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hayakawalove · 8 months ago

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A Spoonful of Medicine

Summary: After recovering from a brief bout of illness, you find yourself craving sex. Of course Satoru and Suguru come to your rescue.

A/N: I would definitely try to get myself to be sick so they could take care of me. Also cause I want them to fuck me but that's not the point.

CW: Smut, Polyamory, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Sick, Vaginal Sex, Cunnilingus, Grinding, Hand Jobs, Spit Kink, Praise Kink, Dirty Talk, Top Suguru, Switch Gojo, Creampie, Fem Reader, AFAB Reader

W/C: 4,018

Soft.

Soft fabric greets your skin as your body rouses awake. You were certain that you were laying on clouds among the gods until your eyes open. Your room fills your vision, your eyes slowly coming into focus.

You check the bedside clock, the time being 11:00 am.

Fuck.

You had slept for 13 hours.

You turn back to look at the ceiling, slowly waking up fully. Trying to recollect memories from the previous night you find yourself coming up empty handed. The farthest you got were bits and pieces of Suguru and Satoru, their warm hands gentle as they cradled you while you drifted in and out of consciousness. While your brain tries to gather the pieces together, a soft scent floats over to you, a mix of meat and spices.

Wait.

You can smell?

It had been days since your nose worked, but now it felt suddenly clear, the scents of the room overwhelming you. You were able to smell Satoru’s cologne on the tshirt you wore, along with the detergent of the sheets below you. In addition to that, you were able to smell something coming from the kitchen.

Suguru must be cooking.

Where was Satoru?

You had been sick for the past four days, nearly bedridden with a cold that hit you like a freight train. The two boys had been at your beck and call the entire time. You almost felt smothered by the amount of love they poured into you. It felt good though, to be cared for.

You sit up and throw your legs off the side of the bed while stretching them, your joints cracking as you shake off the nearly day long slumber. Turning to the nightstand, you grab the thermometer that Suguru had left. With a beep you shove the stick in your mouth, pulling it out when the time is up. 99 F. No fever. You didn't feel sick. In fact, you felt refreshed. Better than you have in a long time.

You crumble up the front of your shirt, bringing it up to your face. Several large whiffs later you feel your head swoon. It had been days since you were able to smell him.

He preferred to wear woody colognes, the addicting cedar scent covering you entirely.

Satoru comes in wearing a face mask, holding medicine in his hands.

“Wake up bunny, it’s time for your next-“ he slides in the room, looking at you.

“You’re up.”

“I’m up.”

He walks over to you, inspecting your face.

“You don’t sound like a 70 year old smoker anymore.”

“And you still sound like an idiot.”

Satoru chuckles at your feistiness. He missed it. He knew to start getting worried about you when you didn’t bite back.

Satoru sets the medicine on the bedside table. Now that he was up close, you were able to get a good look at him. He looked good. He usually did. Okay, he always did. His white hair was fluffy, with bright blue eyes poking out above the mask. He was wearing a black shirt and boxers. Fuck, he looked…

“Hello?” Satoru’s bending over, waving in front of your face.

You get even more flustered once he’s up close. The smell of his shampoo and body wash, an intoxicating mix, over flows your senses. You weren’t freezing from a fever anymore. No, you were hot. Undoubtedly, earnestly, hot. It was almost hard to breathe under the heat of his gaze.

He lifts up a hand and grabs your chin, long fingers splaying on the side of your face. He tilts your head side to side, inspecting something, before facing you forward again. Your stomach burns with need, fingers tingling at the close proximity. You had been so sick you almost forgot what it felt like to be anything but ill. Even if you could forget it, your body hardly did. A familiar sensation builds up between your legs as your eyes lock with Satoru’s.

Something comes over you, and you’re ripping off his mask.

His eyebrows shoot up in surprise but he doesn’t have time to ask you what you’re doing as your lips are on his in an instant. You hold his shoulders tight, your lips melding to his. If you could fuse with him, you would. Satoru hums against your lips before pulling away, looking deep into your eyes.

“What, are you trying to infect me? That’s low, even for you.”

“Want you.” Your voice comes out soft.

Satoru audibly swallows, face flashing as if he’s considering it.

He always did give in faster than Suguru.

“You need to rest.”

“No, I need you.”

It’s hard to not pick up on the desperation in your voice. If it were any other time, Satoru might make fun of you. He couldn’t bring himself to make a quip this time though. Not with the way your eyes dragged across his body, your mouth twisting and turning.

Your pussy tingles, your body finally catching up to four days without sex. Yeah sure you were hungry and thirsty, but more than that you were horny.

Satoru wets his bottom lip, stepping closer. His lifts his knee between your legs, towering over you. He was even more beautiful up close.

“Yeah? Careful what you wish for, bunny.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him down. Lips lock and tongues dance. He tastes like cereal, sugary goodness embedded in the plush of his lips. You move backward, allowing him more space. His body inches closer to yours as he crawls on the bed, his large body covering yours. Even though there are only centimeters between you two, you make up your mind that he isn’t close enough. Satoru is pliable, body easy to move as you throw him on his back, crawling on top of him. There’s a hunger deep in his eyes as he watches you take control. Your chest heaves as you stare down at him, not knowing where to start but knowing you needed to begin somewhere.

You smash your lips against his, anticipation pouring from you. It had been days since you touched him, days since you tasted him. The second he opens his mouth, your tongue curls against his. You groan in response to the flavor of his spit. He feels like heaven beneath you, his muscles perfectly molding against yours. You grind your hips, searching for some sort of friction and his cock begins to harden underneath you. Satoru’s hands take hold of your hips, easily gliding you back and forth over him.

Satoru didn’t think you were sick anymore, but even if you were he wouldn’t care.

Each time the pressure of his cock nudges your clit, you let out a moan. There were layers of fabric between you two, but it almost didn’t matter. Your entire body was overtly sensitive, your skin tingling with excitement. You buck your hips back forth over him while your tongue explores his mouth. Satoru lets out soft grunts whenever your lips parts from his.

You don’t pay any mind to the door creaking open, much rather focusing on the man below you.

Suguru walks in the room with a tray of food in his hands, his long hair flowing down his back.

“Is that your way of getting her to take her medicine? I guess that makes sense for you Satoru.”

Satoru tries to pull away to bite back a smart remark but you aren’t having it, chasing after his lips with yours.

Suguru walks in the room, setting the tray of food on the beside table. He didn’t feel like he was interrupting anything, so he made no move to rush out. If anything he was curious. Last night you could barely get up to go to the bathroom and now you were devouring Satoru. Above all else, he wanted to make sure you weren’t pushing yourself.

The presence of Suguru didn’t deter you at all. You only had the man below you on your mind. Lips lock as you move your hips faster, the pleasure beginning to build in the pit of your stomach.

Suguru slowly walks around the end of the bed, choosing to sit at the edge next to Satoru’s head.

He speaks your name in a reprimanding tone, eyes narrowed in on your head. You whimper against Satoru, refusing to part from him until Suguru says your name again.

It forces you out of your stupor, making you raise your head up to him. He looks weary, his eyes hollow with dull hair. Suguru hadn’t been sleeping much this past week. He wanted to be awake in case you needed anything. It was so very him. A pang of tenderness shoots through your heart at the sight of your other boyfriend. They were wearing themselves thin taking care of you. But all you could focus on was taking more. Your lungs pant as you look at him.

“What do you think you’re doing?” A stupid question at best, he knows what you’re doing.

Your teeth dig in your bottom lip while you try to move against Satoru again.

“You’re sick.” The way he says it makes it sound like it’s the end of the conversation.

“No I’m not, I feel okay.” Your voice catches him by surprise.

You did sound better.

He lifts a hand up and places it against your forehead, trying to check for any signs that you were still burning up.

“Do you?”

“Mhm.” You fidget beneath his watchful gaze.

The way he was looking at you made you to feel so exposed. Like a live wire laying next to a puddle of water.

“Alright I guess, as long as you don’t get Satoru sick too. I can’t handle two sickly babies.”

It’s an attempt at a joke, one that would normally get you. You’re too needy to laugh, instead choosing to resume ministrations on Satoru. You press down until you feel his cock against you again. The pressure against your clit forces a moan from your throat. He felt so fucking good beneath you. You bury your face against Satoru’s neck, your breaths coming out in quick succession. Suguru places his hand on your head, stroking your hair while you rub against Satoru. He couldn’t keep his hands to himself. It was instinctual really, to keep his hands on you at all times. Satoru was the same way. Goosebumps crawl over Satoru as he feels your breaths against his skin.

Your body moves faster, your moans sounding more salacious. Up and down. Up and down. You slide your pussy against Satoru, setting the perfect pace. Satoru’s hard cock presses against your nub, your soaked underwear clinging to you.

More, just a little more…

Satoru holds your waist, his long fingers digging into your tender skin as he drags you back and forth. It was almost embarrassing how fast you were able to make his cock hard. Honestly, he didn’t know how much longer he would last with the way you were going. Your whimpering floats over to his ears, immediately breaking any cogs that might have been working in his head.

It doesn’t take long until you’re pushed over the edge, reaching a breaking point as you cum fully clothed rubbing against his cock. Your movements still while the noise dies down.

“Did you just cum?” Suguru asks, disbelief highlighting in his tone.

The boys know exactly what you sound like when you cum, they were just surprised as it had never happened so fast before.

You nuzzle further into Satoru’s neck, trying to soak up his warmth. You groan against his skin, feeling the aftershocks rush through your body.

“Felt good.”

Your words are almost inaudible against him. Pushing yourself up on your hands you stare down at Satoru. His cheeks are flushed, eyes blown out.

“Get on my face.” Satoru says, his words breathless and almost pained.

You mean to question him, but there’s no room for debate, not with the way his eyes are trained on you.

You shimmy off his body, swiping your clothes off. Even though you just came, your body was still hot, lust burning your skin as each second passed by. Suguru watches as you crawl on top of Satoru’s face, sticky cum covering your pussy. So swollen and needy, Suguru could feel his mouth start to water. Satoru sticks his tongue out and pushes it through your slit, relishing in the moan you let out.

Suguru’s eyes are hazy when you look at him, desire pooling in the depths of his caramel gaze. Your pussy clenches when you meet his eyes. Satoru definitely noticed, as he lets out a groan into you. You look down and see Suguru’s cock beginning to harden in his pants. Fumbling with the zipper, you slide his cock out.

Beautiful, every part of him was beautiful.

It’s hard in your hand, drops of precum pouring from the tip. You wrap your hand around him, sliding down his cock. Suguru shudders at the motion, his abs tightening. He and Satoru didn’t get up to anything while you were sick as they were too busy doting on you.

He didn’t realize how much he needed this until it was actually happening.

Euphoria washes over him as your hand slides along his cock. He throws his head back with his eyes closed, enjoying how your skin feels against his. He loved Satoru’s skin and hands as well, but there was something different about the softness in your palms. He lowers his head and spits on his cock, body tensing once your hand pushes the spit down.

“Just like that baby.” Suguru coos, lips barely parted as he stares down at your fist.

You whimper, watching as Suguru’s spit covers his cock. It’s a filthy sight, the way his saliva spreads around. Heat rushes to your core as Satoru swipes his tongue through you. When you came in your pants, Satoru really had no other choice but to clean you up. His large fingers press into the soft skin of your thighs, leaving you no room to squirm around. His tongue grazes against your clit, forcing you back down when you try to jump away from the contact. Normally he would chuckle at your sensitivity. But he was incredibly serious right now. You started all this, so you were going to take it.

Suguru groans softly as your hand glides against his cock, he was hard as a rock as your hand tightens around him. He really wanted you to rest all day today but fuck, he couldn’t complain with the way your fingers swiped his tip.

You did seem better, he reminds himself.

“Satoru, I can’t take it.” You murmur, his tongue dragging out a slew of moans from you.

“Don’t focus on him baby, focus on me.” Suguru asks, trying to keep his composure.

He tilts your chin to look at him, staring deep into your eyes while your hand strokes him. You had been with the two men for years, and been in love with them for even longer, so why did the intensity of Suguru’s gaze knock you off your feet every time? You dig your teeth into your bottom lip while letting out a whine, the suction on Satoru’s mouth only increasing as time passes.

Suguru watches your face morph from pain to pleasure and back over, and he briefly thinks about asking Satoru to slow down. He doesn’t though, he would never admit it but he secretly gets off on the cruelty they show you. He likes the way you push them away, only to be begging for more moments later.

Satoru isn’t prim and proper as he eats you out. Your room is filled with the sounds of his mouth laving your pussy, the noise embarrassing you.

“So fucking noisy Satoru.” Suguru murmurs, reaching a thumb up to glide across your bottom lip.

You grind your hips harder against Satoru’s tongue, letting out a moan once his lips wrap around your clit.

“Does it feel good, baby?” Suguru speaks lowly, hypnotized with the way you were using Satoru.

“Yes, fuck, yes.”

Suguru hums at your answer, clenching his teeth while you rub his cock.

“Think you’re ready for more?”

You’re at a loss for words so all you can do is nod, very desperately. Suguru cracks a grin before deciding he can’t wait any longer, standing up and moving you off Satoru’s face. Satoru looks delirious under you, your cum smearing across his lips and cheeks. He looks like he wants to complain, but he keeps his mouth shut. Whatever Suguru says, goes, and Satoru is aware of that.

Suguru lays you down on the bed, spreading your legs so wide it almost borders on painful. He slides in between your legs, giving you no time to catch your breath while he rubs his cock down your pussy.

“You scared us princess.” He murmurs, pushing his cock inside you.

Your eyes roll back in your head as you feel him stretch you out.

Suguru’s face pinches as he bottoms out, your pussy giving him little to no room to move. You hadn’t been sick for that long, but it felt like it. His cock had begun to forget the shape of your walls. It seemed you did too, your pussy stretching far more slowly than normal. But that didn’t matter, he would mold you once more.

Satoru pouts behind Suguru, briefly appreciating his form before scooting up beside you. He slides his clothes off and grabs your hand, guiding it towards his hard cock.

Your body moves on impulse as you squeeze him, thoughtlessly guiding your hand up and down his cock. The both of you look like a wreck, while Suguru looks like he’s only getting started.

Suguru watches the minuscule changes in your expression as he pulls out, before slamming himself back in. The moan you let out is pornographic. He almost blames you for how fucked you’re gonna get because honestly you gave him no choice looking and sounding like that.

Your eyes feel droopy, but you refuse to shut them. The sight of the two men before you makes your mind run, your body already so close to cumming.

