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leslie-lyman · 2 years

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No Other Land Would Know (Writer Wednesday)

Pero Tovar x modern!OFC, part of the Stranger At My Gate ‘verse.

summary: Tessa takes Pero to Ireland.

rating: general audiences

warnings: none really; a little angst, a little introspection, a lot of feelings

word count: 1053

a/n: Here is my offering for this week’s bonus @writer-wednesday! I was not anticipating writing this, but here we are. This features my couple Pero and Tessa from my Stranger At My Gate series. While it would take place after the conclusion of the main storyline, this piece is really just me thinking and musing out loud, not me trying to give hints or spoilers about how the main storyline is going to end, okay? Just take this as it is, and please accept it as partial penance for taking so long to finish the next actual chapter. Title from the lyrics to Isle of Inisfree.

———

He can’t believe how green it is.

Even Pero knows how cliché it is so say such a thing about Ireland, but it’s true.

They’d started in Dublin, but despite the city’s ancient roots it was still too much, too big, too modern. After a few days Tessa drives them south and east and how quickly the trappings of the current century fall away. In between towns there’s nothing but the occasional wooden fence or low stone wall to carve up the landscape, the hills dotted with sheep or cows and for a moment Pero can swear he’s never left his own time at all.

You really should see it someday, Pero. When dawn breaks and chases away the morning mist, and you stand upon the small peak of a hill and overlook a piece of God’s kingdom, you’d swear the land itself begins to sing.

Pero had gruffly nudged William’s shoulder with his own and grumbled about when had his friend had been replaced with a softhearted poet, but he’d never forgotten the way William had spoken of his homeland.

One day, William would say. One day, when we’re old and rich and ready to hang up our swords, I’ll take you to see it. There’s nowhere else like it on Earth. As close to Eden as sinners like us will ever hope to get.

He and Tessa stop in a village along the southern coast, one just large enough to have a bed and breakfast. They wander down to one of several pubs and spend the evening tucked into a corner with plates of shepherd’s pie and bowls of skirts and kidneys, with slices of crusty white bread to soak up all the juices and pints of red ale to wash it down. They watch a group of musicians show off their talents and occasionally get drawn into conversation with the other patrons, their accents so thick as to be nearly indecipherable to Pero. He relies on Tessa, as he so often does, to moderate, amusement spreading warm through his chest at the way her vowels start to mirror the locals’ the longer they chat and the more she drinks.

This is her homeland too, the origins of her family and her Gift all leading back to this island.

I haven’t been since I was a teenager, she’d told him. My parents and Gran and Moira would take us when my siblings and I were young. But it’s been too long. I want to go back.

Come with me.

So here he was, Tessa widening his world again, filling it with the rolling emerald hills and towering cliff sides and cozy, raucous pubs full of life in the land of her ancestors.

This whole trip she’s been constantly rubbing her hands over her skin and looking at him with eyes bright and alive with a newfound energy. Her magic is stronger here, her Gift rising up under her skin as if invigorated by proximity to whatever ancient source bestowed it upon the Walsh family. Pero catches sight of her sometimes, looking out over whatever vista she’s pulled over to admire, a faraway look in her eye and the white noise of air rushing through her nose as she breathes as deeply as she can, feeling some bond with this place he cannot fathom.

He looks for William.

He can’t help it. Everywhere they go, he searches for some sign of his friend. He half-expects to run into him as he and Tessa wander the damp, chilly streets back to their room, the day’s earlier rain rolling off his armor, bow slung across his back. Pero wonders with each town and village and farm they’ve seen so far if any of it existed in William’s time, if there might be anything left of this land that might have endured so long that Pero might see it now, anything that might connect them across millennia.

He sleeps restlessly and wakes before dawn.

Tessa doesn’t stir as he gets up, pausing only long enough to place the lightest of kisses to the bare skin of her shoulder.

He makes his way in the hazy early morning light to the edge of the town. It’s not a long journey, uneven cobblestones soon giving way to grassy fields and hills that rise and fall like the sea. A hand-built wooden fence marks the edge of some farmer or shepherd’s land and Pero leans up against it.

For once, he wishes he could feel what Tessa feels with her Gift, a connection to something so big and mysterious and powerful and beyond himself. He wishes there was some way he could reach out into the universe and tell William about his life, about the woman he loves. About how beautiful he finds this place. About how sorry he is that he never got to see it with William. About how sorry he is for so many things.

It is the one thing he regrets about not returning to his own time, that he could never tell the only person he’d ever truly called a friend what had become of him. That William would likely wonder the rest of his life what had happened to Pero, never knowing whether he’d ever found happiness. A life. A purpose. A home.

I did, Pero thinks. All of it. And more. I wish you could see it. I wish you could meet her.

I miss you, amigo.

The sun rises above the horizon, the clouds of the previous day gone. The blacks and grays of the shadowed hills are chased away by the light, each plane and facet of the landscape shifting into hues of sage and mint, jade and tourmaline. Entranced as he is by the view, Pero doesn��t see the faint outline of the man standing behind him, one hand resting gently on Pero’s shoulder, a soft smile on his face, brown-blond hair safe from the wind in its low ponytail. Understanding and forgiveness fill the blue depths of his eyes.

You’d swear the land itself begins to sing.

Soon enough, Pero will head back. He’ll do his best to make peace with the ghosts of his past and return to the warm bed of the woman who is his future.

But for now, Pero stands alone, and listens.

———

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#writer wednesday #Pero Tovar #pero tovar fanfiction #Pedro Pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pero tovar x ofc #stranger at my gate

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omgkatinka · 3 years

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Breaking and Entering

Summary: Your cat gets you into trouble with your grumpy new neighbour

Pairing: Walter Marshall x Reader

>>> chapter 2

Masterlist

Warnings: Mentions of death, mentions of abuse; anxiety, angst, grumpy neighbour / Also: English is not my native language and this is my first and probably last attempt at writing. I do not even know why I tried. This is eventually a result of procrastinating from learning for my exam next week. I mixed up tenses.

Also not betad.

Words: 2.127

Here you were. New Job. New city. New apartment. Again. The past years have been a hassle of starting over.

When did your life take that turn? When your mother died? When you had to leave your grandfather to live with your father because you were underage? When instead going to study English literature like you always dreamed of your father made sure you’d get some fancy business master’s degree? Or when your ex-fiancé abused you and no one believed you because he was not just abusive but manipulative. Your life possibly finally took that turn when you ran. Head over heels. Leaving everything behind but your cat. You stopped counting the places you lived. Well rather visited for you never stayed long. Sometimes your ex would show up and you’d flee. Or you thought you had seen him in a crowd and flee. Or you were getting restless. High Functioning Flight Mode. All the damn time.

Moving days were a constant companion and those days smelled like freedom. It was just you, your SUV and your cat. The little fella would proudly ride shotgun while you sang along your old school rock playlist. Your whole life fit into a car.

This time it is Minneapolis. Large city. Anonymous, easy to vanish. You scored a job at a major financial player. Major as in Fortune 500 major. Thankfully, you worked project based for a while now, so no one ever really questioned your constant moving all over the nation. If they ever read that far in your resume that is. Summa cum laude in combination with a Harvard degree opened most doors for you.

The furnished apartment you found was in a half decent neighbourhood for a change. It was not the smallest you’d lived in and it faced the back of the building onto a yard hosting a huge oak tree.

Settling into Minneapolis was easier than it should have been. Your new co-workers were friendly. Too friendly. Not one lunch break you would get to spend on your own. Especially Marta from accounting was keen to talk to you. She was lovely. It was not her fault you never made friends. Because you never stayed. But still, that insistent woman and a couple of more people gave you a sense of familiarity you would never have expected from a huge company like that.

Most of the new neighbours greeted friendly too. Most, apart from one. When you were unloading your car, he stood right in your way, a bear of a man, shooting you a death glare. Mumbling something about not being allowed to park here and stomping off. You did not pay attention to his word, being intimidated by his sheer size. A broad beast, grumpy at that. You made a mental note to avoid him. Great plan.

Here ‘s the thing with your plans: they tend to simply not work. Three weeks after starting over, you come home to for once not being greeted by Jack. Your cat Jack. Named after an infamous pirate because of his funny face and weird way to walk. Not being greeted by Jack stirred panic. He was old but almost never failed to wait at the door for you. He did not today. Searching the whole place for him you came up empty. When you realised, you had left the bedroom window open in the morning you started to hyperventilate. He liked to sit outside on the fire escape while you got ready in the mornings. Looking outside he is not there either. By now you were freaking out, running downstairs, calling for Jack. Climbing up the roof. Nothing. By now you were crying. Starting to search the apartment one more time. And then once more. At some point you cried yourself to sleep until you are woken up by frantic knocking at your door. While still trying to figure out where you’re at, you glimpse the clock. It says 2 a.m.. Great. And what is this noise? Right. Knocking. On the door. Furious by now.

Opening your door, you find your grumpy neighbour. Even more grumpy. Scowling. „Is this thing yours? “ he asks, lifting Jack into your line of vision.

As relieved as you were to have your cat back. That was when things got out of hand. Thanks to that scare you frantically double checked every window every day before leaving for work. All is good for five days. When you get home on the sixth though – Jack is gone. Again. And the window you double checked the very same morning is open. You panic. Torn between hoping Jack broke into your grumpy neighbours’ place again hence being safe and him sitting on the roof calling out pigeons. You check the yard, the roof. No Jack. Hesitantly you knock at Mr. Grumpy’s door. No answer. Going onto midnight you hear the elevator and spy onto the floor. There he is. You brace yourself and head out. Looking apologetic. „um Hi, I am so sorry, but my cat escaped again. Would you mind checking if he did break into your place again? “. He does not answer. Unless grunts count as answers. He just raises an eyebrow at you and tilts his head in direction of his door. You avoid breathing and follow him into his apartment. Where you find your cat sits lounging on the couch like he owns the place. You cannot help but snort. That is what you get naming the little fella after a pirate. Breaking and entering seems to be his thing. It takes you a moment to realise Mr. Grumpy is staring at you, so you take a deep breath, apologize again and introduce yourself. „You really need to close your windows, you know? Not just from keeping that thing in your place but also to keep others out.“. Telling him, you double checked your windows just earns you a headshake. And there is that critical eyebrow again. Great. Then it dawns on you „if your so adamant on checking windows, how do you think Jack got in here? “. Now he looks puzzled. „Who is Jack? “ he asks and you fight hard to not snort again. “The cat, obviously” you answer. That earns you another grunt. ‘Great at communication that specimen’ you think and grab your cat. “Uhm, I am so sorry he, uhm…, we invaded your place again. So so sorry. Thanks for your patience. Good night, Mister?” “Marshall”. And that is the last thing he says. “Well good night Mister Marshall”. At that you hold on to your furry, purring companion and head back into your apartment. From now it will be triple checking the windows it seems.

Three times within the next you need to get your cat from his new favourite hideaway during the next week. The only new thing is Mr Grumpy telling you “it’s just Marshall”. Everything else is the same. Like being trapped in a fucking time lapse. Him scowling, telling you to “fucking check your windows” and giving you that critical eyebrow of doom. Each time though, you start to notice things. About his place. About him. He seems to live out of boxes. His shelves are empty. The only cosy thing seems to be the fluffy blanket Jack made his favourite place on the black leather couch. Also, he wears a gun. And a batch. You despise guns but guess this one comes with the job. And his accent is foreign. No, not foreign, it is English. A bit like a lost, grumpy Mr. Darcy. WHAT? Mr. Darcy? You’ve got to be kidding me. Are you finally going insane? Now take your cat and get out of here!

How do you reason with a cat? You surely tried but the next time you have not even noticed Jack vanishing. It’s a Saturday and you were just filling your coffee cup when there is knocking on your door again. You open the door to a sleepy looking Marshall, holding Jack. Shrugging. Something is different. Taking your cat out of his huge hands you are about to apologize again, when he beats you to speaking “did you just make coffee?”. You nod and he steps into your apartment. “Well, come in, why don’t you?” you mutter and find him standing in front of your kitchen island, scratching his head, looking kind of lost. With huge eyes and a suddenly small voice he says “sorry for barging in like that, your little fella here woke me up. Pretty sassy for such a small guy. Would you mind sharing a cup of coffee? I forgot to go grocery shopping and seem to run out of everything.”. For a moment you stare at him, stunned from the number of words he just threw at you and the lack of grunts. When you remember how to use your words, you tell him to take a seat, grab a cup and ask him how he prefers his coffee. Fixing both your cups and setting them on the table you finally get to apologize again for your little intruder, constantly breaking into his place. Marshall just shrugs at that and admits, that he has no idea how Jack opens the windows. He himself started to double and triple check his windows and it should not even be possible to open them from the outside. It is that moment you realise what is different. He looks sleepy but barely as tired as before and more important. He’s not grumpy. That’s new. And you do not know how to handle that. After silently drinking his coffee, he thanks you for the coffee and crouches down to pet Jack and tells him something that sounds like ‘see you mate’, then tells you goodbye and takes his leave.

It is the next Friday that you come home to a post-it on your door with “Jack is visiting” scribbled on it. Somehow you remember your cat not being overly fond with men, but he seems to have a soft spot for this one. Or his couch. Taking a deep breath, you turn and move over to knock at the next door. Heavy relaxed footsteps near and Marshall opens the door widely, motioning for you to come in. “We were just about to choose a movie and call for pizza. Why don’t you change into something more comfortable and join us?”. You look at the man as if he did just grow two more heads. Raising his eyebrow at you he adds “maybe choose pizza before you head over, so I can order already”. Shaking off the initial shock, you apologize. Before you can actually try to take a leave, he sternly asks “did you have dinner?”. When you shake your head, he repeats “come on, it’s just pizza and a movie. And maybe we should use the opportunity to discuss a shared custody arrangement for Jack.”. At that your stomach rumbles and when you see the glint in Marshalls eyes, you know this is a battle not worth fighting. And you are hungry. You tell him your pizza order and head over to shower and get changed. You wonder how you are not nervous about this. Since things went south with your ex you could hardly stand to be alone with one man. Let alone spend the evening at his place for dinner and movie.

Back at Marshalls place he offers you a bottle of water and his cosy looking armchair. While himself settling beside Jack on the couch. He suggests watching pirates of the Caribbean and you accept, telling him that you actually named the cat after Jack Sparrow to which he counters “It’s captain. Captain Jack Sparrow.”. The evening proceeds with you watching the movie, laughing and having pizza. You are taken aback to realise he actually ordered some extra tuna for Jack. From time to time, you catch yourself watching Marshall instead of the movie. He seems so much younger when relaxed. And handsome. How did you not realise what a beautiful face hides behind those curls and that beard?

After the movie you grab your snoring cat and thank Marshall for the evening when he pushes something cold into your free hand. You need a moment to realise, that he just handed you a key and give him a puzzled look. “I told you we’ll need a shared custody agreement, considering this little one keeps breaking and entering and claiming this apartment. I often work long hours and when shit hits the fan even spend the nights at the office. You might need it to retrieve the lodger.”. With that he winks - well tries to and fails – and opens the door for you, telling you goodnight.

#henry cavill fanfiction #walter marshall

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yanderenightmare · 4 years

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Hello, I have been looking at your content and I must say that I really like the way you write and I hope you are doing well.I don't know if your applications are open now but I want to give you an idea, how would the yanders react if their beloved has depressive periods and low self-esteem?It may be a bit of an anguish at first but I would like how they would react, use it on purpose or go soft on their beloved.

yandere ! BNHA headcannons

Support me at KO-FI if you feel like it<3

goodiebag WARNINGS: depression, self-harm, abuse, manipulation, abuse, profanity, amnesia, anxiety, panic-attacks, arson, bipolar disorder, blood, death threats, eating disorder, guilt, kidnapping, Stockholm syndrome, mental illness, mind control, paranoia, noncon, dubcon, starvation, suicidal ideation, trauma

BAKUGO KATSUKI - KACHAN

MELANCHOLIA –

She’s always biting her tongue, the inside of her cheek, her lip. So much so, he doesn’t even know what her lip normally looks like without it being bloated and swollen and red from having her teeth sink into to it. He’s okay with her chosen silence as long as she answers when she’s spoken to, which she does, lacking the will to refuse, knowing it will only cost her valuable energy, energy she needs in case Bakugo decides he wants to rip the breath from her lungs while he hunches over her, his hips snapping into her again and again, ramming at a pace so rough she both dreads it and welcomes it, for on the one hand it’s exhausting and she always wakes up with aches in the morning, yet on the other hand he makes her appreciate breathing which is always a nice reminder when she often times wonders what tranquility would be found in not breathing whatsoever.

He doesn’t want to confront her about it, sensing how she might not enjoy confrontation all that much, and not really wanting the whole ordeal to result in making her cry at the mere sound of his voice. He won’t alter the volume or the roughness of his tone, no matter how many times she cringes at how loud he’s being, but he does try being gentle, at least with his criticism. He showers her in compliments, which is a huge contrast to how he would usually handle fixing things. But, he finds using softer methods benefit him as well, loving the blush that adorns her face each time he does so, his own confidence probably boosting more so than hers.

He does nice things, not really knowing what or which way to help. He doesn’t make her do any chores, ignoring the nagging feeling that keeping her busy would probably help more so than having her sit and look cute all day, but… he’s afraid of admitting it, but… he quite likes taking care of her. He quite likes hugging her throughout the night, feeling her small tremoring sobs against him while stroking her back. He likes comforting her on those same nights where she wakes abruptly from some nightmare, stroking glossy diamond tears away from her cheeks, loving her bloated lips and that cute red wet irritation flushed on her nose and cheeks.

The only times he gets upset with her is when she refuses to eat. He tries so hard to make things she might like, but it’s scarce he sees her taking more than a few bites, if she makes a move to eat at all. He doesn’t want to make her cry, despite it being a constant hobby of hers, he doesn’t want to be the reason to her crying, but… he can’t have her starving. He finds the fear-tactic surprisingly effective on someone who spends most their time fantasizing about death. A few sparks in his palms has her all but quaking, scared half-way into catatonia or even comatose, so much so he has to pull her into his lap and spoon-feed her. Not that he minds that either, he comes to enjoy it quite a lot actually. How her small frame melts so perfectly against his chest, legs swung over his lap, head on his shoulder, remnants of her fear-stricken cries still evident as small spontaneous jolts run through her, being slowly comforted away with the same hand that caused the trouble in the first place.

DABI - TODORKI TOUYA

ANXIETY –

He couldn’t be happier with his little ball of blue wrapped up in soft-tinted crushed dreams with a heart made of honeycombs and dandelion-fluff. Whereas his misfortunate lack of happiness stems from a place of violence, where violence breeds violence, she’s nothing but a tender trauma. Such a soft despair, such a sweet despair, such perfection found in something so devastating. It’s artwork really. How she can cry herself to sleep, trapped in his arms, feeling as though she’s dying, yet wake up the next morning all velvety and soft in his arms, her heart finding comfort in what her mind rejects, what her mind fears.

He tries being a source of comfort for the most part, but teasing and haunting and poking fun at her is such a delicious past-time he cannot simply just refrain from. He’ll be a real villain about it at times. Having her as a complete blubbering pathetic hiccupping mess, poking fun at her crybaby-face as he licks the tears from her cheeks and gorges himself in her panic, his fingers dancing small patterns on her stomach as she wiggles beneath him.

She used to be so scared of him. So skittish and paralyzed, cold-sweating and eyes constantly leaking he had to imagine what her eyes would look like without being rimmed with red. She used to shiver and shake and quake and reel in on herself, curl up until her limbs ached from how small she was trying to make herself become, backed up into the corner beneath his shadow, his leather-boots looking like the onset of everything horrific as she coward in front of them. But wild untrusting childlike beings such as her is quick in nature to tether themselves to the first or only source of light. And though the transition was slow, her anxiety soon shifted from being directed at him and soon for him instead.

It was too easy, and it benefitted him so undeservingly as well it was cruel. How he simply took all those fears of hers, all those fears for everything residing in the new foreign room she’d been taken captive in, manipulating them into becoming paranoia for everything found outside the bedroom door instead. He went from being the source of her dread, of her panic, of her misery, of her pitter-patter heart and shattering teeth to her savior. Soothing her in her frenzied quakes as she spluttered on sobs containing what hellish monsters and dangers found outside, begging him to be careful, to come back to her, to stay.

She will hug him close throughout the night, hanging almost like a noose around his neck when he needs to leave in the mornings, tracing his scars with a stream of endless worried thoughts blubbering in her groggy voice. And he’ll humor her worry and tame the oncoming panic-attacks by giving her a little light-show of blue flames in his palm, words of his own coming to assure her how nothing will ever happen to him and how he will never let anything ever happen to her, assuring however many times he has the time for.

She’s too cute it’s unfair. Unfair that small creatures like her exist without anything to protect them from hungry wolves like him. And though he was never the type to fantasize about clingy things, he has to admit… coming home to someone who lunches at him in the most secure yet clumsy and desperate embrace, he feels as though that feeling of coming home is all he’ll ever need in the world, that she’s all he’ll ever need.

SHIGARAKI TOMURA

INSOMNIA –

It’s nice. He knows it shouldn’t be the word he describes it with, but… that’s what it is. It’s nice. It’s nice to stay up with someone who expels the same type of energy as him, and not to mention the same amount of energy as him, or… lack of thereof. It’s nice living off of fumes together. It’s nice slipping to and from consciousness and how it almost turns into a game of who can survive the longest before collapsing, with the other shortly following, too tired to even bask in their victory.

It’s nice irritating over the same sharp sounds that attack their sensitive ears, not at all like the familiar sound of soft clicks of the controller in their hands. It’s nice communicating almost purely through mellow moans and groans and croaks, always understanding what the other is emitting despite it being but shapeless sounds.

It’s nice finding agreement in how the lights should always stay off, how it’s turned into some religious rule never meant to be crossed. It’s nice annoying over the same crisp bright light of the sun that violate their eyes those times they forget to shut the blinds before passing out after having counted stars and eating in the dead silence of night like nocturnal beings ignoring the light of day as though it were the plague. It’s nice how they can both find comfort in the glow of the moonlight or computer screen, leaching off of the energy like flies.

He’s found kinship in her presence, and despite it merely being himself and her in the darkness of his room, with flying specs of dust decorating the air and their computers the only windows to the world beyond their four walls, he feels as though the whole universe is looking at him when the softness of her glinting, beaming, sparkling eyes set their gaze and lock with his. It’s strange, but he always found angel-bright smiles and supersonic eyes to be too intrusive and annoying and scary to stand before, whereas her sunken dark eyes, ringed with shades of lilac contrasting her otherwise pale porcelain skin, kept almost albino in the darkness of his room… she couldn’t be more perfect.

Come to think of it, it’s perfection. Her in all her sleep-deprived glory, all her drowsy silliness, her sloppy harsh movements, tripping and stumbling with her droopy-eyes, in her soft giggling fits, where she’ll catch her stupidity just a moment too late and roll around on the bed, trying to shrug off Tomura’s teasing judgement as he pokes fun at her idiocy. Giving up on forming complete sentences as she almost always ends up toppling over her own words, settling for whining or sighing as she turns her head to bury it in his chest.

Utter perfection. Never bothering to get dressed, walking about like a little tease in only underwear and Tomura’s ill-fitted hoodie, hair pulled up into a messy-bun too messy, always defeating the purpose of keeping her hair from out of her face. Her unstable movements, disconnected to the ground as though she’s floating. Too grabbable and easily defeated in her weariness when being pulled into his lap, simply humming and moaning in response as he plants soft kisses down her neck, his fingers coming to destroy whatever’s in the way of him and her body.

HITOSHI SHINSO

HYPERSOMNIA –

She sleeps so soundly, like a little couch-kitten. All soft and cute, playing in her dreams. She’ll sleep whole entire days, only opening her eyes in small flutters every now and again and moaning ever so softly once he wakes her, though quickly scrunching her nose and twisting to fall asleep again. Her drowsiness rendering her pride invalid, causing her to pull at him to better comfort herself against his body, whining when he shifts, his warm presence leaving the bed when he needs to go to work. Her little unconscious protest making his heart twist in his chest, tempted to stay in bed with her all day long, yet comforting himself with the fact that he’ll probably come home to find her in the exact same position.

She’s so cute. She’ll curl and stretch, resting anywhere she finds comfortable: in bed, in the sofa, in the armchair, on his chest, his shoulder, his lap. Adorable with her little snores, all knotted up, remnants of her dreams spilling out from her sleep and coming to life in her limbs as she kicks and shakes her head, delving further into the pillow and twisting intricately in about the blanket. Eyelashes fluttering, eyes skittering beneath her puffy eyelids, caught up in whatever hurricane her mind has conjured up.

She seemed unfazed once she woke up in his room for the first time, and even then, she only gave him enough time to explain himself before nodding with heavy eyelids, laying her drowsy head back on the pillow. The situation dawning on her gradually over the first month, and if whether she was startled or angry, he couldn’t tell. If anything, sept for sleepy, he’d say she seemed confused, but alongside the confusion was the look that told him she couldn’t find the energy in herself to think too much about it without her fuzzy head hurting. Settling for eating breakfast with him in the mornings, and even thanking him on those occasion where she would forget the circumstances that led her to live there.

She doesn’t struggle when he pulls her limp body close to his own in the dead of night after he’s done for the day. He’s only mildly concerned, but it’s not his affection that shakes her from her sleep. He’s a selfish person, and he’s not one to hide those ugly aspects of himself. He’s selfish, greedy, controlling. He has to use his quirk on her sometimes… often times. Though she’s cute when she’s sleeping, he wants to do more than just watch her. He wants words, conversation, he wants to know what’s going on in that dark dreary head of hers, he wants to know what eerie things she’s been dreaming about, where she escapes to when her eyes slide close.

What more: he wants those eyes on him, those puffy, sleepy beautiful doe-eyes. He wants her to pay attention as he touches her skin and not simply to moan in response to it, he wants her to hang onto every single moment his skin touches hers. Telling her to focus reaches a long way. Those otherwise sleepy doe-eyes widening in such moon-bright curiosity, slaving at the hands of his quirk. Her otherwise limp and soft body shaking under his overwhelming touch, goosebumps springing to the surface under his tongue, a wicked glint evident in his lilac eyes.

TAKAMI KEIGO - HAWKS

BIPOLAR –

She’s fragile on most days. Whether that fragility is in the shape of a daisy or a bomb is impossible to say until she either falls apart or blows up. It’s all rather uncertain, sporadic, spontaneous, where he’s given only a few signs where which he can predict what state of mind she’s in and how stable that structure is.

Most things depend on sleep, and upholding a balanced sleep-pattern has become one of the most important things in Keigo’s life after having taken his little darling. But, she manages to slip past his schedules more times than he would like to admit. When she refuses to go to sleep, his mind drifts to all the fun things they can do if they weren’t sleeping, and when she’s sound asleep and drowsing far beyond what time she should have woken up, he can’t find it in himself to wake her, not when he is the reason as to why she was so spent and sore and exhausted from the events and methods he used to make her fall asleep in the first place.

On little sleep one of two things can happen. She can either have the energy of a hummingbird or be tired to the point she almost looks sickly. On her lack-of-sleep-high she’s confident, cocky more so than Keigo, where she’ll test her luck on how far Keigo’s willing to bend his rules when she misbehaves, calling him all types of names, laughing in his face when he snaps and cackling even harder even madder when he decides to punish her, as though it’s all a game to quench her boredom.

