. He began muttering a spell, focusing his energy on the wounds. His hand started to burn, but Jaskier refused to pull away. He kept repeating the spell, the words no longer making sense, until he heard Geralt clear his throat.

Snapping his eyes open, Jaskier stared the wound first and saw there was no mark on the skin, as if Geralt hadn’t been hit by anything at all. Jaskier let out a relieved laugh, sinking to the floor with exhaustion hitting him in waves.

“I thought you said you were too restless to be a Healer,” Geralt commented from his spot.

Jaskier hummed, carding a hand through his hair. “Doesn’t mean I never had any training. Oxenfurt was more than accommodating to my interests.”

“Hm. Well, thank you.”

Craning his head to the side, Jaskier smiled at Geralt, his heart fluttering when he got a small one in return. When Geralt expressed himself, it was truly something else and it stirred Jaskier’s soul. Now with the immediate threat gone, Jaskier wanted nothing more than a relaxing evening for himself and Geralt.

“Alright, into the tub with you,” Jaskier groaned as he pushed himself up onto his hands and knees.

“Jaskier, just rest. I can take care of myself.”

“No, I insist,” Jaskier waved. “I’ve gotten my second wind now.”

Geralt pursed his lips as Jaskier got to his feet, then helping Geralt up and leading him towards the bathroom. “You certainly are stubborn, aren’t you?”

“One of my best traits,” Jaskier grinned.

Geralt smirked, sitting on the edge of the tub as Jaskier turned on the faucet. Soon, the room was filled with humid air and strong scents, Jaskier picking up bottles and putting them back until he found the ones he was searching for, a few drops from each poured into the rising water.

Jaskier kept his back turned, distracting himself in the different oils and herbs until he heard the small splash and he looked over his shoulder.

Geralt sank into the water, the lines on his face smoothing out as he closed his eyes, an appreciative rumble coming from his chest. With a smile, Jaskier turned off the water and pulled up a small stool, sitting next to the tub as he organized bottles next to it.

“It’s not that I don’t appreciate this,” Geralt spoke, eyes still closed. “But I can wash my own hair.”

“Oh, shush,” Jaskier gave his shoulder a light smack with the back of his hand. “Having someone else wash your hair feels nice. Believe me.”

Before Geralt could retort, Jaskier scooped some water in his hands and poured it over Geralt’s head. The man shook his hair, water droplets flying everywhere, but Jaskier was unperturbed, continuing to wet Geralt’s head.

Once satisfied, Jaskier put shampoo in his palm, then rubbing his hands together before reaching over and scrubbing at Geralt’s scalp. The man leaned forward a bit, but there was no complaint as Jaskier made sure every inch was covered.

“Do you want me to rinse it or do you prefer to do it yourself?” Jaskier asked as he wiped his hands on a small towel.

Without a reply, Geralt dunked himself under the water, lingering under the surface before he sat back up, wiping the water and specks of suds from his face. Jaskier was back on him in an instant, now running some scented oil through his hair.

It was a light fragrant, almost unnoticeable amongst everything else besides a hint of rose. Jaskier’s fingers were gentle as they undid the last of the tangles and Geralt let out a small hum, the corner of his mouth quirking just a little.

“Didn’t I tell you?” Jaskier grinned with pride. “Sometimes, it’s nice to be taken care of. Even with something as simple as this.”

“I’ll remember to do the same for you then,” Geralt replied.

Jaskier froze, his eyes widening for just a moment. Surely Geralt meant it in a teasing way, but with how the man’s shoulders hunched up, Jaskier was left with nothing more than a blush on his face.

“You don’t need to,” Jaskier tried to pass over the silence. “I’m alright.”

“No, I’d like to.”

Geralt had turned a bit to get a better look at Jaskier and there in his gaze, his almost neutral expression, Jaskier could see a sincerity and softness unlike anything he had seen in Geralt before.

The past few months had been a whirlwind for them, having gone from complete strangers to now, where Jaskier thought of Geralt as something more, something that spoke beyond a simple crush.

Hesitation burrowed in his mind, but Jaskier fought past that and placed his hand on the edge of the tub. Geralt hadn’t moved, still staring endlessly at him and Jaskier could only let himself be dragged in. Before he could stop himself, Jaskier shot forward, crashing his lips against Geralt’s. There was a slight hitch of breath from the other man, but he was quick to return the embrace, hand reaching up and fingers tangling in Jaskier’s hair.

They stayed that way for what felt like hours to Jaskier and when they pulled apart, Jaskier didn’t dare open his eyes. He feared this was all a dream, that he would wake up and find that Geralt didn’t feel the same towards him.

When the hand in his hair moved to his face, Jaskier then felt a warm pressure against his forehead. His eyes fluttered open and there was Geralt, pressing their foreheads together, though his eyes remained closed. His breathing was calm, even, and Jaskier wanted nothing more than to pull him in for another kiss.

So, Jaskier did just that. Geralt was more than ready to kiss him back, the water sloshing as he readjusted himself so he could grab Jaskier’s face with both hands. Jaskier could think of nothing else beyond grabbing onto Geralt’s hands and when their kiss ended, they still held onto each other as they gazed into each other’s eyes.

“I should...get you a towel,” came out of Jaskier’s mouth and he flushed at his silly comment.

“I’ll make dinner after I’m dressed then,” Geralt replied.

Jaskier almost laughed at how domestic they sounded. He handed Geralt his towel, averting his gaze as Geralt got out of the tub. When he was able to look at the man at last, he was already in the hallway, looking back at Jaskier.

“Thank you,” Geralt said before he disappeared down the hallway.

With every part of him on fire, lips tingling, Jaskier almost threw himself into the tub. Today had been a whirlwind and he still couldn’t wrap his mind around some of it. With a small laugh, Jaskier cleaned up the bathroom and by the time he went into the kitchen, Geralt was there, the kitchen abuzz with magic.

Even in his more lax clothes, Geralt still had a sense of formality about him and Jaskier couldn’t help the poetry that sprouted in his mind. He supposed no other Tracer had been allowed the view he had been given and he wasn’t about to take that for granted.

When a cup of tea floated down onto the table in front of him, Jaskier looked over at Geralt, their silent exchange saying much more than words could. Jaskier’s heart skipped a beat and he hoped Geralt hadn’t noticed the blush that had risen to his face.

For now, they could rest and simply appreciate the fact that they were alive and here together.

#geraskier #geraltxjaskier #jaskierxgeralt #indigo's the eternity of bliss #indigo's side shitposting

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rogersthat-cap · 5 years

Text

Silver Lining | One

Summary: Peter Parker left behind someone when he was snapped away. Now, he's back and you have to figure out what this means for the two of you.

Warnings: Not really.

Note from the Author: Hello, everyone! Please leave feedback if you're interested in seeing this story continued! It's something that's been floating through my head for a while now. Drop a like/ask/reblog if you enjoy this! Thanks a bunch! Happy ready, stay lovely. xx

It was difficult to breathe. It wasn’t just because of the constant movement you were putting your body through. The fighting, it’s something you’ve done for the past four and a half years. Your body is decorated with scars and tender with muscles. It’s the air that is making it difficult to breathe. Dirt and debris are everywhere, and it’s continuously kicked up, flooding your lungs. You pant and grunt as you continue to fight Thanos’s army. You can hear the whoosh of Clint’s arrows and the clanging of Steve’s shield as it makes contact. You’re doing your best to keep up, making sure each blow counts.

It’s the second battle. You’re fighting alongside your friends for all that you’ve lost – all of the people you’ve lost. You do your best to not think about anything, swiftly pulling your blade through skin when you see it. Red, black, and gold. The glint of armor. The webs flying through the air and around your enemies.

“Peter.”

Everything freezes. His name tumbles out of your mouth in a whisper. You feel a flood of relief wash over you but then there is panic. Is this another dream? Is he really back too? Tony had told you Peter had been one of the ones taken. When you saw others come through, you knew there was a chance but you didn’t dare truly believe it.

Peter must’ve heard you say his name, because his mask is now down. His eyes are flying everywhere as he continues fighting. He’s trying to find you. You begin to run to him, dodging enemy blows and countering them. His eyes land on you and he gives you the smile you’ve only seen in pictures and dreams for so long. You crash into him and he wraps his arms around you.

“I told you I’d be right back.” There is humor in his voice, and, for a moment, you’re seventeen again. You’re watching him fly into space from your spot on the ground. You’re softer and naïve. Your life is still your own. Tears prick your eyes as you realize he has no idea. No idea how much time has passed for you, no idea what has happened since he’s been gone. You hold him tightly. “You feel different..” He murmurs.

“Duck.” You reply, pushing away to plunge another blade into an alien charging at you. When Peter stands back up, you watch as his eyes sweep over you. He’s assessing you, knowing that something is different but he can’t just place what it is. You brush your hair out of your face, suddenly thankful for the dust and sweat because it sticks in place. “We’ll talk later.” You try to give him a smile, feeling guilty suddenly. Peter only nods and webs an enemy to a piece of broken structure behind you.

Then, the two of you begin to fight. It’s like sliding on a glove, because suddenly you feel protected. Peter is there once again to watch your back, to do his best to keep the bad guys away. You work as a team, just like all those years ago.

The rest of the battle is a blur. You continue to go through the motions, and, finally, the dust truly settles. Tony is dead, and you feel your heart break. You set your jaw as you watch Pepper and Peter mourn. Gently, you place a hand on Peter’s shoulder, and he turns into you, still crying. In that moment, you remember that he’s still seventeen. Tony was his idol, his mentor, the father that he had in Ben and lost.

Steve is the first one to speak to him, “Queens, why don’t you go ahead and..”

“I’m not leaving.” Peter’s voice is firm, but you can hear the gravel in it. His voice is thick with tears. Steve meets your eyes and you only nod.

“Pete.. Let’s go.” You mutter, taking a step back. He looks up at you, eyes bloodshot. He’s wrecked. You look to Steve, hopeless for a moment as you bring yourself to your world today. There’s a request in your eyes, and Steve knows exactly what it is. You know it’s unfair for you to ask him. He’s hurting too, he’s tired too. But the Captain only gives you a small, sad smile, murmuring about how he’ll call Happy for you.

You pretend not to see the questions in Peter’s eyes as you wrap your arms around his torso. Peter feels a rush of anger and confusion. He wraps an arm around you before raising another to swing the both of you away from the battlefield. Peter can tell that there is something that he’s missing. There was an unspoken conversation between you and Cap. You look different, he’s sure of it even if he can’t quite place it.

The two of you swing silently for a few minutes. Peter can hardly take it, his emotions swelling in his chest and overloading his senses. He allows the two of you to stop atop a rooftop. Your feet skid as you try to regain balance. Peter isn’t holding onto you anymore, he allowed the momentum to carry him forward a bit. His shoulders are braced, staring away from you at the world around him.

“What are you not telling me?”

“I don’t..”

“Bullshit.” He barks, turning around to face you. “I can tell that you’re lying to me. What’s going on?”

“Peter, I don’t –“

“Just tell me!”

“I’m not –“

“Why is it so hard for you to talk to me?” His eyes are wild, flashing over you. He takes steps closer to you, desperate to be near you. However, you don’t meet him. You even step away from him. “Why are you moving away from me?”

“You were gone for five years.” The words fall out of your mouth again. Tears begin to fill your eyes again, and it makes you so mad. Mad that you had this time with Peter stolen away from you. Mad that you have to be the one to tell him what’s happened. Mad that he’s confused, he doesn’t understand because he wasn’t here. He hasn’t been here.

“No, I wasn’t.”

“Pete, yes, you were.”