Satoru, his head rung low, bangs obscuring his beautiful eyes as you pump his cock. His stomach tightening each time your fingers reach his tip before gliding back down.

Suguru, whose face was the definition of sinful in the way he watched you, pressing his cock deep inside your pussy.

It’s almost impossible to divide your attention between the two. Each time you slow down on Satoru, he lets out a begging shaking breath, but whenever you lose focus on Suguru he’s fucking into you faster.

It’s like they were competing for your attention.

Suguru grips your other hand and brings it to his mouth, pushing your fingers past his lips so he can suck them. The feeling only increases your sensitivity, making your moans come out louder.

He pulls them out and you throw your head back when you notice the saliva dripping from your fingers. He was so fucking hot, and he didn’t even try. He guides them to your pussy, resting them against your clit. Your pussy was soaked already between your cum and Satoru’s spit, but that didn’t matter. You would gladly accept whatever Suguru gave you. You try to circle your clit, but you can’t. Not at the pace that would get you off.

Suguru slams into you, tilting your hips in a way that makes his cock rub against your gspot. He notices that you’re having a hard time focusing on rubbing your clit so he slows down, pulling his cock out before pressing it back in.

Cute, he thought. Your poor little head could hardly focus on everything at once.

Your legs trap his hips in, fingers starting to move faster. Both men have their eyes on you as you moan, body contorting as you inch closer to the high.

Fingers skip along your clit as you feel yourself clench around Suguru. Desperate moans fall from your lips as your vision goes dark. It comes on suddenly, your body shaking beneath Suguru as you cum. They let out moans watching you, their bodies reacting to the way you sound.

It hits Suguru harder than it hits Satoru. He can feel the way your pussy clings to him, the way your body trembles beneath his large frame. There’s no reason to take it easy on you anymore so he starts fucking into you more at a rough pace. His cock pounds inside you, teetering between pleasure and pain. Your hand flies up to grip his chest, fingers slippery from your cum.

“Come on baby you can take it.” He finds himself saying, noticing the way you try to back off.

“No I- it’s too much, it’s too much.” You plea, his cock penetrating you.

He loves how pathetic you sound.

Your pussy clings to his cock as his hips slow down, his cock jumping as he cums inside you. It almost feels like he’s suffocating with the way you grip him. He stills completely, relaxing in content. It felt like a weight was lifted off his chest when he came.

Satoru shakes you both from your post sex bliss. He’s a mess beside you, body slick with sweat with a jutted out lip.

“Aw, poor baby.” Suguru says, eyes glazed over as he watches Satoru.

“Shut up.” Satoru has no bite to his tone.

Suguru’s eyes narrow at the comment. He leans over, cock still plugging you up, and grabs Satoru’s face.

“Watch your mouth.”

Your pussy clenches at Suguru’s tone. His lip quirks up at your reaction before he trains it down. Your hand rubs Satoru’s cock faster now, body trembling at the idea of making him cum. The noises he lets out were a mix between hot and cute. He liked acting all tough, but you knew whenever he was in the sheets his voice betrayed him.

Your hand tightens around his cock, brows furrowing when his hips jump to meet your hand. You were so eager to watch him fall apart in front of you.

“F-fuck.” Satoru’s delirious as he murmurs to himself.

His cock was so hard it hurt. From the taste of your pussy on his tongue to him watching Suguru fuck you, he could hardly take it anymore.

“F-fuck, hah, I,” Satoru groans your name.

Suguru watches your slippery hand tug Satoru’s cock. He did feel a little bad that Satoru hadn’t finished yet. Suguru leans down and lets his teeth dig into Satoru’s throat, sucking lightly. The mixture of sensations causes Satoru to hurl closer to the edge. He humps your fist pathetically as he grabs onto Suguru’s hair.

“G-gonna cum.” It’s hard to hear him over the sound of his cock in your hand.

Suguru reaches a hand down, covering yours, and starts to rub Satoru’s cock. The feeling of his palm pressing into yours makes you squeeze Satoru harder. He groans at the pressure, his stomach flexing.

Satoru cums hard in both your hands, the white silky liquid overflowing your fingers. Suguru removes his hand first, licking his fingers as he slides out of your pussy.

It’s hard not to complain at the feeling but you keep it in. You use a towel that Suguru provides to wipe up Satoru’s cum. Your body feels way heavier, sinking into the bed after everything. Satoru flops beside you, always extremely needy after sex. His arms wrap around you, pulling you into his body.

Suguru stares at the tray of food, his brows pinched.

“Guess I’ll have to heat that up.”

You chuckle. Eventually you would eat, but for now all you wanted to do was lay down with the both of them.

“You don’t need to feed me anymore, I’m feeling better.”

“I can tell.” Suguru murmurs.

The boys laugh at you as you all push together, fitting together like a perfect puzzle, warmth spreading between you.

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bubble-tea-bunny · 4 years ago

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sweet talk

[tamaki suoh x reader]

author’s note: been rewatching ouran and found the time to write smth small. basically a really late valentine’s fic lol. i’m drafting an idea for takashi as well atm. maybe kyoya after? ;)

word count: 1,844

At this time of year, the weather is chilly, the air cold even without the presence of wind and warranting the need for a scarf to avoid a red-tipped nose and numb cheeks. Most days are gloomy, the overcast sky glaringly bright and difficult to look at. But today, it would seem the divine hand in charge of the course of the seasons has granted a reprieve, the clouds parting so the sun might wash over the grass that you and Tamaki sit upon currently, in the garden of the Suoh estate.

The gardeners had finished their tasks this morning, as instructed by Tamaki the night before. It gave you two the opportunity to be out there alone in the afternoon. The hedges are trimmed and tidy, and the smell of freshly cut grass is strong. You inhale deeply, chest puffed, and sigh in satisfaction as the scent reaches your nose. It had been so long since you sat out in a garden, owed to the fact it had been too cold for that lately.

Tamaki chuckles at your enthusiasm and rifles through the picnic basket he’d brought with him. He pushes aside the array of deserts—cake slices, chocolate bars, fruit tarts, and more—their colorful wrappings crinkling loud enough to grab your attention.

“Where is it…” he mutters.

You tilt your head. "Where is what?”

The tip of Tamaki’s tongue sticks out the corner of his mouth, evidence of his concentration, and when he finally finds what he’s searching for, he holds it up like a first place prize, complemented by an exclamation: “Aha!”

It’s a small plastic pouch, clear with red stripes and tied near the top with a matching, shiny red poly ribbon to keep it closed. There’s what you assume to be candy inside, in various colors, but you don’t recognize it. You’re still just as clueless, but you don’t need to voice your question because Tamaki can see the confusion written across your face.

“It’s commoner candy!” he explains. “Well, commoner Valentine’s candy, more specifically.”

You continue to watch, intrigued by what he’s brought, as he pulls at the ribbon to loosen it and opens the pouch, reaching inside for one of the pieces of candy. He holds up the heart-shaped treat, gripped carefully between index finger and thumb, and angles it so you can see what’s written on it: Sweetheart.

Upon realizing there’s wording on it, and that the same must go for every heart in the bag, your eyes light up. “Cute!”

“It is, isn’t it?” Tamaki agrees, voice quiet as he observes the candy. The nickname is printed red though the lettering isn’t too sharp, which gives away that it was done by a machine. “Haruhi got one for all the host club members, and I wanted to share mine with you.”

When he turns to you, amethyst eyes warm like a summer night, you smile. And when he offers the bag of heart candies to you, you eagerly reach in for one. “How thoughtful!” You turn over the piece you picked out: Only You.

“Well, shall we try them together?” Tamaki inquires, and you nod. The two of you pop the candy into your mouths in unison, then sit silently for a moment in contemplation.

It’s… unique, is the best description you can come up with. The powdery, pressed substance is basically a sugar bomb that melts once it comes in contact with your tongue. But it isn’t the quality of sugar you’re accustomed to—it’s far and away from the refined sweetness of the handmade confections stashed away in the picnic basket Tamaki brought along. Still, this mass-produced goody is delightful in its own way, in taste and novelty, for you have never seen such small candies with words on them, and you say as much to your boyfriend, the last traces of the heart candy lingering on your lips which you lick away.

“They’re charming,” you remark, reaching for another piece. “For when you can’t find the words or get them out yourself.” You read what’s written on the yellow heart you grabbed, then turn it to show Tamaki: Be Mine.

Tamaki’s attention briefly diverts down to read it as well, and the corner of his lips lifts in a lopsided grin as he meets your eyes again. “Sure, they can be useful for some people, but I can get by just fine without candy telling me what to say. How could I call myself the king of the host club if I weren’t able to string together pretty words?” Always conducting himself with some semblance of dramatic flare, he puts a hand to his chest, and the sunlight reflects off his eyes in a way that makes it seem like there’s a tear or two forming in the corners.

As usual, his acting is impeccable, and you can’t contain your smile; he’s such a natural. You have no objections to his claim as king of the school’s host club, and if you’re being honest, you wish you had even half the charisma he does, that some of the skill he possesses at waxing lyrical would rub off onto you via proximity alone.

“They would’ve come in handy for me that day I confessed to you,” you admit shyly, and it’s Tamaki’s turn to tilt his head, confused but waiting for you to expound. “These candies say all the things I wanted to say to you then.”

The day you came to terms with your feelings about Tamaki and the day you actually revealed them to him were different, and the time in between had been spent in a state of conflict over whether it was worth mustering up the courage to approach him about it. There was little doubt in your mind that the president of the host club received declarations of love left and right, a routine part of his week, a clockwork consistency like that of waking in the morning and laying down to sleep in the evening. You’re a drop of water in the ocean; what could possibly make you stand out?

For all that, you figured you should confess anyway. Rejection was still an answer and it was better than nothing. At least after the gentle let down (because truly, Tamaki is, without fail, graceful in matters of love, both the reciprocal and the unrequited) your turmoil over what he may say would finally be put at ease.

Though you rehearsed over and over what you would say and how you would say it, the practice ends up being useless, and you weren’t sure why you even bothered. Once you met his kind gaze—expectant and patient, giving you the opportunity to gather the words in the stretching silence that would be oddly too long in any other context—the resolve you had slowly been building on your walk to the meeting point by the fountain crumbled. You tripped over your words at the sight of his tender smile. Tamaki just had that effect on people, and you wished he’d look at you that way always. To be on the receiving end of his affection was to bask in the warmth of a sun that never sets.

It’s a feeling you’re distinctly reminded of now, sitting in the garden on an uncharacteristically sunny day for winter and the center of Tamaki’s attention, and you think you might be set alight from the sheer intensity (due mostly to Tamaki; the sun is poor competition in contrast). He wears that beautifully soft expression, mind clearly having thought back to your confession as yours just had. But it seems his recollection differs slightly, for he presents a counterpoint.

“I thought you handled it perfectly.” He sets the bag of heart candies on the grass and braces himself with his now freed hand, which allows him to lean closer to you. He enters your bubble but you never mind it, and his touch is feather-light as he brushes your hair behind your ear.

You’re unpersuaded, however, and raise a brow. “Really?”

Tamaki chuckles and nods, blonde hair bouncing with the singular motion. “Your eyes spoke for the words you had trouble finding. I might be the one stringing together pretty poetry like diamonds around your neck”—his fingers slide lower to trace the curve of your collarbone left exposed by the cut of your blouse, and you shiver—“but you have no need for words at all, much less the turns of phrases on pieces of candy.”

“Is that why you liked me too?” you ask, remembering his own confession that had followed closely on the heel of yours. You keep your voice hushed because given how close to each other you are, there’s no need for any higher of a volume.

Tamaki hums in confirmation. His index finger delicately taps once, twice, thrice, on the hollow at the base of your throat, a sort of absentminded movement while absorbed in his thoughts, before he once more brings his hand up, cradling your cheek. “You say you’re a drop in the ocean but you’re the drops of morning dew on the roses just outside my bedroom window. My heart flutters to breathe you in.”

You smile, bashful, and set your hand over his, interlacing your fingers. Your cheeks have darkened in a blush Tamaki would like to kiss. “Okay, I’m convinced,” you concede with a murmur. He’s so close to you now. “When I admitted how I felt, maybe it didn’t go as badly as I thought.”

This elicits another laugh from Tamaki. Instead of acting on his desire to run his lips along your silken skin (there would be time for that later), he settles for a quick peck on your nose, then reaches into the pouch of heart candies, temporarily abandoned but not forgotten. His fingers curl around two pieces and he pulls them both out rather than dropping one, but he sees the words on them before you do since his hand obscures them from your view.

“The powers governing destiny have destined our souls for each other,” he declares. “Because you and me, it’s love.”

He uncurls his fingers to reveal the candy in his palm, and you look down at them. The green one reads You & Me, and the blue one It’s Love. This prompts you to giggle. It’s music to his ears.

“What happened to not needing candy to tell you what to say?” Your tone is playful.

Tamaki shrugs, unable to hide his amused grin. “I pulled them out at random. If this is the universe speaking to me, who would I be to argue?”

You have no counter to this, not that you think there even is one. Destiny is destiny and as Tamaki feeds you one of the hearts and you bite into it, the sugar once more dissolving on your tongue, you can only thank those powers which make the world turn for conferring their blessing upon the two of you in such a deliciously sweet way.

#ouran high school host club x reader #ouran high school host club imagine #tamaki suoh x reader #tamaki suoh imagine #ouran host club x reader #ouran host club imagine #ohshc x reader #ohshc imagine #ouran high school host club #tamaki suoh #ohshc #bubble-tea-bunny

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obae-me · 4 years ago

Text

A Taste of His Own Medicine- Asmo

Word Count: 3012

Medication Warning: These stories might contain strange demon medicines, but always make sure that you take the regulated dose. Don’t think like Asmo! Taking more will not make you feel any better. Keep the dangers in the fictional world, and as always, read with safety, thank you!

Time as Levi’s nurse passed fairly quickly. After two days of constant attention, most of the symptoms had faded. He was still weaker than anyone would enjoy, but he was back in front of his screens in no time. Although, every so often he’d give you a side glance and rattle his body with a loud cough, causing you to roll your eyes a bit but smile and give him some more attention. Aside from the pseudo-symptoms, at last, it was all over. Surely, tonight you’d finally let your sore exhausted body get some rest with the relief in knowing that whatever demon illness had been plaguing the brothers was finally gone…

That was, until everyone in the House of Lamentation was awoken one night to a blood-curdling scream. You awoke in a sweat, nerves standing up on end. Before you could comprehend anything, you dashed out to the hallway, apparently the last to join the stunned members of the household. Mammon was still attempting to find balance on his feet, cursing about one of his legs being asleep. Levi rubbed his eyes, and you couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. He was supposed to be regaining his strength. Satan looked more intrigued than anything. Beel was ready for action, but, surprisingly enough, Belphie looked more awake than anyone before you. These were his hours, you supposed. Lucifer was a strange combination of furious due to having his rest be interrupted--he barely gets enough as it is--and concerned.