With the absence of sleep causing her exhaustion she becomes irritated, seething with boiling rage, red in annoyance, whatever energy she has left focused on making her discomfort known as she scowls at him each time he smiles too loudly, but being too drained to physically act on her frustration or to even make up a snide comment without evoking a headache, left to simply snarl. He thinks it’s cute, where he knows well enough that if he pushes her limits too far she might just break. Break, and therefore let him gather her up into his arms and hush and tut at her to stop crying while he strokes her back, feeling her tremble with unparalleled frustration weighing down on her shoulders.

Then there are the days she sleeps too much. The same options are present here too. She’s either too energetic or too well rested. Either black or white. No grey. But with too much sleep she isn’t ever hostile, but still wild. Wild and enthusiastic and self-destructive and prop-full of ideas and insane in her passion. She’ll be unable to focus on anything, she’ll forget things seconds after they’ve been said or done, but… she’ll laugh and she’ll smile, and it won’t be one of those haughty nasty smiles she gives him when she’s feeling spiteful, but genuine in its playfulness or even bliss.

Then on other days sleeping half the day only results in her being even more drowsed out, yet accompanying her exhaustion isn’t irritation, but soft-tinted melancholia, where all she does is stay wrapped up in her blanket, quiet and still, silent tears dripping down her cheeks as she focusses on how hollow her chest is, as though caving in on itself, where she’ll fall all limp and snuggly in Keigo’s embrace, humming appreciatively as he wraps her up in his wings. All the while a treacherous smile of satisfaction on his face.

MIDORIYA IZUKU - DEKU

DESPOND –

When Izuku chose his darling it was done without compromise, without fault, it was done with perfection. Meaning, he fell for all of her, invested in all of her, determined to preserve all of her. Even her inexplainable unfounded absurd plethora of self-doubt that make her delirious and hopeless with anxiety and guilt. He let himself fall hungrily in love with her little terror-wide heart. He fell viciously in love with how desperate in need of him to come help ground her she was.

It was as though she’s made for him, he would argue. It was as though he’s made for her. Some breeds of people are just too vulnerable to take proper care of themselves. Some people just aren’t meant to take care of themselves. Whereas others are made to help, other people need to help.

Emotions are abstract fundamental tools meant to be used. Lesser minds might look down on his methods, yet Izuku came to understand quite early in life that things such as morals are chains meant to keep you from achieving your goal. He has no quarrels with using and abusing those tools presented to him, where her irrational feelings of doubt, hopelessness and worthlessness are a delicious opportunity to achieve his goal. Besides, her emotions are too easily abused and give such great unshakable responses, and even though he doesn’t want to tamper too much with her instability… they’re just too in-reach for him to ignore, too tempting for him to stay away.

The feeling of responsibility sits like an extra organ inside him, where his toes curl each time he sees her large doe-eyes look at him as though he were the sun, as though her whole life revolves around him. She’s just so dependent on him, so in need of his guidance and advise and praise, where he’s afraid she might just drown in her own guilt if she senses she’s displeased him. She makes sure she wears what he likes, has her hair the way he likes, letting him play with her like putty in his hands if he asks it of her. How can he be expected to not exploit what is so clearly offered?

Besides, he spoils her as well. He returns the favor so to speak, even though he knows she has given herself no choice but to worship him in her mindset of inadequacy. She’s so sweet he nearly feels undeserving, because she’ll blush so preciously when he compliments her, bashful and adorable and too good to be true, he wonders how such a creature can ever feel like less. He adores her, yet that doesn’t stop him from finding such satisfying bliss in the fact that he’s infinitely stronger and faster and not to mention smarter. Whereas she’s gullible and too eager to please, another attributing factor as to why he loves her, despite it is also being the cause of her demise, or maybe even because of it

The truth is she’s lucky that she belongs to him. Lucky that he won’t ever let anything happen to her, no matter if she’s the source of her own harm. She’s lucky to have him to anchor herself to as so to avoid floating away in her hopelessness. This is safer for her. Despite him sticking his bloodstained inky fingers and twisting her heart in his deadlock of a fist, she’s safe, safer than she could or would ever be on her own.

CHISAKI KAI - OVERHAUL

AMNESIA –

It’s cute. He won’t deny that it’s cute, because it is. It’s adorable and unbelievable and annoying all the same. She’ll forget the rules, she’ll wander too far from her confines, not greeting him at the door, not kissing him on que, leave questions unanswered despite him having told her to always answer him when she’s spoken to, all things he feels he’s made blatantly clear through threats and countless reminders. But, not only will she forget his rules, but basic living necessities, she’ll forget to eat and drink, forget to get dressed, forget where she is.

She’ll say the strangest things sometimes. Mild and mellow passionate thoughts regarding the clouds and stars and moon and gods and how pretty his snake-eyes are, like great big lakes of molten gold. It’s strange but he finds such great comfort in her little philosophical blubbering, her soft voice kissing his ears like gospel. It’s a tender type of relief or resolution found in listening to nonsense as opposed to the serious matters he has to deal with in his position in the underworld, her view of the world somehow painting everything, even the ugly and the dangerous, in beauty.

Sometimes she’ll drift a bit too far away though. She’ll daydream more than sleep, absentminded when he’s speaking to her, unable to focus on him or anything for more than a few minutes at best. All dizzy and fuzzy, as though she’s just woken from some dream or as if she’s always dreaming. Irritation festers in his chest when she doesn’t answer, but as she turns her head, expression all soft and oblivious, his chest caving in at the sight of those doe-eyes, all anger simmering into nothing, rendering his annoyance nonexistent, replaced by a sense of hopeless forgiveness and somehow appreciation.

When it comes to her for once actually remembering what she’s supposed to do she’ll weigh each task as though one wrong decision would cost her life. Greeting him at the door in nothing but underwear, already having failed at picking out an outfit and resorting to wearing the lingerie Kai picked and laid out for her on the bed in the morning. The simple task suddenly becoming a battle where she’ll spend much too much time deciding whether to take his jacket first or give him a kiss or welcome him home. Too many decisions with too faulty statistics and unsure outcomes she ends up merely standing there doing nothing but hold her head in her hands and whimper slightly at all the noise that suddenly crowded her head, tears already threatening to fall as she stands before him, all guilt-ridden and trembling.

He can be patient as long as he knows she isn’t disobeying him on purpose, especially when he sees how guilty and how terribly sorry she is each time she fails on acting out simple tasks such as those he gives her. She’ll cry and apologize for the mere act of breathing on some days where she’s extra fragile, where she seeks nothing but his praise, his comfort, his hand stroking through her hair as she sleeps restlessly in her sobs on his chest, unaware of the mild smile of satisfaction and endearment displayed on his face.

TODOROKI SHOTO

SELF-CONSCIOUS -

She’s always hiding. Like a little mouse, she’s always squeaking and squealing and hiding. Hiding her face, burying it in the pillow when he compliments her gorgeous eyes, begging him to stop, small timid hands pushing ever so slightly at him. Hiding her chest, her nipples, when he admires them, his hands playing with the soft and supple flesh, whimpering as she tries to twist away. Her knees trying their best to wrench shut, to hide and protect what sensitivity find between them from Shoto’s hungry fingers and tongue.

She’s always hiding… but he likes to hunt anyway. If she drapes herself in pitch-black hoodies he’ll gladly rip them off, or scorch them off and expose her delicious artful body. If she refuses to leave the bed he’ll gladly attack her where she’s sleeping. She’s always hiding, but she quickly comes to understand that there will be no hiding from him.

He doesn’t understand why she would ever want to hide divinity, and therefor doesn’t respect the wish. Having made it his mission to expose every little piece of her, licking up long lines of bumpy purple and white scars, sucking and biting at those pointy cherry nipples strutting at the coolness of his breath, kissing those plump lips of hers despite her cringing to cover herself up in thousand layers of clothes, dark clothes, where only the very least of her skin is remaining on display. He won’t have it.

He has to tie her up on most occasions where she’s too difficult and shy to listen and let him play with her beauty. He’ll have to tie her up like a starfish on the bed, limbs spread in each direction, scars running along them, quite like the ones he receives in battle, only precise and matching and purposeful, his hands coming to touch them in reverence, worshipping every little altercation she’s added to her skin, further pushing its ever-changing perfection, watching as she hopelessly struggles to hide herself, yet the both of them knowing how she’s fully his.

He can’t allow her hurting herself anymore though, not with the fear that she one day might slip up and kill herself just a little bit too much, but he’s happy to help her through the tools of fire and ice. Frostbite flowers look even more as though they belong on her body, as well as blotches of burns, his markings, his teeth. He’ll never forget the moan he received on his first indulgence branding her body with his elements, how she purred in gratitude, small blissful squeals and mewls following, further egging him on.

Once she grew more comfortable with his hands and his stare… or rather… once the need for his hands outgrew her discomfort, she became somewhat addicted. And now, she can be wild in her cravings on some days, demanding it of him, threatening him, fighting him. She’ll bite and claw, begging for him to retaliate, longing for him to push her into the bedsheets and teach her what it’s like to feel alive by teasing her with the promise of death.

Without him she’s left to pick at scabs, counting the seconds until his return. She’ll pull at her hair until her scalp is screaming. She’ll ball her fists, creating those blood-red crescent moons in her palms, biting her nails until they bleed and then some. Then bask in relief upon his return.

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shijiujun · 3 years

Text

Lonely Dream | 孤梦

Summary: And when all is done and dusted, sometimes Lao Wen still gets those headaches of his, and the spots where Ah Xu had the nails driven in stil throb in pain on a cold, rainy day.

Some slice of life and domesticity for WenZhou as they enjoy more years than they expected to have initially, together.

Notes: OKAY so there are too many theories going out there for special ep ending, and nah not going there! So the concept of this is SOMEHOW Zhou Zishu saves Wen Kexing at the end of Ep 36, and they need to head into icy mountain cave for a WHILE but not forever. They head back down to Four Seasons Manor once Wen Kexing recovers.

Basically SHL ver. WenZhou, but with TYK ending (where WenZhou fight in the icy mountains for a bit after Wu Xi cures him and then head back down into the world of the living). No immortal lifespan, but hey, they get the rest of their normal lives together! So yeah, they can still eat normally, no snow and ice diet please.

Word Count: 4,500+

✨✨ Link on AO3 ✨✨

******

They visit Ah Xiang and Cao Weining’s graves once Wen Kexing’s year-long recovery in the frigid cold of the mountains is complete.

Zhou Zishu says that it is for Lao Wen’s recuperation, but he suspects Wen Kexing, the heartless bastard, knows that he has taken this year too, to finally stop hurting, to stop going through the bone-deep, heart-wrenching terror at the prospect of losing him.

Opening his eyes in the armoury a year ago, his five senses were returned to him, but at what price? Feeling Lao Wen’s cold hands against his, his stark, blinding white hair a horrifying contrast against his beautiful face, and the man almost leaving him.

Leaving him, once again.

Horror turned into anger, the words stuck in his throat, his chest so tight and heart slamming against the bones caging it, Zhou Zishu had regained all that he had lost-

-and then lost the most important thing, person, to him.

Someone he values above his own life, who had lied to him, who had so stupidly, stupidly gave himself up for him.

Zhou Zishu does not want to remember how he survived that day, how he spent minutes, hours, and days after, making sure Lao Wen continued to hang on to his very last breath.

In the past year, the cold he was constantly plagued with had nothing to do with the wintry landscape.

He knows he is pushing it a little — his eyes have rarely left Wen Kexing since they were moved to the mountains at Wu Xi and Senior Ye’s suggestions. Initially, Lao Wen slept and Zhou Zishu had no idea if he would ever wake up.

Before he would even open his eyes, the panic typically set in just like that, gripping him by the throat the moment he woke. Zhou Zishu would have to reach out for Lao Wen across him on the bed, the fear receding only when he heard and felt Lao Wen’s breaths under his fingertips.

For a long time, Zhou Zishu thought that he would be with Lao Wen in this state for the rest of his life. It was not all bad — as long as Lao Wen was alive, who cared if he spent the rest of his years guarding a sleeping Wen Kexing?

Who’s the lazy one now, Lao Wen, he thought plenty of times in the months after, his hands caressing at Wen Kexing’s cheek bones and pale face, which was of the same colour as his white hair.

Fortunately, fortunately… he managed to keep the person he wanted in the end.

They have been so focused on recuperating, stuck in the mountains and in that isolated environment, it was easy to distance themselves from everything that had and was happening outside.

Even though Wen Kexing did not mention a thing, Zhou Zishu knows that he spends some nights awake, looking out into a sky full of stars, quiet and pensive. He knows it, because he does the same.

For Jiu Xiao, for Han Ying, for Qing Luan.

For a young woman who called him Zishu-ge and Sickly Ghost, who threatened to fight him if he left Wen Kexing all alone. A beautiful young woman who should have gotten her happy ending on that tragic afternoon.

For a young man, who had a smile that could light up even the darkest of corners in a place like the Ghost Valley, who would have protected his to-be wife with everything he had.

The pain and grief that comes with losing Ah Xiang and Cao Weining is no easier to bear a year on.

===

Wen Kexing recalls the way she looked that day, all beautiful in her green and red bridal robes, finally able to live a life basking under the sunshine without anything holding her back. That was what he always wanted for her.

What a huge mistake that wedding was.

His whole life, aside from Ah Xu, has been a cycle of repeated mistakes, over and over again. If he had just put his foot down and insisted on not letting Mo Huaiyi in, if he had not just walked away in anger and instead stayed there, they would have stopped Xiao Cao’s death, and Ah Xiang’s after.

Why had he walked off? How did beautiful Ah Xiang, an Ah Xiang he was ready to give away, end up taking her last breath in his arms?

A sting on his right ear pulls him violently out of his depressed reverie, and he yells, “Ow- Ow, ow, ow, Ah Xu!”

“Don’t think that I don’t know what you’re thinking,” Zhou Zishu says, pulling Wen Kexing’s face close to him by the ear. “There is no point dwelling in the past. Life and death… when the time comes, no one can escape from it.”

Wen Kexing’s eyes sober a little, bitterness flashing across his face. Remnants of his hatred and resentment from more than a year ago, before he met Ah Xu.

“If I had just kept her with me-“

“We all make our choices,” Zhou Zishu says, his voice gentling as he lets Wen Kexing go, but the man does not move away.

“If she had to choose again, she would probably have chosen the same.”

In the cold, their hands find their way to each other, clasping warmly under their thick sleeves, the rims lined with fur.

They stare at the graves for a little longer. And while Wen Kexing has never believed in some higher power up there or the heavens-

-this time, with every ounce of his being, he prays and wishes that Ah Xiang and that pig will find their ways back to each other in the next life, no matter what.

Zhou Zishu’s hand squeezes around his, and Wen Kexing turns to see his Ah Xu’s warm smile and gaze.

“Shall we go home?”

Home. The place where they can live out the rest of their natural lives together.

“Let’s go home,” Wen Kexing agrees.

===

“Ah Xu, that is not the way you-“

Hearing Wen Kexing nag for the thousandth time, Zhou Zishu has finally had enough. Slamming the broad vegetable knife onto the wooden chopping board loudly, he turns and looks at the man next to him.

“I’m not the one who begged me to do this,” Zhou Zishu says, turning to walk away, “You make dinner. I told you it was a waste of time-“

Before he can finish his sentence, warmth engulfs his back, and something sharp snuggles into his shoulder bone. A familiar scent — jasmine, from the incense that Wen Kexing likes to use — wraps around him, hands trapping him in between the counter and the limpet attached to him.

Wen Kexing’s palms close over his hands, then guides them to pick up the knife again. Zhou Zishu stiffens, but does not move away. He lets Wen Kexing curl his own fingers properly over the cabbage, and chop at it neatly, over and over.

They have not yet spoken about this between them, despite laying in the same bed right next to each other night after night. The cave was hardly a luxurious abode and to save effort and space, Zhou Zishu fell asleep next to a comatose Wen Kexing for several months, wanting to ascertain that he was alive and breathing at any given moment.

After Wen Kexing woke, Zhou Zishu continued to sleep next to him, and Lao Wen never once brought it up in conversation.

Coming back to Four Seasons Manor, Wen Kexing naturally turned up in his room instead of the one he was staying at before, already asleep when Zhou Zishu returned to turn in.

This man is his soulmate, the person he would give everything up for no matter what it was. His lost shidi, but even before that, this man was someone who was willing to do everything he could for him. Who cared for him like no one else ever would again.

Beyond that? Zhou Zishu knows of his feelings, and is rather certain of Wen Kexing’s. He supposes that after pledging to save each other’s lives at the expense of their own repeatedly, some things just do not have to be articulated.

Zhou Zishu leans into the hold, relaxing entirely.

At this, it is Wen Kexing’s turn to be stunned at the reciprocation where he was expecting none before, but the man recovers quickly. He snuggles in even closer, the side of his face pressed right up against Zhou Zishu’s.

His Ah Xu remains still, as if unbothered, and Wen Kexing decides to try his luck.

“Ah Xu,” he angles his head slightly, his mouth brushing lightly over Zhou Zishu’s cheek as he murmurs straight into his ear.

Ah, there it is. Zhou Zishu freezes against him, now making to move his ear out of Wen Kexing’s reach.

“What?”

Wen Kexing smiles, amused and so, so fond.

His voice still low and sultry, he continues, “I think you’re right, you should let me cook instead. You’re murdering the cabbage.”

Zhou Zishu pauses for a good two seconds before turning to glare at Wen Kexing. Wen Kexing recognizes that look, and the warmth on Zhou Zishu’s back vanishes instantly just as he starts waving the knife at him.

“Wen Kexing, don’t you think you’re being ridiculous and childish-“

Laughter fills the kitchen, a sound that is incredibly melodious, immediately soothing all the uneasiness Zhou Zishu feels.

Outside, all twenty disciples try not to peek and look at their shifu and shishu being strange again. One of the younger ones, Xiao Man, cannot help but angle his head in the direction of the kitchen, and then says, “Da-shixiong, shifu is going after shishu with a knife! Is he going to be okay?”

Zhang Chengling sighs inwardly, then smiles and pats the boy on the head.

“That’s shifu’s way of showing how much he cares about shishu.”

Back in the kitchen, having heard that tiny quip from their youngest disciple, Wen Kexing finally stops in his tracks, turning around mid-escape to grab Zhou Zishu around the waist with a hand, and the other going to the hand that is holding onto the knife and stopping his Ah Xu from possibly murdering him.

He sets the knife aside, but his other hand does not move.

“What are you doing,” grumbles Zhou Zishu, looking away, his expression a little stern, as if telling Wen Kexing not to be such a nuisance.

This close, however, Wen Kexing can certainly see the light flush on Ah Xu’s cheekbones.

If Wen Kexing had to rank all the beautiful bones that Ah Xu has, it would probably be scapulas first, followed by his cheekbones.

Wen Kexing’s eyes dip a little lower.

He thinks collarbones may rank third.

“Ah Xu.”

“What?” sighs Zhou Zishu. “Let me go, the disciples need to finish the last set of practice-“

He is cut off when Wen Kexing swoops downwards, and catches his lips in his.

Zhou Zishu’s eyes go wide, but before he can do anything like move away and out of Wen Kexing’s firm hold, the man circles his waist with both arms, effectively trapping him and bringing him closer.

Wen Kexing’s body temperature tends to run on the colder side these days, a side effect of him having been brought back from the brink of death.

Right now, however, Zhou Zishu can feel nothing else but the scalding heat. His hands move up, intending to push Wen Kexing away, but they end up clutching tight around the man’s broad shoulders.

He does not stop the kiss, letting Wen Kexing’s lips roam as they like.

Outside, an unfortunate Chengling who sees this finds his eyes going wide.

“Erm,” he clears his throat quite loudly, gaining all the disciples’ attention. “Let’s head outside to finish our practice.”

He ushers everyone out, while wondering how the hell he hadn’t seen this coming.

Everything makes so much sense now.

===

Four Seasons Manor grows, and Zhang Chengling along with Bi Xingming end up taking over some classes and teaching of their own.

Wen Kexing does not want to admit it, but it seems that when he asked Ah Xu if he was a servant here, the man actually meant it. His little Chengling, who is not so little anymore, still comes to him to ask for tips or begs him to give some pointers to the other disciples, but most of the time, Wen Kexing is cooking.

He makes breakfast, is involved in lunch, and definitely ends up cooking a feast every dinner. Thankfully, Bi Xingming is unlike his da-shixiong and shifu as he actually has some kitchen sense, but Wen Kexing has truly been demoted to servant in this manor.

A servant that ends up in his master’s bed every night, Wen Kexing thinks then, and feels better about it immediately.

“Shishu, let me help you bring these out,” Bi Xingming says, stepping into the kitchen just as he’s done with the last dish.

“Mnn,” Wen Kexing hums in assent without looking up from his soup, tasting it one last time.

At the very least, these days, Zhou Zishu is able to actually, actually taste the food he lovingly cooks.

“Perfect,” he nods. “Is your shifu not up yet? It’s almost lunch time.”

“Ah…” Bi Xingming blinks, “You said not to disturb him until he wakes up, and he hasn’t left the room since morning.”

Wen Kexing frowns slightly. Sure, he worked Ah Xu over thoroughly last night, but not to the extent that he would need to sleep in for this long. Worry niggling at him, he gets Bi Xingming to start lunch with the other disciples first without waiting for them, and heads in the direction of their room.

The last time Zhou Zishu slept in so late, it was the night he confessed his past to Wen Kexing, of how he caused the deaths of everyone in Four Seasons Manor. He was deathly ill then and emotionally wrung out — things that Wen Kexing loathes to see on Zhou Zishu.

“Ah Xu?” Wen Kexing calls, sliding the door open gently.

The lump under the covers is the same as when he left it this morning. Wen Kexing takes quick strides and goes over, sitting down on the bed next to Ah Xu.

“Ah Xu?” he calls again, his voice soft as he reaches out for Zhou Zishu’s face.

His lips are pale, eyebrows furrowed and perspiring at the forehead.

“Ah Xu, are you ill? What’s wrong?”

Zhou Zishu’s skin is of normal temperature, much to Wen Kexing’s relief. His brain runs through a a million scenarios, none of them good and just as he’s about to yell for Chengling, something clicks in his head.

He does yell for their Chengling in the end, but for a hot bath instead with a pack of herbs and medicine from the stash Wu Xi gave them before he headed back home with Jing Beiyuan.

“Is shifu okay?” he asks, worried.

“He will be,” Wen Kexing says, lifting Zhou Zishu out from under the covers and heading for the bath. “Don’t worry, I’ll watch him. You continue training with the other disciples, otherwise when Ah Xu wakes up he’s going to scold all of you again.”

As Zhou Zishu soaks in the steaming medicinal bath, Wen Kexing sits right next to him, pillowing his head on his arms, which are sitting on the rim of the wooden tub and stares at him.

A few years have passed since the days when Wen Kexing despaired at Zhou Zishu dying in a short few years and the peace they have now makes it easy to not think about the past. He forgets sometimes that despite being healed, despite him giving his life force to Ah Xu, the man’s body has been to hell and back with the nails.

And forcing them out of his body forcefully while he mistakenly believed that Wen Kexing was dead, wanting to take revenge for him-

For the rest of their time together, Wen Kexing knows he will forever be guilt-ridden at this. If only he had just told Ah Xu, if only he didn’t make another stupid decision, there would have been no need for the armoury. No need for self-sacrificial plays, no need for lost time.

That Zhou Zishu would love him still and be with him, that is nothing short of a miracle.

On days like these, when the weather turns just the slightest bit wet and cold, his body starts to hurt, especially the points where he kept the nails in. All seven of them, the stupid man.

Wen Kexing inches forward and presses a kiss to the man’s temple.

For this life and every life after this one, Wen Kexing swears he will always be good to Zhou Zishu.

===

He loves and hates Wen Kexing’s hair, even after several years have passed. They are nearing the ten-year mark since leaving the mountains, and Zhou Zishu has slept next to this man every single day after, but whenever Wen Kexing shows up, Zhou Zishu has to admit that his breath is always taken away.

Wen Kexing looks ethereally gorgeous with those white strands, his features standing out even more clearly, not that Zhou Zishu would ever tell him that lest it goes to his head. However, it is a reminder that his silly, stupid shidi and now husband would dare to sacrifice his own life for his without telling him.

It is a constant reminder that he lost him, even if momentarily.

“Ah Xu, why are you are staring at me like that? You’re going to make me shy. Did you miss me? I was only gone for two days,” Wen Kexing says unabashedly during dinner.

At once, coughs and chokes go around the table, and the clanking of dropped chopsticks on the table echo through the dining hall.

Zhou Zishu takes a deep breath to compose himself and resists the urge to fight with the man over dinner. It would be a waste of food, not to mention a futile argument seeing that Wen Kexing has not changed at all since the first time they met. As long as he does not break out into poetry-

“Ah Xu, I missed you too. It is so fortunate that your heart is akin to mine-“

At that, everyone immediately stands from the table and excuses themselves, stumbling over one another as they parrot that they are full and do not want to have anymore.

It is an open secret that they are together — not because they are hiding it, but simply because they find no need to verbalize what they are to others — and if it was another couple that was stuck in this situation, he would possibly find it amusing, but Wen Kexing is incorrigible and has been for years.

Zhou Zishu finds that while he loves the man and is utterly devoted to him, is willing to die for him, at times like these maybe they should have both just stayed dead.

“Wen Kexing, have you had enough?”

He reaches out, intending to pinch at Wen Kexing as a lesson, but the man catches his hand within his deft fingers and brings it upwards so his hand is cupping one side of his face. Wen Kexing turns his head a little to press his lips to the open palm, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

“I missed you,” Wen Kexing repeats. “It’s strange how it has only been two days, but I miss you like I’ve never missed anything else before.”

The impending reprimand dies on his lips.

Fine, just this once.

Zhou Zishu sighs and pinches at Wen Kexing’s cheek instead.

“Ow, ow! Ah Xu, Ah Xu, this face is a work of the heavens, how can you trample on it like this?!”

Zhou Zishu’s eyes are once again drawn to Wen Kexing’s white locks, and he unconsciously reaches out.

As if knowing what Zhou Zishu is thinking about, Wen Kexing grabs for the hand again, interlacing their fingers together.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before I faked my death, and then not telling you at the end, before I….” Wen Kexing says, swallowing with difficulty. “Ah Xu, if I could change it, I would. But at the end, if I was given the same choice, I would have chosen the same.”

It hurts to think about that morning, seeing Wen Kexing’s hair all white and almost lifeless, his hands dropping from his.

“I know,” Zhou Zishu breathes, hiding his face in Wen Kexing’s shoulder. “I know.”

===

Zhou Zishu hears of the supposed ambush on Four Seasons Manor while he has half a day’s journey left before he gets home.

The unrest in jianghu truly never ends; their fight with the Scorpions, with Tian Chuang, with Prince Jin and Zhao Jing was rewarded with peace for a few years, but people never say contented for long. Old sects are wiped out and new ones emerge. Most of them know not to mess with Four Seasons Manor as his and Wen Kexing’s reputations indeed precede themselves, but it is unavoidable, perhaps, for some newer and ambitious ones to mistakenly think they can take both of them on.

Well, they must have made sure Zhou Zishu was not in the manor before striking, as if Wen Kexing could not take all of them on himself.

He arrives in the nick of time in the heat of battle, although a quick glance shows that Four Seasons Manor is still holding up pretty well, with Zhang Chengling and Bi Xingming leading the rest of the disciples.