“What do you even mean?” He runs his hands through his hair, growing more frustrated and confused.

That’s when you allow the story to flow through you. You tell him about Thanos’s snap, how the Avengers lost. Fifty percent of all life was completely wiped out, and, for five years, the rest of the world was left to deal with that loss. You tell him about how life had to continue on, how those who were lost were remembered. Peter only stares at you, mouth slightly agape as he tries to comprehend. When you’re done, he turns to look out at the world again. As if he is seeing it for the first time.

“So..” Peter says after a few minutes of silence. He tries to clear his throat, “You’re twenty-one now?”

“Yeah,” you murmur.

“You graduated from high school?”

“I’m in college now.”

Peter scoffs, and it almost sounds like a laugh. “I can’t believe this.” He sniffles, wipes his nose on his suit’s sleeve. “Are you seeing anyone?” He turns to look at you.

“No, not since...” You is what you want to say, but you're not sure. Are you still dating? Are you together? Can you be together?

“Then what were you talking to Steve about?”

Your mouth runs dry. You can feel your heart begin to hammer against your ribcage. You’ve wanted to tell him over and over again for the past five years. What was so different about now? Why were you getting choked up at this moment? You want to delay it even longer. Keep this secret just a little bit longer. “Peter, let’s go –“

“No, I want to know now.”

“I really don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“And what was a good idea? Me, getting snapped away from you? Suddenly there being this five year age difference between us? You not being able to be honest with me? What about any of this was a good idea? Where is the silver lining in this shitty situation, (Y/N)?”

You feel defensive suddenly. You raise your chin, looking him in the eye. For years there were whispers behind your back, pitiful comments made on your behalf. You were tired of living like that because you were proud of what life you had created. You were going to be defiant and fought Peter back on this because damn him for leaving you on the ground.

“The silver lining is being protected by people who care about her very much right now.”

Peter’s face twists in confusion, “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about our daughter, Peter Parker.”

Silver Lining: At least he finally knows, isn’t that what you’ve been wishing for?

Chapter Two

#peter parker x reader #peter parker fanfiction #tom holland x reader #peter parker imagines #peter parker au #tom holland imagines #tom holland au #tom holland x reader insert #peter parker x reader insert

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alienspawnwrites · 4 years

Text

Laying Hands: Chapter 1

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A False Peace Broken

The sky was a perfect, unmarred plane of blue, not even a hint of cloud. Beneath it, a pristine expanse of green grass extended to the horizon. Every blade seemed new and fresh, without a spot of brown or bare patch to be seen. A simple, one lane dirt road bisected the field. Even the soil of the pathway was rich with color, a mixture of brown, red and orange. A few feet off stood a solitary tree. Other than a slight leftward lean, it too was nearly flawless; it's rough bark unmarked, unbroken branches ending in full foliage, each leaf a dark, vibrant green. It was the middle of a bright, sunny summer's day, and the only shadow in sight was the shade of the lone tree.

Althea stared at the picture, searching for any detail that might have escaped her countless examinations. There was nothing. It was just as mundane and utterly boring as it had always been: an unnaturally perfect photo of a nameless, nondescript place. Still, it was the only thing to look at in the painfully plain room, the only thing of note in her white-washed quarters, so she continued to study it.

The colors seemed too bright, she thought, oversaturated, though she couldn't be entirely sure. It had been years since she'd had even a glimpse of the outdoors. Maybe life outside the structure really was as vivid and colorful as her stale poster. She tried to remember the places and sights of her life before confinement, but the memories were vague and nonspecific. She had taken everything for granted back then, never bothering to stop and appreciate her surroundings or commit much of anything to memory. She couldn't even identify the type of tree pictured before her. She knew a few by name: oak, maple, birch, walnut, but she didn't remember which was which.

Althea's life didn't have trees anymore. It didn't have green grass or blue skies or sunny days. There weren't even any windows to tease her with glimpses of the outside world. Everything here was either white or stainless steel: undecorated and sterile. The only break in the monotonous palette was the blood, and even that had stopped being interesting long ago.

Sitting on the edge of her bed, Althea almost blended in with her surroundings. Her grey sweatpants and tee were both a size too large for her lean frame. She was slightly taller than average, close to six feet tall, and even the oversized pants ended a few inches above her ankle. Below, her feet were clad in simple, worn slippers - the same uninteresting grey as the rest of her outfit. Her complexion was an unhealthy pallid shade of white, translucent along the thin skin of her wrists and inner arms, evidence of her long separation from sunlight. Even her dark brown hair was dull and lifeless. Other than the garish picture on the wall, the only spots of color in the room were Althea's eyes. Their hazel irises bordered on green, flecked with gold and surrounded by a ring of deep, mahogany. She looked ghastly, something not dead but not quite alive either.

She was twenty five years old. She had been here for over ten years, though Althea had lost track of time long, long ago.

The heavy padding of hurried footfalls outside the door to her room roused her from her revelry. She braced herself gripping the edge of the mattress, expecting the door to fly open, but they passed without pause. The sounds of running faded as they continued out of earshot and the room fell back into silence. Still, she looked at the door curiously, dread creeping steadily up her spine. She'd never seen anyone in the building run before. The place and the people who operated here ran like clockwork, everything done with calm, military-like precision.

Something was wrong.

No sooner had the thought occurred to her, than the building shook with the reverberation of a distant explosion. Althea's grip tightened and she held her breath, listening for any sign of what was happening. For a split second there was only silence as debris and dust particles dislodged by the shock wave fell all around her. He poster fell forgotten to the floor. Then the hallway was filled with the commotion of dozens of men running down the hall in the direction of the blast. They shouted at one another, their words indecipherable through the door and walls of her room. Soon the shouts turned to screams, some of fear, some of pain, the heavy sounds of boots making in the opposite direction. Whatever had caused the disturbance seemed to be coming this way.

"Secure the asset!", came a strong voice above the commotion. Suddenly the door to her room was thrown open by a haggard looking guard. His dark grey uniform, standard issue for most of the personnel, was dusty and torn near the shoulder, revealing a steadily bleeding gash. His opposite hand held a large handgun, finger resting on the trigger. He panted a few ragged breaths before addressing her.

"Come with me, NOW," he demanded sharply.

Despite her fear, or perhaps because of it, she got up to follow him without hesitation. For years she had done as these men commanded and now, amongst the confusion and chaos, did not seem like the right time to start being defiant. She hadn't taken more than two steps towards him when, with a flash of blue light, he disappeared swiftly from view, sent sprawling down the hall by some unseen force.

He was quickly replaced by another armed and uniformed man. He didn't pause to order her to follow, instead he gripped her forearm roughly, dragged her out of the room, and started quickly down the hall. They were joined by three more men in quick succession. Together, the four of them surrounded her as they escorted her with speed away from the sounds of combat.

She struggled to keep up, tripping over her ill-fitting slippers and she was pulled along. As they turned a corner, Althea heard someone gaining on them, but the man's vice-like grip kept her stumbling forward, preventing her from turning around.

She heard the sound of something flying through the air, a flash of red and blue, and then all four men were on the ground, the leader's hold on her arm dragging her down with them. She struggled free and braced herself for whatever assault was sure to come.

When nothing happened, she cautiously turned to face the assailant. Since the explosion, countless images of soldiers or terrorists or even simple thugs had raced through her mind. None of her imagined invaders came close to the assembled group that stood before her.

A metal man, gleaming gold and fire engine red, hovered a few feet off the ground, small blue flames from his hands and feet keeping him aloft. Beside him, a masked man held a large round shield, presumably the object Althea had witnessed take down her escort. His outfit was glaringly patriotic: red, white, blue, starred and striped all over. The other two members of the odd quartet were dressed rather normally compared to the first pair, both dressed in simple, dark outfits. The woman brandished a pair of pistols; the man an unassuming bow with an arrow nocked and ready to fire.

"Keep an eye on her. We'll finish clearing the floor," the shield bearer addressed the archer. "Don't let anyone by." Without waiting for an answer, he ran past Althea and around the corner, the remaining two following close behind.

Althea's assigned guard positioned himself near the corner, allowing him a clear view down both hallways. He spared her a passing glance, but said nothing. He maintained his silent vigil, arrow at the ready, until his three companions returned.

"Looks like everyone's cleared out. They left a pretty obvious trail. Fury's gang should be able to round up most of them." The armored man's voice had a metallic ring as he spoke.

"Seems like she's the asset from S.H.I.E.L.D.'s intel," the woman gestured to Althea, gun still in hand. Althea started a bit as the weapon waved towards her. "We found a pile burnt documents, and it looks like someone's wiped all the hard drives. Whatever they were doing here, whatever they were doing with her, they didn't want us to find out."

All four turned to look at Althea, still cowering on the floor, surrounded by unconscious uniformed men. Three pairs of eyes scrutinized her. The metal clad mask was unreadable.

"Who are you?" Thea breathed, finding her voice. Had these four costumed strangers really cleared the entire facility? More importantly, were they here to hurt her? She had gotten so used to being surround by armed guards that she'd forgotten they carried weapons for a reason.

The faceplate of the metal suit retracted, revealing a middle aged man with a neatly cropped goatee. He looked at her suspiciously, clearly surprised at her question. "We're the Avengers, kid." He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Thea didn't react. "Earth's mightiest heroes?", the man offered, as if trying to jog a memory he was confident she had only temporarily forgotten. Althea's only response was a quizzical look. He scoffed, turning to the masked soldier beside him. "I think I'm actually a little offended."

The other man let out a quick, amused huff before addressing the thoroughly perplexed woman on the ground. His eyes were soft, and he gave her an easy, kind smile. "We're the good guys," he clarified, and held out his hand to help her up.

#loki #loki fic #loki x ofc #loki x original female character #loki x oc #fanfic #fan fiction #fanfiction #loki fanfic #first chapter #laying hands #slow burn #slow build #romance #angst

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koushujin-institute · 6 years

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Aspiring Hero Profile: Ochimaru

Since this is the first profile posted to this blog, I wanna give a short foreword before we get into the fun stuff. Since this fanfic has a ton of original characters, I decided to make little profiles for them to easily keep track of their Quirks, appearances and personalities. They were going to be for my own personal use but when I got the idea to make this blog, I decided to upload them so everyone else could take a read as well. These profiles will be posted after a character has properly introduced themselves and shown off their Quirk in a chapter. So, a character may be introduced in the story long before their profile is posted. This is to ensure I don’t just spoil everything about them before they’ve even been revealed! I’ve also removed anything from their profiles that will be a spoiler for events in the story, but there will still be minor reveals and details that could be considered spoilers. If you wanna stay in the dark, give these profiles a miss!

Also, I can’t speak Japanese at all so the origin of character names in the Trivia section was taken from a mixture of forums, romajidesu and Google Translate. I spent a while trying to stay as accurate and respectful as possible, but I can’t promise that all of the origins will actually be correct. I just hope they are.

Anyway, with all that out of the way, the first profile for the main character of ‘Our Little Bubble’ will be under the cut so I don’t clutter up your dashboards! :)

Character Name: Ochimaru Kawadatsu

Quirk Description: Lather - The secretion of a slippery, soap-like substance from the hands that has a pleasant scent. It can be coated across areas to reduce traction for tripping up adversaries or to increase speed of movement, or even be used as a regular cleansing agent. It can also be blown into resilient, rubbery bubbles when the user makes a circle shape with their thumb and index finger. These bubbles require a moderate amount of force to be popped and can bounce across surfaces without bursting. The bubbles can also be used as a makeshift shield by coating them across the arms or to even cushion someone’s fall. The size of the bubble blown depends on their lung capacity, and once large enough it can even hold people inside either for their protection or entrapment. Overuse of the quirk leads to decreased soap output and potency, dry hands or bleeding.