“MC!--Oh, thank the stars,” he sighed, pressing his hand to his forehead, thankful you weren’t the cause of the haunting wail. “We’ve got…” His irises almost went cross-eyed for a moment as he started calling out everyone’s names. The realization hit you at the same moment it hit him. “Asmo.” No one hesitated in dashing to his room, the adrenaline pumping in you more as the sound of shattering glass and splintering wood reached your ears. Worry clamped your lungs shut, not daring to breathe until you arrived at your location.

Mammon was the first to reach the door, immediately kicking the wood in. The entrance hit the floor with a loud bang, and you attempted to peer in, but were abruptly yanked backwards by Lucifer. Just in time too, for just at that moment, an entire dresser launched itself from the bedroom, smacking against Mammon, pinning him against the back wall of the hallway. Everything in you screamed to run to him, but the demon of pride had you held tightly against his body. Mammon got up off the floor, shaking his head, but not visibly injured, barely even bothered, just frustrated.

“For the love of sin, Asmo!” He growled, and another shriek echoed through the halls, shaking the windows. You brought your hands up to cover your ears, and Lucifer quickly handed you off to Levi.

“What’s happening?” The strength of your legs began to waver, and, for a split second, the eldest’s eyes grew wide at your distress. Of course you wouldn’t know, how could you? Sometimes he forgets you’re only a human.

Placing a gentle hand on your head--his best attempt at assurance--he let out another sleep-deprived groan, pinching the bridge of his nose whilst his siblings dashed into the chaos. “It’s what we all feared. Asmo has fallen ill. It happens one every few centuries. Stay with Levi. We’ll work on calming him down.” With that, he turned and swiftly joined the fray. A swirl of blue magic surrounded the door, lifting it from it’s position, settling back against the frame while shouts and bangs rattled the ground. All you could do was blink in frightful awe and flinch at every awful sound.

“C-come on, it’s best if we go...N-now, like, right now,” Levi breathed, his voice shaking with terror. You raised an eyebrow, trying to piece together why he sounded as if he was in danger.

You didn’t have the time to question why. The wall separating the room from the hallway nearly crumbled, bricks and rubble coating the floor. Peachy eyes glowed harshly against the dark of night. “Levi…” The figure growled maliciously as the dust settled. “You did this to me...you all did this to me!” It struck you who it was and why even Levi himself was nearly petrified with fear. Of course you didn’t know, why would you? Sometimes you forgot you were surrounded by demons.

“Oi!”

In a swirl of motion, demons rushed to tackle him down, but not before the person behind the destruction began to lunge in yours and Levi’s direction. The third-born twisted his body, beginning to pull you behind him to shield you, but your body moved almost on its own. Tugging yourself out of his grip, you moved forward with an outstretched arm. “Asmo!” The palm of your hand came into contact with his chest, and as soon as it did, everything seemed to stop all at once. The rampage put itself at pause as Asmo looked at you with wide eyes, his hands still raised, claws nearly brushing against your skin. With your hand on his chest, you could tell that he’d stopped breathing. You took this moment to observe his face. Nose red, eyes puffy from angry tears, overall looking drained, missing vibrancy, much different than the Asmo you were so acquainted with.

The demon of lust took one last moment to recollect his thoughts, gathering back his composure before giving a loud horrified gasp of a breath before his knees gave out, his body collapsing to the floor.

* * *

“Absolutely, positively, one of the worst decisions you’ve ever made!” You’d beg to differ, but now was definitely not the time for that. “Did you even think?!” You tried to open your mouth but were cut short. “Don’t answer that.” Lucifer looked beyond frazzled, and as you watched him pace back and forth in front of you, you wondered if those were new grey strands in the fringes of his hair or if it was simply your imagination. He’d been stepping back and forth for so long, you’d almost gotten dizzy from the motion.

But Lucifer wasn’t the only one here to...critique your...survival response--or questionable lack thereof. “What do you do when you see an angry demon? Hm?” Satan’s eyebrow was twitching, but he was doing his utmost best to stay calm unlike his older brothers.

You lowered your head. “You run.”

“What do we not do?”

“...Confront them.” The blonde nodded, leaving it at that for the time being. With a quick scan around the room, he tilted his head and sat in a chair, biting back one of his usual retorts. Typically, he wouldn’t hesitate to be snippy, especially considering his sibling’s current behaviors, but he didn’t have the heart for it. Not right now when he was focusing hard on suppressing the bubbling rage of what he’d just observed. Levi was a dazed mess, sulking at his failed job as a bodyguard, slung over Beel’s shoulder, muttering endlessly. The demon of gluttony himself had yet to peel his sight from you since you’d been dragged back to your room. Had he even blinked? It was as if he was wary that, should he look away, even for a moment, you’d do something reckless again. To be fair, logically, what you’d done had been a rather idiotic move. In your defense, it was also dipping well past the early hours of the morning, they couldn’t hold it against you for not being at your peak at this time...But, they were right. Had Asmo not been able to stop himself, who knows what the outcome would’ve been. You still weren’t quite sure of everything that had happened, but something had moved you, convinced you that if you just...reached out to him...Turning your head to the side, you brushed your hand over the bump in the blankets where his arm was. As soon as he’d collapsed, both you and Asmo were briskly brought to your room. You’d been able to assist in tucking him under your covers for only a moment before being scolded. Belphie placed a fresh cold rag over Asmo’s forehead, meeting your eyes for just a second before snapping his head to look away from you with the slightest hint of a disappointed pout in his lips. Even the self-proclaimed apathetic demon of sloth was upset? And Mammon...Mammon was...dead silent, still as a stone, back turned to you as he pressed his face against the wall. If anything, that upset you the most.

Speaking loudly as to regain their attention, you apologized. “I’m sorry! I know it was dumb of me, but…” Asmo’s eyebrows scrunched, a painful moan rumbling in his throat. You adjusted your seated spot on the bed, sitting closer to his body, settled by his thigh. Placing your hand over the comforter covering his chest, you stroked up and down in a slow soothing rhythm. His head moved to find a cooler, more comfortable spot on the pillow, and with the comforting motion against his body, he went still with rest again. “He sounded heartbroken.”

The room fell silent, Lucifer stopped his pacing. Everyone’s shoulders slumped, and then finally Mammon spoke up. “He’s just being dramatic over his dumb face! Losing control like that...almost hurting you because he doesn’t look pretty...He’s not worth getting yourself killed over!” You shot him a dirty warning look, and he scoffed, rubbing the back of his head. “I didn’t mean it like that. You just gotta be more careful, okay?”

“Okay, I get it. But you all know I can take care of myself too, right?” None of them would look you in the eyes for that question, and you made a mental note to confront them about that later, but for now… “Enough worrying about me, you should be worried for your brother.” The fire of conflict was quickly snuffed out by your shining eyes and Asmo’s little whimpers.

Lucifer rolled his head around his shoulders and then rubbed away the little pang behind his temples. “I’ll go let Diavolo know of the situation. I’m sure he won’t be surprised…” He grumbled something under his breath one last time before he left the room, D.D.D. in hand.

“I suppose I can do my best to help clean Asmo’s room. He might recover quicker in a familiar environment.” Satan got to his feet, stretching, cracking an eye open to look at Mammon before grabbing him by the back of his shirt. “And you’re going to help me.”

“O-oi! Why me?! Hold on! I haven’t said what I needed to yet!” But his cries were ignored as the demon of wrath dragged him down the hallway.

Now you were left with the afflicted, the twins, and a still sorrowful Levi. “Beel, can you please take Levi to his room? And Belphie can you please make sure he goes to sleep?” The lighter-haired sibling nodded, shifting his older brother to his other shoulder. Belphie still had his head turned away from you. Your heart fell a bit. “Pretty please?”

He made the mistake of getting a quick peek of your pleading face. “You have to come with us.”

“But, we can’t just leave him.” You brushed the back of your hand against Asmo’s cheek, reeling back as the heat from him almost burnt you.

This only convinced Belphie to squint harder. “He’s dangerous.”

“You’re all dangerous and yet apparently it doesn’t seem to phase me anymore.” At times like these, you found standing your ground and just being stubborn was enough to win you plenty of debates with these eternal beings. Belphie especially was much too tired to try to win you over.

“Fine, but you owe me.”

You beamed, coaxing a touch of pink in his cheeks. “Thank you!” He slinked away, his brother following after him. A frown stretched over your face. With the added noise gone, Asmo’s shallow wheezing breaths were all too apparent. You got to your feet, flipping the rag draped across his head to the other side, then padded over to the cupboard settled against the far side of the room. It opened with a slight squeak, causing you to wince as you glanced back over your shoulder to make sure your patient was still sleeping. Luckily, he didn’t stir, although for this to work, he might have to. You gripped the medicine bottle in your hand, giving it a slight shake. There was enough for perhaps one or two more administrations. Hopefully whatever this was wasn’t too expensive, seeing as how the whole family had gone through the whole thing in a few weeks. Before you dealt with that issue, you quickly went to turn off the overhead light in your room, simply turning on a side lamp, a soft glow illuminating what you needed it to. Your eyes thanked you for the lessened strain. As you turned on the pads of your feet, you noticed Asmo was now on his side, facing away from you. With a few quiet steps, you were back at the bedside. “Asmo?”

Your fingers outstretched, reaching for his shoulder, but he would not let you near him. “Don’t look at me!” The voice was strong enough to push you back, falling back onto the floor. A high pitched noise caught your attention. The glass in your hand as well as your mirror on the other side of the room had a new thin crack in it.

The heart in your chest was pounding, but you tried to shake out of it. “Asmo, fighting me is taking up your strength.” Cradling the medicine bottle against your chest, you got back to your feet.

Asmo pulled the covers up over his head. “Don’t look at me, don’t look at me, don’t look at me!” You’d shifted your stance beforehand to keep your balance, the wave of magic wobbling you, but not knocking you over. The lights flickered, and with it, you caught an idea.

“What if I turn the lights off? I won’t look at you, okay? I just want to help you feel better.” Keeping your sight on him, you walked backwards. As your hip met the furniture, you swiveled to turn the lamp off. It just so happened to be cloudy tonight, the dark clouds coating the moon, again, much like the night Belphie had sleepwalked into your room. Blanketed in complete darkness, only now you were the one stumbling towards the figure in the bed. You walked forward slowly until your knees came into contact with the mattress. Even here you could feel the rolling waves of heat come off of him. “I cannot see a thing, not even my own hand in front of my face,” you whispered to him, your arm waving in the air till you found his body. He was letting you touch him, that was a good sign. It took a moment before you found his shoulder, gently guiding him to lay on his back. You trailed your touch up to his neck before coming up to lightly touch his face. Hot moisture coated your fingertips. For a second, you thought it was sweat, but then you heard the demon take a shaky inhale as his body hitched. Panic struck your body all the sudden, your thumb brushing just under his eyes. “Are you crying? Asmo, no, no no no, it’s okay.”

He whimpered, leaning into your touch. “I-I-I-I’m sick and-and-and unsightly--”

“Hey, hey,” you cooed. “Take a deep breath.” He followed your advice, his chest shuddering. “I’m sorry you’re sick...but we can’t change that now. We just have to focus on getting you well again.” Reaching around to support the back of his head, you helped him up into a slouched position. Although, you struggled to find his hand. When you did, his fingers instinctively went to curl around yours. You hated to disappoint him by replacing your grasp with the medicine bottle. “This should help. I’d, uh, take about half of it.” He took it away from you, and you assumed that he’d brought it to his lips. It was a few seconds before the smooth glass touched your skin again. Taking it back in your possession, you discovered it was a lot lighter than you expected. Moving it around in your hand, you felt no liquid slosh inside. “I said half, Asmo!”

“There was hardly anything in there and I need what I can to go back to my beautiful self!”

“That’s not how--” You sighed, letting the empty bottle settle on the floor. “No one is pretty when they’re sick, but that’s okay. It’s alright to be unsightly sometimes.” The mattress bobbed as Asmo laid back down, getting as close as he could against your body. “But even so, you’re pretty all the same”

His hand smacked against your knee as he tried to find you, his touch searching for yours. “I can’t be both...am I beautiful or ugly?” He really couldn’t understand what you were trying to say. Maybe one day you’d be able to convey your thoughts properly.

As soon as you touched his wrist, he slid his fingers up to weave through yours. “You’re always beautiful, Asmo. Always. A little sickness won't stop you. But for now, your beautiful body needs some beauty sleep.” You squeezed his hand. “I’ll be right by your side.” The medicine seemed to already be working, and you pinned it in the back of your mind to tell Lucifer about his mishap later. He curled into a tighter ball, snuggling up against your legs.

“It’s not...fair,” he whined, voice almost slurring with sleep. “I don’t...deserve this...I wish I was...as beautiful...as you.” Your chest tightened, but you kept your mouth closed. His grip had already slackened, and you could hear the deeper slower breaths as you came to the conclusion that he had fallen back asleep.

Feel better, Asmo. I’ll be here till you do.

______________________________________

@cinnamon-bisquit

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me headcanons #obey me imagines #obey me asmo #obey me asmo x mc #obey me asmo x reader #tw medication

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besanii · 4 years ago

Note

“you don’t love me anymore?” for wangxian from the angst print list please ❤️❤️ (bc i love to hurt myself 😭😭)

Lan Zhan, I know you can hear me, so I’m just going to say it, alright?

You’ll probably be upset with me when you wake up and realise what I’ve done, but I’m going to do it anyway. You gave your life to save the world, so it’s only fair that someone should do the same for you.

Don’t worry about me. All members of the Phoenix Tribe will go through nirvana at least once in our lives and are reborn again. I’m just going through it a little earlier than expected, that’s all.

He finds him dancing across the lake, surrounded by giggling water spirits, his long hair fluttering behind him as he leaps and twirls, his bare feet barely grazing the surface of the water. The lotus blossoms in the lake sing in response, pink and red petals unfurling as he passes, the soft glow of their spiritual essence hovering in the air like fireflies to greet him. There’s a soft, faraway smile on his face as he greets them with a bow, before he’s gone again in a flurry of silk.