And there he is, Wen Kexing, all regal in his red embroidered robes, and his white hair pinned up neatly. Every movement from his sharp and deadly fan strikes true. His eyebrows are furrowed slightly, his eyes revealing a thirst for blood that Zhou Zishu hasn’t seen in a while.

He shivers at the want that hits him, even though it is not the time and place for it.

Zhou Zishu lands opportunely behind Wen Kexing and parries a blow that was coming straight for Wen Kexing back.

The both of them exchange a glance, and wordlessly, delve right back into the fight.

When the dust settles a few hours later, Zhou Zishu makes sure injured disciples are looked at while others clean up the mess. His attention finally freed up so he can focus solely on Wen Kexing, Zhou Zishu turns, only to see his husband a distance away from him, supporting himself against a wall.

He recognizes the signs of Wen Kexing’s brain-splitting headaches immediately, and rushes over.

“Lao Wen!”

“Shishu!”

Zhou Zishu catches Wen Kexing just as he collapses, his legs giving out under him. His fingers immediately search for Wen Kexing’s pulse.

This is an all-too familiar scene, but Zhou Zishu cannot remember when this last happened. His body growing cold at the implications, all the fears are now suddenly dredged up from the trenches of trauma sustained at a point in time long ago.

“Go get Physician Yao,” Zhou Zishu snaps at whichever disciple is standing closest to them, before picking Wen Kexing up.

Zhang Chengling turns up in their room before the physician does, and whatever fear he is experiencing right now abates slightly.

Before the manor started to grow, there was only the three of them. If anyone understands what he is feeling right now, it would be Chengling.

“Shifu…” he says, trailing off as he kneels down next to the bed and looks at Wen Kexing. “Shishu hasn’t had this in years, what happened?”

“Maybe… I don’t know,” Zhou Zishu exhales heavily. “He could be just.. too tired.”

They watch over him until the physician arrives. Zhou Zishu refuses to be chased out, and the tightness in his chest only disappears once she rolls her eyes at him after testing Wen Kexing’s pulse.

“The both of you are not young anymore,” Physician Yao almost scoffs. “And the injuries and illnesses that the both of you share combined can fill up a list a mile long. He hasn’t exerted himself like this in a long while, suddenly letting it all out in a fight like that, of course there are bound to be side effects. Stop looking at him as if he’s about to die.”

Zhou Zishu is about to thank her, when a weak rasp comes from the bed, “… been there, done that.”

Relief floods him at the sound of Wen Kexing’s voice, and immediately after, anger burns hot through him as the man’s words sink in, “Wen Kexing!”

Physician Yao retreats, knowing by now not to give instructions to them both when they get like this. Instead, speaking to any of their disciples would be much more reliable.

===

Later, after all has quietened down for certain, the stench of blood fading somewhat, Wen Kexing blinks languidly, not wanting to move at all, or do anything.

If he was to die in this position right now, he would have zero complaints.

Zhou Zishu pats at the back of his head gently as Wen Kexing lies almost half on him, his ear pressed over Zhou Zishu’s heart, comforted by the strong beat. Years later, the both of them approaching the big five-o, and Wen Kexing is still like a child sometimes.

Well, he’s making up for lost time.

He is greedy for more years with Ah Xu, in this life and every single life after. A hundred, a thousand years and more. Every little bit, he wants to spend with Ah Xu.

“Ah Xu,” he murmurs, and feels the vibration of the man’s response through his chest, “Before, I could not have what I wanted. I could not play when I wanted to, there was no one to teach me martial arts when I wanted to learn and the things I wanted I could not afford.”

“The person I wanted to keep, I was too late.”

This conversation seems so far away now, but is as clear to the both of them as if it happened just yesterday. That rainy, storming night.

A night of despair and hopelessness.

Zhou Zishu huffs in amusement.

“And now?” he asks.

Wen Kexing looks up, and cheekily responds, “Well, the martial arts part aside, Ah Xu, you pay for everything now, so I can afford everything! And in terms of play… you would know best how well I play now with-“

He’s cut off with a warning look from Zhou Zishu, although the man does not attempt to jostle him, still worried about his earlier headache and injuries sustained from the fight.

Wen Kexing loves this man, to the depths of hell and back.

“And… the person I want to keep, is right here with me.”

Zhou Zishu’s answering smile lights up every fibre of being.

They have forever to look forward to.

***

#tian ya ke #faraway wanderers #shan he ling #word of honor #wenzhou #wen kexing #zhou zishu #shl fic #hahaha yeah #technically spoilers but all the eps are out now so #whatever hahahaha #read at your own risk

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charming-charlie · 3 years

Text

Washed Away

Title // Washed Away

Pairing // Evan Buckley x Reader

Warnings // Panic attacks sort of. This chapter is mostly clean.

Summary // Who knew hanging out with Buck and Christopher for a day would lead to a life or death situation?

Word Count // 1.5k

Prompt // Hi! Can i request a fic where you were with Buck & Christopher when the tsunami hit? They could be dating or crushing on each other. If nothing comes to mind, then it’s completely fine to ignore this request! Have a nice day!’

Author’s Note // This is Part 1 of the Washed Away series. || Part 2 || Part 3

It was a beautiful day at the pier. Crowded, yet beautiful. Carnival music was playing in every direction. The smell of funnel cakes, cotton candy, and popcorn wafted through the air. There was laughing, screaming, and merriment everywhere you looked.

You had to give Evan Buckley credit. He sure knew how to pick a good first date spot.

Okay, so maybe date was pushing it a little bit. You have known the guy for a while now, but that’s mostly because of Christopher. You are the nurse at Christopher’s school. It’s how you met Buck. When Christopher is ill, or perhaps has an incident where he needs to go home, sometimes Buck picks him up. He was, after all, one of the few people Eddie Diaz trusted around his son. Since Buck quit the LAFD and Eddie was working constantly to pick up the extra work, Christopher was often in Evan Buckley’s care.

And my goodness, what a charmer Evan Buckley turned out to be.

Buck and Christopher finished riding Shark Frenzy, a ride that reminded you of the teacups at Disney World. They met up with you at a blue picnic table, where you had cotton candy ready for the boys.

Buck took the blue one. “B for Buck, B for blue.”

Christopher took the pink one and dived right into it, giggling and enjoying himself.

“Mmm,” Christopher said with a satisfying smile. Pink floss was stuck to his fingers, but he paid no mind to it.

“Good?” Buck asked, and the little boy nodded. Buck went to snatch a piece, but Christopher pulled back with a laugh. It was kind of adorable to see.

“Where to next?” you asked as you looked around. In every direction, there were amusement park rides everywhere.

“Let’s take a break and play some games,” Buck said as he flashed you a charming smile.

The three of you cleaned up the table, with Buck tossing everything in the trash. You were on one side of Christopher and Buck was on the other, with the little boy using his crutches in between. Slowly, the three of you made your way to the arcade row on the pier. Games were lined up one right after another and Christopher pointed to a water gun shooting game.

“I want to play that,” he said, and Buck complied to his wishes.

You insisted on paying for a round or two, with Buck being out of a job and all, but the handsome ex-firefighter swatted your hand away and plopped two dollars on the table.

“Two rounds,” Buck told the person in charge.

“You are so stubborn,” you retorted as you pocketed your money.

Buck only smiled and sat down. He pulled Christopher into his lap and together, they began round one.

Christopher held the trigger and Buck controlled the aiming. The object of the game was to shoot a stream of water at a small target which will raise a platform. The first person whose platform reaches the top wins.

Together, they were invested. Honestly, you were watching from the sidelines and you thought for sure they had some kind of strategy planned out beforehand.

“I am so proud of you right now, I cannot be more proud of you. Come on, we’re so close! So close!” Buck was telling Christopher as their little platform was rising more and more with each passing second. Christopher was smiling the entire time, and when the bell rang, both boys acted like it was the greatest moment of their lives. They screamed and cheered, and celebrated their win.

“You did it! Come on, high five!” Buck said as he held his hand out.

Christopher slapped it as hard as he could, and Buck over-exaggerated the little boy’s strength and flailed backwards.

However, the sound of a siren interrupted the fun and games and Buck immediately turned. He was looking past you, over your shoulder. Slowly, he stood up, his eyes never leaving what was happening behind you. Curiosity got the better of you and you turned to see what the man was looking at.

“And we have a winner!” the man running the water gun booth said in the background, handing a giant brown teddy bear to Christopher.

But the two of you paid no mind to that as an ambulance rolled up through the crowd.

A person in some kind of dinosaur costume collapsed. Buck was inching closer to the scene, and you grabbed him by the arm to hold him in place. He looked down at your hand, which was around his bicep and his eyes traced your arm up to you.

“The paramedics got this,” you whispered to him and he nodded, looking defeated and a bit sad.

It broke your heart.

At school, when Christopher would see you, he would always go on and on about Buck and firefighting. Buck had such a passion for his job and to not have it at the moment must be soul-crushing.

“Buck!” Christopher said behind the two of you, “Buck!”

The paramedics shocked their patient with an AED and you could feel Buck exhale. He was holding his breath the entire time. You pulled him back and he turned to face you with a forced smile. While he would never admit it, he was so grateful you were there.

“Come on, you two. Let’s go sit down and take a break,” you said as you handed Christopher his crutches and abandoning the second round of the water gun game. The three of you found an empty bench at the edge of the pier and sat down. Christopher wanted to look out at the ocean, so Buck picked him up and helped him stand on the bench. Gripping the back of Christopher’s shirt tightly so that the boy doesn’t fall in, Buck sat down, and you sat next to him. There was silence for a little bit and you looked over at Buck, who seemed deep in thought.

“Ever think about what you wanna do with your life?” Buck asked, “What you want to be when you grow up?”

“Astronaut or a pirate,” Christopher answered instantly. It was like he didn’t even need to think about it.

Buck nodded in agreement. “Some good choices. Cool outfits too.”

“No wait,” Christopher said with a smile, “a firefighter.”

Of course, it made sense. His father was a firefighter and Buck used to be one. Growing up in that field and being around that environment made such an impression on Christopher.

Buck only chuckled and nodded a little to accept Christopher’s answer. He clenched his jaw, wanting to clearly move on from the topic. “What about you, Y/N? Was nursing what you always wanted to do?”

You turned to look at him, a little confused by the question. No one ever asked you that before. Everyone just assumed nursing was your passion, considering the overwhelming amount of schooling you need to become one.

“Yes,” you said with a nod, “I like helping others.”

Buck grinned and turned his head to look at you. He knew all about helping others. It was one of the many reasons the two of you relate so well with each other. Slowly, his hand was creeping off to the side, getting closer and closer to yours without trying to seem obvious. You didn’t even realize until his pinky finger was brushing the back of your hand.

“Yeah, me too.” Buck’s pinky linked through your own and you could swear that your heart fluttered as he touched you. Could it be? Did Evan Buckley have a little crush on you? Did you have a crush on Evan Buckley? Was this really happening?

He was gazing into your eyes and…wait a minute, was he leaning in? Should you lean in too? Not going to lie, you wanted to. And… there goes your head, getting closer and closer to his.

But he stopped. He looked alarmed, shocked even, and turned his head to look out at the ocean. You slumped back with a slight pout, knowing it was too good to be true. It was stupid to have a little crush on Buck.

The ex-firefighter was gripping onto Christopher’s shirt tightly as he stood up, your pinkies unlocking, and you could tell instantly that something was very wrong. You stood up too and looked at Buck.

He held onto Christopher as a crowd of people were gathering behind you, watching was well. Everyone seemed to stop in their tracks and stare at the ocean.

“What’s wrong?” you asked as you followed his line of sight out to the ocean.

But the answer was right there in front of you. The water had pulled back drastically.

“Where did all the water go?” Christopher asked, looking confused.

Panic was slowly rising inside of you as you stood next to Buck. You felt his hand slip into yours, holding your fingers tightly in a grip. You clung back onto him with your other hand wrapping around his arm tightly.

A warning siren blasted through the loudspeakers in place of the fun carnival music.

A giant wave was rolling back, taking in as much water as it could possibly carry. Your panic turned into fear as you saw the wave approach the shore. A massive tsunami was about to hit and you, along with Buck and Christopher, were trapped on the pier.

#evan buckley #evan buckley x reader #evan buckley x you #Buck #buck x reader #9-1-1 #9-1-1 on fox #christopher diaz #oliver stark

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leviackermanscleaningbuddy · 3 years

Text

BTS DRABBLE-OT7

It's not easy dating a member of the mafia-let alone seven of them at once. And honestly, living life constantly on edge is starting to drain you-wondering who will get hurt next, who will disappear on what mission, or god forbid won't come home at all. But, luckily, the same seven men who keep you perpetually worried, are also the same seven men who always manage to take those worries way.

Tags: BTS, Bangtan Boys, Bangtan Seonyendan, Bulletproof Boy Scouts, Beyond the Scene, BTS Drabble, Angst, Fluff, Bts imagines, Bts reactions, Bts scenarios, OT7, Poly!BTS, BTS x you, BTS x reader, Kim Seokjin, Min yoongi, Jung Hoseok, Kim Namjoon, Park Jimin, Kim Taehyung, Jeon jungkook, Mafia AU

Genre: Angst, Fluff

Title: Unconditionally

"You promised! You promised me you wouldn't get hurt!"

Namjoon's hands close around your upper arms, his broad chest and shoulders blocking your view of the injured man who struggles to hold himself upright between two of his brothers, his expression stern as his eyebrows draw down over dark eyes.

"(Y/N), why don't you take a walk-" He starts to say, tone low and serious, before you interrupt him with another shriek of your own.

"Take a walk? Are you serious, Namjoon?" Your words are harsh and angry as they spit past your lips, and you wrench your arms from his grasp, his fingers reluctantly peeling away from your skin as you focus back on the other men in the room with a dagger laced glare. "I can't just pretend this didn't happen! Look at Jungkook!"

You wave a fierce hand in the direction of said boy, growing paler by the moment, slouched between Yoongi and Hoseok, dark crimson dotting the edge of his rib cage through the fine, white material of his dress shirt.

You feel the anger start to fade, and the bitter feeling of tears begin to choke your throat as Jungkook manages a weak smile in your direction.

"Really, noona. I'm fine. It's just a-" He stops to take in a hissing breath, as the older men holding him up jostle him slightly while readjusting his weight. "It's just a scratch." He finishes lamely, voice nothing more than a whisper now.

Namjoon glances over his shoulder to Jungkook, and seeing the state he's in, gives a curt nod to the older men. "Get him outta here. The doctor's waiting for you."

You resist the urge to reach out and touch Jungkook gently as the men half carry, half drag his weakened body past you and out the door of the study, but only because you're worried about hurting him.

Yoongi-Jungkook's left arm slung around his shoulders-grunts with the effort of carrying the heavy boy, eyes dark, and barely gives you a nod as they pass you, while Hoseok-glancing across Jungkook's body to you-manages half of his normally bright smile, as if to reassure you, before they disappear from the room.

There is silence in the room, the only sound the departing footsteps, and then Jin, leaning against Namjoon's large, wooden desk on the other side of the room, lets out a heavy sigh and reaches up to push long fingers through tangled brown hair as he glances at the leader, still standing in front of you.

"Namjoon, I'm sorry. When we heard Jungkook was in trouble we tried to get back to his position as quickly as we could-" Jin's words drop off, and he glances at the other two men still left in the room, silently watching their leader with guarded expressions.

Namjoon takes in a sharp breath and pinches the bridge of his nose, stepping away from you to cross the room and stand behind his desk, palms planted flat on the oak in front of him, as he stares down at nothing, before he says firmly, "We'll discuss what went wrong tomorrow. For now-" He glances up, and the dark, warning hint of his eyes has you feeling like he's sucked the breath from your lungs. "Get out. I have some phone calls to make."

The remaining men all nod and bow their heads respectfully, Jin ghosting past you with a brief hand on your shoulder, before he leaves the study.

Taehyung and Jimin appear on either side of you, and though Jimin's large, dark eyes hold a hint of worry to them, he offers you the start of a soft smile, before his fingers close around your wrist and pull you toward the exit.

"Come on, baby girl. Let's leave Namjoon alone for now."

You allow him to pull you from the study and into the dim quiet of the hallway-darkened by the night outside-before you can manage to take a breath and feel like you are no longer drowning.

Well, not as much as before.

Taehyung's long arm slips around your waist, and a look of surprise flashes across his handsome features, as he pulls both you-and consequently Jimin-to a stop in the hall.

"You're trembling, sweetheart." He cocks his head, expression grave, eyes dark and unreadable. "Did seeing Jungkookie really get you that worked up?"

"Of course it did." You snap back, trying to soften your tone slightly, as you bite your lip and think over your next words carefully, Jimin's fingers still looped around your wrist, Taehyung's arm idly hanging from your waist. "You promised me that none of you would get hurt."

Jimin's eyes are soft as he pulls you to him and presses a gentle kiss against your forehead. "We tried, baby girl. We really did." You feel his gaze drift to that of Taehyung's over the top of your head, and you can feel the worry tense his body once more as he admits, "Kookie was just in the wrong place at the wrong time this go around."

The reminder of Jungkook-shirt crimson with blood, wide doe eyes narrowed with pain, lips sucked between his teeth-sends your body into another shivering fit, muscles tense and aching from the emotional trembling.

Jimin, still standing close to you, must feel the sudden violent shaking of your body where it comes into contact with your own, because his fingers tighten around your wrist and when you look up at him, his normally full lips are pressed into a thin line of worry.

Taehyung reads the two of you like an open book.

"C'mon, sweetheart." He says gently as he starts to pull you down the hallway once more. "Let's get you into bed."

******

You disappear beneath the covers, and you don't come back out.

You cannot see Jungkook-he's still with the doctor and apparently resting-and the thought of doing anything other than burrowing beneath your blankets sounds mentally and emotionally exhausting when you can think of nothing but holding back your tears while you worry for the youngest boy.

It's dark now-the deeper dark of the middle of the night-and you can tell by the soft glow outside the blankets that someone has turned on the lamps in your room.

The men have tried to leave you alone, but you know they've been flitting in and out of the room silently, checking on you periodically as they too wait and worry in silence.

"She's really upset, hyung."

Your ears perk as you hear Jimin's voice from just the other side of your cracked door, followed by a heavy sigh, and then Namjoon's deeper tone responding quietly.

"Has she eaten anything?"

You can almost imagine Jimin shaking his head. "No. She won't talk to any of us." There is a pause, and then, "What do we do?"

You pull the blanket to your chest as you wait for Namjoon's reply, and you can picture the way his brow furrows in thought when he's thinking over his words carefully. Finally he states firmly, seriously, "Get Yoongi-hyung."

There is no more conversation as the sound of footsteps fade down the hallway, and you are left alone once more, and once more, as soon as you know they no longer watch over you, your muscles-of their own accord-begin to tremble.

You reach up and swipe at your eyes with the backs of your hands as the hot tears press more insistently, breath coming in panicked, emotional gasps, filling up the cocoon you have made beneath the blankets with hot, moist air.

You feel like you're suffocating, and not because of the heavy layer of blankets over your head.

The door creaks and the pad of heavy footsteps sound, coming in a pointed direction toward the bed, and then the corner of the blanket lifts, just enough for you to get a brief glimpse of the lamplight, before the glow is swallowed up in the mass of a dark body sliding beneath the sheets beside you.

"You need to eat, you know." Yoongi mumbles gruffly as he pulls the blanket over his head, successfully trapping the two of you once more in the cave you have created.

You can barely make out the almond shape of his dark eyes and the line of the bandanna pushing back his bangs in the dim, warm atmosphere of the blanket cocoon, before he slides closer to you and pulls you against his chest, arms encircling your frame.

Instantly, the smell of his cologne in your nose makes you feel a little less crazy than you had a few moments before.

But the tears are still pooling at the corners of your eyes, and the damn trembling in your body still persists, even as you bury your face into the strong planes of Yoongi's chest.

"I can't." You whisper back, and your words choke in your throat, as if they're stuck there, held back by clogged tears. You shake your head against him. "I'm too worried."

"About Jungkook?" Yoongi asks, and when you nod, he scoffs, but in a gentle, nonjudgmental way. A way that is just purely Yoongi. "He'll be fine. He's young, unlike most of us, and his body can take a beating. This is nothing. You'll see."

His words trigger the waterfall you have been holding back and suddenly, your chest is tight, as tears cascade down your face, dampening the material of Yoongi's shirtfront.

"You promised me." You cry out, fingers twisting into his shirt, as you bite down hard on your bottom lip and taste copper, trying to quell the shaking of your body, which is now verging on violent. "You promised me that none of you would get hurt. I can't, Yoongi. I can't lose any of you." Your breath is coming in hard gasps, and you feel like you're drowning again. The thought of losing them-any of them-is like a hot knife in the middle of your chest. "I don't want to live without any of you."

Yoongi's long fingers splay out across your back, as he tucks you beneath his chin, the length of his body curled to yours, and the warmth and solidity of his muscles against your own seems to calm the trembling-if just a bit.

"Hey, baby, stop, okay?" He murmurs out, breath warm as it washes across the top of your head, lips a cool contrast as they press to the edge of your forehead. "Stop."

One of his hands comes up to the back of your head, pressing your cheek more firmly against his chest, moving evenly with his breaths, before he asks softly, "Can you hear my heartbeat?"

You force yourself to take a couple of calming breaths and listen, and the sound of his heartbeat-loud and steady and rhythmic-beneath your ear, has your own heart calming slightly as you nod against him.

Yoongi's chin rests on the top of your head, as you listen to his heart, and the shivering subsides even more, the tears drying on your cheeks. "Good. Just focus on that." His long fingers move to stroke down your back, over and over, in a comforting pattern.

Your eyes grow heavy as you realize you cannot do anything for Jungkook now. Maybe, if you sleep, they will let you see him first thing in the morning.

And so, listening to the steady pound of Yoongi's heart, you allow yourself to give into the darkness of sleep.

*******

When you wake up the next morning, Yoongi is no longer beside you, but Hoseok is sitting in the armchair beside your bed, reading something that looks eerily similar to a Jane Austen novel.

"Good morning, sunshine!" He greets when he sees you awake, setting aside his book to jump up and give you one of his radiant smiles. You note, briefly, that his hair is tousled as if he-unlike you-didn't sleep the night before.

"Hobi." You breathe out, sitting up so suddenly your head spins, the blankets still clutched to your chest. "Can I-"

"Yes. You can see Jungkookie." He grins, finishing your sentence, eyes bright, as if he knew what you'd want to ask as soon as your eyes opened. "Namjoon's with him now."

You are out of the bed before your feet can catch up with what your brain is doing, and Hoseok catches you as you almost stumble into him.

"Okay, okay. Slow down there. Jungkook isn't going anywhere." He laughs, and takes you by the arm, dragging you from the room behind him, and even though his words state patience, the way his body bounces as he walks indicates he's just as excited as you are.

The walk down the hallway and up the stairs to the back of the house-and consequently Jungkook's room-seems to take an eternity.

Hoseok opens the door after a soft knock, and you instantly feel the breath whoosh back into your lungs, a sigh of relief leaving your lips, as you see Jungkook sitting up-propped among pillows-in the middle of the large bed.

He's still pale, but he's alive.

"Dammit, Jungkook." You exclaim breathily, unable to breathe properly with the weight of relief that is now sitting heavily on your chest as you rush toward him and take his face in your hands, inspecting him sternly. "You scared the shit out of me."

"I'm fine, noona." The younger boy manages a weak chuckle, as you continue to keep his face firmly between your palms, not wiling to let go of him, the feeling of warmth, breathing flesh making up for the agonizing twenty four hours of uncertainty before.

Jungkook grimaces slightly as your fingers dig a little bit too deep into his skin. "Really." He reaches up to pry your hands from his cheeks, lacing your fingers between his own, as you finally let yourself sit on the edge of the bed, careful not to jostle him. He tilts his head and his large doe eyes crinkle as he smiles at you. "I'm sorry I worried you. The hyungs said you were pretty upset."

"Upset is an understatement." You chide back, your fingers stroking across the smooth skin that covers his knuckles, as you glance over to Hoseok, who stands beside Namjoon's tall frame silhouetted by the window. You direct your gaze back to Jungkook, and your face softens slightly, as you free a hand to reach up and push long dark curls back from his forehead. "The thought of losing you-any of you-is enough to turn me into someone insane."

Jungkook leans into your touch, like a cat looking for affection, and manages another smile in your direction, though his big eyes have gone more serious and less jovial now. "I know, (Y/N). I'm really sorry."

"Jungkookie." Hoseok breaks the silent tension between the two of you with a bright smile that rivals sunshine as he plops down in the chair beside the bed and you wonder briefly, how many times the boys switched their vigil over their wounded brother last night. "What do you wanna eat? I'll have the kitchen make you anything you want. On the house." He winks at the younger man playfully.

You stand, as the two men begin discussing their breakfast orders, and wander to the large window to stand beside Namjoon, who has been silent since you entered, eyes brooding as he stares out at the length of garden and courtyards below you framed by the glass.

It is a rainy and gloomy sort of morning, the sky blocked out with plump, gray clouds, the window pane streaked and distorted with patterns of cold water, and your warm breath fogs the glass as you sigh, the outside world reflecting the somber feeling that has blanketed the house ever since last night.

Your eyes are drawn to Namjoon as he makes a subtle movement in the edge of your vision, reaching up to rub at one of his shoulders with idle, distracted fingers, as he continues to stare down at the courtyard in deep, solemn thought.

You remember that one. You remember it clearly. And even now, it sends a cold shiver down your spine to bring back the memory.

The mission that had gone wrong, the frantic, unhinged, uncharacteristic panic of the other six men as they had dragged their unconscious leader-bleeding profusely from a gunshot wound to the shoulder-into the foyer, dripping with rain and defeat.

The way Jungkook had cried as you'd held him and the other boys close as the doctor whisked away the still barely breathing Namjoon, the way the crimson streak of fresh blood had looked so stark and bright against the black and white tiles at your feet, the absolute cold feeling of terror settling into the pit of your stomach as trembling had overcome your body.

No, that time-and all the other times-would never go away. Ever. The memories were here to stay.

Without thinking, you reach out and place your hand over Namjoon's fingers where they still massage the sore tissue beneath his shirt, and he startles slightly, as if just now realizing you're standing beside him, as you jerk him abruptly from his thoughts.

He glances down at your fingers covering his own. "It still aches when it rains." He offers quietly, as if this is an explanation, and because you know him, it is.

"I know." You say simply, as you move to wrap your arms around his narrow waist and rest your chin on one of his broad, firm shoulders, following his distant gaze back out to the rain chilled landscape before you.

And you do know, because you know all of them-inside and out. Absolutely, incredibly, deeply.

And in just the same way, they all know you. Completely, essentially, openly.

And you wouldn't change it. Not any of it.

Because the same seven men who make you go feral with worry-day and night-are also the only seven men who can soothe those fears beyond the shadow of a doubt.

Wholly, unconditionally, perfectly.

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itsagrimm · 3 years

Text

Darth Maul one shot.

This picture was an inspiration for it so pls leave some love there.

bury me 6 feet deep for the cheesy ending. I deserve it.

Darth Maul x Y/N gender neutral reader without description of appearance during his reign on Mandalore

Later: Savage Opress x Y/N

Summary: You and the snappy crime boss have been friends for a while. You enjoy each other’s company and spend your free time being good ol' meanies together. Savage joins you in a surprising twist.