General Appearance: Ochimaru has naturally blond hair which is rare in Japan, although it can be attributed to the huge amount of genetic variation that Quirks caused. He has a wavy hairstyle with a fringe that sits to the right. The sides often stick up lazily. The rampant genetic mutations caused by Quirks gives his eyes a soft, baby pink colour. He was often teased for them when he was younger as they were seen as girly, even when other people had similarly strange colours like red and purple. His skin is paler than most due to all the time he spent indoors but it is incredibly smooth, likely due to rejuvenating soap that he produces and washes himself with. He stands at 5’1” but is on the cusp of a growth spurt. He has an average teenage male build and lacks muscle when first joining the hero course as he often has trouble exercising. He has rosy cheeks, a small nose, a round nose and ears that protrude outwards. He usually wears a lot of muted or pastel colours, especially blues and pinks. He is always clueless when it comes to fashion trends and ends up wearing the same couple outfits every day.

Hero Appearance / Equipment: Ochimaru’s hero costume is outfitted to highlight his soapy abilities and to protect himself from soap’s inherent properties. He has a durable pair of goggles that protect his eyes not only from dirt or debris, but also to stop them from getting irritated by his own soap if it splashes onto his face. His outfit is designed to prevent the absorption of liquid, as he would only get heavier as his own soap was slowly absorbed. Synthetic fibers laminated with rubber, PVC and wax make up most of his costume which makes it waterproof. Because of its structure, the soap can stay on the surface of his costume without being absorbed or actively repelled away, meaning he is often slippery to the touch. He also has accessories similar to bubble wands strapped to the belt on his waist, although it often takes precious time to coat them in soap on the battlefield, so he usually just uses his fingers. His forearms and hands are bare as his pores need to be uncovered in order for the soap to be produced. He has large boots with resilient, gripping soles so he doesn’t constantly slip on the soap he creates, although they are easily removable in case he needs to utilise the lack of friction. His costume overall has a pink, violet and blue colour scheme. With his goggles and jacket being pink, his belt and accessories being violet and his trousers and boots being blue. His goggles and boots are particularly iridescent and shiny. His jacket comes with a hood that covers his hair, so it doesn’t get covered with soap.

Personality: Growing up with protective but well-meaning parents, Ochimaru never had many positive relationships with those of his age and was coddled greatly. He yearns for a group of friends and wishes he could do social things that most others take for granted like going out to the movie theater. He was teased for his want to become a hero with his lacklustre Quirk, and he aims to prove that people like him can become heroes if they try hard enough. His admiration for pro heroes came from an incident when he was almost abducted as a child, although it also instilled the fear of the outside world in him. He still avoids public areas like shopping centres and much prefers when he knows everyone personally. He believes that the other students in the hero course are far more skilled and have greater potential than him, but he does his utmost to support them and bring out their potential. Even with his negative self-image, his humble attitude and heroic actions spur others to change for the better. He believes that if someone like him can accomplish something great, other people can accomplish even greater things. He lacks charisma and confidence due to being coddled, and often relies heavily on other people in social situations. He feels most comfortable when with someone he can trust, and he often latches onto people who are more outspoken than him. He has quite a self-deprecating sense of humour which is often how he processes trauma and his own shortcomings, although this can sometimes be a detriment to his mental health.

Other / Trivia: Ochimaru’s birthday is January 8th and he is 15 when joining Koushujin. His first name comes from a combination of ‘ochi’ meaning ‘slip’, ‘outcome’ or ‘punchline’ and ‘maru’ meaning ‘circle’ or ‘round’. His surname comes from a combination of ‘kawa’ meaning ‘river’ and ‘awadatsu’ meaning ‘to bubble’ or ‘froth’. He is one of the few students out of the new Koushujin first years with a fully-formed combination Quirk. His mother is able to produce a semi-solid fragrant soap from her hands depending on her mood and his father can blow massive bubbles from his mouth due to a special, viscous saliva. His favourite drink is lemon-lime ramune, which he has loved since childhood!

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lockandk3yfiction · 6 years

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Story Title: A Saviors Soul

Story Summary: Zombie Apocalypse AU. Bakugou’s separation from his best friend has been haunting him for nearly two years now, the war between the living and the dead carrying on as time passes. He has yet to find the one he made promises to, searching for his friend just as much as he had been surviving. Will the day come that the two are reunited? Will there still hope for him and for Kirishima?

Rated: M (for depictions of violence)

Date: November 1, 2017

Chapter: One

Chapter Title: Memories of the Lost

Chapter Summary: Bakugou dreams of the time he’s spent with his best friend, both before and after the outbreak of the apocalypse. He dreams of the promises he made to him, the life they lived and the life he left behind.

Bakugou sat beside Kirishima on the rooftop of their school building, noise emanating from stories below through open classroom windows and the courtyard beneath them. There was live chatter, cheers and yells as students stomped around, using their lunch break to their full intent. Neither of the boys mentioned before joined in, relaxing their muscles and brains as they recline against the roof entries door, blocking the way of any other intruders as they wished to spend their time together in peace.

It wasn’t an uncommon practice, Bakugou had a longing to be with as few people as possible. He was not much for crowds or social events, choosing to partake in solitude and quant atmospheres instead. Kirishima though was the life of the party, a social butterfly who almost always wore a smile, someone found wherever life took him. He wasn’t afraid to put himself out there, to laugh and stand with the hurricane of prep. Yet, he had a quiet side to him too, one very few saw, one he never hid from Bakugou.

So sitting beside him under a clear sky, in a vicinity made for them, Kirishima still smiled, looking upon Bakugou with endearing trust in him. “Bakugou, we’re third years now. When are you gonna stop hiding from Kaminari and them?”

“When they stop acting like children.” Bakugou huffed, his chin tipped up toward the cloudless blue space. He felt as if, if he could, reaching out into the open sky would take him elsewhere, away from the world he knew with Kirishima in it. That the peace their small city held would collapse, taking him with it. Bakugou closed his eyes, letting the sun bathe him in its glow, wash away the tension of his thoughts.

“They’re our friends, Bakugou. They want to spend as much time with you as I do before the year ends.”

Bakugou hummed in response, his back sliding down the metals wall until he lay flat on the concrete floor. He learned over the years that denying the fact he cared for Kirishima, Kaminari, Ashido and Sero was pointless, the four always finding a way to sneak into his personal bubble. At this point, Bakugou didn’t mind but it didn’t mean he’d lose his quiet space over it. He heard Kirishima sigh, cracking his eyes open and turning slightly to see the redhead slouched over, twiddling his thumbs and biting his lip.

“Bakugou… We’ll still be friends after we graduate, right?”

Bakugou’s brows furrowed, scrutinizing Kirishima who suddenly looked solemn and hesitant. “Of course, dumbass. You’ve been my friend for nearly three years. Who said I’m gonna dump ya after all the bullshit we’ve been through?”

Bakugou’s scowl grew with the way Kirishima smiled weakly, clasping his hands together, laughing lowly. Bakugou could tell Kirishima had something on his mind, the way his eyes contained insecurity and cheeks tinted slightly pink showed it. Bakugou hadn’t asked though, he knew Kirishima would reveals his problems in his own time, say things he needed to say when the time was right.

“Will I finally be able to call you Katsuki after we graduate than?”

“Fuck no.”

Three months had passed since that day, their clean pristine school uniforms exchanged for torn and grimy street clothes. Their shoes were worn, pants muddy and t-shirts ripped at the hem, dirt covered their faces, bruises and cuts marring their skin. They stayed together though, Bakugou leading the way as they ducked under fallen debris, hand clasped in hand to keep from losing each other.

They walked an empty cul de sac, broken down homes left abandoned much like the neighborhood in which they use to live. Glass lay shattered in flowerbeds, trees hanged down on rooftops, cars left out of fuel and parked in the least plausible of places. The air smelt of dried blood, the area too quiet for even Bakugou’s taste, it made him careful, surveying their surroundings with a keen eye. He saw none of those creatures that reeked of rotting flesh, limbs hanging loosely by broken joints, their skin an unpleasant color, an unpleasant sight. Bakugou had to stop himself from gagging at the mere thought of them, his feet stuttering as he if he were to run away again.

He couldn’t though, a hand stopped him, squeezed his own, reminding him of the warm body behind him, the living breathing end result of hell. Kirishima was quite possibly the only one he had left that he cared for. His unbreakable shield that kept him steady on his feet, kept him thinking things will be okay as long as they stick together. Nothing could go wrong if the two of them were fighting with and for each other.

With another squeeze of the hand, Bakugou turned back to face his companion, taking in the way he breathed, the way he stood with resilience even after their world fell apart. The scar on his eyelid wasn’t the only one he bared anymore, many scrapes and scratches layered his arms and back. His black roots were showing, undyed since months before the apocalypse happened, strands of hair falling loose from the string poorly wrapping his hair in a short ponytail. Bakugou hadn’t looked better off, having not bathed for weeks, his body weak from fatigue, unclean scab adorning his cheek.

They were both beaten into despair, living off of vulnerable will and river water. Bakugou couldn’t remember the last time they had eaten, Kirishima’s stomach growling causing the red head to look up in panic and scan the broken road for unwanted arrivals. That had Bakugou stepping closer, patting Kirishima’s cheek and turning him so that their eyes met, an unshakeable voice reveling in his words.

“We’re okay, Kirishima… You’re okay.”

Bakugou watched as Kirishima’s eyes travelled again, resigning and letting his shoulders sag once more. It wasn’t the first time one of them had feared to be found, keeping their voices hushed in close quarters or seeking the other for protection. It seemed so wrong… Neither were weak, they both held physical strength that could rival a boxer, fist that supported them in confrontations, and yet they were here, quivering like homeless puppies in the rain.

What’s to say they weren’t?

“We came here because we were hungry… Kirishima, we’re not going to leave until we find something to fill our stomachs…”

Kirishima nodded, chuckling lowly, his chest rising with the small sound. “You always know what to say, don’t you?”

Truth be told, Bakugou didn’t. He only knew that he had to prioritize their safety and well-being, find any means to provide for them. If that meant breaking and entering, well, he had done that in a heartbeat. Bakugou nudged the wooden door of a nearby house open, the floorboards creaking as the door brushed against it, a tell-tale sign that the structure was older. Inside were minor signs of struggle, dressers knocked to the ground, photos cracked, faint stains woven into the couch cushions.

Bakugou took hold of the largest shard of glass he could find, his palm bleeding as his fingers curled around the crystalline material. Kirishima followed behind him, tiptoeing their way through each hall and room, relieved to find no body, human or not anywhere to be. Bakugou dropped his make shift blade to the ground, stepping over it as he made his way to the kitchen. He attempted to turn on the sink faucet, grimacing when nothing had come out.

“The water lines off.”

Kirishima scoured the kitchen himself, opening each cupboard and cabinet, pinching his nose at the stench coming from the broken fridge, electricity going down not long after the appearance of the undead. There was treasure to be found though, canned goods placed onto the counters, propane tanks found under the sink as well as a first aid kit, a propane-run fireplace with grill top and a few cases of water. Kirishima took one bottle, uncapping the lid as he walked toward Bakugou.

“Here. We need to wash your hand and disinfect your cheek wound.”

Kirishima gripped Bakugou’s wrist gently, holding it over the sink as he poured the bottled water over Bakugou’s cuts. The drain ran red, the color fading as it washed away. Kirishima used a kitchen rag to dry Bakugou’s palm, rubbing ointment over the wounds and dressing it in bandages. He then soaked the rag, looking up at Bakugou as he reached for his uninjured cheek, scrubbing the old scab with the rag and dish soap that was left on the windowsill. Bakugou hissed, cringing as the crusted skin was removed, the scratches and muscle underneath stinging in pain. Bakugou tried to move away, shake Kirishima’s hands off of him but the hold was too rough and commanding.