His heart thuds painfully in recognition and he’s stepping out onto the pier before he can stop himself.

At the first creak beneath his feet, all motion over the lake comes to a halt. It leaves him suddenly self-conscious as the young man pauses in mid-turn and looks at him curiously over his shoulder.

“Wei Ying,” he breathes, frozen where he stands. “You’re back.”

Other immortals have always talked reverently about the Crown Prince of the Phoenix Tribe and his beautiful eyes, an enchantingly dark, silvery grey with starlight in their depths. Once upon a time, he had been held in those eyes above all others and they had shone for him and him alone. Now they hold no recognition whatsoever.

The realisation is like a lightning strike through the heart, shattering the world beneath his feet.

“Shangshen,” Wei Wuxian says with a polite bow, his fingertips clasped in front of his chest. “What can I do for you?”

“Wei Ying,” he says, horror creeping into his veins and into his throat, strangling his voice as he speaks. “Do you know who I am?”

Wei Wuxian’s head tilts to the side, confused.

“Of course I do,” he replies as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You’re Lan Wangji, the God of War.”

There was a time when Wei Wuxian would greet him with a beaming smile and boisterous laughter and throw himself into his arms without hesitation. The Wei Wuxian he remembers would have gleefully wormed his way to his side and batted his eyelashes at him until he acquiesced and showed him the affection he demanded. He searches for an inkling, a ghost of that Wei Wuxian now, only to be met with polite indifference.

It punches the air from his lungs until he’s shaking; he clenches his fists to stop himself from reaching out and grabbing hold of Wei Wuxian.

“Is there something wrong, Shangshen?” Wei Wuxian asks. Lan Wangji exhales.

“Do you not remember me?” he asks, already afraid of the answer. “Do you not remember...us?”

Wei Wuxian covers his mouth with a hand and laughs and for a moment, Lan Wangji’s heart soars with hope. Maybe this is a game and Wei Wuxian is only testing him—

“Us?” Wei Wuxian laughs again, but there is confusion in his eyes. “What do you mean? Have we met before?”

When he had woken up from his slumber after three hundred years, the fragments of his soul finally pieced together again and his heart beating to an unfamiliar rhythm in his chest, it was to the news that Wei Wuxian was gone. That he had exchanged his heart and all fifty thousand years of his cultivation for Lan Wangji’s resurrection.

The news had come, two hundred years later: the Crown Prince has returned, and Lan Wangji was out the door in an instant. Wei Wuxian is a phoenix, and phoenixes can be reborn. Wei Wuxian had come back to him at last.

That tiny shred of hope plummets back into the pit of his stomach and crumbles into dust. Wei Wuxian’s mother had warned him this may happen and his brother had cautioned him against hope, but he had not heeded their advice.

“Wei Ying,” he says numbly. “Wei Ying...I’m your husband.”

He waits with bated breath for any sign of recognition or recollection, but the confusion does not lessen in the slightest. Instead, a frown appears on Wei Wuxian’s face and he takes half a step back, suddenly wary.

“Husband?” he echoes. “Shangshen, you must be mistaken. I’ve never been married, so how can I have a husband?”

“Lan Zhan! We’re married now, so you can’t run from me anymore!”

Fondness bubbles up in his chest as he feels a pair of arms wind around his; he looks down to see Wei Wuxian beaming up at him, his dark grey eyes sparkling with mischief. He looks breathtaking in red.

There is no deception in his eyes, no amusement, no teasing; no matter how hard Lan Wangji tries, he cannot find a trace of his husband in Wei Wuxian. Still, he has to try. Wei Wuxian did not give up on him even in death, he refuses to give up on him in life.

“We were married five hundred years ago,” he tells him desperately. “It was arranged between the Nine Heavens and the Phoenix Tribe. Everyone thought we were being forced into it, but it was a love match.”

He remembers the whispers, the pitying looks they had received at the ceremony. The poor Phoenix prince, forced to marry a God almost twice his age when he could have his pick of any immortal in all the realms. He knew their age difference was larger than most and that marrying him would ruin Wei Wuxian’s chances of ever making a better match after his soul returns to the universe, but Wei Wuxian had only laughed and said it was none of their business who they chose to love.

The Wei Wuxian before him now only looks uncomfortable.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “A-Niang tells me I went through nirvana five hundred years ago and have only just woken up from the rebirthing sleep. I have no memories of my previous life.”

There is guilt in his eyes when he looks at Lan Wangji and his voice when he next speaks is kind, almost pitying. It stings more than incredulity.

“I don’t doubt we loved each other in my previous life,” he says. “But regardless of my feelings then, I do not wish to tie you to a marriage when my feelings are no longer what they once were.”

Lan Wangji feels the ground crumbling, piece by piece, around him as the words sink in; his legs buckle beneath him, sending him stumbling backward a step before he can catch himself. Still standing over the lake, Wei Wuxian’s body jerks forward as if to come to his aid. His fists flex repeatedly by his side but he does not move or speak further.

“You—” the words scrape his throat raw. “You don’t love me anymore?”

Wei Wuxian inhales sharply at the brittleness of his voice. His grey eyes are wide with shock and uncertainty as he stares at Lan Wangji; his lips part without a sound, the ghost of a tremor passing through them.

“I-I don’t—” he looks away quickly, lips pressed together in a thin line. “I’m sorry. I know you said we’re married—if you wish to divorce, I am willing to bear that responsibility—”

Lan Wangji gasps at the sudden, searing pain that erupts in his chest; he brings a hand up to press against it, feeling the way it races erratically beneath his hands, threatening to tear itself apart. Wei Wuxian turns back to him, horrified, reaching out to help, but Lan Wangji halts him with an outstretched hand.

“I-I’m sorry,” Wei Wuxian stammers again as he struggles to hold himself back. “Is there—are you alright?”

Lan Wangji takes several deep breaths, focusing his spirit inward to stabilise himself; the pain gradually subsides, leaving him weak and aching.

“Our marriage was decreed by both the Nine Heavens and the Phoenix Tribe,” he says heavily. “Everyone knows you are my husband, and I yours. A divorce would have lasting consequences for both realms. It is not so simple.”

“Oh,” Wei Wuxian says, gnawing on his bottom lip. “I guess—”

“If that is your wish, however,” Lan Wangji continues, staring at him with a hollow, wrung-out expression. “If that is truly your wish, I will do everything in my power to grant you your freedom.”

He straightens, clasps his fingers before him, and bows low at the waist. It is too formal a bow for a High God to give to an immortal half his age—he hears Wei Wuxian’s startled gasp, but pays it no mind. He is not bowing to just anyone. He is bowing to the man who sacrificed himself, the entirety of his existence, for him; the man who had done it all out of love for him. He is bowing to his husband, to whom he owes a debt too great to repay. The least he can do now is to set him free.

And then, before Wei Wuxian can recover from his shock to respond, he turns on his heel and leaves.

Lan Zhan, I’m giving you my heart, so you better take good care of it, alright?

If...if I survive this, if I am reborn again...A-Niang says I won’t remember anything about this life, so...this Wei Wuxian—the one who fell in love with you at first sight, the one who married you and willingly carved out his own heart to save you—this Wei Wuxian will die, and another one will take my place.

If you fall in love with him after I’m gone, I think I’ll be jealous. So please...promise me. Promise me that no matter how much you love him, you’ll save some of that love for me.

Goodbye, Lan Zhan. I love you.

Notes:

shangshen (上神) - High God

I guess you can consider this in the same verse as this previous prompt? Maybe? I don’t know where it fits exactly, but it’s Phoenix!WWX and Dragon/God of War!LWJ as well.

// buy me a ko-fi //

#softboyfriendtae #mdzs #wangxian #love and destiny au #my writing #angst prompt memes #🔪🔪🔪🔪#idk what constitutes as five knives #can i say this is 4.5 knives?#hurt no comfort #wwx sacrifices himself to save lwj #and loses his memories #THE END #jks #they decide to give it another go #and lwj does his best to woo wwx this time #instead of the other way around #ANYWAY HAVE SOME KNIVES #shifting ground fic

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bookandcranny · 4 years ago

Text

SAUSAGE SIMULATOR 2000

A single short burst of light, sound, movement. A rhythmic throbbing of the arteries. A dry edible seed, rich in protein, belonging to the legume family. A palpitation of the neck or wrist. A common feature on a blender.

If one day you happen to find someone lying prone and unconscious, the first thing you’ll do is check for a pulse. But even when that signal, that faint tickle of motion is gone, the brain may yet live on for minutes. It may live on even longer.

summary: A surreal scifi horror set In Another Time, Another Place, in which the narrator reminisces on some events, real and dreamed, whole and fragmented, that occurred during their time attending high school alongside their best friend.

word count: 4.3k

content warnings: Insects, parental abandonment, descriptions of gore and body horror

🦗🦗🦗

We give thanks for the grain, for without it we would have no bread. We give thanks for the vermin, for without them we would have no meat. We give thanks for the machine, for without it we would have no work.

The work is to preserve the law. Without the law, the vermin would devour the grain. Without the law, the machine would devour the vermin. Without the law, man would devour the machine.

-----

Sive dissects his sandwiches layer by layer. He’s probably my best friend, but the guy is so weird sometimes. Regardless, these are the moments I remember the most.

We’re on a field trip, our entire grade; it’s one of the few times we get to hang out during school hours, since Sive is in Class C this year and I’m in A. When we break for lunch, he comes over to sit with me on the crumbling stone wall without either of us asking. I take two sandwiches out of my bag and hand him one. He peels it apart and starts licking mustard off a pallet of pink Bugmeat©️.

Maybe it’s now, maybe it’s later. The moments blend together in my recollection, blurred by the years and the medication. I seem to recall a couple of other friends from my class sitting with us, talking and laughing, but whenever Sive is around the world seems to narrow to a single point of focus. He has a way of commanding the room’s attention, with the oscillating pitch and volume of his voice and his swinging hands, illustrating the latest gossip with all the fervor of a street preacher.

In theory, I understand why some of the other kids are afraid of him. He’s taller than maybe anyone I’ve met and the way he hunches his shoulders makes him look sort of looming. The way he talks and the way he smiles, lip curling back into something more like a sneer, doesn’t help. But he’s my friend, has been since we were small, and I know he’s no more frightening than a field mouse. Besides, while he may be tall he’s also rail thin, skin sucking on his joints when he moves, now more than ever. He inhales his sandwich in seconds, even with the picking and fussing that proceeds it, so I give him half of mine too.

I kick my legs over the side of the wall, looking down at the sloping gray-green mountainside. There are a few masses of rock hovering alone, pushed and pulled by rich natural deposits of magnetic ore. I know this place, the sight of it if not the significance. My dad must have brought me once when I was little. He likes these old ruins, but I never got the appeal and can’t really be bothered to listen as the chaperoning teachers drone on and on about its history. I’ll just take some scans and make a recording to study for the test that’s sure to ensue and call it a day. Better yet, glom some notes off of Elege-- she’s got the good pods, and I know she likes me. Then Sive will glom it off of me. Circle of life.

A boy to my left, Tez Walker, unthinkingly wipes his sticky hands off on his uniform shirt. I watch him with a sort of morbid fascination and when I turn back around Sive’s looking at me like he’s waiting for my input on something.

“Sorry, what’d you say?”

He rolls his eyes, big gray eyes. “My mom wired me some more money so we can go to the video park after school. You in?”

“If you’ve got money to see shows, how come I’m buying your lunch?”

“Come on, I don’t have enough for food and streams and rent.”

I hum a non-answer. “When’s your mom gonna come back anyway? Did she say anything this time?”

He shrugs. “Don’t know. I like living on my own anyway.” So long as nobody knows. It’s not technically legal, even though we’re both almost of age. I’m not even sure how he’s managed to keep it a secret thus far, big-mouth that he is. I might tease but I really don’t want to see him relocated to another district. It feels somewhat inevitable, with this being our last year and all, but I’m not ready to let go just yet.

“I’ll pay for the park if you use some of that money to get an exterminator,” I say, pointing at the reddened welt peaking out above his hip.

He pulls down his shirt with an almost guilty expression and laughs through his teeth. “Stop overreacting, it’s probably just acne.”

I give him a dubious look, and he meets it with another shrug.

“We eat bugs, bugs eat us. It’s only fair.” He flaps around the limp half-sandwich for emphasis.

I growl around a mouthful of my own. “Bugmeat©️ isn’t made of bugs. That’s crazy.”

“Uh huh, I think I see a leg in your teeth.”

I swing around and kick his ankle. “I’ll put a leg in your teeth.”

He laughs. He’s laughing. There’s mustard on the corner of his mouth. Yeah, these are the things I remember.

-----

I’m in study hall going over vocab with Elege when I hear the news. One of the first to know and the last to believe it, and even then I don’t trust the way the others tell it. Sive has been in fights before, I know, but only because some kids go out of their way to pick on him. They see his face and his towering stature and it makes them think there’s something to prove there. But while you wouldn’t know it to look at the two of us, I’ve always been the one to squash ticks and spiders for him while he squirms. I can’t imagine him breaking anyone’s nose, especially not without a good reason.

I want to talk to him, to get the truth, but he’s sent home on the spot and when I try to call him after class all he gives me are these curt half-answers and a warning.

“Don’t come over,” he says. He tells me I was right. There’s something in his apartment, roaches or rats or maybe some crossbred mutation of the two. Whatever they are, they're big and they’re bloodthirsty and he doesn’t want me to risk getting bit.

“If your apartment is infested you need to tell someone,” I urge him.

“If I do that, they’ll realize I’ve been living alone and try to move me. This place might be a shithole, but it’s my home.”

“What are you gonna do then?”

There’s a sound in the background of the call, like something heavy being dragged across the floor.

“Don’t worry,” he says. “I’ll take care of it.”

Over the days that follow I keep trying to reach Sive and eventually he agrees to meet me somewhere, just not the apartment. He hasn’t finished taking care of it, I guess.

We’ve been scoping out some of the abandoned buildings in the area for a while now, looking for a suitable lair. I first had the idea after we saw this show about urban explorers and modern treasure hunters scouring the skeletons of infested districts in their glimmering kevlar. One night at the park I even manage to glom a few episodes when no one’s looking and save them to my pod.