CN: talk of bad dates and murder, talk of sex and relationship, alcohol consumption

1700 words

The office was empty except for a table in the middle, a few chairs, and a giant window across the large doors. It was a minimal arrangement, and the inattentive visitor would have considered it bare or tasteless. But the inattentive visitor would see the man behind the table as a threat, a monster, a murderer and not the most beautiful and powerful centre of the room.

"Maul!"

He looked up from his work. Intelligent eyes met Y/N. Instead of an answer he raised an eyebrow and waited.

"Lord Maul."

He nodded. His power always had to be recognized first. Even by you.

"Y/N. What a surprise. I thought you were busy. Sit down."

You bowed to your lord before taking one of the chairs in front of the desk.

"Yeah... the date didn't go so well."

Maul leant back and casually put one leg on one of the armchairs.

"Oh really? Do tellwhat the man, who will likely have an unfortunate accident now, did?"

You smiled.

"Oh yeah, accidents can be so surprising. It's always so sad when someone dies. Especially when the concerning man had the audacity to only talk about himself during the date. He did not even ask my name. I don't even know why I went outside for that."

Maul grimaced.

"I don't think one accident to this"- he gesticulated into the air before spitting out-" boy will be enough."

"Yeah. But maybe he is not worth it. It takes a lot of work and effort before someone dies. And I actually have other things to do."

The dark sith lord, criminal master mind and successful general rolled his eyes.

"Your reluctance to make your enemies pay always surprises me. You need to put in the work sometimes. It can feel so satisfying to see your enemies bloody and begging before you."

"I know. You are so right. But right now, I just needed to vent. Do you wanna get out of here?"

He looked at the desk. It was full of holopads, data carts and actual paper.

"Yeah. I am done for now. Let's go."

XXXXXXXX

“Why are you always so extra?”, you tried to compliment Maul who was striding through the palace gardens before you.

He did not even flinch before answering.

“You call this extra? I call this a casual. I have not even tried to impress yet.”

You chuckled.

Maul was wearing dark pants made from silken fabric, an equally dark thin coat with leather armoury shoulder pieces and no shirt therefore showing off his muscular chest and his dathomirian tattoos. He looked good and he walked like a man who knew he looked good.

“Alright. Next to you I feel like an ugly Bantha after my horrible date and little time to change.”

He turned around and checked your outfit.

“Yeah, I can see why you feel that way.”

You gasped.

“Maul! Don’t be mean!”

He smiled.

“Come on, that one was just low hanging fruit. And you know, no one can tease my beautiful and extraordinary friends except me. So this little bad date boy’s life is still hanging on a thin thread.”

“Ok. let’s plan his untimely death tomorrow. I need a drink today.”

“Works for me.”

XXXXXXXXX

The bar was busy. But the Lord of Mandalore and his company got a table at the more private back of the bar, giving you and Maul the chance to observe and gossip.

“Do you see that man over there?”, he pointed at an armoured warrior at a faraway table, “He looks cute. He would definitely be a better date than your last, at least in the looks department.”

You checked the man. He was chatting with a few other Mandalorians. His armour was of a clean blue colour and it was well kept.

“Meh, that armour is a bit too shiny for someone actually using it. And who goes into a bar while wearing a whole set of an antic armour anyway? No, this gives me show off vibes and I don’t like it.”

Maul shrugged before sipping at his martini.

“You will stay single forever, dear Y/N.”

“What is so bad about that? You are single and appear to be doing perfectly fine.”

“I am the Lord of this dominion. I can do what I want anyway and the words >single< or >in a relationship< cannot not really describe my love life.”

“That’s an awfully complicated way to say you get laid.”

He smirked.

“You can say that.”, he rolled the words of his tongue with particular enjoyment, “But unlike you I am not coming into other people’s offices to lament about bad dates.”

“Just drop the date already and pass me the bottle. I don’t want to talk about the mess that is my love life. How is your life going?”

“Embracing the mess can give you strength. Don’t try to detach yourself from the bad but learn to enjoy it.”

“Is that a Sith thing?”

“Partly. I would consider it a sentient thing. We all are constantly confused, emotional and graving for something. Instead of denying that try to give in and enjoy the chaos. Cheers.”

You clinked your glass filled with fine Mandalorian wine against Mauls martini.

“My life…” he continued, “is alright. I think I can enjoy this. It has been a long time since I felt like I belonged somewhere. And it feels nice to have purpose outside of my own calling. It is nice to know that someone might miss me should I choose to leave Mandalore. My brother likes it here, you are a good friend and reigning Mandalore … and others… is a welcome challenge.”

You smiled.

“I’m glad you feel that way.”

For a few moments both of you stayed silent. You did not know what else to say and Maul was lost in some memories he was not willing to share right now. You two had always worked like that, close and chatty yet respectful and discreet.

“My brother…”, Maul started to talk, “My brother would enjoy this. But I can never convince him to come along.”

“Maybe he does not like loud and busy places. He strikes me as the type who gets stressed out by bars instead of enjoying this.”

“No”, Maul looked into his glass searching for words, “I think Savage would enjoy spending time here with us, with you.”

You starred at Maul.

“What do you mean?”

“I think he likes you. And I think he is shy about it.”

You felt your skin getting hotter.

“You like him too!”, Maul called out his eyes nearly sparkling with excitement.

“No!”

“No? I will tell him that!”

“No!”

“You have manoeuvred yourself into a trap.“

“Why are you torturing me? I don’t even know your brother well. He seems nice and-”

“Oh darling, no night brother is niceunless we want or have to.”

Maul, lord of the sith, slayer of jedi, regent of mandalore and matchmaker of his brother’s fate looked at you with an evil delight. Seeing you here, squirming about your feelings and insecurities in regards of his tall and handsome brothers was most likely the after work entertainment he enjoyed the most.

You took a deep breath.

“Ok, my love life is in your hands. I give up. What now, Maul?”

“Your love life was always in my hands.”, He replied patronizingly while starting to type a his personal com.

“Are you sending a com to your brother?”

“No, just sharing a thought with the chancellor. YES of course I am contacting Savage.”

“He will hate it here. I told you. It is loud and busy.”

“Well then then you two better get out of here fast.”

You glared at him.

“You are unsufferable, Maul.”

“And you love me for that.”

You forced a smile.

He basically beamed with delight at your reaction.

“Well, give savage my regards. I got to go.”

“What? Where are you going?”

“I have ruler of mandalore things to do. Much less entertaining things than you and my brother might do tonight.”

“You can’t leave me here. I will die of embarrassment in front of your brother.”

“Then it was nice meeting you. Any wishes for your burial?”

“Maker, you really are-“

“trying to help you embrace the chaos? Yes, I do indeed.”

You were speechless.

The thought of staying and having a kind of forces surprise date with Savage was a good thought but at the same time you felt unprepared and intrusive towards Savage.

“Ah yes, there he is already. Faster than expected.”

Maul waved towards the entrance at the bar.

Savage was standing there.

He was tall and broad as ever. His ocker skin and horns sticking out of the Mandalorian crowd. And his face had the expression of a painfully reserved man.

When he saw Maul, he started moving through the bar.

When he noticed Y/N his expression hardened.

“Good to see you, dear brother. I was a bit careless with my time tonight, so I must leave early. But my dear friend here had a bad day, could use some company and maybe someone to escort them home later, only for safety of course. Would you mind?”

Mauls voice was nonchalant, as if he had no other motives.

But Savage knew his brother too well.

“Is that it, brother?”

“Ah yes, savage! What else do think there is?”

Savage studied Mauls face for a moment before gazing at you like a commander checking a serving soldier for injuries.

“Alright. I will stay.”, he finally said.

#maul being sassy #darth maul #maul #darth maul x y/n #darth maul x reader #darth maul x you #darth maul fluff #star wars #star wars the clone wars #mandalore #party in a galaxy far far away #savage opress #savage opress x reader #dathomirian #sw:tcw #swtcw #sith lord

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ifonlyweknewwhatiwasdoing · 3 years

Note

i think you should do 10 - After a near-death experience + 2 - “I just want to let you know that I love you. A lot. Never forget that.” for obikin!!!! (if you want <3)

Hello Friend!

Thank you for the prompt!

As with everything that I ever do, this prompt got entirely out of hand. It ended up over 2.6k.

Also, it took me longer to find the button for the read below cut than it did to type out this message. Which turned out to be easier to find than I thought it would be.

The information that they were giving was compromised or maybe it had just never been correct in the first place but either way they are in a bad way. When Obi-Wan and the 212th battalion had landed on Truthuc they had been told to expect around fifteen thousand droids to their location. With his battalion it shouldn’t have been a problem, three thousand troopers would have been enough to take them on easily. But as they cut through ranks, Obi-Wan felt a tremor through the force and knew something was wrong.

“Cody, we need to retreat,” he’d told the commander.

His commander was busy, wedged between a boulder and something he couldn’t make out, his face screwed up in confusion, “But sir, there are only a few hundred left. We’ll be able to easily pick them off. We haven’t even sustained over a hundred loses.”

“Cody, call in a retreat,” Obi-Wan told him again and this time looked at him sternly, ducking behind a tree to take as much cover as he could.

“Is this another force thing?” Cody asked, which was his way of asking Obi-Wan if he knew something that he didn’t without going into full detail. Sometimes a few moments were the difference between life and death in these battles and they both knew this better than anyone.

Obi-Wan nodded, feeling relieved as Cody started to bark orders, telling the men to retreat. He could hear the confusion in the background, but everyone started to fall back. They were too late though.

The cruisers came out of almost nowhere but soon there were four of them and Obi-Wan realized in horror that they had to have been nearby. If they were fully equipped there were over two hundred thousand droids and Obi-Wan knew that they had to pull back.

“Get to the cave system,” Obi-Wan barked, “We need to find a position to defend the colonists and fast. There’s no way we can take them this spread out.”

They retreated through the canyon system, shooting to defend their position as the Separatists started to close them in. They would have been fine, shooting off the remaining droids and droidekas as they escaped to the cave system but then the shooting started and Obi-Wan looked up just in time to see their air support come in, shooting at the unstable formations above their heads.

The only thing Obi-Wan could hear was a ringing in his ear and screaming as he ran and used the force to push as many collapsing formations out of their path as quickly as he could, but they were losing numbers fast and the Separatists’ backup had yet to even land.

By the time they had made it to the cave systems, Obi-Wan knew their numbers had been decimated just by looking around. He found Cody by a stroke of luck and started him comm.

Yoda’s face appeared with a few of the council as he was ducking, another explosion taking out the closest formation to him. He pushed what debris back he could and then focused on the grandmaster.

“It was a trap,” he informed him, “There are closer to two hundred and fifty thousand droids currently landing on the surface and they’ve got air support. We don’t stand a chance. We need backup.”

“The closest battalion free to help you would be the 501st,” Windu told him, “But Skywalker is at least three days out. He’s broken through a blockade and is dropping supplies.”

“We may not make it three days,” Obi-Wan told him solemnly, “Isn’t there anyone else closer who could help us?”

“Locked in engagement, the 104this,” Yoda told him gravely, “Help you, they cannot. Wait for Skywalker, you must.”

“I understand,” Obi-Wan told them, “I’ll send you our coordinates. We are backed into a cave system to escape the airstrikes. We’ll hold the line as long as we can.”

“May the force be with you,” Eoth told him and Obi-Wan bowed his head.

“And with you,” Obi-Wan told him before the transmission cut out and they were all alone.

He turned to Cody with a grave look.

“We’ll wait for the cover of night,” Obi-Wan told him, “Then evacuate all the colonists with half of the troopers to the west, away from the fighting and into the abandoned settlement three klicks from here. It’s already been combed over by them, and they’ve got underground tunnels to protect them. The rest will stay with me as a distraction. We’ll protect the cave system like everyone is still here.”

“Sir, you can’t stay here,” Cody argued, “What will we do if it takes too long? You’ll die here and they’ll realize it was a distraction and we’ll have no one to lead us.”

“I have to,” Obi-Wan insisted and then put his hand up to cut off Cody’s next words, “If they see that I’m gone they’ll know that we’ve moved. We can’t afford to let that happen.”

Cody’s face went rigid, but he nodded, “Okay. I’ll tell the rest of the men and prepare them to leave.”

“Cody, you have to go with them,” Obi-Wan told him and at his face shook his head, “You’re right. They will need someone to lead them if I don’t make it. That has to be you.”

“Fine,” Cody told him, “But keep a tight grip on your lightsaber. I won’t be here to pick it up for you, sir.”

Obi-Wan flashed him what he hoped was a cocky grin, “I will.”

---

It had been three days and of the fifteen hundred troopers Obi-Wan had started with, he was down to just under fifty. It had been a massacre and there were droids and his men everywhere, the bodies scattering the canyon. The sun had been constantly battering down on them and the air was almost unbreathable, the smell of rotting flesh permeating the air. On the second day, it had started to rain, and it hadn’t stopped since. The canyon and the cave system started to fill with water and Obi-Wan knew they were running out of time but Anakin wouldn’t be due for a least another twelve hours and that was only if everything had gone well.

They were up to their knees in mud and rainwater and Obi-Wan knew that he wasn’t making it out of this. He heard a yell and looked to his left as a droid shot down another one of his men. Crys tried to drag him to safety but had to retreat as the man was shot again, this time in the gut.

“Fall back!” Obi-Wan called, “Another twenty paces! Now!”

“General we’ve only got another hundred until we’re at the entrance to the cave,” Wooley called and Obi-Wan gritted his teeth. They were at the end of their rope and resources. It wouldn’t be long now.

“Go!” Obi-Wan commanded, “We’ve got to hold them off as long as we can!”

They fell back, tripping in the mud and stumbling over rocks that were completely submerged. Obi-Wan took cover behind another formation, glad that the rain had at least halted the air attacks. If it kept up, it would take the droids longer than they had to get to the rest of his battalion and colonists.

There was another shot, and he heard more yelling. He looked over to see a man fall and realized that he didn’t even know the man’s name. He’d been new, just joining the 212th during their last ship repairs.

He started towards him, but the man was already dead, his whole body underneath the murky water.

And then with a jolt, Obi-Wan cried out, a sharp pain shooting through his gut as a blaster bolt nicked him in the side. He was so tired, and his reflexes weren’t fast enough to get him out of the way of the next two shots that hit him: one in the leg and the other in the hip. He fell to his knees, holding his hands out as troopers prepared to get to him.

He was dizzy, barely able to breathe, and he knew that this was it for him. He tried to catch his breath, to tell his troopers to retreat but he couldn’t find the words. His lungs started to burn, and he wondered if maybe the shot had been better than he’d first thought. He couldn’t keep his eyes open as he started to collapse completely.

He heard voices yelling and then the sounds of airships and briefly mourned the fact that they wouldn’t even be able to keep the colonists and remaining troops safe. The last thing he felt was arms grabbing him and then he was out.

---

Obi-Wan felt like he was floating. Everything around him was dark and all he could hear was Anakin’s voice calling for him. He sighed. There was so much he wished he’d told the man before he died. He was leaving Anakin all alone to continue by himself.

Beautiful, perfect Anakin who had grown into a beautiful man and an amazing and loyal friend. The shame of his rejection would have been worth saying the words he’d been so desperately holding back. It didn’t matter that he was too young, that they were Jedi. It didn’t matter in the face of a never-ending war and his death.

He loved Anakin Skywalker with everything he had. He’d just wished he’d had the guts to tell him.

---

Obi-Wan opened his eyes to a room surrounded in white and briefly thought that it was fitting that his afterlife took place in the one place he’d tried to run away from the most. And then Obi-Wan heard talking and realized that he must in fact be alive.

He looked over to see Anakin looking down at a datapad, reading aloud from it, and realized that it was the poetry that he’d last been working through during their docking for repairs.

“Just like the river travels long rough miles through cities and towns just to flow into the sea for eternity…”

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, or he tried to. It came out more as a hoarse noise, but Anakin abruptly stopped, head shooting up as he looked at Obi-Wan.

“Master!” Anakin said, and then he was rushing forward, hands everywhere at once as he looked over him, “You’re awake! Are you hurting anywhere? Do you know where you are?”

“Water,” Obi-Wan croaked out desperately, and then Anakin was reaching over to the bedside table, grabbing a glass there and putting a warm hand under Obi-Wan’s back to help him partially sit up, helping to lead him to the straw.

Obi-Wan took several gulps of water, the coolness sliding down his throat and soothing the soreness in it. It also helped to clear the taste of bacta that was lingering in the back of his throat, and he realized he must have just been recently pulled from the tank.

“I was so afraid,” Anakin told him, “When we landed, and you were collapsed like you were. You took three blaster bolts, Master! What were you thinking? Stepping out of your cover?”

He’d been thinking about his trooper, hair still the standard military cut and armor still unpainted who’d fallen before him. But that wasn’t an excuse. He’d known better than to step out of cover.

“I don’t know,” Obi-Wan told him, voice still rough despite the water, “We’d been holding the line for almost three full days without sleep. Everyone’s judgment was starting to get impaired Anakin. I’m sure you understand.”

“No I don’t,” Anakin shot back, “I don’t understand the way you are so intent on putting yourself at risk.”

“We are at war,” Obi-Wan told him tiredly, “There isn’t a way to keep me out of harm’s way, Anakin. That is our way of life now.”

Anakin sighed harshly, looking down into his lap, “I know Master. I just worry about you. What if- what if I hadn’t gotten there in time? What if the last time I saw you was fallen in the mud of some godawful planet where you’d been shot?”

Obi-Wan knew it was a bad idea, the words on the tip of his tongue. But Anakin was right. What if he had died there? What if he died tomorrow? What would his biggest regret be?

He already knew the answer to that.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan started, swallowing around the lump in his throat, “The war is getting worse every day and there might come a day where I may not make it.”

He put his hand up to silence the words that were on the tip of Anakin’s tongue, his face screwed up into an angry, disbelieving look.

“It’s true,” Obi-Wan told him, “And if- if that happens there is something that I need to say to you. Before I go. But you might not want to hear it. It- it may make you want to put some distance between us and I- I wouldn’t blame you.”

No matter how much it would kill Obi-Wan, he could never hold anything against Anakin. It just wasn’t in his bones. There was a single atom of him that had the ability to stay angry at him.

“I’d never do that,” Anakin immediately told him as he frowned, “I’d never leave you alone. I pro-.”

“Don’t say that before you’ve heard what I have to say,” Obi-Wan warned him, “Please don’t.”

Anakin said nothing, only nodding his head to let Obi-Wan know he was listening.

“I-I love you Anakin,” Obi-Wan finally forced out, voice shaking, “I just want to let you know that I love you. A lot. Never forget that.”

“Master I lo-,” Anakin started to say.

“No,” Obi-Wan told him, squeezing his eyes shut against the wetness that was building behind them, “I don’t mean the way a master usually loves their padawan, Anakin. I- I mean like you love Padme.”

Obi-Wan heard as Anakin sucked in a sharp breath and tried to push down his panic as he waited to be rejected. There was no way Anakin would want anything to do with him. The master who had so often lectured him on the dangers of attachment, admitting to the most dangerous attachment of all, one he didn’t even have the decency to try to hide anymore. And to his former padawan of all people.

“Master…” Anakin said and Obi-Wan let out a hurt sound.

“I know you don’t feel the same and that’s okay I just couldn’t keep it in anymore, not with the way that we could die at any moment. I needed it to be out in the open in case anything was to happen to either of us,” Obi-Wan rambled.

He waited for the rejection, for the anger, for the sound of Anakin walking away but it never came.

Instead, two hands cupped his face, one warm skin, and the other cool durasteel, tilting it up. He opened his eyes to drown in cerulean. And then warm lips were being smashed against his.

Anakin tasted like caf and the spice rolls that he liked to buy from the lower levels. His slightly chapped lips worked against Obi-Wan’s, tongue running along the line of them until Obi-Wan opened his mouth and Anakin could push in, turning the chaste kiss filthy and wet as he swallowed the noises that Obi-Wan couldn’t help but make.

Anakin pulled back and Obi-Wan felt like he’d been hit over the head with a blaster.

“I don’t love Padme,” Anakin told him breathlessly, “I love you. I just didn’t think you’d ever even consider it.”

“What?”

Obi-Wan couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“I love you Obi-Wan,” Anakin told him, closing the space between them to pull him into another kiss and then whispered in between their lips, “And I’ll love you for as long as you’ll have me.”

“Forever,” Obi-Wan whispered back and then pressed their lips together again.

The war waged on around them and soon they would be separated once again, fighting for their lives. There was a never-ending war to deal with, reports to follow, orders to carry out but for now, they had the warmth of each other's arms, the love that was radiating through their bond, and the absolute stillness of the force around them, as if t had waited with bated breath for this exact moment.

#asks #prompt fill #obikin #it's a little bittersweet #but that's just star wars for you

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writefasttalkevenfaster · 4 years

Text

Javier Peña / Ceasefire

Prompts: “You don’t know me”

Summary: Javier’s been in a bad mood -- and you realize why: you.

Warnings: NSFW, Jealousy (Javi being a jealous idiot), Smut, exhibitionism (why does this keep happening?), dirty talk, swearing, oral (f receiving), i wrote this after watching 2 episodes of narcos help, no y/n

Word Count: 3,004

“What are you two talking about?” You and Steve’s snap up from the file you’re looking at. The file falls closed in Steve’s hands. His eyes flicker between the empty glasses of whiskey, face twisted in a scowl.

Javier is a foul fucking mood, his anger a bitter lime, souring the taste of everyone in the office, or rather now, only, you and Steve. The office is dead and the streets quiet, for once. A temporary ceasefire and a strict curfew bought them some time. But time for what really? They never had enough anyway. Even now. There was only the sound of the low buzz of the flickering lights overhead, dying. But everything seemed less alive when you were surrounded by nothing but death.

And Javier was no different.

A dark cloud had been brewing over his head since the day before, when he found you and Carrillo in his office, pouring over plans that he hadn’t gotten to see. Lightning cracked down on anyone who dared to enter his radius. The entire office had steered clear of him since, including you and Steve.

Steve says nothing, but shoots you a look that says everything, asshole, “Nothing, Javi, didn’t know you were one to take interest in our personal lives.”

“Didn’t know you had all the capital on being a nosy fucking busybody,” he bit back, grabbing the file out of Murphy’s hands, before flipping through it, pausing, “This isn’t work.”

You roll your eyes, leaning back in your chair, hem of your dress riding up, “We’re off the clock, Peña, not like it’s any of your business,”

“Wedding pictures are how you guys like to spend your off time?” he whistles, his eyes unabashedly raking over your bare legs, “I thought I told you not to go too crazy on the weekends.”

“Not that you asked, but I needed some help with an anniversary gift for my wife,” Steve sighs, crossing his arms, “didn’t think you would be interested.”

“And why would she be?” He jerks his head to you, tilting it, before tossing the file back onto Murphy’s desk past your head, “she doesn’t believe in marriage.”

You snort, rising from your seat. “And how would you know anything I believe in?” you brush by him intentionally, shoulders colliding, you ask, shrugging on your coat, “you don’t even know me.”

His eyes flash dangerously, eyes catching the reflection of the dancing lights — but there was something more than just light — anger. You catch how his fingers flex in place, his lips a tight line, but he says nothing when he spots you leaving. Instead, you see him continue to discuss something quietly with Murphy, as you turn the corner to leave.

You walked to your anger, gritting your teeth as you burst through the double doors of the embassy. You tugged at the collar of your shirt, feeling the sweat already begin to drip down your neck. Out of one suffocating night and into another.

You didn’t know what his fucking problem was, the metal of your keys digging into your fisted fingers. Your steps echoed against the pavement, the streets of Bogota quiet for the first time since you had arrived. But the silence wasn’t a comfort, instead it was only an irritant for your nerves. Maybe it was the same for Javier — the feeling of standing still was worse than always moving — it was easy to ignore problems when the world was constantly shifting under feet. But at a standstill — you unlocked your car — it was easier to get consumed by everything that was wrong.

You had barely opened the door, when you found yourself pressed against it. Breath sucked from your lungs, your hands fumbled for your gun, ready to shoot whoever had chosen to grab at a federal agent, but instead you found a familiar voice whispering to you in Spanish, “I don’t know anything about you, huh?”

Relief washes over you, only to be replaced with white hot anger, “Javier, what the fuck—”

His lips are at your neck, peeling back your all too warm jacket, freeing your skin to the Colombian humidity that clung to the air desperately. Almost as desperately as Javier’s lips were, burning kisses into your already searing skin. Your jacket slid helplessly to the ground, as helpless as you were under his touch. His fingers quickly pull apart your shirt, nearly ripping the buttons from the fabric to expose your neck to his touch.

You felt anger bubble up in your throat again, only to be distracted by his large hands grasping at your hips, squeezing and pulling you impossibly closer. Closer. He was quickly stoking a different fire in you — one growing quicker and spreading faster, especially as his knee parted your thighs for him.

“I know that you like this,” he continued, his fingers already between your legs, fingertips pressing against your soaked underwear, as your hips roll against his touch, “You cannot deny it, hermosa — your body certainly isn’t,” his chuckles rumbles against you, making you shudder against him, “does he know how you you feel? Wet, tight, pliable under my touch, my touch,” he sweeps your tied hair to one side before pulling it from its constraint, “Does he know how you sound when you beg for me every night? Beg me to come? Does he?”

“Does who?” You growl.

Of course, you knew who he was talking about. And of course they didn’t know — you both did your damnedest to make sure no one knew. You knew the reputation that Javier carried, bore it proudly on his chest without any shame. Why would he need to feel it? He was a man after all — he wasn’t married, even if he was, there was no shame for a man to fuck around with his informants. Not when it was the name of justice and fairness. But was there anything fair about how his teeth were dragging across your pulse point, sucking and licking at the newly formed bruise, “Steve’s fucking married and Carrillo—”

“Married is another word for trapped, and you don’t see the way Carrillo eyes you when your back is turned,” He hisses, fingers squeezing your ass, his hardness pressed against your thigh, “there’s a lot you don’t know.”

“Just like there’s a lot you don’t know about me,” you spit back, “you’re just fucking pissed because I said you don’t know me, because you don’t.”

“I know you,” he whispers against your skin, licking a stripe up your neck, “I know you.”

You rip his fingers from your body, turning to lean against the car, chest heaving, fingers digging into the cheap paint of the car, “Prove it,” His pupils dilate, as he moves closer, panting in your ear, as he fumbles with your back door, but you shut it and lock it, “you want everyone to know that I’m yours, right?” you sit on the back of the car, looking at the empty streets, “it’s a ceasefire. No better time.”

He growls, the noise sending heat straight down your body, as he presses himself against you wholly, as your thighs wrap around his waist to pull him in closer, “I will know every inch of you after tonight. I will drag my body down every single place, until you are begging me to let you come tonight.”

His calloused fingers trail up your soft thigh again, lingering this time, no longer quick or rough. He made good on his promise, as his fingers explored your lower thigh, his lips mapped your collarbone, “Javier,” you breathed, “this isn��t going to make me beg — this is just making me impatient.”

“Now, now, hermosa,” his fingers finally rake across your core, as his eyes flicker with that same dangerous gleam, “Don’t we Americans say, all good things come to those who wait?”

“We’re not in America,” Your fingers pulled at his collar, tugging him closer, fisting the fabric of his shirt, as he presses a kiss to your soaked underwear, “Maybe I should find out if Murphy or Carrillo are available—” and his fingers slid your panties aside, two thick fingers sinking inside you, “Javi— Fuck-”

“Would they be able to fill you like this? To satisfy you?” A derisive laugh cut off by a short groan, his fingers sliding in and out, his thumb brushing against your clit, “look how you’re dripping for me, and I haven’t even put my cock in you yet.”