“Come on, Bakugou. I know it hurts but we gotta clean it, or else, who knows what would happen.”

“Just hurry up…” Bakugou growled, wincing and gripping Kirishima’s wrist harshly.

The wound was not fresh by any means, nearly a week old as Bakugou had bumped into the bark of a tree while they fled an infested area, those monsters some called zombies collecting together for a reason they didn’t know. Bakugou didn’t call them zombies though, no longer wanted to think of them of previous humans. They were monsters in his eyes, the same monsters that tore his family apart, taken Ashido to her grave, left Kirishima huddled in the dark in search for him.

The redhead was left cold in the middle of the night, tears in his eyes and blood on his cheeks, shivering from fright. He curled into Bakugou’s chest that night, fires blaring in garbage bins, stores being ransacked for emergency supplies. The whole city was in chaos but, for that one night, all Bakugou could think about was the fact that Kirishima was in his arms, falling to pieces.

Later in the night, Bakugou lay in the queen sized bed of the master bedroom, the sheets the only ones in the house that were soil free. Leaning against the wall beside the doorway were two backpacks Kirishima and him had found, packing them with food, medical supplies, water and clean underwear they had stolen. It seemed the family that had lived here before had a son somewhere around their age, his clothing fitting them with minimal problems as they had changed into fresh outfits. Dust still covered Bakugou from head to toe but the best he could do was to bathe in the next water dwelling they found.

Bakugou knew they couldn’t stay long…

A tap in the hallway roused Bakugou, his senses kicking in as he tipped his head so that Kirishima was in his vision. His friend stalled in the doorway, biting his lip, fingers clenching against the wall paper and eyes tired. Not tired from lack of sleep but from exertion, from emotional turmoil and an uneased mind. Bakugou said no word, scooting over to make room for Kirishima on the bed, easing an extra pillow onto the open space. Kirishima didn’t need to be told what that meant, stumbling his way into the bedroom and crawling in the bed beside Bakugou, laying on his side to face the blonde.

“Bakugou… What are we going to do? We’re not going to be safe forever…”

Kirishima’s hands trembled, clutching at the front of his shirt, his eyelids wavering, breath choking ever so slightly; Kirishima was fearful. He looked so fragile, lost and unarmed. Bakugou feels useless, his chest tightening, gritting his teeth. His muscles were weak, not strong enough for the circumstances at hand and he wanted to be stronger, to wipe that scared look off Kirishima’s face.

“Please… Don’t leave me…”

He shouldn’t of… It wasn’t a part of the plan; what plan, he didn’t know. All he knew was that he shouldn’t have gone, shouldn’t have suggested the things that he did. Maybe then, if they hadn’t left each other’s path, they would still be side by side.

Adrenaline filled Bakugou’s veins, his feet carrying him as quickly as they could, Kirishima panting out of breath beside him. He had thought it was a good idea to scavenge the warehouse for spare rations that would care for them for the next few weeks. That they would be spared clean water, perhaps more clothing and get away with a carefree stroll through the aisles. Of course Bakugou would be wrong.

He cursed, pulling Kirishima into the guns and ammo aisle, picking up a pistol and pointing it at the beast before him. He pulled the trigger, a shrill cry leaving Kirishima’s lips but nothing else.

“There’s no bullets?! Where’s the bullets!?”

Kirishima scrambled to find some, pulling on the locks of glass cases, banging on them, not a single one opening for him. The swarm of monsters seemed to grow, inching closer and closer to the two. Bakugou stowed the hand gun away in his pants, tugging a riffle off the wall that he used to swing at the monsters instead, keeping them at bay for now. “Hurry up!”

Kirishima grabbed a hunting knife, smashing the glass case with the hilt of the blade, picking up a firearm he’d never used before and struggling to fill the barrel. Bakugou stuffed a handful of bullets, any size for any gun, into his coat pocket and pulling Kirishima out of the aisle section. Bullets fell to the ground, clanging against the concrete tile as they ran, Kirishima’s nine barrel gun being filled with only three bullets. They continued to run, knocking useless items down to the ground behind them, jumping over obstacles, tripping every now and then.

“Don’t shoot until they’re right behind us!”

“But they’re on our tail!”

“Don’t shoot!”

Sweat beaded down Bakugou’s brow, his legs throbbing, mind going a hundred miles per minute. He had to think of something, get them out of there somehow, he couldn’t let death take Kirishima, not the only person he had left. They ran another corner, feet pounding against the ground, no exit sign to be seen. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Kirishima! We gotta split up!”

“What!?” Kirishima’s voice came out hoarse, an argument ready. “Katsuki! I don’t want to split up! You promised we’d stay together.

Kirishima used his name, his given name and it tore at Bakugou’s heart strings, the bite worse than frost. Bakugou could feel the lump in his throat, the rifle in his hands hitting his knee with every step he took, a reminder that their lives were on the line.

“I did! And I will! Just meet me outside!”

With that, Bakugou shut his eyes, closing himself off to the world as he ran opposite of Kirishima, sprinting at a speed that the other couldn’t follow. He could hear Kirishima calling out for him, his voice laced with tears and Bakugou just had to keep going, had to keep running. He swung his riffle in various directions, banging it against paint cans, walls, mirrors, anything that would create enough noise for the monsters to follow, to chase after him rather than Kirishima.

He prayed that it worked, the rotting creatures finding him as he ran through the spoiled fruit section, pulling out crates and spilling as many fruits onto the floor as he could. It let his frustration out, a way to vent as he created disturbances for the monsters, efficiently getting further and further away from them.

Soon he was out in daylight again, Bakugou shielding his eyes as he barricaded the exit behind him. It’s been hours before he was able escape the large building and he was out of breath, his lungs burning as hot tears gathered in the corner of his eyelids. He knew he was safe but he thought he would die right then and there with the way his whole boy hurt. He had only hoped Kirishima had made it out of the building.

Bakugou stayed, never abandoning his post, surveying the area for any sign of Kirishima, not seeing a trace of him even when the moon rose and the sky darkened. He truly did feel dead then.

Bakugou stirred in his sleep, groaning at the rusted metal that dug into his back. He sneered, eyelids blinking open as he adjusted to the blaring sun above him. To Bakugou’s right was the same rifle he had taken two years ago, a gallon of dirtied water beside it. He had slept through the night in the bed of a broken down truck he didn’t own, living through the memories of his past that he wished hadn’t happened. To this day, Bakugou regretted breaking his promise to Kirishima…

#bakushima #kiribaku #bakugou katsuki #kirishima eijirou #bnha #minor gore #implied character death #sierra-sama writes #nanowrimo 2017

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zcathystudies · 5 years

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[V1] Pursued

Words: Malevolent, Pulsate, Provoke, Vigor, Vitality, Diminish, Debilitate, Immaculate, Apathetic, Lethargic, Lull, Erratic

Definitions

I felt something pierce through my chest. It flawlessly seeped through my layers of skin and caused a frightening wound. The person who shot it clearly had malevolent intentions. I glance downwards and my eyes are met with a bloody spot on my ribs. My breath hitched and I hissed at the overwhelming pain that washed over me. My heart pulsated thunderously, proving no signs of passiveness. Blood cascaded down my sides and stained my jeans as it dripped downwards. I heard another gunshot fire and I hastily threw myself behind a boulder. I winced slightly at the impact I caused upon myself. I brought my knees closer to my body, to shield any traces of my presence. I grabbed a rock with a sharpened tip to cut a piece of cloth off my shirt to wrap up my wound. I grazed the rock around the bottom half of my shirt and detached a long piece of cloth. I took the piece of cloth and wrap it around my torso and tied it, covering my wound.

“This should stop the bleeding a little and prevent it from spilling a large amount of blood than it would without being covered.”

My pursuer continued to fire shots. The shots mercilessly tore holes into the walls in attempts of provoking me. If it wasn’t for my heightened senses, I would be calmer. But alas, the provocation was taking a toll on me. Even though I’m wounded, I needed to muster vigor and face what’s been thrown at me by the unfortunates of life. My eyes darted around the room in hopes of finding an object I could use as a weapon. My optics land on a crowbar and I beamed at the sight of a possible weapon. I raced for the crowbar, almost exposing myself to my pursuer. Luckily, they didn’t notice me darting from one side to the other. I need to end this battle before I lose vitality. It was diminishing at an alarming rate and prompting my heart to throb abnormally faster.

My hands grasp tightly around the crowbar, getting ready to attack the pursuer. The only thing holding me back was my unsightly wound. It was debilitating my ability to think straight and use my strength to its full potential. Right now, I’m just a total mess, given the current situation I am in. It has my current state discord my prior look. My hair is completely disheveled and my previously immaculate clothing is tainted with dust, dirt, and debris. I brought my attention back to fighting and quickly readied myself for what’s about to happen.

I launched myself out of my former hiding spot and charged towards the person. They were dressed in black attire. From their physique, I would assume they’re male. I noticed the pistol they were hiding in their holster.

“Presumably, he was about to leave thinking that I wasn’t in this area. But now that I revealed myself, his senses sharpened and he gave his full attention to me. Though, that wasn’t enough to block my surprise attack.”

The crowbar smashed into his left arm, causing him to wince in pain. I looked up at the man, seeing how his face was covered completely by a mask. After taking a hit, he regained composure and remained apathetic. He clearly believed that a girl like me couldn’t defeat him. The gender difference gave a boost to his confidence and washed away all his concerns. He swiftly took out his pistol out of its holster and aimed a shot at me. With much luck and the help of my reflexes, I dodged the bullet and tried escaping to cover myself behind a wall.

“There was no way a crowbar can be matched against a pistol. And I’m not necessarily good at close combat.”

I got behind a wall, causing another shot to miss me. My wound was making my condition worse. I was becoming lethargic and slowly losing consciousness. And with the immense of blood loss, my heart rate is becoming languid. My dissipating heartbeat was yearning for lulls to sent me to sleep. Expect, I mind was telling me that I am not going to die here. So, I decided it was best that I fled the situation than to fight.

The man was around the corner and to my left there’s an exit. But if the man were to turn around this corner, he’d have a perfect opportunity to shoot me without missing. The hallway was perfect narrow, with a few piles of concrete to hide behind. I quietly snuck down the hall, every so often checking behind me for the man. I got behind the first pile of concrete, masking my presence and looked back again to see if the man was there. There was no one.

“I’m guessing the man is going to surprise attack me. He’s probably waiting around the corner, waiting for the perfect time to strike. My best bet is to reach the end of this hall before he decides its time to attack.”

I check once again and was certain he wouldn’t notice me. I pranced to the next pile without a sound. This is a really suspenseful situation. It’s almost straight out of a horror or action movie. As I moved behind one pile of concrete to the next, my heartbeat became erratic once again. My mind kept thinking about what’s going to happen next. And was it going to be pleasant or not.

I reached the end of the hall, and let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. I took a right and ran. I still tried to remain as silent as possible. But that didn’t last long when I heard the man fire a gunshot. Right when the petrifying sound rung through my ears, I ran for my life. I ran so quickly to the point where I was gasping for air, my lungs begging for more oxygen.

A light shined at the end of the hall, signifying that I was near the exit. A feeling of relief washed over me. I was so close. So close to escaping from near death.

But who says that was ever guaranteed?