There’s this one part: One of the crew is walking in a precarious spot when the plates shift suddenly and clamp down around his ankle, crushing it until it more resembles sausage wrung out of its casing than anything human. The man screams and one of his teammates quickly cauterizes the flowering stump with a hot blade. He cleans and binds it and they keep moving, because staying put is more dangerous than pushing on with a missing limb. Sometimes when I’m restless at night, I mute that episode and play it on loop until I fall asleep.

All this to say, it’s not such a surprise when Sive tells me to meet him at the old annex attached to the east wing of the school. Supposedly they used to hold art classes and things like that over there before it got too expensive for them to keep it up. The few remaining cameras are in poor repair and the back entrance is mangled and rusty, making for easy entry. Sometimes the local pests will try to bite you there, but things will try to bite you everywhere and a thick pair of socks resolves the issue well enough. That’s the place where we’ll meet.

But that’s not how it happens. I push past the broken lock with ease and call his name, to no answer. There’s a pink twilight settling over the campus, refracting through tall tinted panes of stained glass. I walk from one end of the building to the other until I come upon the old music room, nothing left inside it but a dusty grand piano and shards of crystalline debris that crunch under my feet. The classroom is/was built like a fishbowl, windows all along the hallway so visitors could look in on the students without letting out the music.

I pick up one big piece of glass and hold it up to the light, but when I turn it around I only see myself, staring darkly. I wait and I wander, but it’s always just me. I leave when it begins to grow dark and I hear something moving in the empty halls.

-----

That’s one thing I remember. Here’s another:

I’m walking from the bus stop with Sive, just Sive. Just us. His eyes are bright and bruised with red. There’s a new cluster of those little bumps crawling up the far side of his neck, but he keeps that side of himself turned away from me. My parents aren’t home yet and I don’t have any plans so I walk with him all the way to his building.

It’s a squat concrete cube with littler cubes inside it, just like any of them. There’s some moss or lichen or something growing in the cracks, and at this time of night it looks almost like mold.

“Do you want to go inside?” I ask, when he lingers on the steps.

He shakes his head, silent in the way he never is. Something's clearly weighing on him. We go around the back to the parking garage and climb up onto the overhang. Sitting here, on a clear night like tonight, you can see everything from the Bug Burger to the distant radio tower. The moon sits bloated and bulging against the city skyline, an egg sac fit for bursting. Sive scratches the back of his knee. Our twin breaths turn to ghosts in the February air.

Sive turns and asks me, “Do you know what you’re going to do after graduation?”

“I guess.” My parents both went to the same college when they were my age, so I’ll be going there too. No reason not to turn down any advantage I can get. My grades aren’t bad, but they aren’t great either, and neither is our area code. “Did you pick a school?”

He doesn’t answer, which is an answer in and of itself. I try to change the subject and wind up spitting out the first thing I can think of.

“Have you heard from your mom?”

“No.” He won’t elaborate.

“When are you coming back to school?”

“Soon.”

“Did you really fight those guys?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

Sive looks at me annoyed and instead of answering he says, “A counselor talked to me the day I got suspended. Did you know that?”

I don't. I didn’t.

“I was leaving the principal’s office and she took me aside and told me that with my record I might want to consider a future in security.”

My breath seizes in my chest. Suddenly I feel like I’m the one who was punched. “But you’re not gonna do it, right?”

The pause that follows feels like an eternity. “Nah, of course not,” he lies.

This isn’t actually the first time we’ve spoken about this, I recall. One night, after a particularly rough exam, he says something like, “At this rate I should just volunteer for security.” It’s a careless sentence, a tactless joke, but I laugh or pretend to laugh, assured he means nothing by it.

“It’ll turn around,” I tell him, and in the moment, I mean it with all my heart.

-----

On the day Sive returns to school, he gets written up for a uniform violation. I never know for sure why. Could be anything, an untucked shirt or an ink stain seeping through his pocket. Laundry and mending costs money, money that I know he doesn’t have since he stopped letting me buy him lunch. I try, but when I bring it up he says he hasn’t been hungry, and as improbable as it sounds I don’t think it’s a lie, at least not entirely. He must have found something else to eat.

We don’t talk about it. We don’t talk about it at all.

-----

“I don’t love you, not like a partner, maybe like a brother. I’ve never had a brother, or any siblings for that matter. It’s always been just me. Except not really. No one is ever really alone. All you have to do is look around, look inside. Inside, there’s all this movement, all this warmth. And you see? That’s the cause of it all. It was in us from the start. It’s not even just the food we eat or the shows we watch, it has always been there.

“Did you know? I returned to our meeting place, that great vestigial organ, but I don’t think you could see me. You only saw your own reflection. It almost made me doubt that you were ever there at all. I don’t love you, but if you asked, I’d do just about anything for you. We didn’t used to need to ask, but right now, I really wish you would.”

-----

I don’t see my friend much these days. Weeks pass, then months. Sometimes he comes to school, enough to keep the threat of investigation at bay, but-- and I don’t know how to explain this, but even when he’s here he’s also not. Or maybe he is, and he’s just hiding from me.

I keep looking for him right up until the final day, but even then we’re divided by class and I can’t pick out his face in the crowd of all our classmates. We file into the gymnasium where someone’s set up a little wooden stage with a scuffed red carpet draped over the frame and opened all the doors, filtering out some of the stifling, sweaty air and letting in the summer scents of hot asphalt mingling with freshly laid turf.

It’s a bit embarrassing to admit I don’t remember much of my highschool graduation. It seems like one of those things you’re supposed to remember, to hold and cherish years down the line, but in the moment all I know is it’s hot and crowded and I am painfully bored. The principal and vice principal stand up and give some speech while the students fiddle impatiently with their heavy, itchy robes. A girl standing in front of me quickly applies another layer of makeup to a bubbling red patch of acne on her chin. I watch her for longer than I like to admit before tearing my eyes away to search for Sive again.

He’s nowhere to be seen, but he has to be here. No one misses graduation because no one doesn’t graduate, no matter what other infractions they may have committed. My name is called, I receive my diploma, and that’s all. I return to my place and wait. I wait for one thing even as I tumble blindly towards another.

As the ceremony crawls to a close, the principal returns to the lectern at the center stage. He says,

“Before we wrap things up, I have one final announcement. This year a number of our graduates will honor their community by volunteering for the city security tract. Will the following students please come to the stage.”

My heart pounds. I know before I know, still I don’t start screaming until I hear his name get called. The animal grief punctures my lungs and bleeds out my throat in a rushing torrent, clawing and scraping. My classmates and their families all around me barely seem to react. At most they exchange some fleeting glances of pity and annoyance as I fall to my knees.

Someone touches my shoulders, to comfort or to quiet, then I’m being dragged away. Someone or many someones; I don’t know but I like to think I put up a fight. If I try hard enough, it might turn out different this time.

-----

I have this recurring nightmare sometimes. In it, I see myself, or the figment of myself projected into my own mind by an outside eye. Through that narrow watery lens, I see it/me standing in a beam of light. I’m hosting one of those nighttime shows where they used to read the lotto numbers. There’s a big lottery spinner made up of opaque, milky polygons and it tumbles with a sound like chattering teeth.

I turn the crank around and around and when the device finally spins to a stop it flails in my direction a sort of wet nozzle appendage whose shape reminds me of a shower head. I wrap my hands around its vermiform neck and wring a number from the puckered opening, but when I hold up the little white ball to call the winner, the number begins to morph and multiply into a string of numbers, and letters, and symbols I don’t recognize. I can’t divine the meaning and so I start to cry.

The ball splits open.

-----

NO NO NO NO STOP STOP IT NO NO NO STOP NO

-----

Ears ringing, vision swimming, I can barely make out my friend’s face as he steps out onto the stage. I writhe, I howl. I try to make him change his mind. Surely it’s not too late, I think. And I’m sure he hears me. He turns toward the crowd and as I’m pulled through the double doors I desperately will him to see me. He never meets my gaze.

Anyway, that’s all I remember. That, and one other thing but I promise, it will not bring you satisfaction.

-----

After I complete my first semester, I catch a train and vow to spend at least a few days pretending to enjoy my winter break back home before I ultimately retreat into the cradle of my studies. It’s strangely nostalgic to be here, even though chronologically speaking I haven’t actually been gone for very long. Time holds no dominion over feeling, however, no matter what people might tell you.

I am changed. I know that, I think I do. It’s all subjective I guess but the way I speak, the way I carry myself, even the way I dress has changed-- more pale patterned shirts, less muddy sneakers. My mom says I’m just in the process of acclimating myself to college life, that she went through the same thing when she was my age, and I don’t really have much choice but to believe her. Call it growing pains, I guess. Call it a new chapter, a fresh start. Call it anything that keeps you comfortable while you roll around in bed at night.

As I walk around the place I’ve known all my life, I find myself mesmerized by the sight of my white breath dissolving against the cornflower blue sky. I can’t remember the last time I saw a sky so clear. Maybe it’s that succoring sense of reminiscence that draws me back to the grounds of my old highschool. More realistically, it’s probably something to do with my recent change in medication. I’m technically not supposed to be walking alone like this yet; my head gets all fuzzy and I’m liable to get confused. The past bleeds into the present and back and forth and back again like a swinging pendulum, although that analogy, I realize, attaches an impression of consistency to the idea that the reality rarely lives up to.

It’s not all bad though. My focus has improved, and I’m sleeping less but I don’t feel as tired. My math scores have gone up by an average of seven points.

The path is still so familiar to me I could walk it blind, and I don’t realize just where I’ve come until I’m standing outside the front gate. It’s locked, for obvious reasons. Upon a second glance I notice that the school buildings themselves look quite different than I remember them. The dilapidated annex has finally been torn down for one thing. Disappointing. I linger regardless, tracing the perimeter, trying to put a name to this distant feeling of unease.

A shadow passes over my eyes and I smell rot. Rounding a corner I see a cluster of massive, chittering vermin gnawing on the fence where it’s gone red from oxidation. From a distance, from the right angle, their undulating black backs make it look as though the pavement is breathing.

Distantly, I know I should be afraid, but the fear doesn’t quite make it through the veil. One insectoid catches sight of me and rears back, flaring its rear wings and giving me a gurgling hiss of warning.

Before I can react, a security drone-- one of the Angel series, if I’m not mistaken-- descends upon the vermin and carves through them a gory swath of bright pink gristle. Their scattered serrated bits stay twitching where they lay. Some other dispatch from city security will be by in time to clean up the remains.

The bugs are getting so much bigger than they used to be. I have a theory about that actually, but there’s no one I feel like telling it to. It’s sad. This used to be a nice neighborhood.

The Angel series are still a pretty new breed, a hot commodity, recently introduced to the district in the wake of some new hives popping up. It’s honestly fascinating to see one up close like this, and more than a little frightening. At least eight feet of perfect patented genes, of muscle and metal, circuits like the most delicate seams running up the length of its thick fibrous limbs.

It starts to walk away, its work complete, and suddenly I feel this pressing need to stop it. It’s indescribable, the need, an emotion so strong after blank, dreamlike months that it's like a physical probing in my lower stomach. I stagger and trip in my haste, scraping the palm of my hand where I catch myself. The scent of blood emboldens some more common pests, tiny slug-like masses that poke up their pulsing head through the cracks and wriggle from the ground to get a taste. The drone exterminates them with ease as well. All the while I am searching the impassive Angel’s face for some sign of emotion, of recognition.

Bioengineering isn't exactly my field, but I’m not stupid. No, stupid's not the word-- naive. I know it may likely be only a small part of him in there, if anything at all, split into individual strands and laced throughout the makeup of a dozen distinct living machines. Security is very efficient, threshing away the superfluous husk of personality and, like a pot of simmering fat, rendering their creations down to the most basic, most useful parts. Only then are the fresh-cooked soldiers that come out the other side of this procedure truly ready to protect us.

There’s no reason to believe whatever shred of him that remains should know me. Still, selfish creature that I am, I stare into his/its featureless not-face and I search for my friend one more time. I search for big lip-curling smiles, patchy teenage stubble, gray eyes bright with laughter or tears. I would have him any way. I would have him on the worst days: dirty and hungry, bruised and bloodied and bug-bitten. I could even love him, I think. I could love him.

“Sive?” I ask. There’s a quiet rasp to my voice, a wavering uncertainty that shames me even now.

The Angel does not respond, but neither does it turn away.

“Look at me,” I beg, staring into my own reflection in the darkened visor. “Look at me.”

Another few drones drop down across the green, summoned by a signal from their kin. There’s a distressed civilian in need of escort. Of course, of course. These chimerical android creatures are almost completely identical, masses of matching sinew growing like vines around the mass-produced metal hulls, and nothing throbbing inside them but a singular purpose. I realize, abruptly, my foolishness and allow myself to be herded off the premises.

I’d like to say I looked back. Someone like me, forever sick with sentiment? Of course I would look back. That’s not what this is though. This is not closure. This is not an ending, not an exit or an epilogue. The food chain we worshiped back then was as immutable as it was self-serving, a rare form of autocannibalism that feeds everyone and nourishes no one. These still-twitching remains are, as I well know, just a memory.

#writeblr #short fiction #horror #surreal #scifi #original fiction #my writing #dystopia

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chuckaf · 4 years ago

Text

this is me trying | a chuck/sarah fic

summary: Set not long post-series. After leaving to find herself, Sarah returns home, realizing that all the answers she sought were in a little apartment in Echo Park all along.

i know i've already posted a few anniversary things today lol, but since i just posted this fic over on ffn and it's short enough to post in full here which is rare for me lol, i figured i'd share it too. just a little post-series thought or two, inspired by taylor swift, ofc.

ffn link

I've been having a hard time adjusting I had the shiniest wheels, now they're rusting I didn't know if you'd care if I came back I have a lot of regrets about that Pulled the car off the road to the lookout Could've followed my fears all the way down And maybe I don't quite know what to say But I'm here in your doorway

I just wanted you to know That this is me trying I just wanted you to know That this is me trying

The courtyard is familiar to her, somehow. Safe. The only memories she has of it are from the brief, painful time she was here those months ago, but there's an inherent sense within her mind, a comfort, as she steps onto the stone. The fountain, the trellises, the flowers all around- they are known, to her.

Something being known is a sensation she's very unfamiliar with, after all this time.

Months ago, she'd kissed her husband on a cold January day, on a very important beach, the wind whipping around them with all their desperate hopes. She'd felt him pour everything into the embrace, try with all his might to pass his memories onto her through just his lips, all his softness and his heat and his love. And despite every logical rational thought within her, as Chuck had tried out his friend's silly, thoughtful idea, a tiny bit of hope had sparked in Sarah's chest that maybe, maybe the kiss would work.