“Javi,” your hips roll against his fingers, feeling your body begin to crest just as he slides another finger in, “Javi, please,”

His fingers slow and then withdraw completely, and you nearly sob into his shoulder at the absence of his touch, biting back tears. He kisses each cheek, before trailing open mouthed kisses down your body, until he sinks to his knees, “I haven’t even gotten to taste you tonight,” he mutters, thick fingers sliding your underwear down, his mustache now tickling your thigh, “would you like me to, hermosa?”

“Yes, fuck, Javi—” your head brushes against the car, barely holding yourself upright, and his mouth presses a kiss to your weeping warmth, fingers pressing the soft flesh of your thighs apart to keep them from jumping.

“You’re going to have to tell me what you want, sweetheart,” he says, voice thick with desire, your fingers fist in the soft curls of his hair, guiding him to where you wanted him. He clicked his tongue, nearly brushing against your dripping cunt, his dark eyes flickering up to meet yours, “because I don’t know you, remember?”

“Taste me,” you demand, the seething anger undermined by the breathy gasps that fall from your lips after his broad tongue takes a quick stripe up the middle of you. Your fingers form fists, pressing him closer to yourself, his head caught between your thighs. His tongue circles you slowly, painfully — barely touching your clit, before falling into the same rhythm again. Your nails dig into his scalp, “Javier—”

“Would you beg for anyone else like this?” he sucks a pretty bruise onto the skin of your inner thigh, soothing it with his tongue, “could anyone else have you like this? In public?” you know he sees your clench at the thought, “tell me, or your pretty pussy will anyway.” He noses your inner thigh, hot breath against your parted thighs.

“No, Javi,” you breathe, and his tongue flicks against you, one of your hands digging into his shoulder, “No one else, just you. Only you. Please, I—”

His tongue slides into that moment, no longer taking his time, mouth twisted around you, allowing your hands and legs to bring him closer and closer. Your hips roll against his mouth, nearly falling backwards, boneless. And his tongue retreats only to be replaced with two fingers. You feel him smile against your sensitive skin before he sucks your clit into his mouth.

“Javi, I’m—” A hand is buried in his hair, the other on his shoulder, knowing you’ll crescent indentations all over the crest of his shoulder blade, and he only seems to pump his fingers faster, until you reach that peak. And he groans around you when he hears you moan his name, your throat raw, as you steady yourself with his body. He rides out your orgasm, swallowing your essence with sloppy lips and his broad tongue.

“I will never get sick of how you taste —” he peers up at you with hooded eyes, lips shiny as his tongue darts across the length of his lips, “best pussy I’ve ever had,” He presses butterfly kisses across your inner thighs, hands rubbing up and down the length of them. Groaning, as you pull at his hair, tugging him up your body, as you pull him into a deep kiss.

You groan when you taste yourself on his lips and his tongue, which flicks against your own. Your hands smooth the front of his jeans, before massaging his prominent bulge in the coarse material, fingers toying with the button, “Sweetheart,” he warns, until your fingers tug down his pants and boxers with it, fingers immediately closing around his erection.

Swears spill from his lips as his hips stutter under your touch, tracing the large vein with your pointer finger, before you squeeze, And suddenly his large hands are underneath your thighs, hooking your legs around his waist. The tip rubs against your clit, and you suddenly realize just how hot you are. Sweaty, sticky bodies in Bogota’s impossibly humid night, sweat rolling down your bare shoulder, his head buried in the nape of your neck.

“I need you, Javi,” you admit, shaking your head, as the edge of the car digs into your ass, “please.”

“What do you want, hermosa?” he mutters darkly against your collarbone, lips an inch from yours, “you have to tell me.”

“I want you to fuck me,” you tell him, and his cock only brushes your folds, “I want you to fill me, remind me how much you exactly know me. Never let me forget what it feels like to have you inside me—”

He growls, a growl pulled from deep in his chest, “We’ll make sure of that, won’t we, hermosa?” He slides into you, first few inches parting your folds as he grunts, “So fucking tight for me, only for me.”

He bottoms out in you, your muscles contracting around his thick cock as you take him deeper, deeper. His hips rock against you, and your warmth welcomes it, soaking wet and swallowing him. His arm steadies you from behind, wrapped around your back, your chests brushing against each other.

You can’t stop the moans from falling from your lips, echoing in silence of the night. You know he’s unwilling to let stop it, corner of his lip pulling as he watches himself fuck you harder, “I wonder if Steve can hear us, hear how good I fuck you,” you clench around him tighter, another moan pulled from your mouth, “Imagine if he walked out to get to his car, imagine if he saw us, would you like that? To see you all fucked out by me? With my cum slipping down your ankles?”

“Javier—" he lifts you higher, sliding into you deeper at this angle, and you nearly sob at the sensation, "fuck, I—"

"Tell me," he groans, as his hips begin to stutter, "tell me who can only make you feel this way,"

"You, Javi, only you," you nearly scream, as his fingers rub down hard on your clit.

"Cum for me," he grunts in your ear, as you tip over the edge, your walls tightening around him, your back arching as his arm steadies you around him. His hips continue to thrust into you, until finally they stutter, as he cums in you.

He slowly stills inside you, his breath coming in soft pants. He presses your forehead to yours, for a moment, eyes squeezed shut. He slowly eases you down, pulling himself out, as he straightens your underwear and clothes. His fingers linger at the hem of your dress a moment too long. He adjusts himself, as you lean against your own car, eyes never leaving you still.

His gaze darkens when he sees you glance at the embassy doors, "Javier—"

"Let me take you home," he says, lips pressing a kiss to your forehead, "come on. You can leave your car here." You raise a brow, as his arm wraps around your middle, "Or I'll have a buddy drop it off. Let's just go, hermosa."

You don’t argue with him, instead leaning into his touch as he leads you to his car instead, your head buried in the collar of his shirt. The smell of sex mixed with the faint scent of cigarettes is nearly overwhelming, you resist the urge to press a kiss to the hollow of his throat.

The car ride is silent, your head resting against the cool glass of Javi’s car. His hand grazes your knee innocently, resting there and occasionally squeezing, as if he was reminding himself that you were there — you were with him still.

As you pull up to your small house, your eyes slide over to him, as he puts the car into park. Hand still resting over the gear shifter, his eyes turbulent — but a different storm than before — not one of lightning, but one of rain.

“Javier, I don’t understand what you want—”

“Sweetheart—” You shake your head.

“No, we both agreed to keep this a secret. To just stick to fucking outside of work,” your eyes blink away memories of the first time it happened — his lips still tasted of the whiskey he had drank at the bar, yet somehow tinged with a sadness, a yearning for a distraction from all the death and danger that followed them and that they had followed — “But this — getting jealous of Carrillo? Of Steve?”

A frown twists at his lips, “I’m sorry, okay?” he leans his head back against the headrest, a sigh parts his lip as he pulls a cigarette from his pack, “Look, you’re better off with someone else—”

“I thought tonight was about proving I wasn’t,” you shifted in your seat, still sticky with the proof of that fact. His eyes snap to the movement before rising back to your face, a twitch of his upper lip, “Javier, what are you so afraid of?”

He gives a bitter chuckle, “I’m not scared of a lot of things, hermosa,”

“But you are scared of this,” you say, as his eyes fall to his lap instead, and you let it go, exhaustion pulling at your limbs. There was another time for this conversation. You open the car door, “Are you coming?”

He blinks, tilting his head, “You still want me to come inside?”

You grin, tugging at his collar, before plucking the cigarette from between his fingers, “You know me so well,” you press a kiss to the corner of his lips, hand cupping his cheek, “tell me what you think.”

#javier pena #javier peña #javier pena x reader #narcos fanfiction #narcos imagines #narcos #javier pena smut #Javier Peña x reader #Javier Peña imagines #Javier Peña x you #i knew i was gonna be in deep for this man #but i didn't realize how badly

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monstersdownthepath · 3 years

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Demigod Dossier: Velstrac Demagogues, part 1

Pictured: Aroggus, the Abbey-Maker

Lawful Evil Mad Artists of the Shadow Plane

The Complete Book of the Damned, pg. 120~121 Additional information is also present in Adventure Path: Return of the Runelords: The City Outside of Time, pg. 74~79

Our second-ever Demigod Dossier, now fully in-swing! The Velstrac Demagogues are the rulers of the Shadow Plane and all the lives within, though many of said lives within aren’t really fans of them. Natives to the Netherworld find the presence of the Velstrac an annoyance at best and a threat to their lives at worst, and would much prefer if they went back to Hell where they came from, but unfortunately for everyone everywhere they don’t appear too eager to throw themselves into the jaws of the inferno just yet. Instead, they’re busy throwing themselves into the jaws of one another.

The Demagogues represent the pinnacle of a specific subset of the Velstrac’s twisted senses of ‘art’ and ‘perfection,’ either because they’ve mutilated themselves into something wholly unlike anything else that can, did, or could exist, or they’ve pioneered a form of artistry that other Velstrac couldn’t even conceptualize in the first place and gathered a fandom. It takes some very twisted, alien forms of thinking to become a Demagogue and get others rallied behind you, even moreso because the Velstrac themselves are, putting it kindly, completely out of their gourd. When your audience already expects the insane and outlandish, you have to go even further, and many of the fiends you’ll soon see have.

We’ll only be covering four in this initial post, with the rest to be saved for later...

Demagogues view mortals as little more than primal clay to be shaped, and thus see little worth in investing true divine power into them, worshipers receive Boons that are are relatively simple: a trio of spell-like abilities, each of which may be used 1/day. Boons are normally gained slowly, at levels 12, 16, and 20, however entering the Evangelist, Exalted, or Sentinel Prestige Classes can see the Boons gained as early as levels 10, 13, and 16. Note that while they are Lawful Evil fiends originally from Hell, they are not devils, thus you cannot enter the Diabolist Prestige Class to obtain their Boons without DM fiat.

Aroggus, the Abbey-Maker

Demagogue of Possibility, Revenge, and Sanctuary Domains: Evil, Law, Protection, Trickery Subdomains: Deception, Defense, Fear, Tyranny

Obedience: List the names of those who have wronged you until the writing covers a page, then consume the parchment. Benefit: Gain a +4 profane bonus on saving throws to resist compulsion effects.

What a completely normal, sane, and healthy thing to do! As the first of the Demagogues to flee from Hell, Aroggus is EXTREMELY angry at the devils for locking them up in the first place. Angry enough to want revenge on the whole of the diabolic race, as well as the Asura... Angry enough that he hasn’t yet even started getting around to enacting his revenge, instead just constantly thinking about and refining it as if no iteration of suffering is perfect enough to match his fury.

True to form, he wants you to ruminate in your anger rather than doing anything to enact your vengeance, blacking out a page with the names (or just one name) of all who’ve wronged you no matter how petty or insignificant the inconvenience they may have caused. Unfortunately, no two ways about it, you’re going to look insane (in the literal definition of the term) doing this every day, especially if you only have one or two people who’ve wronged you enough to get onto your list. Scrawling their name, front AND back, until the page is filled and then eating it is behavior that will raise eyebrows no matter who you’re adventuring with. Best to keep this one behind closed doors. Make sure you have a glass of activated charcoal after, because all of that ink day after day (unless you write with, I don’t know, berry juice or blood) is going to do amazingly terrible things to your constitution.

The benefit is good. Compulsions are typically Save-Or-Suck effects, so having more Save means less Suck for you later on. It’s useful at any point in your adventure, so I can’t say anything bad about it! My only wish is that it was a little stronger, since some other gods give +4 vs compulsion and charm effects.

Boon 1: Nondetection Boon 2: Forcecage Boon 3: Imprisonment

Nondectection is a good spell for those times when you need to sneak by diviners, hide magic items from scrutiny, avoid the gaze of a Paladin who’s a little too judicious with Detect Evil, or to add another layer of shroud over Invisibility and the like. It’s a spell that’s a pain to prepare every single day, but useful to have when you need it... but you only have one casting of it per day, so using it wisely is paramount. Ironically, it combines well with your own Divination to find out if you’ll even need it later. More often than not you won’t be using it at all except to idly ward yourself when going into town or diving into a dungeon.

Forcecage is a completely different animal, the offensive and defensive applications of the spell simply mind-blowing, to the point that keeping this to just one paragraph to save space is going to take some herculean effort on my part! So, the basics: Forcecage has two versions, both of which halt all movement through them: A 20ft square of force bars that allow spells, projectiles, and line-of-effect through, and a 10ft cube that blocks line-of-effect and all forms of magic and supernatural abilities. A Forcecage is effectively invincible (having Hardness 30 and 20hp/level) and impossible to move, so anyone trapped inside without the ability to teleport is likely to stay there for the spell’s duration. Also, to put it simply, shoving enemies in the cage is the main point, but if you cannot, a 10ft/20ft square is an enormous roadblock to stop up narrow passages with.

Which leaves Imprisonment, a portable hole you can shove all sorts of problems into, which will likely create new problems down the line if the target had anything you needed on them. I recommend knocking out a foe, stripping them of their valuables, and then shoving them into their baby jail for all eternity! With the Freedom spell being the only means to undo Imprisonment (even Wish and Miracle fail), you’ll have no actual way to undo the spell against any target you cast it on for one or two more levels, if at all (depending on the party composition). Make sure to use it only when the villain has no MacGuffins, or is a powerful recurring threat. Imprisonment works on anything and everything capable of failing the Will save (take note, anyone wanting to fight Kaiju, Great Old Ones, or Spawn of Rovagug), which gets a -4 penalty if you know the target’s name and some facts about its life, so famous villains are even more vulnerable to being thrown into the Eternity Marble!

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Barravoclair, Lady of the Final Gasp

Demagogue of the Elderly, Fatalistic Insights, Resurrection Domains: Death, Evil, Healing, Law Subdomains: Murder, Restoration, Resurrection, Undead

Obedience: Practice breath control, holding your breath until you nearly pass out. Benefit: Gain a +4 profane bonus on checks to resist drowning and on saves against inhaled poisons.

A hell of a step down in terms of unhealthiness in terms of Aroggus, and significantly less suspicious, too. Breath control is practiced by people of all stripes, from athletes to explorers to simple monks attempting more profound meditation. While ‘nearly passing out’ is skirting an edge most people won’t approach, it’s not exactly as dangerous for you as, say, inhaling water or eating poison every day. Without any materials needed, the Lady of the Final Gasp is one of the simplest and probably the single cheapest Obedience ritual one could ask for! There is a minor caveat in that races who can’t breathe can’t technically do this Obedience at all, but those aren’t the audience Barravoclair wants anyway.

Unfortunately, the benefit is as weak as the Obedience is easy to do. Drowning is unlikely to come up as a danger unless you’re physically dragged into the water by a monster (which means holding your breath likely isn’t an option anyway), and inhaled poisons are the least common poison type in the game. Against the odd Catoblepas or Green Dragon it will come in handy, but it’s protection from injury poison you really need, which the Lady of the Final Gasp doesn’t provide.

Boon 1: Speak With Dead Boon 2: Resurrection Boon 3: Soul Bind

Alright, let’s face it. Some days, you need Speak With Dead to keep the plot running smoothly. Whether your overzealous DPS kills everyone in the room, your Fireball-lobbing Sorcerer kills everyone in the room, or your summoner’s unchained beasts kill everyone in the room, chances are at some point in your career you’re going to save the party a lot of headaches by being able to pull answers from a corpse. Having Speak With Dead available every day will likely not matter 80% of the time (meaning you can typically use it at your leisure just before going to bed), but much like with Water Breathing and spells like Remove Curse and Neutralize Poison, having it for those 20% of times you need it can keep the wheels spinning and stop unneeded side quests.

... And speaking of side quests and things you’ll need once in a blue moon, Resurrection? For free? Even 1/day? With the hefty cost of 10,000gp for the normal spell, even a well-off party will feel the impact every single time they have to use Rez, but the removal of the cost ups the power level of the spell by a margin so enormous that it doesn’t really matter what Boon you get before or after this one; THIS boon rewards worship of Barravoclair enough to justify putting up with her empty benefit. Even without factoring in the ability to raise party members, you can now curry favor with people of all stripes and demand all forms of insane payments for your ability to raise centuries-old dead at no cost but time... or do your work for free and call in favors at a later date. Do note, however, that you’ll also need someone else on standby to remove the negative levels/stat drain caused by the resurrection process.

I said it didn’t matter what the third Boon was and I stand by it. Unlike with the free Rez above, Soul Bind’s enormous cost still makes its use as anything but a once-per-campaign finisher of an annoying enemy irritating and unfeasible. Spell-likes normally require no components, but Soul Bind operates in a gray area of the rules in that its focus component becomes the subject for the spell, meaning that a DM can very easily and very rightly say you DO require the gemstone whose value must equal or exceed the target’s HD x 1,000. Binding even a simple 5 CR creature requires the tall order of a 5,000gp gemstone, and if you want to use it on a target that’s worthwhile, it gets expensive fast. It’s way cheaper and easier to just hire a Cacodaemon.

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Fharaas, the Seer in Skin

Demagogue of Experience, Murder, and Patterns Domains: Evil, Knowledge, Law, Repose Subdomains: Ancestors, Fear, Memory, Souls

Obedience: Study the interior of a freshly severed limb. Benefit: You are immune to bleed effects that deal 6 damage or less.

This Obedience is deceptively simple for what its implication is. You’d best get yourself a Sack Of Rats or have access to a lot of disposable prisoners (or the Regenerate spell)! But thankfully, there’s some wiggle room in the wording: ‘freshly severed’ means no cheating and using Gentle Repose on the same arm over and over, but it ALSO means you can carry around a single corpse and slowly slice it apart, as the limbs themselves don’t have to be fresh, just freshly cut off for the purpose of the ritual. Also, you can use the bodies of Undead, Constructs, and any other creature that technically has severable limbs! Though Fharaas, the Seer In Skin, will likely punish you if your ritual doesn’t involve the examination of actual flesh.

You’re going to look really weird, is what I’m saying. At least if someone barges in on you, you can claim you’re inspecting them for something or other. Infection, signs of magic, etc, whatever you can come up with to blunt the blow. You can cover yourself moderately well by being a butcher or a hunter in your day job, as the severed limb doesn’t have to be human, or even sapient (hence why I suggest a Sack Of Rats), letting you freely slice up and examine your kills.

Bleed effects are fairly uncommon in the grand scheme of things but are also a pain in the neck to deal with in the middle of battle, so this giving a +4 bonus aga--wait, sorry, hold on no, this isn’t a bonus to saving throws? Or skill checks to heal bleed? It just... Stops them if they deal 6 or less damage? You don’t even have to make a save?

Okay. Okay, alright. So you’re just immune to bleed, then?

More or less, really. There are very few monsters that deal more than d6 bleed damage with their attacks (be warned that higher-level ones can sometimes stack their bleed!), and this ability also works on the rare but dreaded stat bleed, and off the top of my head there are NO monsters that deal more than a d4 dice in stat bleed damage. My main problem is that it doesn’t reduce the bleed damage you take by 6, so taking even 1 more point of bleed damage makes this ability useless. Still, though it’s fairly narrow, being effectively immune to a dangerous and irritating status ailment at level 3 or so (when bleed is at its most threatening) is well worth taking up butchery.

Boon 1: Keen Edge Boon 2: Vision Boon 3: Foresight

Keen Edge is a spell you absolutely want to slap onto any vaguely pirate-y or hoity-toity party member you may have, as cutlasses, rapiers, and scimitars all leap from a dangerous 18~20 critical range to a terrifying 15~20, meaning they threaten to critically strike 1 out of every 4 attacks instead of just once every other fight or so. With a duration of 10 min/level, the enchantment will likely last multiple fights even if you only have it 1/day, but unfortunately it refuses to stack with any crit-boosting enchantments or feats the wielder may already possess, lessening its usefulness as your adventure goes on and your martial party members pick up increasingly fancy gear and pad out their collection of feats. Still, it’s useful for when you get it, and will remain useful for several levels after.

Vision is a whole different beast, and a dangerous one at that. It operates as the Legend Lore spell but vastly accelerated, allowing you to scrape the public consciousness for any information it may have on a specific person, place, or thing. I’ve complained about the general niche uses of Legend Lore before, but Vision grants the information in a much shorter time (a single standard action) at the cost of a potential for failure and a slap of fatigue whether you succeed or not. I don’t like 1/days that do nothing on a failure, but since Vision is purely a downtime spell (unless you need to know the boss’ weakness or info on the Evil Doom Artifact right now immediately), it’s not as much of an impediment to lose out on whatever information it could give you. That being said, the DM will likely have ways for you to do whatever plot-relevant research you need anyway, so Vision is more of a way to speed up the process than anything.

Which leaves Foresight, a spell whose main benefit relies intensely on DM cooperation, as I’ve ranted about here. Mechanically it’s fairly unimpressive, but if the DM reads the spell carefully, they should realize it gives whoever you cast it on a 6-second glance into the future at all times. Whatever horrors befall the victim 6 seconds from now should spring into your mind before they happen, making you the best trap radar on the planet, and the spell’s warnings for the best ways to protect yourself will urge the DM to grant you information about the enemy’s capabilities you may never otherwise know... but what do you expect from 9th level magic? It SHOULD be filling you in with details you’d never figure out!

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Inkariax, the White Death

Demagogue of Preservation, Absolute Cold, and Solitude Domains: Evil, Law, Void, Water Subdomains: Fear, Ice, Isolation, Slavery

Obedience: Inventory your collection of hoarded knickknacks, reciting your unique name for each item as you do Benefit: Gain a +4 profane bonus on saving throws to resist effects that would petrify or paralyze you.

God, finally, someone normal. At worst you’ll look like someone with a few obsessive issues, but at least you won’t look like a menace to society as you lay out your, I dunno, marbles or bone dice or dolls or what have you and make note that they’re still there, cooing to them with names only you know. It’s fitting for Inkariax, of all the Demagogues, to have an Obedience that requires no self-harm, physically or psychologically; unlike all the rest, he was born perfect and doesn’t need to chase after it. Instead, he pursues finding perfection in others, freezing and collecting people and items he believes represent perfection in whatever unusual way he desires that day (having perfect posture, or a perfect scream, or a perfect pair of eyes, etc). Much like him, you’re encouraged to expand a collection of whatever you deem perfect and desirable, which you’re often going to do just over the course of normally adventuring. I’ve yet to see a player character that doesn’t start amassing all sorts of junk in their pockets the moment they get a Bag of Holding or similar.

Indeed, you can just pick up whatever catches your fancy, be it stones, sticks, or severed bits of an enemy, though I’m sure Inkariax will ever-so-slowly raise a disapproving eyebrow if you just pick up any old junk. Make sure to curate your collection now and then! Being able to perform this Obedience with anything you happen to gather is especially helpful if you’re ever separated from your collection (always a danger) and need to start again, but note that each item you gain in your collection must have a completely unique name. That’s only really a danger for especially RP-heavy campaigns, but in such campaigns Worship of the White Death isn’t for everyone who just names all their collected bird feathers Jeffery. Start getting in the habit of stretching out your inventory sheet with names for all your items!

The benefit you get from lovingly counting up all your stolen statuettes and dusty books is resistance to two of the worst status effects in the game. While petrification is relatively rare it typically appears in Save-Or-Suck form, which makes protection against it far more valuable than, say, protection against something like the far more common fatigue or exhaustion. Paralysis is an ailment just short of a death sentence by itself, costing the victim their turn at best and their life at worst, so even a +4 between you and that is something you need to cling to with your entire being.

Boon 1: Sleet Storm Boon 2: Sequester Boon 3: Microcosm

Sleet Storm is a very simple spell with a decent number of functions. Its Long range means that any enemy in your line of sight can potentially be a target, letting you lash out easily at ranged enemies or dangerous casters by creating a 40ft-wide and 20ft-tall area of concealing sleet that’s impossible for any vision to pierce (except the rare and niche Snowsight or Fogcutter Lenses). Anyone inside will have to rely on Tremorsense or Blindsense (though the jury’s out on if the splashing of the sleet would confound those, as well) to navigate it, and 40ft of difficult terrain can feel impossible to clamber through when you start right in the middle of it with no idea which way is the way you need to go. It’s one of the strongest vision-blockers in the game due to its immunity to common tactics that thwart lesser spells (Gust of Wind, True Seeing, etc), forcing enemies to either blow their valuable uses of Dispel Magic or suffer for its entire duration. My only complaint is that you only get it 1/day and that it screws over your party just as hard if you use it incorrectly.

Sequester is as niche a use spell as there ever was for players, requiring a bit of forethought about what or who you’d want to hide with it. The target must be willing or inanimate to be affected, so tricking an enemy via Charm or Dominate into accepting the spell can keep them fresh as a daisy for weeks at a time if you ever have a reason to do such a thing. More often than not you’ll use it to conceal items you seriously don’t want seen or detected, such as a Bag of Holding or similar loaded with your collection of knickknacks or emergency supplies, a particular hostage, an NPC you need to keep alive, or your phylactery if you’re a Lich. If you’re especially sadistic, using it on an item someone else needs and throwing it into a well or a hoard of other objects will keep them occupied for a while. If you’re a more martial character, using it to hide your armor is viable, making it seem as though you’re invincible when enemy blows bounce straight off, or even your weapon to confound your enemies who seem to be taking wounds from an unseen item. Your mime routine will be killer, literally! Just... Just don’t drop the thing, because in the heat of battle you’re never going to find it.

Microcosm is one of the best spells you can hurl into a crowd of commoners or a swarm of foes meant to gum you up instead of actually threaten you. Its 30 HD limit will mean it likely will only strike one or two creatures capable of actually threatening you, but it’s brutal even then. The spell is permanent, trapping your victims in an illusory world in which everything goes right for them even as their bodies starve to death in the waking world. Anything with less than 10 HD is automatically affected with no saving throw, the spell easily mopping up mobs, while anything with 11~15 HD escapes automatically after 10 min... per level you have. On a successful save. There’s Save-Or-Suck, and then there’s the immensely rare Save-And-Suck! No wonder Microcosm is ONLY on the Psychic’s list! Anything with more than 16 HD is unaffected if they succeed their save, but all their allies are likely in an everlasting dreamland now. The big issue is that the HD restriction is way tighter than you may think; creatures, especially at higher levels, usually do NOT have HD matching their CR, but if you’re mainly battling level-appropriate Humanoid or Monstrous Humanoid creatures, Microcosm is fairly reliable in such battles, as those foes typically have HD that roughly matches their CR. But if you’re up against, say, Dragons or Outsiders, good luck bud.

Side note: Microcosm and Sequester used in combination make for excellent ways to start your own morbid collection of living creatures, just like your icy master! Just make sure you have some non-Divination means of seeing them, as Sequester blocks even True Sight.

#Pathfinder #dungeons and dragons #Demigod Dossier #Spiritual Spotlight #Sinister Spotlight

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cutegirlmayra · 3 years

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Here's a fun AU idea. I was thinking instead of tarot card reading Amy has vivid visions of the future. However whenever she gets a good vision dizzy spell when she gets a bad vision terrible sometimes debilitating headaches and she doesn't control what she sees. This makes her a person of interest to Eggman, G.U.N., and other world governments so they constantly try to capture her and use her power for their own gain. If she tries to force a vision it hurts her. Sonic is very protective of Amy

*feels tired today, just re-reading prompts to get ideas -sometimes new- or get excited about who’s next in line*

Thinking in my head, ‘I’m just not feeling well today, but I do have some ideas.’ The very next thought to encourage me, ‘You write your best when you’re tired.’