To my dismay, the man caught up to me. He scoffed at my sad attempt of escaping. To give me even more misfortune than he already has, he fires his final shot. It hit me perfectly. It strikes my heart. The shot that is able to drain all the life out of me. All my strength to keep my body upright had escaped me. I drop to the floor lifelessly, showing no signs of ever getting back up. It appeared as though my soul had left me in an instant. The man approaches my corpse. He smirks at his work. His now-dead prey laying on the ground. This display of helplessness generated a huge boost in his confidence.

“Bullseye”

With one last look at his success, he turned his heel and headed towards the exit. In this world, only the strongest lives. And this time, he was the strongest.

#english vocab #writing #english #words

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loubuggins · 7 years

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Every King Needs a Queen

Chapter 1: The Raid

Titan's Secret Safe House, Location: Classified

The tall and dense clumps of the lush, green blades of Elephant Grass blew gently with the light breeze. Water from the nearby river acted like a natural mister, cooling down the visitors that stood nearby in a small clearing of Bermuda Grass. One was a middle-aged woman with pale-grey skin that reflected off the vicious sun's rays. Her long, violet hair fell well past her shoulders and bellowed at the ends due to the wind. Her long blue cloak whipped with the wind, exposing her leotard and long, black boots. Across from her stood a younger version of what could have been the same person, had it not been for the little girl's green chakra, cloak, and the specks of emerald invading her amethyst eyes.

The two faced each other, the youngest standing in a fighting position with her arms up in defense and her little legs standing firm in the soft grass, her dark green boots standing out against the lighter yellow green ground. The elder stood with her arms at her side, and her blank stare pointed towards the child.

"Are you ready, Arella?" The women asked in her typical, monotone voice.

The little girl nodded her head, some of her long, violet locks falling in her face, forcing her to blow them away with a huff. "Ready, Mother."

"Go!" A blast of obsidian magic was sent barreling towards the small child. The girl reacted instinctively, a black shield forming over her crossed arms. The blast was strong, strong enough to push the girl a couple steps back, but not enough to break her shield. A few heartbeats passed while Arella's mind tried to catch up with what was happening. With a grunt, she sent a pulse of her own magic back at her mother, breaking the stream of opposing magic and sending the women back a couple of feet.

. . . Rip her apart . . .

There it was again.

Arella shook the voice off, getting back to her training exercises.

Arella was about to send another blast at her mother, but she got her attention, "Use the items around you! You'll expend less energy that way!"

"Oh yeah," Arella retracted her magic, then re-extended her emotions over a few large rocks around her. They floated into the air and began dancing around her mother in an almost playful, teasing manner. At first, she thought Arella was simply playing with her powers, but that theory was shot to hell when the rocks began shooting at her one by one. Arella giggled a bit watching her mother deflect her attacks, so she sped up her attacks . . . faster . . . and faster . . .

"Arella!" Raven was beginning to become exhausted, the large rocks coming at her from every angle. "ARELLA!"

The young sorceress gasped, wrangling in her emotions, but not before a loose boulder hit Raven in the back of the head. "Mother!" Arella screamed in fear as she ran over to her fallen mother. She came close to jumping her mother, but changed her mind last second, and instead took a couple steps back. Her hands were held up to her chest as she anxiously fiddled with her fingers. Hot, fresh tears ran down her red cheeks, and her breath quickened and became shallow. The wind picked up again and began swirling around the child, sending mud, rocks, and sticks flying about. "Ma…Ma…Mama I'm…so sorry Mama, I…"

The mother sat back up with a loud groan. She was covered in mud and blades of grass stuck to her wet skin. She looked up to see her young daughter sobbing and hyperventilating. Her maternal instincts kicked in, and forgetting her own pain, she pushed herself up on her legs and walked up towards the panicking child. She used her own powers to block the flying objects that came her way.

When she was only a few inches away for the small girl, she bent down on her knees and took the child's head in her hands. The girl looked at her mother with frightened, tearful eyes. Her mother's face was emotionless as she leaned her head down, and touched their foreheads together, their chakra's glowing as they clicked together. An instant wave of calmness and security washed over the young girl. The last of her tears rolled down her cheeks and dripped into the earth. Her breathing became deeper and more even, and her arms fell to her sides.

Her mother, once satisfied with her daughter's condition, broke their connection by pulling away. She looked down at her daughter and gently rubbed her thumbs over the girl's hot cheeks, cleaning away the last of her tears. The girl's eyes were focused on the ground under her, too ashamed to meet her mother's gaze.

"I'm sorry, Mama." She whimpered sadly.

Her mother pulled the girl's small body into a loving embrace, one of her arms wrapping around the girl's thin waist and the other holding her head. Without hesitation, Arella wrapped her short arms around her mother's neck, her head burying itself into her mother's shoulder. Her mother stroked her daughter's long, silky hair as she whispered into her sensitive, pointy, little ears. "I love you, Arella. Never worry about me. You could never hurt me. I just need you to promise me something."

Arella nodded her head and her mother gently pushed the girl back, her hands now gripping the girl's shoulders. Arella met her mother's deep amethyst gaze. She could feel her mother's serious mood, and the deep rooted protective nature that she always felt off her mother.

"Promise me Arella, that you will do everything in your power to control your rage. That part of you is not the true part. You are not that monster, and I never want you to feel like you are, but you must learn to control that part of you, or else one day it may take control and never give it up. Promise me, you won't allow that to happen."

Arella searched her mother's eyes, seeing concern, worry, and worst of all, fear. What she could not decipher was rather that fear was for her safety or her mother's. A part of Arella told her not to make that promise. It was the scary voice that constantly whispered in her mind, telling her terrible things that would sometimes make her lash out or run to her parent's bedside in the middle of the night looking for sanctuary. Her mother once told her that the voice was not her friend, and that whatever the voice said was never true. She often tried to ignore the mysterious, deep-throated voice, but sometimes the ideas it came up with sounded so…good. Other times, she wouldn't even know she was obeying the voice until after the damage was done, and she was left to face the consequences. Now the voice was back, telling her that her mother was wrong, but if there was one lesson Arella learned, it was that Mother was never wrong.

"Okay, Mama, I promise." Her small voice squeaked as she nodded her head.

"That's my girl." Her mother's lips twitched up in a faint smile and she placed a brief kiss on top of Arella's head.

Suddenly, the warm air became chilling and the pressure dropped as well. A weird feeling built up in Arella's stomach, and her mother's smile quickly replaced itself with a frown.

"And here we have the elusive Raven. A solitary creature that prefers the company of books then to that of human contact. Highly intelligent, but drawn to all things green." Came the sarcastic, English voice of the demon king, dressed in his typical red Armani Collezioni three-button suit.

"What are you doing here, Landon?" The mother's gravelly voice was laced with suspicion and annoyance as she looked past Arella and stared pointedly at the nicely dressed demon. Instinctively she brought Arella closer to her.

"Now, Raven darling, is that any way to greet an old friend?" Landon pretended to be hurt by her sudden rudeness.

"It is if that friend only shows up when there is danger, you need a favor, or both." The women retorted, but he only shrugged.

"I suppose there is some truth in that." He said, then dropped his gaze to the little girl hiding under her mother's cloak.

A wicked grin crepted onto his face. "And who is this lovely young thing?" The demon king approached, Arella stayed at her mother's side, but she watched the king with curious eyes. Landon dropped down to the 10-year-old's height. His dark brown eyes meeting her purple-green ones.

"I believe we haven't had the pleasure of being properly introduced, little one." The king extended his hand, his smile never leaving his face. "Landon, King of Hell, at your service."

The girl eyed his open hand doubtfully.

"It's okay, Arella. He won't hurt you." Raven's last comment seemed directed more as a threat to the demon king than as comfort to the little girl.

Upon her mother's approval, Arella extended her tiny, pale hand and Landon instantly accepted it. He gripped the small hand and brought it to his lips, placing a polite kiss on her knuckles. The little girl blushed and quickly brought her hand back to the safety of mother's cloak.

"Now, darling, it's only polite to give your name after someone has introduced themselves to you. Honestly, has your mother taught you nothing?" He glanced up at Raven, who ignored his taunt.

"Arella Rita Logan." The girl recited like a line from a play she had to memorize.

"Alright, Arella, your training is over for today. Go teleport home, your father should be there." Her mother ordered. Arella immediately voiced her objections, but one stern glare from her mother was enough to make the child obey without another word. Once the young girl was swallowed up by a large black hole, Raven finally relaxed.

"Why did you come here, Landon?" She asked again, as she used her magic to begin removing the mud and debris from her person.

"I was in the neighborhood and decided to drop in on my favorite chromatically challenged family." With a snap of his fingers, all the dirt that had been on Raven vanished, and any cuts or bruises she had disappeared with it. Raven let out a sigh, but thanked the king anyway. "Anytime, darling. Now about your little training session."

"I knew it!" Raven interjected, raising a finger at the king. "This is a business trip."

Landon rolled his dark eyes at the women. "Of course, it's a business trip. All my trips are business trips. Now back to the topic at hand. I know what you have been teaching that girl, but it will never work."

"What are you talking about?" Raven growled at the overly-confident demon.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about. The girl has a power inside her that could end us all, and all you are doing is adding fuel to the fire." Landon spoke calmly as he folded his hand together behind his back.

"I'm teaching her to suppress and control her demonic side, just as I was taught, and just as I taught my other two children." Raven explained, doing her best to suppress her own rage at the king's insult to her parenting.

"That may have worked for them, but for the girl, it's like fixing a leak with a band aid. It will not last forever, and when it fails, she'll drown."

The metaphor hung in the air as Raven allowed this warning to sink in.

"No." She objected. "You're wrong! My daughter will never fall to the darkness. Never!"

Landon simply blinked at her outburst. "So, what's the plan exactly? Tell her to stay away from the darkness and move on with life? That's not enough."

"Then what do you suggest?!" Raven's heart froze as she thought of her daughter being corrupted by her own rage. A vision of Arella covered in the Marks of Scath filled her mind, but she quickly pushed it away.

"You need to teach her about the darkness, show her the darkness, show her the consequences. You cannot hope to control something you suppress. That's not how it works." Landon implored. "That's exactly why you became Trigon's bloody portal! The only reason you survived is because of your friends were crazy enough to go to hell and find you."

"And Arella has even more friends and family than I had." Raven added.

"But what if that's not enough this time." The demon king challenged. "Trigon will try to return to this realm, and when that day comes, wouldn't you rather her be strong enough to resist him, rather than hope she'll come out the other end alive?"

Now this made Raven really think. Could this arrogant king of Hell, be right? Would giving into her demonic side, really protect Arella from her malevolent grandfather?

"Raven, please, all joking aside, let me help. I don't want her to be Trigon's plaything any more than you do. If you let her come with me, and learn how to properly use her demonic powers, spend some time in the darkness, she may just be strong enough to stop Trigon before he even knocks on the door." Landon was a lot of things, but she never would have pegged him as a beggar. Yet, here he was, practically pleading with her to give in to him. He had to feel strongly about this, if he was asking for her permission before he acted. However, no matter how important this was to the king of Hell, there was no way on Earth or Hell that she would let him take her daughter away from her.

This made Raven's answer easy. "No." She said meeting her scowling gaze. "I'm sorry, Landon, but she is my daughter. My responsibility. I will train her how I see fit, and use every last drop of my powers to make sure she is safe. My mother sent me away, because of my proclaimed prophecy, and I swore to myself that I would never do that to my own child. Keeping safe is important, but so is showing her love, kindness, and friendship. Those are what saved me in the end, and they will save her too."

Surprisingly Landon wasn't surprised by her answer. Memories of his own daughter being taken from him long ago helped him to understand her decision. That didn't mean he had to like it.