It hadn't.

And, more hurt by that than she'd wanted to admit, she'd repeated to Chuck that she needed to go. To find herself, to readjust, work out who she is, was, what her place could be in this world. A world she barely knew. She'd had the perfect, complicated, real and loving life, and Sarah Walker, assassin, enforcer, couldn't figure out how she was meant to be in it anymore. The square peg did not fit.

Chuck didn't even ask her to stay. He didn't plea, didn't beg, didn't soothe her with platitudes they both knew would be false and left wanting. He just nodded, broken and understanding as ever, and he let her go, to maybe see her again, maybe never. At the time, she wasn't sure which of those it would be, either.

With recent memories torn from her, she'd followed the things she could recall, from before all this. She suppresses a snort as she rounds the courtyard fountain, thinking on her woefully unsuccessful travels.

First, she'd gone to Paris, for scattered thoughts about her Red Test as well as the knowledge Chuck had given her about the new memories there. The same street as that awful night she can at least recall, the gun in her hand, jewelry on the ground. The bridge by the cathedral where one Agent Shaw had fallen to what they'd thought was his death. Chuck had killed him: his first kill, first true shot with a real bullet. And it had been to save her. They'd fallen in love years before, Chuck had told her, but they'd fallen once more in that city.

Then to Saint-Tropez, with a call to an old friend always game for a party. They'd danced and drank and reminisced, but Sarah had seen throughout it all the sadness in her friend's eyes, the sympathy. She'd felt like she was some blatant, visible scar, something someone can't help but look on with sad acknowledgement, even from her lightest, eternally easy-going friend. She hadn't known Carina had been a bridesmaid at her wedding until the other woman had admitted it, in the middle of a club, and said she couldn't pretend things were fine any longer.

To Lisbon, next, and thoughts of Bryce. Bryce, the cause of all this, the lynchpin of the last five years. Or perhaps the fulcrum. The center of it, the key piece in both her and Chuck's lives that brought them together, those years ago. Bryce, who thought of others but always through himself, never consulting those he made choices for. He didn't trust her- she'd thought he'd gone rogue. Chuck had told her it had been an assignment, told her how Bryce truly died just a few years later. How his old friend had once more been the reason Chuck had downloaded the Intersect, a second time, because Bryce simply couldn't. He'd bled out on a white room floor.

To D.C., home of headquarters, secret offices and bland boardrooms, home of the apartment she'd once owned and tried to live in between missions, never able to settle, always waiting for a call from Graham to send her god knows where. Graham, who recruited her as a child. Graham, killed in another white room. The same kind of room she'd pulled a gun on her husband in, threatened Morgan in, almost killed them all in.

Sarah doesn't think she'll trust the color white again.

And then to her mother, her arms soft and comforting. To the baby, Molly, a whole person now, a bright, wonderful child with a wicked skill at Mario Kart. And to yet more sadness behind the eyes, the sympathy at all Sarah has lost. Her mother sent her best regards for Chuck, muttered an off-hand thought that she must visit him soon, that Molly misses him.

In every place, every stop, every desperate attempt to find who she is, what her life is, was, could be, all Sarah thought about was Chuck. And as her mother offered her thoughts to her son-in-law, the spy, the enforcer, the wife, had realized something; after all the travelling, all the searching, it had hit her.

She was wrong.

Finding herself, trying to work out who she is, that was simply running from the problem, the real issue at hand. The real hurt. Which is her husband, still in LA, in the same old apartment, with the same old courtyard and the same old fountain, holding all those missing memories.

After leaving her Mom, Sarah had gotten a car, driven straight to Echo Park. While she felt the pull to lose herself in all this, drown herself in sorrow, in questions, in self-doubt and self-flagellation for her actions, she'd known one thing above all. She needs to see Chuck.

And so here she is.

Swallowing, she finishes the walk up to the door. Once more, it's familiar, somehow. Known. Just a regular old door, behind which waits her whole world.

She raises a hand. Knocks. Thinks absentmindedly that she should've called.

But then the door is opening and there he stands. In jeans, a t-shirt, a striped hoodie over it, Converse on his feet. His hair's a little longer than she last saw it, curling at the edges at the front. That sort of sight is known, too, a distant hazy recollection. Maybe she once brushed a curl from his forehead in this very courtyard.

"Sarah..." he breathes, and she meets his eyes, sees the disbelief there, the grief, the shock. "I... Your mom called and said you might come here, I- I didn't know..."

"I should've called." she says, repeating the thought, that she shouldn't have let her mother be an early-warning for them both, but Chuck shakes his head quickly, roughly, taking a step closer.

"No, no, it's okay."

She swallows, nods a little, and he lifts the corners of his lips in what she can tell is a desperate try at a smile. The sight simply makes her fold her arms over her chest, tug on the cuffs of the sleeves of her shirt.

"I..." Although she's here, although she's started, she suddenly realizes she has no idea what to say. "I... was wrong."

It's a start. Chuck raises an eyebrow, says nothing, and his still-listening silence encourages her more than she thinks he knows.

"I didn't... I thought that leaving would let me find myself, but... Being out there, it felt just as foreign to me as being here did. I can't- I don't know who I am, anywhere, anymore."

He frowns, brow furrowing, but she sees his eyes glisten more, his lip tremble a little. It tugs on something innate within her, a need to comfort him. She holds back, for now.

"Okay." he says, accepting her admission. She keeps going.

"I traveled, a lot. Went to some places you'd told me about, some others I remembered. I'd hoped something would feel like home. But nothing..." Shaking her head, she takes a deep breath. Forces herself to look at him, really look at him, take him in. Her husband. "I realized that I wouldn't find home out there. Because I know now that, no matter where I go, if it's not with you it's never going to be home. It took me months to figure it out, but you're my home, Chuck."

He blinks. And then his face crumbles, stray tears falling from his eyes; she feels the tug again. Watching, she sees him pull himself together, bark out a wet laugh and brush the tears away swiftly with the backs of his hands.

"You've, uh, you've said that before," he murmurs, and she frowns. That he'd remember it so strongly, just four words, lets her know it was something important. She can't help but wonder what led her to realize and say such a thing once, after it took so long to dawn on her, to muster up the courage this time around. But before she can ask, he keeps going. "So... what are you doing here, what are you gonna do, now you know that?"

And that is the real question. The whole reason she's here. She tugs on her sleeve cuffs again, straightens her spine.

"I don't know if you would even want me here, but-" Tears bloom in her own eyes, suddenly, thickening her throat, blurring her vision, and she forces herself to keep going. "But I'm trying. This, here, me being here right now, this is me trying, for us. For me to be here, home, with you."

In front of her, on his doorstep, he simply looks at her. She is laid bare, her soul out there before him. She knows she's asking a lot, asking everything. To try, for him to let her try, with them. She may never remember. They may always have this pain hanging over them. She may mess up, hurt him, struggle relying so completely on him, being so constantly open and married and real- she's sure she will, even. It's a huge ask.

But she's trying.

She waits, wondering what he'll say, god, if he'll just tell her no, it's too hard, it's been too long, and she'll have to walk back out of this familiar courtyard and return to a strange, blurred world, with eyes of sympathy and sadness and a mind always thinking of him. But then he nods, lip trembling once more.

"Of course I want you," he presses out, sounding so choked, like he can't say much else, but he manages one more thing. "C'mere."

He opens his arms.

And she falls into him, falls into his love and embrace and his grace, and she lets him hold her as they weep, in their doorway. Just being there in his arms, she knows she's home.

#chuck #chuck fic #chuck x sarah #nbcchuck #mine #tswiftchuck #:')#these aren't my solid headcanons on what happens post 5x13 bc those often vary #but the song led me here and ooft.

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a-small-flame-in-a-dark-land · 5 years ago

Text

The Time Between Us (7)

Chapter 7: Chains in my heart

I'M BACKKK

Firstly, I'm so so so sorry for disappearing for so long. I was in deep depression last year and finally have the guts to write again. I'm sorry.

There're many reasons, well, I feel bad of myself in everything: studying, works, family, friends,...I even felt my English has gone worse and I felt I shouldn't write anymore. It's been complicated. But I'm here now. I started reading books again, I've been doing some researches about fantasy worlds and many of them really did cheered me up.

Anyways have fun reading!

Words: 3k8

*gifs not mine

Links to other parts 1 2 3 4 5 6

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“Erza! You’re okay!” Approaching Natsu and Erza is the blonde hair girl. She looks worried and terrified.

“Everyone was so worried for you.” The girl next to her cries.

They all gather around the two, cheer up, cry and give each other tight hugs. Because Natsu and Erza are safe and reunite with their comrades, I return to my job to collect the Core of Tower of Heaven and erase its leftovers on the sea. By that no one from The Magic Council can find. As I’m nearly finish, a voice rings from behind.

“Hey.” I turn back and here comes the scarlet hair girl.

“Hi.” I say.

“Well I..we want to thank you for saving us.” She says as Natsu comes along. With his suspicious face, of course.

“It’s nothing. Things happened and I had to do what is right.” I smile.

“Don’t say that. At first I doubted, but….well, Natsu told me what you did when I fainted. I really appreciate your help. I think we can be friends.”

Friends? It’s been a long time since I heard that word. 3 years ago? I wonder why there’s a little bit of creepiness crawling under my skin when hearing that. Don’t even know if I’m worth to befriend with anyone anymore, after I deceived my only one.

“Yeah, I don’t know if we can. ” I keep rambling myself when the last piece of The Tower is collected and forms a ball of crumbs and ready to be sent to Hell through a hole opening in the ocean below.

“What are you doing?” The voice of the boy.

“Cleaning the mess.” I say. And when they give each other unknowing looks and then turn to me, I can’t hold my giggle. “It’s a long story of mine. But you don’t want to know, I assume. And for now you guys are no acquaintance to me as I am to you, our destiny is nothing outside this Tower. We helped each other to get out and it stops at that. Then we part ways. Just know that I’m no harm to you and we’re done.” I turn around and give them my goodbye, ready to leave.

“Wait, please.” Erza says. “At least let us treat you, you saved us and I won’t just walk away from anyone who did me a favor. In fact, I really appreciate what you did even though you said our destiny is nothing outside the Tower and I will regret a lot if you don’t let me return the favor, Lucerna. Destiny or not, our meeting means something and I know you’re a good person so let’s have some times to know each other.”

I sigh. If I let her, I will lose track of Jellal anytime, but even now looking for him when just getting out after years of capturing is a total challenge. They’ve fled and my power is still as crumble and uncontrolled as the fallen Tower. I need time to recollect myself anyways. Spending time with them seems not a bad idea after all, I need to regain my power and prepare for the mission. So I just nod and smile. But maybe to Erza and her comrades, that’s all they need to brighten up and come at me.

“Great! Now let’s get back to our place. I’m Lucy, Lucy Heartfilia. And you’re Lucerna right? Nice to meet you.” The blond hair girl pops out from nowhere and smiles friendly and gives out her hand. I shake it and smile back.

“Nice to meet you too, Lucy. I’m Lucerna. Lucerna Vandil.”

But to everyone’s dismay, they’re too tired to have a group chat after the fight so most of them sleep immediately after having a short meal. Especially Natsu, the blue cat and the dark hair boy Gray who I just get to know soon after. Despite the organized beds, they finish the meal and roll on the floor and then all I can hear is their snoring. And the girl names Juvia, she says something to Lucy and Erza and then disappears before I even have a glimpse of her. Only Lucy, Erza and I are still up. I ask.

“You two aren’t tired?”

“Yes, but not as these boys, we’re not as badly beaten up as them. Besides, I was in deep unconscious when Natsu got me out so I guess I rested enough. Just go sleep first. I’ll watch out for everyone.” Erza gives a nervous laugh. Lucy pats her shoulder and smiles.

“Don’t be like that. Everyone was so worried for you but we aren’t mad. You just keep on apologizing like that all the time?”

“No, but I’m… It’s my fault drowning myself in the Tower after all.” Erza says.

“Erza, I’m telling you again. This whole thing is no one’s fault. If there is, that’s because of those we faced in the Tower. They hurt you and we cannot let them do anything to you again. We’re friends remember?”. Lucy says while giving Erza her beautiful smile and what aches me more is that it reminds me about none other than the untold reminisce I failed to protect, which led me to the Tower.

Friends?

Is that what they usually have after getting through hard times together?

Until now seeing the friendship before me that I realize how badly and deeply The Power of Tower of Heaven have demolished my feeling for 3 years of being captured. Now I no longer feel like wanting to get to know anyone as letting them to get close to me. Close enough to know the real me that I’ve lost. Now I don’t know anymore. The only thing I need to do as soon as I get away from these people is finding Jellal and finish my mission and then return to the King. I should have----

“Lucerna!” A sudden voice wakes me from rolling in my own thoughts. It’s Lucy’s.

“Eh?”

“You were zoning out.” She laughs.

“My apologize. What did you ask me about?”

“I’m saying that since we don’t have more time until sunrise so why don’t we all rest for now? And then let’s have some time tomorrow? When will you have to go?” She yawn.

“When the first light of the day comes out.”

“That rush? Sorry that we took your time. I didn’t think we would be this worn out. I really want to spend more time with you and I even think about taking you for a walk to our place. It would be wonderful, if you don’t mind.”

I look at the clock. It’s already midnight. And both of the girls seem too exhausted to talk anymore.

“I’m sorry but I really have to go. Please rest, you two. Or you won’t be able to get yourselves up tomorrow. We’re already exhausted.”

“Yeah you’re right.”

Erza turns off the lights. Then she comes lie next to me and before I close my eyes, she says.

“Hey. I know that we just met and you seem like don’t wanna share anything to us despite the fact that we talked the most all the time but,...well it’s okay, too. You can keep your secret. We don’t want to intrude your private memories. But please know that around us you don’t need to withdraw yourself. Just be yourself. We trust you because you helped us. We’re no enemies. So there’s nothing to worry about okay?”

She reaches out to me under the blanket and hold my hand.

“It’s terrible to know that you were captured in the Tower for like, 3 years? Those must be unforgettable memories. I understand because I was at that Tower too, when I was a child, until we broke free. And as you said Destiny led us back to The Tower for a mission and we met. But I’m glad you’re free now. I guess if you will leave soon at dawn, this is our goodbye.”