Me, directly after that thought, ‘...Darn it, you’re right.’ *proceeds to write all and every emotion in vivid detail* (lololol)

I know myself too well.

PROMPTS ARE ON SHUTDOWN. No, you cannot beg nicely for me to take your prompt until they are open again, sorry love, them’s the rules. BI

Slightly gonna alter your request for the benefit of something I think may be a stronger storyline, I hope you still enjoy it, Precious Anon! \(:D)/

Prompt:

There was a rift in the chasm of space time, an unfathomable amount of power was being expelled and pulled, creating real and alternative timelines.

In order for Sonic and the gang to face these anomalies, Silver suggested that someone with the potential of mental abilities and the like should try and connect with the magnetizing force that keeps tugging and shoving on time, rewriting it and creating all these alternative realities continuously. Destroying and recreating decisions and parallel worlds would have a chaotic effect on the universe, but no one seemed to be able to connect to the unseen force, and Eggman didn’t seem to be anywhere in sight either.

Everyone was troubled... there was this silent fear that we’d be rewritten in seconds, that we’d cease to be who we really were in this very moment.

I stood by as my friends talked heatedly about their options, they each had tried but none had succeeded in connecting to that ‘force’.

I always felt I had magical properties to myself, if we could just connect to the dimension where this force started from, we may be able to help on our end.

I fidgeted, knowing Silver and Sonic were butting heads since Silver’s main priority was the future, while Sonic’s was the here and now.

Some found hope in this rewritten time, making Shadow and Eggman actually allies once again... Shadow hoping the past could be changed, and Eggman for his obvious reasons of defeating Sonic and taking over the world.

Both were absent and nowhere to be found.

As they continued to grow more and more harsh in how they spoke with one another, I felt the longing to end the conflict, and looked over to the Master Emerald.

It was the only thing that wasn’t being rewritten, some clue to connecting to the other dimensions...

Everyone had called out to it but nothing was working. I felt something swirl in me like an engine, seeing my beloved Sonic turning so angry and Silver ignoring him sent me into a rage myself, but I kept my lips in a fine line and held my fury back.

‘Friends shouldn’t talk to each other like this, or get in each other’s faces with such heavy glares...’ I knew in my heart that if I joined in, I wouldn’t part the two, but only get caught in their crossfire of differing ideals.

Both were stubborn, and both weren’t looking at the bigger picture.

Without a way to communicate with the alternative timelines, our decisions wouldn’t help us get any further to contacting the other dimension, and not just that... but we wouldn’t progress at all. We’d just be going around in circles...

“You can’t seriously think that sitting around waiting for some magical tether from the other dimensions is going to get us out of this time loop!” Sonic’s voice was full of presence and experience, he was a well-traveled hero, and knew the best options to weigh in moments like these... but Silver continued to fight back.

“If we advance unknowingly and without caution into the stream of time, we could easily be just as trapped in it’s nonsensical clutches as we were before! For some reason, the Master Emerald’s location is the only place in time where the effects of the rewritten world aren’t effected! If we give up this position, no one might be able to tell us what’s going on!” Silver swung an arm out, stepping up and going toe to toe with Sonic, refusing to back down from the argument. “I know you think charging into the time-stream might give us answers, but it’s a risk that holds so many unlimited possibilities that it’s fruitless to venture in! You’d just be trapped and the rest of us possibly waiting all eternity for you to choose the right path to even get out to another dimension!”

That part we knew was sound and right, that unless you pick the right choice every time, the time vortex would just pull you somewhere else. Without knowing the other dimension’s choices, we’d never be able to coordinate this... even Tails said something along the lines of a uniformed pathway that could get them all to the center of this strange force...

Otherwise, we’d be trapped... forever.

“You’re leaving us as sitting ducks to whatever’s happening! It’s going to put us all in danger!” Sonic was beyond listening to reason, however. My darling could never just sit by while we all feared for our lives and the world’s future.

The two stood so close, it looked as though their foreheads would touch, and I could tell Sonic was about to make a stand so great that Silver would be forced to let him go...

I couldn’t stand the thought of losing Sonic in a time-loop forever. In being stuck on Angel Island’s alter for the rest of eternity till someone figured out the correct choices...

I felt my whole being flood with tingles and expectations, with exactly what I was going to do and how my very soul wouldn’t allow me to watch as everyone would lose themselves diving into a puzzle that had no way of being solved without aid.

That was the last straw for me. Seeing Sonic pull himself away from Silver and walk over to the Master Emerald, “I’m done talking. Taking action is the only way we can succeed against this catastrophe.” He spoke so manner-of-factly... he was going to touch the Master Emerald and dive into the vortex... wasn’t he?

“No...” I held my hand out, seeing the Chaos Emeralds all glow as he was fusing with them to create the miracle known as Super Sonic... but I couldn’t- I couldn’t banish Sonic to an eternity of never-ending wandering through an unescapable maze!!!

“Soonniiccc!!!” I charged forward, making him flinch and pause a moment as he turned to look back at me, but by then, I had already reached forward and interfered with the Chaos Emeralds giving him power.

Instead of him turning Super, I felt my hand touch the Master Emerald, and all time seemed to freeze. I gripped the Master Emerald with my arms, widening the span of how far my arms could reach, and shook my head against it. “I can’t let everyone panic and waste away our precious friendships over this... this... whatever it is! Please, Master Emerald! Do I have the potential to set things right!?” I dipped my head down as the power overwhelmed me. Time slowly began again, as I was moving at normal speed, everyone around me started to move as though slowed considerably.

“Is this..?” I looked up to see Sonic’s hand slowly reaching for me, and his surprised expression at stopping him. “Chaos’s... power?”

I was shot back as my eye-sockets glowed a bright green, and through some vision or other, saw what looked like my younger self, also getting driven from the Master Emerald.

The original world... the first universe... Somehow, by the two of us acting and making a decision in unison, or maybe she had made it previously... I wasn’t sure, we were able to finally find a bond and connect in some magical way to where I could see that dimensions choices.

I felt my bare back slam against the graveled dirt of Angel Island and skid aggressively to a halt as it scratched my back and left me feeling weak.

Time returned to normal, I guess? As I heard my friends cry out my name and rush me.

I could numbly feel hands on me, shaking me as my eyes struggled to lift up, and were just waving open slightly.

My head hurt, I was dizzy and couldn’t see anything at first clearly. It was all a blur, before Silver’s and Sonic’s voices rang out the most.

“What happened!?” Sonic’s voice was full of authority, as though ready to take action if something need be done.

“She... I’m not sure, but the Master Emerald fused it’s time capabilities with her. You saw it, right? Her whole body was vibrating so quickly... like....” Silver was interrupted by Tails just then.

“Like she was merged into all the different dimensions... she was moving faster than the time strain!” Tails’s excitement meant only one thing...

“So... she had the potential then, out of all of us, to carry the connection.” Silver’s reserved tone must have meant that he felt validated in what he was so adamantly defending earlier. “Now that she can guide us through the time vortex, we might be able to reverse whatever’s happening, and return time and space to normal again.”

Sonic looked over at Silver, then down towards me as I still felt my breathing was low and drained, I couldn’t speak no matter how much my lips parted to try. It was like I was still adjusting to being in one dimension again, instead of flying through to see my other self’s choices.

“It didn’t need to come to this point...” Sonic spoke gravely, but it seemed to trigger and enrage Silver as he shot his head to look back at him, then stood up, defiantly.

“If you hadn’t acted the way you did, we may not have gotten this path. We have a real way to succeed and get through this now, Sonic! Why are you still so against me!?” He tightened his fists and thrust them forward, showing how much he was holding back his mixed emotions...

He was somewhat humble enough to admit that if Sonic didn’t rebel against him, that I wouldn’t have done what I did... but on the other hand, it still seemed like Sonic was opposed.

“I just meant that it didn’t need to be this way.” Sonic shook his head to Silver, remaining somewhat collected from his earlier clenched jaw demeanor. He put what felt like the warmest touch out of everyone’s onto my arm, and looked back to me, “It didn’t need to be so fueled...”

Somehow... I knew he was speaking to me.

He must have meant he wished it wasn’t so emotional to where I was put in a rough spot, choosing between losing the love of my life or sacrificing myself into the time vortex... I would have jumped, if Sonic jumped too... at least then, we could be trapped together. He wouldn’t have had to be alone in that endless maze...

Well, maybe he wouldn’t have thought those exact wordings of it, but... it did help to think he may have seen it as an act of true love.

I gained strength from his hand resting on my arm, and slowly began to wobble and lean myself up.

Everyone saw my arms gain strength again and push from under me, and immediately swarmed me again to help, perhaps unaware if I was conscious enough to have heard their discussion.

They called out to me, and I nodded, showing I was here and alert, but drained somewhat.

The pounding in my head subsided and I gripped it, “I... I saw her.” I stated, “I saw the original dimension this all happened in... I think I can do it again.”

Sadly, I couldn’t just ‘summon’ the answers. Something had to trigger it, which began another frustration as we all held one another’s hands and jumped into the void.

The first rewritten stories were perplexing. A shadowy figure that swarmed with dark matter looked strangely in the silhouette of Eggman, but instead of targeting Sonic like usual, he kept coming after me.

“U-wah!!” I leaped out of one of his dark matter missiles as everyone was getting scattered from me, as though this figure didn’t want me to receive any help.

“Amy!” Sonic called out, darting from the after-effects of the missiles, for when they landed and exploded, a space of black, glittering galaxy expanded out in a small radius and tried to suck us into another story to lose our progression.

He rolled and finally slid under the shadowy Eggman, confusing him as he pulled up on his Eggmobile and Sonic round-house kicked him away from me.

He reached to grab me, and as I went to reach for him as well, my eyes glowed again the color of the Master Emerald and I saw the other dimensional me.

She was young and looked like my younger years of first meeting Sonic. Sonic was younger too, and reached out in the same way Sonic was doing now. Was this... the corresponding choice?

Could I only see these moments when something unified happened? Were we making the same choices our other selves were or are making right this second?

I couldn’t tell, but I could see that after that Sonic and little me took the other’s hands, she summoned her hammer and spun to whack a younger looking Eggman away and send him flying, then everyone gathered and they took the right route... where it looked like the world was splitting apart and floating rapidly in a spinning and drifting away appearance.

When I came back, my head hurt and I looked to see that while unconscious, my friends were defending me from the shadowy figure of the Eggman lookalike.

“W-we have to take the right path!” I shouted out, my head pounding and debilitating me from summoning my hammer.

I had to though, if I didn’t, time would rewrite and we’d have to start with a new scenario and from scratch. Everyone was depending on me to guide them... I had to fight through the pain!

I struggled to lean up, feeling my body tense like cracking through uncooked spaghetti, but my arms finally cricked into position and I summoned my hammer.

“HAAA!!!” I grabbed Sonic’s hand which, when he noticed I was getting up, hurried to reach out to me again as I felt him pull me forward and swung my hammer into the momentum of his helpful pull.

The Shadowy Eggman went flying, and though Silver thought the left looked more safe from the twisting rapidly pieces of land in the galaxy on the right side, I urged him to trust me.

Sonic and I... we were so amped up in the moment... we didn’t realize that we never let go of one another’s hand...

G.U.N was in this memory or story, whichever it was, and they were after a shadowy figure of Shadow The Hedgehog.

However, Shadow seemed to be targeting me, as though wanting to destroy me.

This continued to baffle Tails and Silver, but Sonic was more protective than I’ve ever seen before, unselfishly throwing himself in the rippling blackness of Shadow’s silhouette, but was defenseless against how much more powerful this Shadow appeared to be.

It was reminding us all of when Shadow first awakened, and Knuckles tag-teamed with Sonic to give me enough time to try and trigger my memory.

I tried to do various things and put myself into situations to see if anything would trigger the correct course’s vision, but nothing was working and I was growing frustrated with myself.

Face it, there was a lot of pressure, and I felt that every minute I wasted was another second Sonic and Knuckles had to suffer under the fake G.U.N shadowy forms and the Shadow look-a-like.

Finally, I hit my head with a rock as a last resort but was quickly pulled away by Tails, “Amy!”

“Stop it, that isn’t helping!” Silver quickly intercepted too, yanking the rock out of my hands.

“I... I don’t know what else to do...” I admitted, feeling I was losing grip of my faith in myself... I may have been able to spare Sonic before, but now..?

Was this completely out of my control?

“Anytime now, fellas!” Knuckles called out as we both turned to see Sonic and Knuckles shoving themselves against Shadow’s dark, rippling body that almost looked like wavy flames under a watery scope. He was taking steps forward, which caused their feet to grind against the earth in an attempt to hold him back.

Then G.U.N appeared behind us, and we were surrounded... When the bullets began to fire, my eyes widened and the light of the Master Emerald grew from my eyes.

My other self was rescued once more by Sonic, but he was hit by those odd galaxy alternating bullets. He fell by her side and twitched, making her get up and cry over him as the bullets expanded holes in his form, and as he looked up at her, the holes overtook him and he turned into a rewritten, shadowy figure that reached for her.

She gasped and was pulled away by another, younger Knuckles with a cowboy hat on, who said something I couldn’t hear as my visions didn’t have sound, and threw her to a smaller Tails, who caught her and flew with her into another portal as the two left the other Knuckles behind with the shadowy images of Sonic, G.U.N, and Shadow...

“NOOO!!!” I came out of the vision and turned to where Sonic was coming at me, already having jumped and about to reach me.

I knew if I didn’t let these events happen, we’d be trapped, but every part of me wanted to jump into Sonic’s arms and push him back, let myself be the one that was swallowed up in the rewritten darkness.

But by then, I knew it wasn’t--and shouldn’t--be called a rewritten reality.

It was erasing reality! There seemed to be a hive-mind I picked up on, the force was controlling my friends and Eggman, G.U.N even!

Not just that, but I didn’t know if we’d be able to save Sonic. I thought nothing could overcome Sonic... I was so torn, but as I focused on his eyes... so determined to get me out of harm’s way... I couldn’t find it in my heart to move.

He was shot and rolled along the ground with me as he I held him, tears spraying from my eyes in an army of resistance. I clung to him, crying out his name as he flinched and tried to fight against the erasing darkness that would soon overwhelm his being and turn him into a mindless drone to whatever force was trying to take over time and our known reality.

“Noo!!!” I screamed out as Sonic told Knuckles to take me from him, and as he turned to fight Shadow, was fully overcome and went limp. “SOOONNICCC!!!”

Knuckles had ripped me from him and threw me to Tails, instructing him that he’d stay behind to look after Sonic while Tails and Silver got through to the next part or stage of this timeline.

Silver had to grip my head and take my line of sight off of Sonic’s shadowy form as it turned almost like a zombie towards me, tilting it’s head as the drones somehow knew I carried the Master Emerald’s power to connect to the other dimension.

“Amy! Listen to me!” Silver began, but I felt I had died inside. My voice escaped my lungs and there was nothing left in me. I... had become motionless... I didn’t stop Sonic... I... I didn’t deserve him...

What kind of woman, who claimed to love her hero so full-heartedly, would have froze up when the time to save him drew near?

“I don’t deserve him...” My headache couldn’t match the absolute obliteration of my soul and heart from within me. Like those rapidly twirling away pieces of the world we had journeyed through moments before. “I... Sonic...!” I didn’t deserve to call myself Sonic’s destined love... if I couldn’t even protect him when I knew what was about to happen.

“He was too fast, Amy, there’s nothing you could have done.” Tails held me closer to him, seeing my shaking eyes and the pain in trying to speak when I felt my entire ribcage had collapsed and took the compartments of my lungs and lifeforce with it.

“Amy, please, remember, this can all be rewritten.” Silver had placed his two hands to the sides of my face, seeing how broken I was and failing to grasp this reality.

My head twitched up, but I was hollow inside.

“You have to tell us what to do. What did you see? Where do we go?!” He urged, trying to be kind, but... “We can’t save him now! He’ll be alright, you have to trust in your vision! Please, Amy! The more time you spend silent the more time Sonic has to suffer!”

What was the point..? Without Sonic... Without him, I-... I had no meaning to my life anymore. Sonic was everything to me... he was my whole world... a reality without Sonic... in a universe where I couldn’t see him smiling... couldn’t hear his laughter and teasing expression... A world without his warm touch...

My mind went back to when Sonic had placed his hand to my arm, his words... “It didn’t need to come to this point... It didn’t need to be so fueled...”

My eyes blazed with a new purpose. I wasn’t just going to save my dimension. I was going to save my Sonic!

I cried out and struggled to get Silver’s hands off my face, then pointed Tails to the portal that was opening behind us. “There! Go! Now!”

I saw and witnessed first hand the torment the other dimensional, more tender, younger and naïve me struggle to gain the strength to continue forward, till her and her friends found sanctuary at the end.

By this time, I had spent all of what I felt was in me, and fell to my knees as I had fought the dark entity known as World Keeper, who was polluted by the filth of negativity in all the worlds... that hive mind was just swallowing the world in despair, and without ever being hit by it, I felt it more than ever too.

Then it slashed it, and I felt the darkness swallowing me as my color turned black with the light glimmer of inky stars within it’s slick obsidian...

I fell back and couldn’t feel myself hit the ground, I couldn’t feel anything anymore but emptiness...

As it overtook me, I wondered with my last, conscious thoughts if the other dimensional me had saved Sonic... was this the end of our universe? Or just the entrapment of one dimension?

Then...

“Don’t give up!”

S...Sonic?

“You have what it takes, use the power of the Chaos Emeralds!”

S...Shadow?

“I didn’t blast this stupid filth out of the sky only to be controlled into an everlasting misery by it!!!”

Eggman..?

“I’m not staying stuck in this feeling forever! Come on, Amy! You can do this-grraaahh!!!”

Knuckles...

Drifting into the blackness of the void, I suddenly felt four strong hands trying to force me upwards towards the light.

It slowed my decent, until Silver and Tails were able to reach out and grab me, and my last vision surfaced with the dizzy spell.

Rosy... she was also drifting into despair before Robotnik and Sonic reached through their own controlled misery by the World Keeper and used the last of their hope to push her out...

I tried to strain as best as I could through the dizzy, blurry vision and move my hand up towards them.

Her vision and mine suddenly conjoined, and I saw younger Tails flash continuously between Silver and my dimension’s Tails too.

I spoke out to her... “We can still save everyone...” I encouraged, “We... can’t give in... to hopelessness!”

I felt our hearts merge into one, felt our power soar as though we were evolving into a new creature that had it’s life sparked into existence again.

Newly hatched into this feeling of easiness, peace, and strength beyond my understanding... I grabbed Tails and Silver’s hands and swung out, the darkness that was once overcoming me suddenly burst with light and the seven Chaos Emeralds floated around us.

“Ah! She didn’t fuse with them!” Silver blurted out, seeing them swarm both him and Tails too.

“She... was storing them!” Tails exclaimed.

I guess I had become somewhat of their server and carrier... there power was just kept safe in me... through the Master Emerald and my unique connection to the other me.

We fought and as we did, I touched the ground and brought my friends and all the dimensions who had succumb to the negativity out from the inky blanket of darkness and restored their light and hope through the power being expelled from me.

No longer was I a guide.

I was a redeeming light now.

Sonic, Shadow, and Silver all burst into Super form, and together--with all the other worlds we loved so dearly too--we put an end to World Keeper and with me and my other self touching his chest as he was about to fall back into the his own making of the void, he immediately returned to a smaller form of another being.

Sonic suddenly cried out, “Chip!” and darted into the void after him.

I waited... weeks and weeks did I wait for him...

I clung to my chest as though clinging to my heart, refusing to let it break, and keeping it all together again.

I didn’t have visions anymore, but I could feel something... Something like the despair of the void was created from that feeling of loss and loneliness when Chip’s essence left the core of the earth and became free roaming in space...

Tails said he had a theory, that Chip’s body was still with Dark Gaia, but his power had escaped in longing to reunite with Sonic, his friend, again.

Traveling through space and time without a body, it became depressed, and expelled it’s world-bending powers to try and find Sonic... ending up losing itself and taking all worlds and dimensions it was searching through down with it.

A comet of bright golden light shot down through the cosmos, and I eagerly dropped everything to race out my door and pursue it, I knew from the green, red, and white lights that covered the world that Chip’s soul and powers returned to their slumber... and brought back Sonic safely to us as well!

“Sonic..!” My heart could barely contain it’s joy as I raced over the hills to follow his light... before having it sink and my hands fling up to the sides of my face when I saw him hit the water off in the distance of the sea. “No, Sonic!!! You can’t swim!!”

The distance was too far, but I swam anyway, feeling my exhaustion from having traveled miles and miles already on land before seeing him fall into the ocean.

He was covered in a light I assumed was Chip’s planet power, and I held my breath and swam down to him, heard a voice in my mind calling to me...

“Sorry for all the trouble I caused, Amy... Take good care of Sonic from now on. I won’t be lonely without him anymore... I know I may never see him again, especially when I wake up many, many years from now... but even still, the moments I had with him in the void of space and time, and with our time facing Dark Gaia, will always be in my heart... Thank you for letting me see him, one last time...”

The floating ball of light around him slowly brought Sonic up to me, and when I entered it, I took a deep breath and fell limply over his body, floating with him up to the surface.

He opened his eyes and smiled at me, winking without a word but it still gave me so much comfort and peace.

It was as though he was saying everything would be alright now... and Chip’s remaining spatial power set us down on the shoreline... as the waves met us as we took a much deserved rest on the cool sands... the sun rose up and the sounds of helicopters and people were surrounding us, but we remained sleeping soundly next to one another...

Sonic’s warm hand... laying gently over my stomach...

Mine upon his heart.

G.U.N’s windy interruption causing us both to sneeze as Silver appeared and held out both his hands to stop them from investigating, explaining as we drifted off into our dreams~

#sonamy #cutegirlmayra #sonamy au #amy rose #amy rose au #classic sonamy #sonamy prompt #sonic prompt #sonic #sonicxamy

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claymorecut · 3 years

Text

BABYSITTING A 26 YEAR OLD WOMAN IS NOT THE MAIN CHARACTER’S JOB!

A GINTSU FANFICTION

CHAPTER 1

The life of a main character is never an easy one. So much they have to look at, so many they need to motivate and inspire, their goals, aspirations and responsibilities- it’s like their job can never end, even if the series does.

However, the same cannot be said for our rather unmotivated MC here.

It was a pleasant morning and once again in the Sakata household, our main character seems to have been doing the same as always.

With his legs propped up on the desk and a JUMP in his left hand, Sakata Gintoki gulped down the last of his favorite strawberry milk from the carton as his eyes scanned the contents of his precious JUMP magazine. With Kagura travelling around the universe with her baldy father and Shinpachi handling the dojo, he found himself alone at home as he enjoyed his day off. It may come as a surprise but apparently, for the last two weeks, our lazy and nonchalant MC has been constantly handling all the work alone at the Yorozuya without catching a single break. And as much as he appreciated the payment from his clients, he really missed slacking off like this. There was no work today and finally in a few hours, he can visit the pachinko parlor and drink sake to his heart’s content.

Taking a day off after working so hard surely feels like an achievement. Gintoki leisurely thought as he put the magazine down on the desk and stretched his arms. Yawning, he stood up from his seat and walked towards the little TV. Switching it on, he flipped the channel to Ketsuno Ana’s news show and flopped down on the sofa as he patiently waited for his favorite weather girl to appear on screen. However, this didn’t last long as he heard the phone ring.

Gintoki groaned mentally as he stood up from his seat and walked towards the area where he was seated before. “Hello? Yorozuya speaking.” And his voice was as dead as ever.

“GIN-SANNN!” It was Seita screeching from the other side and with that heard, Gintoki slammed the phone down. Not to be presumptuous or anything but he had a pretty decent idea why Seita was calling him and that too with that whiny voice of his. No way was he going to listen to that brat’s pleas to help him with his studies while he complains about how strict Tsukuyo’s teaching methods are. It is not the very first time that the kid has called him up like this for the same reason but today, he was not falling for it. He is supposed to enjoy his day and relax a little, not teach a kid stupid history lessons. And especially with THAT lady.

Rubbing his forehead, Gintoki once again decided to forget about these shenanigans and enjoy his day to the fullest. But once again, his peace was interrupted with the phone ringing.

And Gintoki was in no mood to listen to ANY REQUESTS today.

“Listen here kid, I haven't taken a break for the last two weeks from work and the Yorozuya is closed today so, I’m not gonna tea-“

“But Gin-san, at least list-“

“No buts! I’m TIRED and I'm NOT helping you with your homework today!”

“But Gin-san it’s not homewo-“

“Oh then it must a stupid school project of yours! How about you ask that demon tutor of yours for some help and leave me alone for today!?”

“But it IS about Tsukuyo-nee-“

“Now don’t start your compl-“

“But Gin-san-“

“I’m hanging up kid, enjoy your day and let me enjoy mine.”

“TSUKUYO-NEE HAS TURNED INTO A KID!”

“……”

“H-hello?”

“……”

“H-hello, Gin-san?”

“…..I’m not falling for that crap.”

“GIN-SAN!!!”

Looks like our MC has something to do today after all.

*****

Gintoki had no idea what was going on anymore.

One moment he was at his house, relaxing and planning how he was gonna spend the rest of his day perfectly and the next moment he finds himself taking his scooter out and kick-starting it to visit Yoshiwara.

The phone call with Seita did not last long after that grand confession as he simply just heard Seita plea to him one last time again before hanging up. If he was being honest with himself, the kid did sound a little worried. Sure, regarding the situation he does not have much information or context and Tsukuyo turning into a kid sounded a little too ridiculous to him but he still thought maybe checking the situation there a little won’t harm him. Plus, he can always ask for free sake in return.

Parking his scooter in front of the teahouse, Gintoki observed the area within his vision and not to his surprise, everything looked normal. The streets were a little busy with construction workers carrying a few heavy piles of wood to their designated area but apart from that, Yoshiwara looked normal. Hinowa was standing right inside the teahouse, discussing some paper works with a Hyakka member and well, apart from looking a little more busy than usual, she looked pretty normal as well. Nothing looked out of ordinary and even though he did not see Tsukuyo around, he pretty much guessed that she was alright too and was working somewhere like the workaholic she is.

I knew that brat was lying damn it! He grunted, thinking how he fell in the kid's trap again.

Noticing the silver-haired samurai standing in front of the teahouse, Hinowa dismissed the Hyakka member as she smiled warmly to welcome him. “Gin-san, thank goodness you came.”

Gintoki walked inside the teahouse with his usual dead-fish eyes as he took a seat in one of the benches placed there. “I guess it couldn’t be helped.” He shrugged, speaking in his nonchalant voice.

Taking a seat on a bench in front of him, Hinowa apologetically smiled at the tired samurai. “I am genuinely sorry for the inconvenience, Gin-san. I’ve been busy with the renovation work and that’s why I told Seita to call you. He did tell me after calling you how busy you were lately but we really need your help right now.”

Surely, Gintoki was a little pissed about Seita lying to him but he really did feel a guilty for not accepting his request. On a closer look, Hinowa did look pretty stressed and there were dark circles under her eyes. Plus, he couldn’t find Tsukuyo anywhere. Must be out there working like always. “But I need you treat me with some really great sake later.”

“Of course!” Hinowa cheerfully replies. “I’m glad you agreed to it. I hope Seita has told you everything. I’ll explain the situation to you properly.”

Situation? “Um..okay. But don’t you guys complain later if something goes wrong.”