"While I respect your passion, and I understand your answer, darling, I must implore you to reconsider." He pushed one final time.

Raven narrowed her eyes at him, her own death glare rivaling his. "Read my lips, Landon. Not. Going. To. Happen."

"Very well. Can't say I didn't try." His eye darted from Raven to the thick brush of grass behind her, where a pair of amethyst/emerald eyes widened at being caught. "If you need me, you know the number."

Raven snorted, "Still 666?"

He smirked, A black cloud of smoke covered the demon king, and as quickly as he came, he vanished, leaving behind a confused Raven and a perplexed little girl.

Titan Tower West, Jump City, CA

Present Day

A lot changed over the years, that much is certain, and inevitable, but none more than the tower that stood guard in the bay of Jump City. The one shaped like a giant T. Though it had been there for years, it had gone through intensive remolding, and not just adding on rooms, or enlarging the ones they already had by putting their own bathrooms in them. No, the most impressive of these remodels was the enormous underground training facility, equipped with the latest and greatest in combat training, which was where the newest group of young heroes found themselves this morning.

With the combat simulation at the ready, the group of five teenage heroes began their training exercises to start the day. Of course, only one of them was excited to be up at five in the morning. A streak of gold zipped through the air fighting off her airborne opponents. Special armored bracelets helped her deflect the shots that were aimed at her.

Wonder Girl landed, while a red blur ran past her. "Gotta watch your back, Cassie." Impulse teased.

She rolled her blue eyes, removing a rope from her belt to lasso a hologram, and swinging it at another that stood behind the speedster. "How about we call it even."

He shrugged, "Works for me," and zipped off to help his teammates.

A young man stood surrounded by the computerized ninjas. With eyes glowing a fiery blue, large balls of fire shot from his hands and began consuming them. Once the way was clear the balls of fire shrank before merging to become one, then floated by his ear.

"Not bad," he told it, "still a bit slow on the afterburner though . . . whatdoya mean I don't know what I'm talking about?!"

"Reed . . . !" Instinctively Reed docked for cover just as a young woman with short spiked pink hair soared over him kicking away two of the ninjas in a splits kick. Once he hit the ground, she threw her arm at another group of charging ninja's, shards of crystal flying out of her arms and hitting each of them in the heads. " . . . watch out." She stood up straight, placing her hands on her hips in a sarcastic manner.

"Heh," he rubbed the back of his neck nervously, ". . sorry." Chloe Daniels rolled her cobalt blue-eyes, before crystalizing her leg to send a spin kick to attacking ninja's behind her.

The holograms continued to come down on the team of Titans, well all but one who was safely floating in a meditative trance high above the training floor. She took a few deep breaths, the emerald chakra stone on her forehead acting as a third eye allowing her to see the battle field below her. With her eyes glowing a pale green she recited the spell.

"Azarath Metrion Zinthos!" Dark olive-green tendrils shot from the recesses of her cloak impaling each of the ninja warriors below turning them into digitized ash. Once the dust had settled (figuratively) the group of young heroes gathered in the center, the young sorceress floated into the midst of them.

"Nice shot, Ary." Reed complimented, the small fireball sitting calmly on his shoulder, twitching with hot energy.

With the hood of her dark green cloak hiding her face, she glared at him. "It's Arella."

"Wait, I thought Maria called you Ary?" Impulse asked.

Her eyes narrowed, "She's a unique circumstance that I shouldn't have to explain to you."

Impulse and Reed looked puzzled, "It means only her sister and brother can call her that." Chloe, with her arms folded and hip jutting out, informed them as she stood beside the cloaked girl, sending her a smirk, "And me on occasion."

"Only 'cuz my magic doesn't work on you," Arella grumbled.

A small aqua colored ruby sparked from her revealed midriff. "I still can't believe your dad allowed THAT." Reed gawked.

"Who said anything about him allowing it?" She grinned.

"That's enough." Wonder Girl stepped forward, but was specifically glaring at Arella. "I know you have the ability to wipe everything out in a single blast, but you were told NOT to use so much power."

The gothic sorceress scowled at her team leader. "Well sorry you all were taking too long." She mocked an apology. Wonder Girl narrowed her eyes even more at her sarcastic team mate.

"This is a training exercise. It's not about time, it's about endurance. What would happen if you used all your magic at once, and found yourself drained during the heat of battle?"

She scrunched her face, pretending to think. "I'd probably get the hell out of there."

Reed and Impulse shared a snicker, while Chole simply smirked at her best friend's comeback. Before Cassie could retort, another figure approached the group. She had light green skin, with dark emerald eyes and hair. Her ears came to a point and her nails were short and sharp like claws. She wore a tight spandex suit, sporting her family colors, purple and green. The suit hugged her hourglass frame perfectly, and when she spoke, her short fangs glistened in the light.

"And how do you suppose you'll do that?" Questioned the older new comer, known as Maria. If Arella was bothered by Cassie's annoying attempt at a lecture, she sure wasn't going to be in the mood for this.

"No one asked you." Her weak comeback made even herself cringe.

"No, no. I want to hear just how little miss 'all powerful sorceress' gets herself out of danger without the use of her powers." The green-haired women pushed, a knowing smirk spreading on her lips.

"Okay fine!" Arella finally gave in. "I'll…I'll…I'll hitch a ride with my pal Chloe over here." She said as she wrapped her arm over the pinkette's shoulders.

"Like hell you will." Chloe said as she shrugged Arella's arm off. "No one is riding me."

impulse and Reed glanced at each other. "Nope, to easy." smirked the speedster, but that only earned him an annoyed sort of smoke and tiny crystal flex from her nose.

"Oh, come Chlo!" Arella batted her big, purple-green eyes. "Not even for little ole' me?"

"Sorry Ary, but you gotta be at least this tall to ride this ride." The dragon knight lifted her hand a few inches over both their heads. "And that includes these two idiots." She said with another glare in the direction of the snickering boys.

"Alright," The oldest announced. "Arella, you know this already, but since you never seem to grasp the concept I guess I'll just have to repeat it again. Do. Not. Use. All. Your. Magic. In. One. Strike. Do I make myself clear?" The women stared the younger girl down.

Arella rolled her eyes. "Yes, Mom." She said with dripping sarcasm. Maria was not amused, but before she could scold the girl, the blaring sirens of the mission alert interrupted their little chat.

"Trouble. Titans Go!" Maria shouted as she quickly teleported out of the room. Cassie flew off in the direction of the exit, Impulse hot on her trail. Arella grabbed Chloe's arm and the two were swallowed up in her own portal, leaving an irritated Reed behind.

"Man, why am I the only one stuck getting around the old fashion way?" He asked as he threw his arms in the air in exaggeration, and begin the long trek to the common room. The fire ball on his shoulder flashed a few times, as if it were trying to speak.

"What do you mean, you can get there faster than this? You can't do anything without me telling you to."

Flash. Flash.

"Well I don't care if you were just stating a fact. It was a stupid fact." The brunette continued to banter with his pet fire ball as they were the last to exit the room.

"Well look who finally made it." Reed had finally made it to the common room in time for Impulses comment.

"I thought we agreed you weren't allowed comments like that since you get everywhere in two seconds anyway?" he growled, the ball of fire floating around him flashed in agreement. "You said it."

"Anyways," Maria got everyone's attention, "this is our bad guy for the day." With a couple commands typed into the computer, the round silver haired face of a man flashed across the screen. Everyone gave a collective gasp, then growls of rage. "I don't think I need to tell you just how important this mission is," Maria continued, "Marcus Cassidy is one if the worst sex traffickers in the world and he's setup shop in our own backyard. Now that he's surfaced again we CAN'T afford to lose him again." There was a silent wave of agreement amongst the group. Maria motioned for wonder girl to take over.

"Not only do we need to make sure we get Cassidy alive, but we also need the location of every one of his operations, and get any and all captives out a safe. Bart, you'll be responsible for hacking their computers. Arella, you and Maria will work on getting the innocent out of there, while Reed and Chloe will take care of any obstacles that we'll run into. And I'll make sure Cassidy is going nowhere. Sound good?"

Everyone gave a nod of agreement, including, to everyone's surprise, Arella. She had excepted a long time ago that she was essentially babysat during missions, especially by wonder girl, who still didn't fully trust her, and Maria when she was there. It was different when her older brother, and Maria's twin, Mark was around since Arella felt genuine love and concern when he was with them, plus he wasn't such a tight ass. Chloe, whose emotions Arella couldn't feel, was also genuinely concerned during missions, unlike the rest of her teammates, but again she stopped arguing a while ago.

"Alright then. Titans..."

"...GO!"

The group of young heroes took off into the construction site, Impulse zipping through to a nearby trailer, Reed, or the Fox, threw a slew of fire balls that began reducing the automatic weapons being fired at them to Ash, and any that planned on escaping were blocked in by a stream of red hot fire from above.

A pale green rhino charged towards a mobile home looking building, a bubble of dark green energy that helped to shield her from the gun fire. Rhino Maria smashed through the trailer, Arella continuing to shield them.

"Good job Maria, leaving a huge hole open for the bad guys!"

Maria shifted back, "Just keep that shield up!" was all she could say. Arella growled in frustration, but from the safety of her barrier, saw a blur of dark pink and sapphire scales land in front of the gunfire, and changed into solid diamonds, resulting in the bullets bouncing off her sold form.

Arella dropped the barrier, "Thanks Clo." and she took off down the trailer were Maria was already waiting for her.

Huddled around her was a group of malnourished, dehydrated, beaten and frightened young women, each giving off a mixture of fear, gratitude and uncertainty.

"Arella, you need to teleport them to the Jump City Police Station." Now Arella knew that the magical power that she inherited from their mother was stronger in her, and would make sense for her to teleport them to safety. However, since the two sisters never really got along, Arella didn't really think about the next words that came out of her mouth. "well why can't you do it?"

Maria gave a look of annoyance and disbelief as if Arella was only batting her into admitting that her younger sister was better than her in this regard. Before she could scold her, a rough explosion rocked the earth beneath them. "Arella just get them out of here!". Maria changed into a squirrel and scurried out of the trailer to join the battle outside. The group of women looked up at the young girl with confusion, not sure what was about to happen.

"Hang on," she advised. "Azarath Metrion Zinthos." Her dark green ethereal energy washed over the group and herself transporting them to somewhere safe.

It was a full thirty minutes later before Arella could get back to the battle. Once the women were situated, Arella informed the police department where they were and that they could use the backup. Once she emerged from her portal, she was met by a disturbing sight. A gentleman with a large blaster in his hands was shooting beans of green light at her teammates, a weapon she recognized as a power canceling gun. Fox, and Maria were already down, but Impulse, Wonder Girl and Chloe, still in her dragon form, were attempting to take out the gunman. Before Arella could help her friends, her pointed ears picked up the sound of a rocket launcher being fired and the projectile coming right at her. instinctively she threw up a shield around herself but the resulting explosion knocked her into a nearby Office trailer. she broke through the wall knocking around papers computers and documents but was unharmed. she quickly got to her feet and flew from the trailer to her teammates. out of the corner of her eye she saw Marcus Cassidy climbing in to an SUV to make his getaway.

Kill him now!

There is was. the deep guttural voice that had haunted her for years once again commanding her to kill, to rip, and to dominate. But a roar of her friends in peril got her attention.

DO IT!

Once again Arella fought the voice back, a practice that was becoming tiring, and done for her teammates. summoning all her remaining energy, she wrapped her team in her power and teleported them all to safety.