No, Erza. I’m not free. The chains in the Tower are broken, but the chains in my heart are not. Not now. Not ever when all my soul will soon belong to the demons. I’m a criminal and I don’t deserve all the love in this world.

“It happened in year X781.”

“What?”

I lower my voice only for her to hear.

“I did things I should not. I got many unrelated people involved in my wrong doings. And I betrayed a friend. All of that led to the reason why I was imprisoned and forced to work under their watch in order to create the Tower. Erza, you’re such a good person. But please don’t try to befriend me. You don’t know me. And I don’t know you. There’s something I really have to do after this. If not, I can never payback the sins in my past.”

“If you insist. But I still don’t see anything wrong to get close to you. I feel it. You saved us, Lucerna. And I’m definitely sure that’s deserve a life lasting friendship for us. I know that Natsu, Lucy, Happy and Gray would feel that too. So, if nothing bad happens and when you’re done, can we meet again? We’re mages of Fairy Tail in Magnolia. You know where to find us.”

“If we meet again. I’ll spend time with you guys.” I tighten our hands. “I’m glad we get to know each other.”

That’s true. If there’s another chance, I guess.

As expected, Jellal has fled. There’s only little of his scent left which is at 30 km from the previous placement of Tower of Heaven. In two days I follow his scent and when the city I stayed the night before is nowhere behind that I recognize I was led to the mountains in the northwest of Ishgar.

In those mountains, the weather is cold and air is so thin I can barely breath. I spend 2 hours searching for him around the place where his scent is the strongest but to my discomfort the scent is also as thin as the air and it keeps floating around instead of leading me to Jellal. Why is that?

There’s only a few hours left until all the air in my lungs disappear. Nightfall makes things harder. Geez. I breath slower and lighter while touching the earth below and speak.

Se kaló. Chaménes psychés

Here come the crumbling earth, shaking trees and flying souls of the death in the mountain. The souls, they know everything, but unknown to the world. I might ask them about Jellal.

When I was young and still living with my brother and the Dragons, I was scared and screamed my lungs out the first time my mother dragon showed me what people would be when they died. They become souls. Or people normally call “Ghost”, and my brother would always told me ghost stories just to scare the crap out of me. Mother Dragon said some souls find the right way and were taken to another life. But to some, they cannot let go of their past and become the white souls who still exist around us. The ghost in my brother’s stories are dark souls who sold themselves to the demons, they made contract to one or many of the demons so that they can have what they desire. But once they do, their soul cannot be free after death and they belong to the demons. Most people of the dark souls are mages because only the mages have power to summon demons. Those kind of souls exist for the only reason: scare the shit out of people and drain their lives to get stronger and become devils of Hell. Because of that the magic from dark souls are the most powerful.

In Ishgar there are dragons born within the magic of the souls and can control the power of them. But those dragons are very rare and choosing the humans who will inherit their power and become Dragon Slayer is even harder. I don’t know why and when did my dragons find my brother and me. I just know that they raised us, Hibernis and Lucerna Vandil, the twin orphans, since we were born. And then one day when I tried the final level of Soul Magic I lost control and let the dark souls took over. I didn’t know what happened next. When I woke up they’re all gone. My parents and my big brother. It was when I was still 7 years old and never had been outside the forest we were living. Everything happened in year X777. I went everywhere to find him and our parents. I lost, I had no evidence of them. Finally I ran out of energy and food and ended up outside Redwoods Guild. One of the reason I chose to stay and work for the former Master is that he had the Power of Vision and can help me find my parents and brother, under one condition that I must work for him with all my loyalty. It’s stupid, I was stupid but at that time there’s nothing I wanted other than finding my family so I agreed with him. Then he showed me what inside the Eye. But there was darkness and blood smell. He told me that they died. I didn’t believe him and told him he was lying. But he showed me the day that I lost control and destroyed everything along with my family. I had to believe that because only I knew what happened that day. I had to believe him that I killed them. And for 6 years I was living in hell with guilt. And I---

“You’re drowning, Miss. Please wake up.”

I gasp and realize I was rambling to myself. Someone pats my shoulder and when I turn around I recognize a white soul is trying to give me some air because my lungs are dried. It says.

“Summoning the souls while you can’t control your breath is very risky, Miss Lucerna.”

“Thank you. And I’m sorry. I’m looking for a man names Jellal. His soul is tainted and he’s very powerful. He a mage using magic of the stars. ” I say.

“If you look for him here, then you’re lost. He’s left for a day.”

“What? But this place is reeked of him.”

“He was here. But he used magic so his scent remains as long as possible. He knows you’re tracking him. I’m sorry miss Lucerna. But the man you are looking for has returned to the magic Council. And his magic has disappeared ever since, he must have closed himself and been in deep slumber to maintain power. It’s impossible to track down Jellal right now, you shall wait until his magic awake again.” Another soul speak.

“GOD DAMN IT.” I groan. Great. Now that man is where I hate most. No one can enter The council and get out in one piece. Not when there are traps and guards every corner and even the members are ten times powerful than Jellal. I can’t risk myself.

“I understand. Thanks a lot. Apolýo.”

The light of the souls glow and then all disappears into dust.

I did not try to go to the Council. Not until my strength is still weak and can easily go berserk as that day. Instead I successfully found a big cave under the mountains where there’s a waterfall which flows from the outside. The fantastic thing is that this waterfall contains a large amount of energy which is surprisingly compatible with me. It must be from the souls of the mountains. I need to stay here and regain my magic. I have the Aspro Stone inside my body and for now it seems the stone’s power is yet to awake. I haven’t learned to adjust with it yet. I don’t know how. I don’t know what would I do if the Stone went exploded as before. Thinking about the incident 3 years ago, I still hate myself. It was terrible. Seriously terrible. Our plans got out of control, my power got out of control and everything led to devastation. If I let that happen again, I wonder what would I become.

I wonder where is Sting now. How has he been doing? How is he? He must be joining a guild. Or is he still traveling alone? Is there anyone beside him?

I miss him.

I miss my family. And Sting.

“If you let your emotion take over. You’ll lose control of yourself, Miss.”

“It’s you. I…I didn’t call you.” I open my eyes and see that they are slowly watering. I blink to get them away. The beautiful white soul that helped me lately is standing before me..

“I’m the oldest in these mountains and I speak for other souls. I died a long time ago, myself has become one with everything here. I can see things, hear things that happens here. I can appear whenever I want because I’m here to protect the mountains, Miss Lucerna. I know who you are and what you’re doing here.”

“I apologize for my rudeness. Please let me stay here for a while, I just got out after 3 years of captivating and this waterfall has the strongest healing power I’ve ever seen. It can heal me.”

“Of course. The waterfall of us contains a rich source of magic that flows through the mountains. Take a bath in the waterfall 3 times a week, your magic will return and much more powerful than before. That is when you keep practicing and making yourself stronger everyday, of course.”

I step into the pool under the waterfall. It is so warm and comfortable. I breath in and relax. After 3 years, this is the first time I feel safe and sound, every aching muscle is slowly coming to life. My back was really tense because of having hung in the wall for a long time, now I’m gradually relaxing.

“Thank you. You’re so kind to me. But why don’t you see me as a threat to your mountain?”

“Every soul can identify who the summoner is through their magic. Most of us used to serve your ancestors since the beginning of milleniums and we vowed to always keep taking care of their children until the world turns to dust. So any children of House Vandil and apprentices of Dornion and Senali The Twins Dragons of Heaven and Hell are welcomed here. Please make yourself at home. ”

It’s been forever since anyone talked about House Vandil, or mentioned the name of dragons that trained my brother and I. So hearing those names strikes me hard like thunder. I sit straight up, freezing despite the hot water and suddenly feel hard to breath.

“You know the Vandils and…and my---”

“I was a historian of your family. They’d ruled their lands spreading wide at the northeast of Ishgar since the dragons were still flying in the sky until hundred years after the Dragon Civil War first broke. Although I’m not expecting another Vandil still lasts these days, I’m surprised you have zero knowledge of your existence.”

This is criticism, isn’t it?

“My parents died when my brother and I were born. The Twin Dragons adopted us. But they never told me or my brother anything about our family. I don’t know we are relating to…some rulers of a country?” I admit.

“Well, dragons can live for centuries. Dornion and Senali had been adopted The Vandil kids and protected as part of the contract between them and the royal family. When War of Dragons began, they continued raising the soon to be rulers until one day the tables turned and your homelands became battle fields. The castle exploded when a dragon blew a huge fireball, no one did survive.”

“But my parents… they lived.”

“And that’s what surprised me. The war happened 400 years ago. Maybe the Twin successfully saved some kids and took care of them in private so the bloodline of House Vandil could be descended. They could’ve protected the later generations until you. They surely loved humans more than any dragons ever did.”

Overwhelmed by the story the soul just shared, I stay in deep silence. I wonder why Dornion and Senali never mentioned this before. Does Hibernis know about this?

“Your story…it’s…”

“Unbelievable?”

“No, of course not. Souls talk from their hearts. I believe you. Actually, I’ve never ever imagined what my family in blood would be like. The dragons told me my parents passed away because of illness and they found us in a dying village. And that’s all. I never…wondered where did my last name come from. I never wondered who they were and now you saying makes me confused, or kinda feeling bad about it. Perhaps because I was happy I’ve already had the dragons and my brother as my family so I never questioned them about House Vandil. But still, I should have, right?”

“You weren’t even born when everything happened so do not feel bad when no one told you, I think they might have reasons. I died a historian and I’ll forever be a historian so, being a spirit or not, my job is telling the truth of history. When House Vandil officially vanished out of the monarch list, I was also dead. So everything I told you about the dragons raising the surviving kids is just me hypothesizing the events by connecting everything I know about The Twin Dragons and House Vandil. They could be wrong, anything can happens, there’s still mysteries to reveal, you know. However, I’m glad a young blood of Vandil still survives today.”

“Thanks. I appreciate what you’ve decided to tell me. What should I address you, Sir…?”

“The dead have no name. But in my whole life I was known as Adorellan Miadithas, I served King Aithlin Vandil, our last and mightiest king of the centuries. We vowed to fight for Atheton, for Kathania Dryas. We vowed to protect our country as long as we can, whether we live or die. We promised to speak the truth and tell our stories to the later generation. We promised to forever be protective to our people, be faithful in love and be loyal in friendship. Today we found a descendant, and we shall transfer promises with our latest king to the one. Lucerna Vandil, apprentice of Dornion and Senali the Twin Dragons of Heaven and Hell. Our homeland was gone, but our people fought till the end. No matter where you are, what you do, do not forget who we are, what we believe and our identity. Please pass this message to the next generation.”

And then, the mountain spirit disappears. And until 3 days later when I regained my magic and ready to leave, he’s not available anymore.

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#fairy tail #fanfiction #fantasy #fairytail #sting x reader #sting eucliffe #sting x oc #natsu dragneel #lucy heartfilia #gray fullbuster #erza scarlett #wendy marvell #happy #eventual smut #fairy tail fanfiction #anime fanfic #fanfic #hiro mashima

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nelvana · 5 years ago

Text

In which the land between time is explored

First [ARC 1]: In which the human is transformed First [ARC 2]: In which a present is prepared Next: In which the tower of time is explored Previous: In which the dungeon with fossil foes is explored

“Hidden Land isn’t that far ahead now,” Giratina’s muffled voice suddenly spoke up, and Alex took the stone out from his bag so the legendary could speak more clearly.

“We know how to get there! Some of us have been there, you know,” Ceebee teased, gliding over to direct her comment to them.

“You have, but it was different then than it is now,” Giratina pointed out.

Ceebee frowned, but then nodded, “…do you wish to direct us then?” she asked, raising a brow.

“If you don’t mind. I believe it will help things go more smoothly through here,” Giratina answered.

“Go ahead, I think we’re all ready to keep going now,” Alex told them.

“Very well. The beginning should be the same as when you were here in the other timeline; go down this hallway, and you’ll find the runes on the back wall,” Giratina instructed.

Following the directions, the group recollected themselves and began heading down the rest of the dark tunnel. Without being prompted, Nelvana relit her club as a torch, stepping up beside Alex and Ceebee to lead everyone through the shadows and down the corridor. Tsuki continued limping slightly, but she turned down any offers to help support her while they walked.

In any case, it didn’t take them long to reach the end. As Nelvana held up the bone, they could see strange markings dug into the wall itself. There was a center circle, which spun out into four swirls. Between the swirls were tall, rectangular shapes that could be mistaken for either an artistic representation of wings or several pillars. With her free hand, Nelvana gingerly ran her fingers along the indents, doing her best to remind herself of the pattern.

“Woah… that’s really cool,” Keahi gasped, “does it mean anything?”

Giratina sighed, “if it does mean anything, that has escaped my memory in this moment. It’s of no matter right now. What does matter, is that this is our gateway to Hidden Land.”

“How does that work?” Damien asked.

“Yeah! I’ve never heard of a dungeon leading to another one,” Edgar chimed in, “like… leading right into another one like this,” he added.

“Hidden Land, is a location between time,” Giratina began, “meaning that it is hidden to all that cannot, in one way or another, pass through time. It is done here through this gateway. If you have the resources to open it, you have what is needed to access Hidden Land, and therefor, Temporal Tower,” they explained, “it is positioned like this by coincidence. Yes, you are correct that dungeons usually don’t place themselves so closely to each other. Hidden Land was created first, when this was an ordinary cave, only using this gateway to be accessed. When Brine Cave began forming, it could not detect the dungeon in such close proximity and only detected the high energy of the area; which the dungeon feeds off of.”

“That makes sense,” Tsuki responded, nodding slowly.

“In any case, that makes this one of the most secure homes for legendaries,” Dusknoir added, “even those who complete Brine Cave must have what is required to pass the gateway to Hidden Land. Which, means that you must pass through three dungeons to get to Dialga. Incredibly secure.”

“What about the meteor then?” Keahi asked, “Alex said that the… shockwave? Of the meteor struck Temporal Tower, and that’s what broke it. Does that not have to pass through the… whole, between time thing?”

“That… is quite the bright question,” Giratina murmured, “I was not… in the area myself when it happened, but I do know that certain energies could still reach Temporal Tower, as while it is still grounded in this plane of existence, despite it hiding itself within time itself. It must still flicker to reality. That is usually not enough for other pokemon to access it, but for something outside of this world to strike it with pure energy… that is a possibility,” they said, “there is, of course, always the possibility of sabotage as well, but that somehow sounds more unlikely.”