“Oh what are you saying, Gin-san! I have complete faith in you!”

They were talking about the same situation, right? Well, of course she wants the best for her child. Guess I’ll have to do my best as a tutor too. “Okay…so I’ll be going to Seita-kun’s room-“

Hinowa blinked confusingly at this. “Eh?”

“.....How am I supposed to help him with his project then?”

“……Project?”

Now Gintoki was sweating with extreme pressure. Did Gintoki just had a huge misunderstanding? Was what Seita saying…true? No way was he gonna believe in that lie. “W-well, of course. That’s why he called me and made up this thing about Tsukuyo so I can-“

“Yes, Tsukuyo! But Seita didn't made up-“

NO WAY has she turned into a child! “P-please don’t joke like that Hinowa-san-” he stuttered, confusion and panic clear in his voice.

“But Gin-san-“

"Love drug was okay but THIS!? No way am I gonna believe THIS!"

"But Gin-san! Let me ex-"

“Hinowa. What’s goin’ on ‘ere?”

....

......

.........

The voice came from right behind him but something was certainly very wrong with it. Even though he did not want to believe it, the voice was oddly familiar. Young, but VERY familiar.

“Everything’s fine. Don’t worry about it, Tsukuyo.” Hinowa turned to the voice’s direction, who was apparently Tsukuyo.

Gintoki didn’t want to freak out and fortunately, he succeeded in that. But this uncanny feeling he had made his stomach churn with uneasiness and soon, he too found himself turning towards the direction of the child-like voice. And to his utter shock, there stood a kid. A kid so unfamiliar yet familiar he could just look at her with disbelief. Her blond hair was tied into a little bun and she was wearing a yellow yukata with white checkered patters and to his guess, she was almost 10 years old. Maybe his eyes were just ditching him due to exhaustion and he was just looking at a kid who very much resembled Tsukuyo and even has somewhat of a similar voice like her but the moment they landed on the oh-so familiar scar on her face, he knew he was facing reality.

The black kimono was gone. The heels were gone. That confident and mature face was now replaced with innocence and the curves and the legs his eyes often followed innocently(?) were also gone.

However, the person remained the same.

It was Tsukuyo. But now turned into a child…

“Okay.” Tsukuyo replied, her eyes skeptically looking at the silver-haired samurai. “May I ask who he is?”

……And she did not remember him!?

“Oh he is the one I told you about.” Hinowa replied with a sweet smile on her face. “The Savior of Yoshiwara, Sakata Gintoki.”

“Oh.” And she did not even…….look interested.

“Now now, don’t worry about me so much. You should get inside and take some rest. I have a few urgent things to discuss with him so I’ll see you in a few minutes.” Her voice was reassuring but at the same time he could hear her voice shake a little. What is going on!?

“Hmm. Okay.” Tsukuyo nodded obediently and went inside the main house before giving Gintoki another skeptical look. As for the man himself, he felt his eyes almost exit his sockets.

Hinowa sighed in relief and turned back to look at the baffled samurai to explain the situation. “Please Gin-san. Let me explain.”

Gintoki wanted to yell so, so badly right now. Explain!? EXPLAIN WHAT EXACTLY!? THIS!? The little Gintoki was yelling inside his head but the only thing that came out of his mouth was a strained whisper. “What the hell happened, Hinowa-san!?”

Breathing heavily, Hinowa finally answered the long awaited question. “Three days ago, Tsukuyo was handling the construction work of a few abandoned store houses here and while emptying the rooms, she accidently knocked over a small bottle of drug and inhaled it which was once used by the courtesans to replenish their youth.”

The information has now left him completely baffled. “A WHAT!?”

Understanding his confusion, Hinowa continued to explain the situation properly to him. “Almost thirty years ago, this drug was smuggled here by the Amantos and even though Hosen’s influence kept most drug dealers away, this specific drug was here in high demand among the courtesans for its effects. Just a small sniff from the little perfume-like bottle and it would show its work in a few seconds. However, the side effects of the drug soon started to show as some women felt their body weaken and suffered from mild memory loss which affected the business of many here. Hosen, after learning about these incidents and how it might seriously affect the business later, took a strict step and banned this drug completely from Yoshiwara and whatever was left here was all thrown out. However, maybe some of it was still left over that storehouse and that is why…Tsukuyo…”

This information caught Gintoki’s attention as he silently now observed Hinowa’s exhausted face. Her voice was almost a whisper but Gintoki could clearly hear it quiver a little and now he had a pretty decent idea that this was not a very simple situation.

“So, you mean to say Tsukuyo’s life is in danger?” Gintoki asked after processing all the information in his head to which Hinowa shook her head.

“I’m….not sure.” Sighing, she lowered her head down. “When the Hyakka members brought her here unconscious, we immediately called the doctor and had all the check-ups done. Maybe it’s because the drug was quite old that it did not affect Tsukuyo’s health much apart from a little fatigue but when she woke up, except for me, she….remembered no one in front of her. Not even Seita. And after explaining the effects of the drug and discussing everything with the doctor, he told me that her mind has gone back to her ten year old self along with her body and now, she remember everything only from that time. The doctor did say that the drug’s effects will wear off in a few days and her body will be back to normal but….he was not so sure whether her memories will come back or not.”

And with that said, Hinowa broke down.

When he first heard this news, Gintoki literally did not believe it because it just sounded so absurd. But now that Hinowa clearly explains the entire situation and especially, Tsukuyo’s condition, he suddenly feels a strange pang in his chest. “….You mean….she may lose her memory forever..?”

Hinowa silently nodded as she wipes her tears with her kimono sleeves.

“Then why didn’t you guys call me when it happened three days ago?” Gintoki asked, his voice low but slowly losing its casual tone.

“I did want to inform you early on.” Hinowa replied immediately. “But the work load here was too much and we were in no condition to compromise Tsukuyo’s mental state in such a short period of time. When I discussed the entire matter with the doctor, he told me that Tsukuyo regressing back to her child self and losing her memories simultaneously might also be a result of her subconscious trying to delete some past traumas. And so for now, he told us that we fabricate a good enough explanation for her to convince. For the last two days, I nagged her to rest properly and it was only today that she finally looked healthy and so I let her help me with some regular chores.”

Hinowa's voice sounded more and more tensed as she contined to explain the problem to him. Gintoki understood both of them were in no condition to discuss about this sensitive subject by just anxiously talking to each other. Moreover, he understood how frustrated Hinowa must have been with all of this. Especially because he too at one point lost his memories and saw how desperately Shinpachi and Kagura were trying to bring him back. And except all this, she was now singlehandedly handling the work going on here. Taking a deep breath, he tried to calm his racing heart down. Like Hinowa, he too was scared; especially with the fact that Tsukuyo might never remember him. But it was not the time for him as to act all confused and most importantly, they called him for help.

She needed help.

And honestly, if he ever again tutors Seita, he would love to tutor him with her by his side.

“…..How did you guys explain everything about Yoshiwara?”

Hinowa wiped off her tears as she again took a deep breath to explain further. “We told her everything. About Hosen and his defeat. About you and how you became the savior of this city. And as for her memory loss, we told her that she had an accident which has temporarily affected her memories. At first, she was a little confused but fortunately, I was able to convince her and she calmed down. And like always, she did not question me…However, the doctor has warned us that we do not mistakenly trigger memories of any unpleasant incident which has happened in the recent past to her and” And she took another deep breath, her forever cheerful eyes showing a sense of fear in them. “…..that’s exactly what I’m worried about the most.”

Gintoki has never seen Hinowa this scared for Tsukuyo. Not even when she was abducted and the entire Yoshiwara was on the verge of burning down. However, now that he sensed the fear in her eyes did he come to understand why she was so anxious. Past trauma. Any recent unpleasant incident. “You don’t mean…”

"She was asking about Jiraiya.”

------x-----

A/N: And that’s all for the first chapter. I’m writing a fic after so long and this idea has been in my mind for almost a year now. I’m genuinely sorry for the lack of GinTsu in this chapter though but I promise I’ll make it up to you in the next one. Hope you guys enjoyed it and don't worry I’ll update soon enough! <3. Plus, please let me know if I should post it on ffnet and ao3?

#gintsuki #gintsu #gintoki x tsukuyo #sakata gintoki #tsukuyo #gintsu fanfic #gintama

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bellamyblakru · 3 years

Note

You caught me doing something dangerous and flipped out (lancelot / merlin)

EKKK I FINISHED THIS OMGGG. thank you so so much for sending this prompt in mor sksksksksk this was so much fun to write and im so happy to get back into writing (for a minute at least 😂). my mercelot heart loved every second of this, so i hope you enjoy it as well🥺💖💖it is very merlin-centric but i hope that doesn’t ruin the experience!! thank you again🥺💖

you can read it here or on ao3!!💖

Merlin stumbled up the stairs into the castle, scarcely aware of his panting echoing loudly in the empty corridor. He knew that he should be throwing himself into Gaius’s room, shutting the door, and sleeping this off, but he couldn’t make it that far. He needed somewhere to go—and fast. He felt the wound pull with each step, the blood soaking his shirt and pants enough that he couldn’t remember what color they originally were.

Lancelot is going to be furious with him.

——————that morning——————

No one was smiling this morning as Merlin made his way to the throne room. A sort of silence had fallen around the castle like a leaden blanket, and Merlin feared that it did not bode well for anyone.

Things have been fine lately, happy almost. Of course that couldn’t last—when could they ever just be at peace?

He pushed open the throne room doors as quietly as he could, peering inside to see most of the knights already assembled staring at the map with matching frowns.

As he walked closer, Eylan and Leon looked up briefly to smile and nod at him before returning to the map, and he realized Gwaine, Percy, and Lancelot were nowhere to be found. Going to his place behind Arthur, who stared at the map with such heat that Merlin was surprised it didn’t burn up immediately, he asked quietly, “Where are the others?”

Arthur jerked up and spun around toward him, surprised evident on his face, “When did you get here?”

Merlin let out a small laugh, “I told you I can be quiet when I want to be, sire.”

Arthur narrowed his eyes and huffed, “And you never want to be quiet during hunts? Even when I ask nicely?”

Merlin gaped, “When do you ever ask nicely?”

Arthur smirked, “Fair enough.” he sobered up before continuing, “The others are coming back from a quick patrol I sent them on this morning. When you were collecting herbs for Gaius, a citizen from an outlying village came sobbing about rampant magic wielders killing everyone they come across in the name of freedom.” He shook his head in disgust, “I sent Percival, Gwaine, and Lance to escort the villager home to retrieve his family and friends to bring them into Camelot for safety. They should be back soon with news.”

Merlin swallowed hard at the thought of more magic being used for evil, for destruction. How can he ever show his friends, especially Arthur, how good magic can be if they only ever see it used for pain?

He nodded sharply in reply, masking his face of any sign of distraught, and calmly walked back to the pillar he normally leans against during audience and council meetings.

Moments like these were the hardest. Where his lies buried themselves so deep in his soul that he could feel himself failing to reach the surface for air. He will dream of the pyre tonight, he knew, and will be forced awake with the sound of his own choking from asphyxiation. He will stay awake for hours after, staring into darkness, wondering how much more of his own kin he will have to slaughter before they can claim true liberation. How much blood on his hands will he need to be considered the monster everyone believes him to be with this power?

He felt himself tremble with the thoughts. Looking around the room flooded with the late sunlight, he narrowed his stare at his friends discussing plans around the table, and begrudgingly felt his panic kick in. The trapping feeling suffocating any breath he had—he was trapped, and it was a cage of destiny’s own making.

His eyes darted from door to door, the urge to run, fast and far away, becoming almost unbearable and inescapable. He was considering excusing himself with some bad reason when the door slammed open—knights and the villager in tow.

Lancelot’s eyes immediately snapped to his, and Merlin knew then that he couldn’t, wouldn’t, run—not when Lancelot’s first look towards him was filled with such a deep understanding and sympathy.

Lance knew everything and didn’t think him a monster, and that is what kept him from darting every time Arthur called him useless, or dumb, or threw something at him. He wondered then if Lancelot would run away with him if he asked. Would the knight’s loyalty be tested or would he simply stand by his King without batting an eye? He would never ask Lance to make such a decision, though.

The knight was his closest friend, his most trusted confidante, and every day Merlin ached with the knowledge that Lancelot bared his secrets alongside him. If Merlin was to burn, Lance would be on the next prye.

Merlin refused to let that happen.

He snapped himself out of the daze he fell into, eyes refocusing on the knights speaking with the King. Merlin watched how Lance’s glance kept flicking his way, and when Merlin met the barely concealed worry within them, he tried to give a reassuring smile. However, Lance’s frown deepened—Merlin sighed, And here I thought I was good at this facade.

“..gathered all the others and placed them in a large tavern in the lower town. They should be safe there,” Percy told Arthur, who nodded in response.

The villager was shaking, Merlin belatedly realized, as he looked at Arthur’s chest to speak next, “M-my family appreciates your efforts, s-sire.”

Arthur grimaced, “No need to thank me. I wouldn’t want any more of my people hurt from these maniacs.” He stepped forwards, placing a hand on the man’s shoulder, “Go now. Rest with your family, I will make sure you are all seen to, properly.”

The man sputtered his thanks and dropped into a clumsy bow before turning around. Merlin, unable to stop his feet from moving, quickly walked forwards to catch the man before he disappeared, “Sir?”

The man froze, still shaking, as he looked up to Merlin with confusion. Merlin continued, “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

The man gave him a gentle smile, seeming to relax with Merlin’s presence, “I’m alright, young man, thank you. I appreciate your concern.”

Merlin gave a tentative smile, aiming for charming and warming, “If you ever need any assistance, I live with the Court Physician. Ask for Gaius or myself, and we will be there.”

The man clasped arms with him, a crooked smile forming, “I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you again—thank you all.”

Merlin watched him go, unease in his gut. He didn’t know what it was about the man that made him uneasy, but it simmered long after the villager left them alone in the throne room.

Merlin turned around to see the others talking amongst each other and he made it to Lancelot’s side just as Gwaine began talking.

“Princess, I’m telling you: no one seemed scared! Only that man’s family seemed a little unsettled, and even then, it seems suspicious to me.”

Arthur rolled his eyes, “Do you expect them all to be sobbing and cowering? Of course they are putting up strong fronts! If my home was under attack, I know I wouldn’t want to show fear. I would rather be fighting against the attackers than hiding away in some strange town.”

Gwaine didn’t reply, but Merlin knew that Arthur’s answer wasn’t enough for the knight. Merlin stayed quiet, though, already calculating when he should go out to take care of this. Arthur ruined his calculations with his next proclaiment, however.

While rubbing the bridge of his nose, the King sighed out, “We will go as a group tomorrow to face them. Gather the provisions tonight, prepare the horses with any protection we can gather in the short amount of time. We will meet in front of the stables at first light.”

And with a ‘Yes, sire’ muttered by everyone, Arthur dismissed them.

Merlin didn’t hesitate to beeline for the door and escape before Arthur ordered him to do anything—he needed to think of something, and rather fast at that.

Merlin found himself on top of the battlements, staring at the horizon that seemed too far and much too close all at once. He usually found himself here to clear his mind. The view made him feel alive, more connected to the world, and, most importantly, he didn’t have to hold such a tight grip on his magic this far above.

No one ever came here besides him.

With a sigh, Merlin loosened his hold and let his magic out through his nose with his breathing. His skin seemed to stop crawling from the inside out, the sky looked more blue, and the air felt sweeter in his lungs. It had been too long since he could let go and he knew part of his trapped feeling had to do with his magic being stifled within his veins for too long. He took a deep breath, willing his magic back in slightly, and he laid down looking up towards the sky.

The sun will be going down soon, and Merlin figured he will be leaving after dinner to approach these rouges himself to handle them before it got the knights killed. He glared at the sky when he realized he couldn’t ask Lancelot to come with him—not again. He has endangered that man’s life quite enough just by breathing, and with his hope to keep Lancelot safe for as long as possible, he just couldn’t bring himself to ask. Lance would say yes, like always, but Merlin cannot—will not—actively put him in harm's way.

Merlin shuddered thinking of a life without Lancelot in it, and, well, it was simply unfathomable.

Lance was his rock, his reason to keep fighting when shit hits the fan, the only person who constantly sees Merlin for who he is and does not cower from it. Lancelot embraces every part of Merlin, flaw and all, and Merlin would be completely lost without him in his life. Lance swears that Merlin is the bravest man he ever met, but was it out of bravery or selfishness that Merlin faced all these threats alone? Merlin didn’t know, and he didn’t want to think too much about it in fear of the true answer (even though, deep down, he knew his answer was one he didn’t like).

So, the plan was rather simple: leave Camelot at dusk, talk or fight with the rouges, and make it back before sunrise.

It sounds easy enough.

A few hours later, after successfully avoiding Lancelot’s knowing gaze and delivering the King’s dinner, Merlin set out to the nearby town. He knew it was only an hour or two away from Camelot, so he snuck out of Camelot, grabbed his mare Honey, and set off briskly. His mare knew the drill by now and obliged easily, especially with Merlin’s magic soothing her with each gallop.

Soon, Merlin entered a clearing close to the town’s borders. He tied Honey a good distance away, leaving her some food, and took a deep breath before walking into the field. That uneasy feeling returned in gut and he knew this wouldn’t end well.

Just as he thought that, five hooded people walked out to meet him in the middle of the large clearing.

“Emrys, it’s good to see you again.”

Merlin squinted in the dark, “Again?”

The man laughed, throwing his hood back, “We met a few hours ago. I hope I left a good enough impression to be remembered.”

Merlin rolled his eyes, “Of course it’s you,” he scowled at the villager he met earlier today, “Why would it be anyone else? Why did you seek aid with King Arthur if you are part of the problem?”

Merlin was fairly certain he knew the answer already, but he needed time to access the power of each person here. The one on the left held the most potential, magic coming off her in waves, but the rest were mediocre at best, if the last person had anything at all but small tricks up his sleeve.

The man was in the middle of explaining what Merlin was sure to be an “ingenious” plan to get close to King Arthur when he interrupted, “How did you hide your magic from me? You know I’m Emrys and all, so you must realize I can read you magical abilities by proximity, but I didn’t sense it on you originally. So, how?”

The man blinked, and then glared at Merlin for his interruption, “I have a pendant that covers my magical scent. It’s been passed down through generations. My mother gave it to me to get close to the King…”

Merlin tuned him out again, pondering such an artifact. It would be useful to him against more powerful creatures, but he wondered if it hurt at all or if he could use that instead of shoving his magic deep down everyday.

When all the sorcerers looked at him expectantly, Merlin frowned, “Did you ask something?”

The powerful one spoke up this time, her voice much stronger than her peer, “We asked for you to join us, Emrys, to bring peace to our lands once more. To restore magic, free our people, make you the rightful King.”

Merlin flinched slightly, “Rightful King? I am no King. Arthur is the once and future King, the rightful heir to the throne and the only man I will serve. But I had a feeling you knew my answer already, so why try this?”

The woman shrugged, a small wicked smile on her lips, “Proving your loyalty in the flesh is a nice incentive to make it easier to kill you—the most powerful warlock or not, you are still a traitor.”

Merlin rolled his shoulders, “Let’s dance, then, shall we?”

It was brutal, to say the least, as Merlin limped back to Honey trying to ignore the blackened, scorched earth and bloodied bodies scattered about. He looked down at the wound in his abdomen and debated whether he should just stay over night or make it to Camelot before light. He completed the first two steps of his plan, he might as well continue with it. So with a painful moan, Merlin hoisted himself on top of his mare, who neighed upset at the smell of bad copper, and willed her to go back home. He didn’t have the strength to hold the reins, not when both hands were being used to staunch the blood flow.

He swayed with the frantic galloping, trying to forget the pure malice on the villager's face when he stabbed him when Merlin was off guard for a second. The villager had taunted to kill Merlin’s knight when he was done with him after he managed to stick the knife and that’s when Merlin’s magic exploded out of him. His magic responded with his emotions—and when Lance was threatened, his heart stopped beating for a second before the world exploded in a blinding white light. No one survived after that blow.

Merlin was barely conscious when he made it back to the stables, but he was able to sneak back in the way he came out—completely unnoticed by the guards, even with his blood loss, Merlin knew how to get in and out of Camelot quietly and quickly.

Lancelot will freak out when he sees him, but Merlin had no other choice. Limping, he blindly remembered the route to Lancelot’s room as he clung onto consciousness with every fiber of his being.

Just a few more steps. Lance will keep you safe—he always keeps you safe.

With his vision narrowing with the blackness crawling in, Merlin quickened his steps and landed in front of Lance’s room. He collapsed, hitting the door with his body, and the last thing he saw was Lance’s terrified expression before he welcomed unconsciousness with a sigh of relief.

——————

Merlin woke up, wincing from the ache in his body, and blinked a couple times at the ceiling before he remembered what happened. He quickly sat up, and then immediately regretted the action when the room started swaying.

When he managed to calm his breathing and dizziness, he leaned against the headboard of the bed and his eyes found a still awake Lancelot, who was staring blankly at the roaring fire.

“Lance?” Merlin croaked out, his voice dry and scratchy like he had been screaming for hours.

The knight slowly looked up from the fireplace, and Merlin saw how red-rimmed his eyes were.

“Lance, I’m—“

He threw his hand up, stopping Merlin, and stood up to start pacing in front of the bed. Merlin watched, heart aching, as Lance tried to work his breathing into something less panicked, less terrified.

He stopped abruptly, spinning to look at Merlin. They held the stare for a moment before Lance started glowering at him, “Merlin.”

Usually, the way Lance says his name gives him butterflies, not that he ever admitted that to anyone, but this time made him look down in shame and he started absentmindedly picking a loose thread in the knight’s blanket. Merlin realized then that he was completely cleaned, in Lance’s small clothes, and there was a glass of water next to the bed. Merlin’s heart warmed at the actions, but when he looked back up to see a still fuming Lance, Merlin scooted forwards to try and grab the man’s hand.

Lance let himself be grabbed, and Merlin pulled him onto the bed in front of him as whispered brokenly, “I’m sorry I scared you.”

Lance huffed, his anger still not dissipated, “Merlin,” and said warlock looked up to see waring emotions in the knight’s eyes, “I was more than scared. I was...terrified.” He shook his head, using his free hand to wipe down his face, “I couldn’t find you after the meeting, so I searched the entire castle for you. I knew you were planning on doing something idiotic, but I didn’t realize you would do it so soon.”

Merlin heard Lancelot’s breathing hitch before he continued, “I thought maybe you went out for more herbs, or that Arthur had you working overtime and that's why I couldn’t find you. I-I couldn’t sleep when I figured out that you must have gone without me. And I know you can handle yourself—Gods!” He stood up again, anger and fear and pain in every movement, “I was so scared, Merlin! Do you know what it’s like to know your best friend left you behind on some self-sacrificing quest for some reason? Is it because you don’t want my help? You would rather risk your life over and over again without me at your side as backup? Am I that horrible?”

At Lance’s frantic questions, Merlin felt the tears falling down his face as he vehemently shook his head no.

Lance saw this, stopped moving, and whispered, “My heart completely stopped for a moment when I saw the state you were in. Merlin,” he let out a small, broken gasp of air, “I thought this time that I-that I would lose you. And I can’t—“ he covered his mouth when a strangled sort of sob escaped him, the anger bleeding out to utter exhaustion.

Merlin blindly reached out for Lancelot’s hand again, pulling him back down to him, and they stayed like that, intertwined, for a few moments before Merlin had regained enough strength to talk.

While rubbing Lance’s knuckles with his thumb, Merlin quietly spoke, “Lancelot,” he waited until the man’s beautiful brown eyes met his, “I cannot lose you.”

And when Lance opened his mouth to say something, Merlin plowed on, “I should’ve told you that a long time ago. You-you keep me centered. You make me want to live, Lance. Not survive, not exist. Live.

I never had someone who looks at me the way you do, who knows all the dark shit about me and continues to look at me the same way. I make mistakes, constantly. I hurt people, Lance, and it kills me a little more each time. I hurt my own kin to keep Camelot safe, to keep you safe, and I ache knowing that I damned you with me. That’s the worst pain of all. I was born damned, but you? I dragged you into it, and I will not allow you to be set aflame alongside me. I refuse.

You deserve a life without this extra burden I force upon you. I am cursed with this life, but you have the ability to turn a blind eye, to not be feared for simply breathing.”

Merlin felt the bed shift, and his brief thought that he finally drove his only true friend in his life away was squashed when Lance sat next to him, pulling him underneath his arm. Merlin’s tears came back when curled into Lance’s side, his hand on the knight’s chest feeling his heart beating steadily.

Lance stroked through Merlin’s hair softly, “Merlin,” and there were those damn butterflies again, “I choose to stay at your side. You are the best person I know. And before you deny it, I know you are forced to make hard decisions every other day, and I know you are the most powerful warlock to ever exist, and, in spite of those facts, who you are, at your core, never changes.

You can burn cities down with a flick of your wrist, you can harm anything or anyone with barely a thought, you can overthrow Arthur at any moment, but you know why you don’t? Because, in your heart and in your soul, you are a good, beautiful person. You see the light when others only see the dark, you defend those who cannot fight for themselves, you love so deeply and unconditionally that everyone you meet can’t help but adore you.

So, no, I will not let you pick for me who I chose to love. I picked you to stand by, with your magic and all, and I will always pick you. If you wanted to leave Camelot tonight, I would pack my bags without hesitation. You did not damn or burden me, love. You are all that I believe in, and I will never turn my back on you.

I will be by your side, for as long as you want me, to whatever end. If we burn tomorrow, then we burn together. I’ve made peace with my decision a long time ago.”

He kissed the top of Merlin’s head when he finished, pulling him closer to let him cry onto his chest while rubbing the warlock’s back. With his free hand, he wiped away his own tears before grabbing Merlin’s loose hand.

“So...” Lancelot said, trying to lighten the mood a bit, “if you leave on some self-sacrificing mission without letting me help you again, I will tell Gaius on you.”

Merlin gasped dramatically, leaning up on Lance’s chest to look him in the eyes, “You wouldn’t dare!”

Lance smirked, “Oh, I would.”

Merlin gaped, the smile breaking through betraying his false exasperation, “Fine. I’ll bring you with me next time, but promise me one thing?”

Lance softened, nodding, and Merlin laid back down listening to the knight’s heart beat as he spoke, “If I tell you to run, you will run without hesitation.”

There was silence for a moment before Lance responded, “I cannot promise that, Merlin.”

Merlin frowned, looking back up to see Lance’s eyes already on him, “I cannot promise that because I would rather die than leave you alone during a battle. Even if the odds are stacked against us, I will never leave you behind. If I run, you run. If you fight, I fight. We are in this together, Merls.”

Merlin couldn’t stop the tears from falling again as words sank in fully, “To whatever end, huh?”

Lance smiled softly, nodding, “Let’s get some rest. After almost scaring me to death, I am completely spent.”

Merlin went still, preparing himself to leave the warmth of Lancelot’s body, but Lance tilted his chin up as he asked, “Stay the night?”

Merlin beamed, wrapping himself completely with his knight. He fit into Lance’s side perfectly, like it was always meant to be the two of them against the world.

And when Merlin drifted off to sleep, with Lance’s hands still rubbing his back, he felt lighter than he had in years. And for the first time in a long time, no nightmares plagued his dreams.