Arella, still dressed in her uniform, stared blankly at the ceiling of her bedroom, which just happened to be her mother's old room, a pair of large headphones covering her ears to drown out the conversation taking place down the hall. she had heard it all before. Maria and Wonder girl would argue that Arella screwed up while Chloe would stand up for her, and would most the time end up right. These arguments we're often likened to the fights between the former Doom Patrol leader, and her grandfather, Mento, and her dad. But Arella stopped participating in the fights years ago, some they always ended the same. "trying to protect you", "we're in charge" blah, blah, blah. Again, Arella stopped caring a long time ago.

Glancing at the clock on her nightstand she decided it was time for bed. She stood, keeping the headphones on, and undid her cloak and kicked off her boots, when something caught her eye. Within the folds of her cloak that she hadn't noticed till now, were loose pieces of paper that she didn't recognize. she scooped them up and began sifting through them, discovering that they came from the trailer that she was thrown into earlier. Looking through the stack she didn't see anything that Impulse wasn't able to download, but one stood out from the rest.

It was a photograph of a younger looking Marcus Cassidy with a woman and two kids taken in front of a sign that led to a campsite.

Huh, why would he have this with him? Is this a safe house? The deductive reasoning skills that had been hammered into her by Nightwing began to put the pieces together. This MUST be a safe house. Why else have this photo? Yes! this had to be it! I gotta tell Maria!

Why?

There it was again. That infernal voice that was with her twenty four seven. At first it was bothersome, but now...now it's presence brought something out in her.

A familiar...itch.

Taking the photo in her hand she headed for her closet rummaging for a trunk shoved into the back.

Knock! Knock! Knock!

She froze, extending her senses beyond her door.

She relaxed when she felt it wasn't her sister, her esteemed leader, or Chloe, but she still wasn't wanting company.

She floated to the door, opening it just a crack to peer at her visitor.

"Hey Arella," Reed greeted nervously. He was a slightly taller boy, with shaggy auburn hair that came down to eyebrows, forest green eyes, and a splash of freckles painted along his cheeks.

She waited a beat. "Um, hi?" She responded awkwardly. She could feel his anxiety and apprehension, it was practically chocking her, but perhaps the most unnerving emotion she felt from him was attraction. She was used to picking up unsavory feelings from guys, but this poor kid had it bad for her. It was somewhat flattering, and if she were a normal eighteen-year-old girl, she probably would have returned the feelings. Reed was, after all, one of the sweetest and most attractive guys she knew. He was honestly the only guy outside of her family that didn't make her want to send him to the pits of Hell. However, she was not a normal girl. She was Raven's daughter after all, and she certainly did not inherit her father's people skills.

"Hey!" He said with a sickenly sweet smile.

"You already said that." She deadpanned, hoping he would catch her disinterest and leave her be.

"Heh, heh. Right." He laughed anxiously as he rubbed the back of his neck in an old nervous habit, much like her father and brother. "So, um, I just thought I'd check in on ya. I know today didn't go quite as well as we wanted, but at least we got those girls out, right?"

Ugh, she should have known. Every time a mission went awry, she was to blame. Every time she was blamed, Reed would show up at her door to try and cheer her up. She supposed it was nice of him to care so much, but it honestly didn't bother her anymore. What was bothering her was this interruption.

"Thanks, Reed." She replied with a fake smile. "That helps. Now if you don't mind, I was just getting ready for bed." If the boy picked up on her lie, he didn't show it.

"Okay! Yeah, um, great! Okay, I'll, um, see you tomorrow?" He stuttered as an embarrassed blush creeped up his freckled cheeks.

The dark-haired demoness simply nodded her head. The lovesick boy waved goodbye as he stumbled down the hall to his room. Arella watched him go for a quick moment, making sure he was in fact going to his room. Once she was sure she was in the clear, she used her powers to slide the door shut.

Arella raced back to her closet and her trunk. She was already shaking with anticipation, but she had to calm her nerves, she couldn't afford to be jittery. This was a secret mission, after all, and blowing up things in her room or around the tower was not exactly stealthy. Opening the trunk, she proceeded to dress herself in its contents which consisted of a one-piece, skin tight, pitch black leotard and black sweater, with black leggings and boots. To finish the outfit, she placed a black mask with white mesh over her eyes just like Nightwing's.

She grabbed the picture that held the name of the campsite. Camp Catalina. She knew that campsite. It wasn't too far from here.

Stuffing the picture into her boot, she threw her hood up over her face, and with a flick of her wrist, a black portal grew out of thin air. Without looking back, Arella stepped through the portal, leaving her home behind.

She couldn't remember her first time. All she remembered were colors and shapes, the stench of metal and the feel of sticky hot liquid. Once the smoke cleared and she saw the after effects of what she had done, she vomited, she vomited so much there was blood tearing form her throat. There was one other thing she remembered about the experience though.

The pure, untamed, exhilaration. The feeling was... orgasmic. She had to do it again . . . and again . . . and again. And now she was here, washing the warm sticky liquid off her hands at the sink. She no longer blacked out. She no longer vomited. She no longer felt nervous. Now it came naturally to her, and she remembered every second of it.

She felt a chill run down her spine at the memory. Their cries for mercy, their pathetic attempts at pleading for their lives, just like the women they ripped from their homes. She felt it. She felt their delicious fear, their intoxicating pain, she felt every inch of it and GOD she had never felt so alive! The best part was justice had been served, justice for those women, and everyone in the future whose lives they would have ruined had they been allowed to live. She did a service, she did the right thing. She finished washing her hands and moved into the living room, taking count of the bloody corpses that were strewn across the floor. Marcus Cassidy and five of his men were dead by her small, delicate hands.

"Okay," she sighed, "Now it's time for the hard and boring part," she opened a portal to a pocket dimension and removed a few cleaning items. Bleach, gloves, towels, plastic wrap, and trash bags, "Cleaning." By the time she was done, there was no way on heaven or earth she would be found out.

It took her about two hours to clean the cabin of blood, "Note to self, put plastic wrap around everything to minimize cleaning." she told herself. She glanced back at the bodies, making sure they were all wrapped neatly in plastic bags. "Alright, time to go." She opened a portal and with another wave of her hands the bodies floated through the portal to their final resting place. She glanced around the cabin, and being satisfied with her work followed after the corpses.

She had done a perfect job.

Too bad she had forgotten the broken security camera.

Russia.

She enjoyed exotic places, the wind blowing through the trees, a babbling brook in the distance. It was peaceful, even though the earth was disturbed by several holes dug into the ground for Marcus and his friends. The last body was placed into the hole, and she began moving dirt to cover them up.

"The best part about these powers, no shovels." she said to herself.

"I agree,"

Arella jumped out of her skin, the body falling to the ground with a crash and dirt exploding in every direction. She spun around, not sure what to think of whoever had disturbed her . . . but she knew him.

"Hello darling," Landon greeted coolly, "Fancy a chat?"

Author's Notes:

So another jam-packed chapter! Arella has been a naughty girl. Will Landon set her straight? Find out in the next chapter!

Lot's of OC's being introduced in this story. Tell bearhow and I which one's your favorite in an ask or message!

Make sure to check out bearhow's latest drawling of Chloe Daniels! Find it here.

A big thank you to all who have reviewed so far! Y'all are the best! To those who are just now joining in on this story, please leave bearhow and I a review! We would both really appreciate it. So much time and energy is going into this story, so please, if you read, take 30 seconds to drop a review! It goes a long way! (You can do so in your message, reblog, or in the form of an ask. You can also go to FF.net and leave a review there!)

Until next time,

L.B.

Disclaimer: Landon and Chloe Daniels owned by bearhow. Arella Logan and Maria Logan owned by Lou Buggins. Reed owned by both of us. All other character's property of D.C. Comics.

#bbrae #arella logan #maria logan #Chloe Daniels #Landon #teen titans #Next Gen #bbrae kids #fanfiction #EKNQ #garfield logan #raven

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kyberled · 7 years

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☠ - itspersonalforus (NO REGRETS)

Send “ ☠ “ And my muse will react to seeing the dead body of your muse. || Accepting

The chaos of battle was roiling around them, just as it always did. He didn’t find it nearly as distracting as it used to be. The clanking of battle droids was almost akin to silence, a discordant white noise underneath the chatter of the comm-channel and the shrieks of blaster fire. Braig’s sabers hummed in his hands, superheated plasma bathing everything it carved through in comforting violet as he pivoted and swerved to avoid being felled by incoming bolts. Right, left, parry, counter, left, left, right, an improvised dance that was new every time, and yet oh-so-familiar, like walking down the Temple halls for the upteenth time.

A fighter screamed past overhead, with two vultures in hot pursuit. Braig let his eyes flick upwards for just a moment, a welcome reprieve, a blessed break in the combat as droids marched over their fallen brethren without so much as a glance down. Spiralling like a drill, the fighter ascended skyward at a pace far greater than what was safe (Braig ducked under a bolt, parried to send another ricocheting into the mass of approaching droids to a satisfying hiss and crack) before engines were cut and the ship plummeted rapidly (Braig pivoted, flipped his sabers into a reverse grip, drove the blades backwards into the carapaces of a pair of B2s). The vultures sputtered for a moment, circuits heating as they tried to figure out the proper response (the B2s creaked and threatened to collapse and crush; Braig torqued his upper body and pulled hard on the Force, sending the bulky scrap-heaps up and over to smash down on a few rather unfortunate B1s). The ship’s engines screamed up– Bolts loosed from its canons (Braig lost a few steps of ground, sabers screaming to intercept another volley sent his way). The sound of lethal fireworks overhead brought a smile to Braig’s face, though he did have to jump back to avoid being crushed by some of the debris (he wished he’d had the foresight to pull some droids into the debris’ path, though it looked like a few were taken out, anyway).

“Nice work, Mavvy!” Braig said into the comm, and was greeted with a triumphant laugh.

> Maverick said, doing his now-traditional celebratory barrel-roll before swooping low, mowing a path through the droids with his canons.

“I can tell,” Braig smiled at the brief rest this gave him, taking the opportunity to check to either side and regroup his thoughts. It was only a second of peace, and he had to whip around as a roller came barrelling towards him.

> Otto’s voice crackled in his ear. Braig grit his teeth, taking a page from his mentor’s book as he thrust his palm out with the Force.

> Maverick shot back. Wind roared and tugged at Braig’s hair and clothes as another ship shot by in pursuit of Maverick’s - a friendly. Nothing to worry about. > Braig couldn’t help but chuckle at that, a faint bit of amusement as his focus shifted away from the chatter. More bolts - dodge back, duck low, sweep up; Turn, block, slash, stab forward.

“Does anyone have a read on Cody’s position?” He asked, touching his ear piece just long enough to make sure his question got through before carving back with his sabers and launching himself off, using both the Force and another B2 as a springboard to launch himself into the air. Weight shifted and the Force was called on once again to send him spiralling down. Landed in a stance learned from his master, though the way his sabers flared out to either side was taken from Master Windu (the lessons were paying off, Braig thought to himself).

> Beskar, who seemed to be in a much better mood than usual, though he still snorted.

“Thank you, Maverick, and no, Bes, he’s not.” Braig had to fight to avoid rolling his eyes and distracting himself any more than he already was.

> The shifting tones of engines overhead signalled Maverick making a turn and once again swooping low over the chaos. >

Razz groaned audibly, but peeled away from the centre of the fight, too, mumbling some sort of profanity all the while. Antics aside, it did make Braig feel a bit more at ease. Cody would be fine - of course he would be, he could handle himself. It had just been a while since he’d seen Cody, that was all. He was allowed to be concerned. The Force whispered in his ear, but he couldn’t make out the words amid the din of war. The only sign of the messages’ intent was the sharp, sub-zero chill that raced down his spine.

Didn’t have time to dwell, though - a series of shouts over the comm and a flare of the Force had him springing back just in time to avoid being crushed by an incoming mortar. The ground erupted, the world turning searing white for what felt like an eternity but couldn’t have been more than a second before fading to yellow, orange, red, than back into focus as shards of earth and fire flew in every direction with a sound like the agonised cry of a crumbling mountain. Braig ducked his head down, arms coming up to shield his face as debris shot with potentially lethal force - the shredded sleeves of his tunic would be testament to that. The ground under his feet rumbled, and it took conscious effort to shift his centre of gravity to avoid being sent sprawling. He didn’t have time to recover- at least a handful of the battle droids had resumed fire. One bolt was loosed far too close for comfort - a burning sting clipped his right arm, splitting skin and scalding blood. He winced. A yelp struggled for release behind his teeth, but he swallowed it down, rolling his shoulder as he turned and re-ignited his saber.

“What was that?” He demanded. The comm in his ear crackled for a second, popping loudly – Then voices.

> Surefire said over the sound of his brothers’ cursing and the sharp staccato of blaster fire. > Braig swerved out of the way of another bolt, guard stuttering when he tried to throw his right arm along with his left. One bolt whizzed by his face, close enough that the heat crackled against his skin. He swore. The Force was called to swell around him, channelled into the fresh damage on his arm to dull the pain and render it useful again.

“Any word on Cody, yet?” He asked, driving the blade of his saber through a B2 and using its massive body as a shield for a few moment’s respite. “Or Obi-Wan?”

> Razz replied. “Things’re getting pretty thick out here, though.”>>

“Fine, I’m sure they’re alright. Call off the search, see if you can take out those mortars.”

> Razz said, and Maverick snorted as the ships turned to head out over the field. Braig pressed his lips into a thin line, devoting attention back to the fight. The Force kept niggling at him, though, an uncomfortable tingling on the back of his neck hinting at something not sitting well in the galaxy.

The fight pressed on around him, violent and ravenous. A minute or so later - maybe a little longer, maybe a little less - an even louder explosion roared off in the distance.

> Another of the pilots, Siren, cheered.

“One of them?” Braig repeated, feeling a mixture of worry and irritation building in his chest.

> Beskar seemed annoyed, too.

> Razz replied, and another loud explosion rocked the air. > He sounded as though he was enjoying himself; At least somebody was.

“Good,” Braig said. “Keep it up–” The Force screamed so loudly he thought for sure it would be audible over the comm channel. If anyone had commented on it, though, he couldn’t tell - only turned to see one of the mortars overhead, coming in like an asteroid. Braig looked to either side– The droids had paused, too, but it didn’t look as if there was any room for any of them to run, and they all seemed to have realised it a second before he did. A wordless plea was already building in Braig’s mind as he backpedalled from where he stood, looking for an opening - he didn’t want to die like this -

A shot.

A sudden impact.

The taste of dirt with a hint of metal filled his mouth right before the wave of heat rushed over.

Everything was black…

Until, of course, he opened his eyes. He saw dirt, ash, charred metal… And a white and gold plastoid-clad arm wrapped over his head. It took Braig a second to snap out of his daze, but relief and reality ran neck-and-neck in the race to hit him first.

“Cody–” He tried, then coughed up a mouthful of dirt. The weight that was smushing him into the ground shifted, and two blaster shots rang out through the air, followed by the satisfying thud of droids falling to the ground. Braig squirmed to see what was going on, and Cody rolled off with slightly less grace than Braig was used to. Braig sat up, saber blade flaring to clumsily intercept another angry red bolt. Taking a moment, he glanced down to the Commander and sucked in a harsh breath. The back side of Cody’s armour was charred black - the only reason Braig was aware of this was the black streaks that smudged along the visible edges of his back piece, and the distinct stench of melted plastoid and roasted skin. The breathing that filtered through Cody’s helmet was audible and laboured, but he was breathing, and that was enough to set Braig’s mind at least somewhat at ease. He didn’t have much time to perform a proper assessment - didn’t even have time to stand before another series of shots were fired off their way. A crouch would have to do. Violet hums painted the air with their fury, and for a moment Braig would have liked nothing more than to lunge at the mechanical masses and tear them apart for what they’d done, but the more rational part of him insisted that he had to stay near Cody. The thought was enough to draw his attention back down to the prone Commander.

“Are you okay?” He asked, letting his mind flick to Cody’s Force signature. It didn’t look good.

“I’m fine, Bra’ika,” Cody said, pushing himself to sit. His voice was rough and strained, though he either didn’t notice, or didn’t care. Braig did notice, and Braig did care. “What about you?”

“I’m fine– You shouldn’t be sitting up.” Braig frowned, whipping his right arm out to deflect another shot and hissing when the burned skin protested (his lapse in concentration was costing him; he couldn’t suppress the pain if he couldn’t focus). Even as he turned back to the droids, he heard the familiar sound of a blaster pistol being racked.

“Cody–” He began, but the sound of a bolt being fired off, the sight of brilliant blue slamming into and piercing the head of a droid Braig hadn’t noticed, stole the words from his mouth.

“Gotta watch your back,” Cody said, firing off another shot. “Can’t let you get hurt.” Braig glanced back to him, noticed his hand was shaking.

“You need to save your strength, you’re injured.” Braig insisted, turning back to the fight. He could hear Cody shifting again, more shots being loosed, and above it all, that familiar voice.

“I’ll be fine, Braig.”

The padawan huffed his displeasure, but realised this was neither the time nor the place to argue.

“Where’s Cad?” He asked the comm, turning back to the battle.

> Maverick said as a third explosion split the sky.

“No, I found Cody. Where’s Cad?” Braig swallowed back the metallic salt of exhaustion. The unspoken reason for his question was enough to sober up the chatter that had filled the airwaves.

> Cad’s voice, gruff as ever, was like a godsend. >

“Not good,” Braig said, turning his attention to the Force. “And he won’t just lie still for a minute.”

> Cad sounded exasperated, and Braig couldn’t blame him.

“How quickly can you get over here?” Braig launched a pair of B1s backwards, noting with some measure of relief that the droids looked to be thinning out - were they retreating?

> A younger soldier cut in, and Braig nodded to himself.

“Thanks, Mark.” He said, then elected to lower the volume on his comm, rather than turn it off completely - to leave a traceable signal, just in case. He shifted his stance and sighed with relief. The droids really were thinning out. In the not-so-far-off distance, he could see them beginning to turn and run. A fighter swooped in overhead, lighting up the ground a few feet in front of Braig and scattering most of the closer droids (on that side, at least).

> Though quieted by the lowered volume, the triumph in Siren’s voice was palpable.

“I owe you one, Si!” Braig returned, ducking down both to check on Cody and shield his face from the wind as Siren looped around to clear the other side.

The one negative to the field quieting was that Braig could easily hear Cody’s breathing. Stuttered, ragged, and positively soaked through with blood. The Commander was laid out on the ground, no longer trying to prop himself up.

“Cody?” Braig said, trying to keep the note of panic out of his voice. “Cody, can you hear me? It’s okay, you’re going to be okay.”

(Jedi weren’t supposed to lie.)

Cody coughed, and Braig eased his helmet off, drawing in a sharp breath at the sight of his protector’s face. Cody was pale, eyes half-lidded and glazed, with a trickle of red running from either side of his mouth.

“We won?” Cody asked, not moving his head. (It sounded like a question, at least.)

“Yes,” Braig said, swallowing even as he shifted to sit cross-legged at Cody’s side. “The boys are just clearing out the last of the clankers, and then we can go home.” He hoped he didn’t sound too distraught.

“Good,” Cody said, voice barely above a whisper as his eyes closed.

“Just hang on a bit longer, okay? I’m going to do what I can to help you, and Cad’s on his way.” Braig drew a careful breath through his nose, exhaling out his mouth as he focused his thoughts on Cody’s presence. It was faint and flickering, like the flame of a candle, and that made it difficult to keep his mind clear.

(Cody was dying.)

Something brushed against his face, and he tried to ignore it; tried to will the Force to close over injuries and keep Cody at least stabilised until help arrived. The brush came again, and Braig frowned, face scrunching in displeasure before he opened one eye to see what it was. Cody’s hand was hovering by his face, still covered in ash and dirt. Cody rested his hand on the back of Braig’s neck, guiding the boy’s head to rest against his scuffed chest piece.

“Cody, you need to lie still,” Braig said, oblivious to how he was shaking, blinking out the mysterious, stinging wetness that clouded his vision. “You’re hurt, you need to save your strength. Cad’s coming, and he can help you, and- and I can help you, but you need to rest–” He hiccuped, even as the fading commander hushed him softly, even as Cody’s trembling hand smoothed his hair back.

“Cody, please,” Braig reached for Cody’s free hand, clutching it desperately. “Just a little longer, please hang on, please– Cody, please don’t go…” Breath came at a steep cost, struggling past the knot that twisted in his throat. He thought Cody might have said something, but he couldn’t tell for sure. There was no sudden fanfare, no explosions or soulful music, no grand swearing of revenge, nothing like the movies as the clone Braig would later describe as one of the greatest men the galaxy had ever been fortunate enough to post passed away. A quiet, plain death. Something in the back of his mind told him that Cody might have preferred this. It was overpowered by a louder voice, chanting over and over, ‘this is my fault, this is my fault, this is my fault’.

(Cody is dead because of me.)

(I should have died instead.)

Cad, Mark, and Jogger pulled up less than a minute later. Braig was sitting, silent and motionless, staring at nothing in particular as he clutched Cody’s lifeless hand. Jogger was the first to swing his legs off of the speeder, boots thumping against the dust and anxiety screaming through the air around them, the hum of the engines seeming to take so much longer to fade as the sun beat down and beat down and beat down and the smell of fuel and burnt skin and scorched earth filled the air and Cody’s hand felt so heavy and everything was too much, too much, make it stop please let this be a dream and

Braig shook his head before any of the men could speak; judging by the bleak slate that radiated from Cad, the team medic already knew. The sludgy ice that echoed from the younger men suggested that they were shocked. They said something but even though their voices were so loud Braig couldn’t make out what they were saying.

“We should take him back,” he said, and even his own voice sounded too harsh in his ears. “He deserves a burial.”

“Ah- Sir,” Mark’s voice still rang like thunder, but, with some strain, Braig could understand him. “We clones, ah, we don’t usually get buried–”

“Then he’ll have a Jedi’s funeral.” Braig would apologise for snapping at a later date, but for the time he hardly even noticed.

“The Temple can spare a pyre, surely, and Force knows he’s done more for the Republic than some of us could ever hope to.” He glanced over his shoulder only briefly before swallowing back the thickness in his throat, gathering Cody’s helmet into his arms as though it could offer some comfort.

(It couldn’t.)

Mark said nothing more, only exchanged a look with his brothers before moving to lift Cody as carefully as he could.

“He deserves that much,” Braig said, hesitating a moment longer before standing to get out of their way.

“… He deserves better.”

#long post //#death //#injury //#violence //#ask to tag #Anonymous #;incoming transmission (ａｓｋｓ)#;best foot forward (ｉｎ　ｃｈａｒａｃｔｅｒ)#;v: something more from life (ｐａｄａｗａｎ)#;long long ago (ｄｒａｂｂｌｅｓ)#;r: a leader like you (Ｃｏｍｍａｎｄｅｒ　Ｃｏｄｙ)#not edited yet bc according to hemmingway this is a 13 min read omfg #3340 words; 77 paragraphs;#201 sentences #kiddo got very emotional abt cody okay #itspersonalforus

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