#ashley answers #ashley writes #merlin fanfiction #merlin fanfic #mercelot #merlin x lancelot #bbc merlin #THANK YOU LOVELY 🥺💖💖💖💖i adore uuuu #my first time in mercelot territory....hopefully it doesn’t suck LOL #mercelot fanfic #also lol at me basically writing it all in one sitting 💀

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the-slasher-files · 3 years

Text

ANDREI KULOKOVA HEADCANONS

Clearly I cannot get this man out of my head.. like ever! Honestly I’ve been in a big big writing lull lately and I only want to write for Andrei, so I happy to share these hcs with you!.. hope you enjoy 🔪💕

MASTERLIST

Andrei’s code names in the army were ‘The Wolf’ or 'North’

He has O negative blood type, meaning he is a universal donor. Andrei always (when he is wearing his vest) has IV tubing and needles, just in case.

On that topic, Andrei is very knowledgeable with medical information, he has saved many of his brothers in the army from death. He can save you, but the issue is if he cares to.

Yes he is a very hot bloodied man, but under pressure he is calm and cool, especially with his s/o. Feral rage can turn instantly off if he sees someone he loves really hurt, calmly giving orders and helping you.

Andrei never went to school after his mother died, at age 12. He may not be super educated in math or sciences but this man is smart. Never underestimate him. He can fix a truck, be your handy man around the house, and has amazing people skills.

He is a history buff.. Yup, you heard me. Andrei loves history, specifically war history. After his uncle died he was free to explore more education and he found a deep love in history, learning it all himself through reading, documentaries and listening to people around him. (Me and @horrorslashergirl have a weird AU where he is in college and works in a museum, in a suit with glasses 👀)

Andrei is trained in many things but one I don’t talk about often is bombs and specifically land mines. This guy loves to blow stuff up for fun and has a few land mines in specific places on his land, and abandoned town.

His favorite drinks are a deep earl grey (a Russian blend of course) and Vodka on the rocks.

He loves bath time.. yup a hot bath, even with bubbles he doesn’t care, he loves it.

One of my favorite things about Andrei is when he needs to think or stop his active mind, he goes into his field (usually shirtless) and just stands out there, closes his eyes, enjoying the peace and quiet.

Andrei HATES condescending and controlling people, it brings him back to when he was a kid or in the army. Now that may seem hypocritical but honestly it is not. Degradation is for sexy time and teasing only, and Andrei is only controlling with his playthings but even then he lets them decide and have a good amount of freedom.

Man is a furnace and doesn't feel cold what so ever

He loves action movies, even though he will comment on how unrealistic they are. Also he loves documentaries.

Andrei listens to all kind of music. Mainly rock or metal but he loves Russian new wave and some rap. He also had a HUGE punk phase so that occasionally comes on.

He will do any dare or bet, not even kidding. His army buddies stopped daring him to do stuff because he would just do it. Andrei is a big thrill seeker and will do so much stupid stuff.

He used to have a wolfdog, a brother to Amaria’s wolfdog Dyn. Unfortunately it had too high of a concentration of wolf in it and he had to let it go, but he does still see him every once and a while. He even named him Alexei, meaning “great defender” in Russian. Andrei always leaves one of the outbuildings open for him just incase the weather gets too cold or dangerous. Also he may or may not use him to get rid of bodies, if he sees him wandering around.

Andrei drives a 1995 Range Rover all black with giant snow tires, or his black old Russian truck.

He can ice skate and used to play hockey with his buddies

He is secretly loaded. Yes he has money in his walls and all over the town. Andrei knows what he is worth and his rates aren’t cheap, plus it’s all in cash so there is no paper trail. He is never one to flaunt his wealth, you probably won’t even know until you see him coming home from a mission with a duffle bag of cash, throwing it in under the floor boards.

Andrei had a secret male s/o in the army, it was his first male relationship but they had to hide it from everyone. In a dangerous feral state the wolf had killed him, that was his last undercover mission.

This guy can read people like no tomorrow, every tiny subtle thing you do he notices. Could be the way you bite your cheek if you’re nervous or the way you rub your hands together when excited. He knows.

Also Andrei is very good at manipulation but doesn’t use it often.

He is a terrible sleeper. Andrei wakes at every noise in the house and only gets about 5 hours a night but only 1 hour is actually deep sleep. Sometimes he gets so exhausted that his body gives out and he will sleep for 12 hours fully clothed, in his cargo pants, vest and jacket. However he is much better with an s/o to sleep with, it’s still bad though.

I say this a lot but Andrei has an incredibly active mind, and it’s hard for him to relax or ease up. He uses drinking and smoking as a way to calm down, also just walking into the field for peace.

His favorite food is a nice hardy warm stew with rabbit meat.

Andrei adores just holding his s/o in his arms as on the couch or in bed.

He is honestly kind of paranoid, not so much by himself but if he has a s/o. You can come with him to the nearest town, but never ever draw attention to yourself or him, for your safety. He has people after him.

The wolfs signature is ripping off someone’s jaw or ripping out their spine by gutting them and reaching in.

If you mess with him but he dubs you as not a worthy hunt or not a good kill, you might see a bear trap in your home the next morning.

His tattoo on his left palm 'NO GODS’ is something he got to remind himself that he has control of his life and take his fate into his own hands, not his paranoid controlling uncle. It also holds him accountable for his actions, there are no gods to blame, he did it. The tattoo connects to Amaria as well. She is a lil crazy and does kills for 'the gods’, but Andrei sees that as foolish, he does his kills for himself, nothing else.

The 'grateful for the hunt’ thing I often write in Andrei’s stories is what his uncle would always say to him, with people or animals. It’s burned into his brain and it will never leave him. The words remind him to breathe and take in every deadly detail, that Andrei loves so so much.

Alright time to get.. a little odd lol… me and some friends have an interesting thing going where Andrei has a 'wolf pack’.. Dallas (@slashersins oc) is his husband, not legally, but Dallas wears a wolf ring for him. Xaviera (@horrorslashergirl oc) is Andrei’s soul mate and girlfriend. Xaviera’s cousin Akshay is Andrei’s best friend, they fight constantly but have so so much fun.. plus they fuck when they’re drunk lol. I am Akshay’s 'snow queen’ aka girlfriend. Andrei also has 2 'playthings’ Bianca (@horrorslashergirl) and Sights (@thesightstoshowyou)… the house is too full and Andrei may or may not regret having all these people lol.

#my writing #andrei kulokova #slasher oc #oc #slashers #slasher x reader #slashers headcanons #hcs #horror

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fiction-in-my-blood · 4 years

Text

Obey Me! Brothers W/ Mentally Slow MC HC

~Longer than necessary A/N ahead so, if you don’t care, you don’t need to read it, just sharing stuff about myself to random strangers on the internet lol.~

So... I’m slow. Like, my brain just does not computer things quick enough a majority of the time? I’m not a great conversationalist because of it, I have a pretty bad stammer, I mix up names even though they don’t sound at all the same, and I get too excited when I do know something that when I try to say it its just a jumble of words that don’t make sense and I tell my friends to just forget about it because I know I won’t be able to say the right words lol. Luckily I have great friends and they give me the time to rethink my sentence so I can say what I want to say. Oh, and I daydream to the point I never dream in my sleep haha. So, this is basically an HC for me lol. That being said, I’m pulling from mostly my own experiences here, so I’m sorry if they sound a lil depressy haha.

And I would like to say, if anyone can relate, there’s literally nothing wrong with you!!! (Cannot stress this enough). We just have our fun lil quirks.

~Also, I’m so sorry for missing out on Belphie. I love him somuch but I could not think of a scenario for him. If I do in the future I’ll edit or reupload idk.~

~Oh, and @theshove , I finally posted again ;), although I’m sure it’s not gonna be as spicy as you’d like.~

Warnings: Descriptive explanation of a panic attack in Mammon’s HC, reference to bullying in Satan’s

~~~~~~

Lucifer:

At first, he was secretly pretty frustrated.

He thought it was a confidence issue, he heard that was a common thing in human youth, to not believe in yourself and have anxiety about the way you looked, spoke, sounded.

You would often be having conversations with his brothers, debating a subject that Lucifer took no interest in, and you would be about to put in your input when a stream of nonsense passed your lips.

“Y’know what, nevermind.” Was a frequent phrase that left your lips when you did slip up, sighing to yourself as you thought about how ridiculous you just sounded.

Lucifer would ensure none of the brothers, or Solomon, ever teased you about your mistakes.

Although, it was mortifying everytime you accidentally called him Levi, and vice versa.

It was hard enough when you were still getting to know the brothers, but even on a date with the eldest, Levi just seemed like an easier word to say in the moment. It led to a few upsetting misunderstandings and some pretty severe punches to Lucifer’s pride.

Once you two got closer, you explained you mixed up your words because you used to be practically mute.

You weren’t a particularly extroverted child, nor were you interested in much, so you hardly spoke at all. You never got the practice you needed to familiarise yourself with words. It was Devildom that really brought them out of you.

After you did share that with him, he thrived off hearing your voice, even when it took a solid ten seconds to contemplate what you needed to say, even stretching your mouth muscles before you started just in case you stumbled again.

Of course, you made your mistakes now and again, got stuck on a word, laughing at how ridiculous you sounded saying ‘in’ several times in a row when you were trying to argue over tonight’s dinner, but Lucifer never cracked a joke like you did about yourself.

He smiled, happy that you didn’t let this impact your personality and recovered quickly and, gradually, at snail's pace it felt like at the time, you could hold a conversation, a bright smile on your face when you were able to pull it off.

“Lucifer, I didn’t stutter this time!”

“Well done, MC, shall I give you a reward?”

Mammon:

“Useless human, can’t even talk, huh?”

Trying to act like the big tough guy he played himself out to be didn’t fare well when you first arrived in Devildom, his brothers practically beat him up every other day for it.

The first time you laid your eyes upon a demon and they explained you would be a transfer student, it took you a few minutes of silence to understand what was actually going on.

It wasn’t because this wasn’t an extraordinary situation, you were an avid reader of fantasy novels and had waited for the day to be transported away from your boring, mundane life, but you just couldn’t compute verbal speech.

In potion class, you had to ask the teacher to write down the ingredients and the quantities because you couldn’t picture the words themselves, so you couldn’t understand what the potion was actually meant to do.

“What’re you writing it all down for?”

“It’s easier for me to listen when I can read what they’re saying. I guess it’s because my hearing’s crap?”

But your hearing wasn’t all that bad, it was just easier to explain it that way than explaining how transcriptions help you listen.

Sometimes, in the hallways of RAD, the bustling students and whispering gossiping of you, a human, making a pact with Mammon? Apparently it was hilarious to everyone else.

But it wasn’t what the demons were saying, it was how loud they were saying it.

It was just too many noises at once, you couldn’t decipher the surround-sound mumbling and it stressed you out, made you uncomfortable, and gave you that all too familiar feeling of a panic attack due to the sensory overload.

Mammon realised your discomfort as tears grew in your eyes and your breathing quickened and, for a moment, he was moving to beat up every single devil that ever even mentioned the word ‘human’.

“Ma-Mammon!” Your frail voice and a tug on his sleeve pulled him back to Devildom and he turned back around to you, watching as you clenched your eyes shut, trying to ignore the buzzing that continued to rattle your brain.

“Can you take me some place quiet?”

From then on, you would often spend your lunch breaks in a quiet classroom away from the majority of students. It was a good place for you to wind down, especially, when you two were close enough, Mammon would hug you closely, helping the panic in your heart when you did have a panic attack due to all the noises.

You didn’t have them as much now, the noise cancelling headphones he had bought you brought solace as you walked from classroom to classroom.

In class, he would try his best to act as scribe when you were running behind, but he did a terrible job. His handwriting was abysmal, only now did he appreciate how quickly you had to write to keep up with the lessons.

You appreciate the sentiment all the same, placing a quick kiss on his cheek- you were dating at this point- and explained that he didn’t have to do that for you, you could just get a copy of the teacher’s notes after class.

Now he could never feel more guilty about picking on you when you first got to Devildom.

“Hey, Mamo?”

“Yeah, MC?”

“Thanks for not getting angry at me.”

Leviathan:

You were pretty silent, never really talking unless you were spoken to directly.

Yet, you still had that dumb, normie trap of cute smile on your face when you listened to everyone ranting and raving.

When you did speak, it was quiet, almost a whisper.

Thank Diavolo for the demon’s enhanced hearing because, if they didn’t, they would be constantly asking you to speak up.

It wasn’t because you didn’t like your voice or you thought you were too loud otherwise, it was just because you couldn’t really be bothered to be louder.

You were content with just listening, watching everyone have a vivid conversation about the latest trouble Mammon had gotten into or Satan raving about the last Detective show you needed to watch.

You never had any questions to ask in class, and the ones you did have would usually be asked by another student before you got the chance to even raise your hand. You weren’t a genius, just a good listener.

Levi understood, somewhat. Why would you want to talk to his normie brothers? They had nothing interesting to say.

Most of the time he suspected you just weren’t listening to them.

But, it’s when you were alone together in his room as he told you about the latest anime he was enjoying, he got annoyed.

“Are you even listening to me? I don’t even know why I try. You don’t deserve Henry!”

“I was listening. You were explaining how you think the next season of TSL is going to go. I’ll admit, the Lord of Shadow saving that servant from the Lord of Corruption seems a little far fetched, but it’d be interesting to watch.”

That had possibly been the longest group of sentences he had ever heard you string together at once. And they were so soft, no hint of trepidation from his accusation.

Eyes wide in embarrassment for misreading the situation, and getting so aggressive about it, Leviathan looked away.

“I’m sorry, I know I seem really dismissive all the time. I just enjoy listening to you talk about your passions.”

The bright smile on your face calmed him down, as it usually did, and, every so often, you would make your comments about the shows you know only because of him. He was very good at explaining plot lines. Even when you had never seen the show, you felt like you had.

You would mainly just talk to Levi from then on, getting to the point where you could express your own hobbies without him judging you as a normie and more as a friend.

Well, not a friend, more than that, much more, but a friend would have to do for now.

The first time you strike up a conversation with him, calling his name from down the hallway of the house you’re staying in as he walks with Asmodeus, Mammon and Beelzebub is possibly the greatest day of Levi’s life.

“Lefty.” You accidentally pronounce his name wrong, like you sometimes do with “Bell” and “Ashmo”.

You didn’t have any problems with saying their names normally, but when you were tired, all hopes of communicating like a normal human being went out the window.

Your words were a low mumble, but they were something Levi had learnt to understand fluently from your late night gaming sessions that would usually end in ruin when your tired brain drastically slowed your reflexes.

“I heard it was your 200,000th bicentennial birthday coming up, so I asked one of my friends to commission this for you.”

Only Diavolo knows how you managed to pronounce centennial at this time of night, but you did it, handing him a paper-wrapped, flat square, a light blush dusting both your cheeks.

Asmo made a flirty, teasing comment about how close you two seemed and how, now, Levi was the lucky one.

Mammon got jealous, demanding that he wanted a birthday present, even though his milestone couple centuries had literally been a couple centuries ago.

Beel’s stomach grumbled, but he was a little curious about what you could have possibly gifted Levi, and how many words you just said as loud as they would usually be, which was wildly out of character for you.

“It’s the Lord of Shadow and the servant.” Levi gasped upon seeing the magnificent drawing your friend had made for you, which you insisted on paying for, and never had Levi been so jealous to have a friend like that. A friend with such talent.

“You were right, he did save her.” You smiled, eyes twinkling at the positive reaction Levithan had made.

You had seen the similarities in the characters with you and the demon. The servant was said to have had their voice stolen as a child, long before they and the Lord of Shadow had met. And it was obvious to you the similarities the anime brothers had with the demon brothers, but you wouldn’t dare tell Levi that. You were worried he’d get shy and call you a normie again.

So that statement you made was a form of confession to Levi. Something you hoped he would understand.

“You watched the season without me?! How did you even get the DVD? It’s not even out yet!”

Yeah, no such luck there.

“Levi, you know what isn’t fair?”

“What could possibly be unfair for you in this situation?”

“That you aren’t as good a listener as I am.”

Satan:

You were an avid texter, just like Satan.

Your fingers moved so quickly against the screen of your D.D.D or the keyboard of a computer, it was amazing someone could see them.

And you were smart. On electronics, you could keep up conversations on the latest book you were reading and discuss the detective shows you and he liked to watch together.

It was only when you spoke in person did your conversations so down.

“Oh for fuck’s sake!” You cried out after a particularly long and troublesome stutter, mainly annoyed because it was an easy word but all the b’s tied your tongue like a tongue twister. Ironically, you felt like you were blubbering like an idiot.

Your stammer used to be worse, far worse. So bad you couldn’t even tell your parents anything without getting angry at yourself, but you got the speech therapy and learnt to just take it slow when you got eager.

Everytime you see Satan, you want to be able to match his intellect and speed. You felt almost competitive.

But it would hardly ever work out in your favour, your ‘S’s coming out like you were trying to start an old engine and ‘B’s and ‘D’s being switched in for each other like you were a toddler.

You spoke before you thought of what you were going to say, hoping the words would just float out of my mouth like everyone else’s did.

But no. Not for you.

You had to carefully plan each sentence, thinking about every conversation you had so you could make a pre-made answer just so you wouldn’t look like a fool taking so long to speak.

You were ashamed most of the time, bullied for your impediment as a child and even in your teen years by people you told yourself were your friends but really weren’t when they called you teasing nicknames instead of your given one after you had asked them several times to use it.

They were the main reason you still didn’t have the confidence to speak well now.

“Hey, take it easy. We’re not in a rush.”

Satan would always be nice, politely giving you the time you needed to take a breather, calm down, and start over again, still blushing from your last stuttering episode.

“Why don’t you call me an idiot?”

A lot of questions similar to these, the only difference- the name you would be called, passed your lips sometimes, when there was a lull in your time together.

You were used to people making fun, telling you to just shut up already so they didn’t have to hear your stupidity anymore.

“You’re not stupid. I care about what you have to say.”

Satan was always so serious everytime he answered a variation of your question, showing you he really cared.

You blushed, your mind blank and it would take a couple minutes after that initial compliment for you to reboot.

It was true, though.

Satan enjoyed watching your lips move and the sound of your voice as you two discussed who the killer in his detective show could be.

You both always came to the same conclusion before the episode ended.

Because most of your conversations happened through text, he found he missed your tone and expressive face when you got really into a subject.

He didn’t care if you stuttered, it was far better than just watching words flash across a screen, as most of your conversations went, on his D.D.D

Although, he did care that you got so angry with yourself.

Being the Avatar of Wrath, he understood how easy it was to give into frustration and just want to hit something every time you made a mistake, he had done that many times in his younger years, and it wasn’t healthy.

It wasn’t healthy to be ashamed of a mere stumble or get mad at yourself for it, you never learnt that way.

One night, laying in his bed, platonically, you shared your reasoning behind getting so mad everytime you stuttered.

You had seen Satan’s demon-form once before, but never had you seen it arise so quickly and so fiercely.

You had been down all day and he had brought you to his room so you could feel comfortable enough to talk to him, but this fearful man, no, creature before you only put you more on edge.

But he continued to hold you.

He continued to wrap his arms around you from behind, spooning your body, trying his best not to fly out of hell right now and hunt down those who had picked on and teased you for all those years for something you couldn’t even help.

To think the reason you hated something he found so endearing was because some mere humans had made you think your excitement to communicate with people was something wrong?

“I don’t think this exchange program is going to work out.”

“Wh...Why?” You tried your hardest now to sound strong, sighing to yourself when you repeated the letters.

“Because I won’t be able to hold back if I have free access to the human world. What kind of assholes do that?”

“Teenage assholes.”

Asmodeus:

What a cute little airhead.

From the moment he first met you, Asmo loved the clueless looks on your face as you sifted through the information you were being given, seconds behind the punch everyone else could get to.

You were slow, but you were meticulous, combing through every piece of information you could to give the correct response.

You were actually pretty smart because of that fact, studying so hard on everything you did so you weren’t embarrassed by being wrong.

And you weren’t too big with the whole ‘social cues’ thing either, mistaking Satan’s sarcasm for truth and Leviathan’s anger for genuine, relationship-ruining upset, desperately trying to fix the situation so that no one would get hurt.

You were selfless in the strangest of ways, too, opting to go without something you actually, really needed before asking someone for help.

Once, you had tried ordering shower gel off of Akuzon, but, instead, ordered Shaitan Gell, a special ingredient often used by witches to summon demons.

You had wondered why it was so expensive, but thought that maybe the Devildom economy wasn’t doing so well right now.

(It wasn’t your money you were using, so what the hell?)

It was even more confusing when it smelled a little off, but demons had strange tastes. Beelzebub literally ate brains and bat wings on the daily.

When Diavolo showed up in your shower the first time you used the oddly thick, black liquid, you just cocked your head, too weird to be embarrassed. Thinking this was a regular occurance in Devildom, you gave the prince a hearty hello and asked him, if he needed anything, could he please wait outside so you could get dressed first.

The news spread like wildfire, especially when Diavolo randomly vanished from a meeting with Lucifer.

When everyone did find out, as Lucifer was reprimanding you for using such a relic in that way, they teased you endlessly, some offering you their own makes of the potion so you might accidentally summon them in the same way.

Every flirty or sexual remark Asmo made went right over your head, thinking that with every personal question he asked was just asked to make conversation and not genuine interest on his part.

“Do you have a partner?”

“Well, no, I don’t really compete in dance competitions or anything.”

“What positions do you usually go for?”

“I don’t play many sports, but if I had to pick, I’d say a pitcher in baseball. I have a pretty mean throw!”

It actually became a little bewildering how oblivious you were to all of his advances, thinking every time he draped himself over you he was cold and you offered him your jumper.

He took them everytime, so you were starting to run low. He tended to hoard them in his room, savouring the sweet scent of the body wash he had bought for you after the Shaitan incident.

“Asmo, can I get my hoodie back?”

You called through his closed door at some point after returning from school in the dead of winter, shivering in the sweat pants and long sleeved top you already had on.

You were generous, you didn’t think you personally were, but all the brothers knew you would give anyone anything if they asked for it.

That’s why it wasn’t that ridiculous when Asmo had all of your jackets. Hoodies from years ago, sweaters you bought just to treat yourself because they were so soft, and even this jumper you got from your ex-boyfriend in high school, something you meant to give back but never managed to. You forgot every time you went to meet him with that exact intent the reason for seeing him.

It didn’t remind you of him, he barely wore it before you practically stole it, but it did make Asmo’s heart skip a beat at the ‘sweater-paws’ you got from the much-too-long sleeves.

Following a clattering from what sounded like trash cans, followed by a comical shriek of a cat, the door flew open to a slightly disheveled Asmodeus, fabric clutched in his hand as he stood topless before you.

“Oh, sorry, Asmo. I didn’t mean to disturb you. I’m just so cold.”

You laughed to show you weren’t upset with him as you rubbed your arms, bouncing on the balls of your feets to get your blood moving enough to create some heat.

How could all these devils, avatars of the seven deadly sins, not have heating?

“Let me warm you up, MC!”

Without even stopping to hear your answer, but he knew you’d say yes, no matter what, Asmo pulled you in by the wrist, immediately wrapping his bare arms around you the moment the door was closed.

He was warm and you were comfortable with him, he showed you curiosity and care, so you eased into that embrace, thinking it a friendly gesture as a thank you for using your clothes all the time.

When you felt a slight nibble on your ear, you started to freak out a little.

You stuttered out an inquiry as to what he was doing, shyly pushing away as he drew back with his flirtatious smirk.

“I’ve made it so obvious for so long, MC. I really like you.”

Asmo cooed back, prodding your puffed out cheek with the tip of his tongue as you tilted your head to the side the same way you did every time someone told you something new.

Knowing you would be taking a moment to compute the information, Asmo used this chance to bury his face in the crook of your neck.

“I really like you too, Asmo.”

The realisation came pretty suddenly.

You had never put much thought into it.

Sure, he was the Avatar of Lust, he could just be saying this so he could express his temporary desires, but that was how you felt. You weren’t one for holding back, you were always scared of forgetting the topics of your thoughts if you didn’t say them aloud, so you just went for it.

Beelzebub:

Does this person even have bones?!

Like, seriously, your tripping over your feet like they’re not even attached to your body.

Rolling your ankle, walking off in directions that definitely don’t lead to where you intend on going, skipping right passed the class you’re meant to be attending.

The amount of times you’ve gotten lost in both the House of Lamentation and RAD is honestly worrying.

Your sense of direction? What even is a map because it seems like you’ve never even heard of the concept of signs or specific routes you need to take to get to your bedroom.

To help with your impossibly slow way of getting a lay of the land in your new dorm, you would often take midnight strolls.

Often getting lost, which is how you found Belphegor up in the attic, even when you had stayed on the same floor.

That’s how you and Beel got so close.

Because of the delectable scents coming from the kitchen, you would often find him having his late night snacks.

He would invite you to stay, at first only because Lucifer had instructed him to walk you back to your room every time he found you aimlessly wandering the house late at night.

“Is your ankle okay?” He would ask through a mouthful of food, but somehow you were still able to understand him.

Blushing, you looked down as your injury that was caused earlier in the day. You had stepped weird on the side of your foot- something that would usually happen and something you would usually be able to walk away from- but this time it was on the tall spiral stairs of the school you were still getting to know, sending you tumbling down flights and flights of steps.

It was a wonder you were human, because even Solomon was shocked you survived that.

“Y-Yeah, just a little red,” was an understatement.

You’re ankle killed. It was only a little swollen thanks to the spell your sorcerer friend used on you, but that didn’t help the sprain of your tendons. It was slightly bruised, covered by your loosest, most comfortable socks.

“Are you embarrassed?” Beel pointed out your bashful blush and you looked back up. He had seen your obvious hobble as you made your way to his side, but didn’t want to mention it in case you were feeling fragile about the subject.

“It just gives me flashbacks, is all.”

Oh?

Memories from MC’s past?

Yes, Beel would very much like to hear about that.

Not to tease or bribe you with, he was genuinely curious about your little human life. Not that you could tell, but he had never been so curious about another being like that.

“Oh, god, well, I guess I trust you.” You joked, blushing harder as you laughed about the memory that plagues your thoughts.

One time, in high school, you were walking out of the cantine when you tripped over literally nothing, throwing your bottle of water across the school yard like you needed to save it from your fall. It landed in the middle of a group of older students.

The amount of laughs you got from that. The teacher that came up to you to ask if you were okay. The cut that occured on your knee.

(Yes, this is a personal story. Yes, I have ptsd every time I pick up a plastic bottle of water)

Oh, it was like you were reliving the horror right there and then.

“It was mortifying! My friends still bring it up. To. this. day.” You sulk, resting your forehead on the table to hide the deep red on your face.

“Did it hurt?” The blunt question came as a shock, that’s for sure, and you no longer felt unbearably hot when you looked up to see him. There was little look of amusement except for a kind-hearted smile.

“W-Well, not as much as this other time...”

You found yourself telling him all of your most embarrassing tales, seeking for that one story that would make him laugh the way everyone else would laugh at you.

He didn’t. At all. It was actually a little worrying that he found none of your stories funny.

Truthfully, he did find the want to chuckle at a few of them, but he didn’t want to betray your trust by laughing at such ‘precious’ memories for you.

#this has been in my drafts for far too long #I have 20 other wips #why do i do this to myself?#I so wanna write but I have like four assignments due and I have NOT started any of them TT #obey me!#obey me #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me mamo #obey me levi #obey me leviathan #obey me asmo #obey me asmodeus #obey me satan #obey me beel #obey me beelzebub #obey me fluff

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