“So, not to bother all these interesting questions and answers, how do we get through now?” Ceebee interrupted, “this is what you were talking about when you said things are different now, right? We don’t have the relic fragment with us; that’s what reacted to this and opened it up.”

“Indeed, that is the big difference… there is something else I was considering, but we might not have to worry about that at all. We’ll see; I shall explain if and when we get there,” Giratina responded, “fortunately for us right now, we have you, Ceebee, with us.”

“Me?” Ceebee questioned, blinking. “…can I open this on my own?”

Giratina chuckled, “of course! Any other celebi that has been through here has had to,” they answered, “it may have been slightly more challenging in the dead timeline, I expect, but that was not something you had to worry about with the relic fragment. Currently, you should still have the power to open this for us all to access the Hidden Land,” they continued, “it should be simply focusing your energy on it to open; the same sort of energy you would have had to use to bring me here, except you are opening a gateway and not forming a connection for a spirit to pass through.”

“Those are wildly different things,” Alex pointed out.

“They will use the same sort of energy to do; the very energy that connects you to Dialga and time itself,” Giratina clarified.

“Alright… let’s see what I can do,” Ceebee mumbled.

Stepping back to give Ceebee space, the group watched as the celebi approached the wall, running a hand over the markings like Nelvana had been doing before. Ceebee let her hand linger on the wall, however, closing her eyes as her antennae began twitching slowly, falling into a repeatable pattern. It took a few long, drawn out moments, but then the space under her hand began to glow slightly, as did her antennae, which still moved back and forth. There was another pause after this, but then, suddenly the entire rune swirled into light, the markings lighting up the entire room.

“You did it!” Keahi exclaimed.

“Almost, just keep going,” Giratina instructed.

Ceebee nodded, peeking her eyes open for a moment to glance over at her smiling friends before forcing her focus back to her task as hand. Golden light continued to shine from the markings on the wall, dancing around the rune. It continued to glow, brighter and brighter, until the rock wall cracked. It crumbled apart, the glowing continuing even as the rune was broken to pieces and the stones collected on the floor. Natural light flooded into the tunnel, fresh air sweeping the dust from the room.

“There is it,” Giratina purred, “wonderful job!”

Curious and eager to continue forward, everyone stepped outside to see what laid ahead. They stepped out onto a path of olive-green grass, decorated with some ferns, moss, and flowers growing about. This path, as they found while stepping out, was a large, round platform, and nothing could be seen past it. The sky remained overhead with the sun shining down onto them, but no one could see anything beyond the platform they had stepped out onto.

“Do you see anything?” Giratina asked hastily.

“No…” Alex bit his lip. “Where are we? I don’t see the Hidden Land anywhere.”

Giratina hissed, “that’s what I was afraid of. Please, don’t stare out past where you are, just… focus on the grass,” they instructed, “or close your eyes for now.”

“Where are we?” Dusknoir questioned, more forcefully than when Alex had posed the same question.

“We are in a moment between time, but we are not at the Hidden Land yet,” Giratina told him, “the Hidden Land was easier for you to access in the dead timeline because time was frozen and distorted, making it constantly visible to anyone who gets to this point.”

“So, it’s supposed to be like this?” Ceebee asked, voice wavering for a moment.

“Yes and no. Do not worry, you did nothing wrong,” Giratina responded, “you just need to right us to the same moment as where the Hidden Land holds itself now. Can you try doing that?”

“I don’t know how,” Ceebee whimpered, “I don’t know how I’ve done any of this so far.”

“You’ve been doing amazing so far,” Giratina assured her.

“How will I know if I’m doing it right?” Ceebee asked.

“When we can see the Hidden Land. You may keep your eyes open for it, I recommend that everyone else continue not to look though,” Giratina answered.

“Ceebee,” Alex spoke up, “you’re fine, what you’re doing here is in your blood. We’re all fine, just work at your own pace. We can wait, we’ll be fine. You’re doing great.”

“You can do it, Ceebee, we believe in you,” Nelvana encouraged.

Ceebee nodded quickly, repeating “okay” under her breath as she collected herself again. The rest of the group, following Giratina’s instructions, had either closed their eyes or keep their gazes stubbornly on the grass under their feet. Only Dusknoir glanced up momentarily, unafraid of the warnings Giratina left them. He made eye contact with Ceebee for a few seconds, giving her an assuring nod before he actually closed his eye.

She still felt nervous about the pressure that was put on her, being the only one that was capable of moving them ahead. Though she didn’t like admitting it, her own time related powers had never been that strong. She had never been able to time travel, even now that Dialga wasn’t purposely trying to block her, like they had in the dead timeline, and her being able to have visions of the past or the future were rare and strenuous. Plus, Giratina’s instructions for most to avoid looking into the nothingness ahead made her wonder if this was more dangerous than they were letting on, but she didn’t want to ask if that were the case either.

Regardless, focusing on the encouragement helped her calm down. They all believed in her and were trusting her; and while that did add slightly more pressure since she knew they depended on her in this moment, knowing that there was no doubt in anyone’s mind that she was capable of doing this. And though how even Dusknoir was willing to, albeit silently, assure her that she could do this was mildly confusing from him, the idea that even Dusknoir was putting so much trust into her was, oddly enough, incredibly comforting.

Ceebee turned to the direction where she felt the Hidden Land was; though in the moment she could not sense it terribly well herself. Taking in deep breaths, she began reaching out to see what she could sense. The platform they were currently on carried high energy, and vaguely she could feel the energy stretch out into the distance, a little off from where she was facing. Focusing more, she realized that the energy that was reaching out from their current platform was actually stairs, cut apart through the seconds of time. If she could somehow get the stairs to be in the same time as this platform, they should be able to walk to the Hidden Land; which was what she could only assume the stairs led to.

A pit seemed to form in her stomach again; this was going to require mild time manipulation, something she knew she had never been skilled at, despite her species being born with it. How she wished they had the relic fragment; that item must do all this itself.

The relic fragment.

She almost gasped as the idea hit her. She was also the one who used the relic fragment when they had come here in the dead timeline. It had fascinated her how it worked, and she had paid great attention to the energy it gave off when she applied it to the gateway. Perhaps, by doing her best to remember how that worked, she could mimic it to at least get her started on allowing them to access the Hidden Land.

Focusing once more, Ceebee thought back to the relic fragment, and how the item worked. Recalling exactly how she sensed various energies was a challenge, but she grasped this vague memory, doing her best to apply it to this very moment.

The stairs were built to be messed with, and now as she felt herself growing more confident in herself, it was easier to realize the puzzle of moving them back around to their moment in time. She closed her eyes, focusing on the energies and rather than on what she could see. Sensing how the pieces were to be moved to fit together and allow them to cross to the actual Hidden Land, she was slowly able to work through fixing the stairs for the group.

Despite now finding that she was learning how this worked, Ceebee quickly also realized that this was incredibly draining for her. Was she supposed to feel so tired from doing something so simple? Worry cropped up again, but she shoved it aside. Even if she wasn’t supposed to be drained so much from this, at least she could tell it was working, so she would push through it; they needed this to work.

Finally, she found that she had pushed her own psychic reach out to the Hidden Land itself. Unlike the stairs, however, this location seemed to respond to her before she could think of how to respond to it. She could feel as the dungeon reacted to her poking around, until it suddenly snapped itself to their moment in time without her needing to. Shocked, Ceebee blinked her eyes open, revoking all of her own power.

“Did… Did I do it?” she asked quietly.

Opening his eye again, Dusknoir peered out into the distance, “I see it,” he gasped.

One by one, everyone else carefully opened their own eyes and followed Ceebee and Dusknoir’s gazes. Far out into the sky, they could see another platform. It was difficult to make out from so far away, but it was still clearly larger than where they currently stood, and they could make out some sort of rocky structures on it.

“Well done!” Giratina praised.

“I hate to put a bump in this cheery moment, but how are we supposed to get there?” Damien questioned hesitantly.

“There should be… stairs,” Ceebee trailed off as she looked down; the stairs she worked so hard to bring together were nowhere to be seen.

Before anyone else could think to speak, Ceebee carefully glided downwards, off the platform. She landed on some sort of invisible platform, and after making sure her footing was secure, she stepped forward, still walking on solid ground. With each step she took, the stairs flickered between being visible and then disappearing from sight again, but no matter what, they remained sturdy.

“Woah... That’s funky,” Damien commented.

“The stairs are invisible?” Giratina asked.

“Yes, but they still seem to work,” Ceebee answered, “should we be safe to keep going, or is there the risk of them disappearing again?”

“If you believe that they are secure, they should not disappear so long as you continue traveling through here and the Hidden Land,” Giratina assured her, “you should all be careful, but the stairs won’t be going anywhere.”

“I don’t believe that anything is wrong with them,” Tsuki chimed in.

To prove her point, Tsuki walked onto the invisible stairs as well. They did not flicker like when Ceebee walked on them, but still held the absol’s weight just fine.

“I’ll help guide you all through so you don’t step off,” Ceebee told the others, “but I’m not sure if I could make it any better than this if I tried. We might as well move forward.”

“Tsuki, how’s your leg holding up?” Keahi asked, hopping closer towards the absol without moving onto the stairs themselves. “We can make use of our oran berries now, if you want.”

Gingerly, Tsuki put more of her weight on the injured leg. She lingered in this position for a few seconds before moving her leg back up for her more three-legged gait.

“I’m recovering well; it seems to be healing without too much trouble,” she assured zim, “if it still isn’t holding up when we actually get to Hidden Land, I’ll take the berry, but we should be saving them as much as possible.”

“Can’t we find more in the dungeons?” Damien asked, “we found some in Brine Cave.”

“None of the dungeons ahead ever have any items in them,” Giratina told him.

“And it sounds highly unlikely that there will be any more Kangaskhan Statues ahead. We’re on our own now, with only what we collected before,” Alex added, “still, Tsuki, we have a long way to walk to get to Hidden Land. Are you sure you want to keep going like that?”

“I’ll let you know if I change my mind,” Tsuki responded, “now, come on, we should keep going.”

Alex sighed, glancing over at Keahi with a shrug before following Tsuki onto the invisible stairs. Keahi hopped on next, followed by Nelvana. Everyone else continued filing on, all careful to stay close to each other and follow in each others’ footsteps to avoid accidentally falling off.

“This is so weird… It’s like we’re floating; there’s nothing beneath us,” Keahi commented.

“Isn’t there the saying… don’t look down? Yeah, that’s probably good to follow right now,” Damien said, stubbornly holding his head high and only looking ahead.

“Scared of heights?” Alex teased.

“No, but in case you haven’t noticed, we are walking on invisible stairs,” Damien hissed back, “definitely the weirdest thing we’ve come across yet, and even those who aren’t afraid of heights have a right to be nervous.”

“Damien has a point,” Tsuki agreed.

Alex chuckled, and then sighed, “I know, I was just messing with ya.”

Traversing the rest of the stairwell went with relative ease and silence. Most of the group felt far too occupied with making sure they were stepping in the right place to bother striking much conversation, not that they found much to talk about in the moment.

Finally though, Hidden Land grew closer and closer as they continued their approach, until they could actually start making out the details. Similarly to their previous platform, it was grassy and fairly overgrown. The structure they could glimpse from the distance turned out to be some ruins, one primary building with an open mouth leading into darkness was what anyone could assume led into the dungeon, but there were some other ruins and even a small tower behind the first structure.

“You see that tower back there?” Alex pointed out the slightly obscured structure. “Those are the Old Ruins. We’ll have to go through those after the dungeons to get to the Rainbow Stoneship. They’re really cool, you’ll see.”

Nelvana glanced ahead at her partner with a raised brow. It wasn’t often he would point out something like this and then not explain it. She figured he wanted it to be somewhat a surprise, though she found that it mostly made her wish that she could actually remember what was there.

One by one, they quickly stepped onto the grass, silently rejoicing to be able to see what was under their own feet again. Though, some not quite as silent, as Tsuki purred when kneading her claws into the ground, and Damien let out a sigh of relief once he was able to join the others on solid ground, going to lay down on the grass. Even Dusknoir appeared mildly relieved, though he the least likely to admit such a thing.

Alex nodded towards the ruins, “Hidden Land. Twenty-four floors, safe floor at twelve-“

“Like a clock?” Damien interrupted, and then coughed before continuing. “I mean, I dunno how many of you have used the hand clock, but twelve is at the center and all…”

Alex blinked, “well, yes, I suppose so… I hadn’t thought of that, admittedly,” he replied, “anyway, we’ve got monster houses, traps, and no items. So, it will be much more of a challenge for us to try to spot some obstacles ahead of time.”

“Giratina, can you sense monster houses?” Keahi asked, “maybe that would work…?”

“I… Yes and no,” Giratina sighed, “I can, however not precisely enough to be useful. I should be able to sense how many are on each floor, but no more than that.”

“Anything helps,” Tsuki told him, “especially since… the further we’ve gotten along, the harder it has been to sense anything past the problem with Palkia at hand. They’re getting dangerous, and it’s making it difficult for me to sense individual dangers,” she admitted, “not that I’ve ever tried sensing obstacles inside dungeons before, they are often disastrous enough on their own, but I almost wonder if my mind were clearer, if with the both of us we’d be able to pick out the monster houses…”

“You aren’t getting too bad of a headache, are you, Tsuki?” Keahi asked, expression creasing with more concern. “One of us might have asked this before too, but would there be anything we could do for it…?”

Tsuki shook her head, “I can cope. It is not bad enough to stop me in my tracks yet. And unless you know something that helps numb… the mind, without harming their own thoughts, I doubt it.”

“I think some psychic-types could do something like that…” Ceebee glanced out to the distance momentarily, rubbing the back of her neck. “I am not sure how well I could do that for you, sorry Tsuki.”

“I understand. I am a dark-type, and you are already helping tremendously with these psychic shields,” Tsuki assured her, “I will be fine, thank you for the concern though.”

“How about your leg? Since we’re about to head in the dungeon. Do you think it’s good enough to keep going like that?” Nelvana spoke up, “I’m a bit worried about it getting infected; we didn’t bandage it…” she added.

Tsuki opened her mouth, but closed it again and glanced back at the wound in question. Once again, she gingerly put more weight on the leg, wincing slightly before long and having to bring it up again. She shook it out slightly, finding it cramping from holding it in such a position for so long, but when the cut stung with more pain, she had to let out a reluctant sigh and turn back to Nelvana.

“…I should take an oran berry, yes…” she responded.

Nelvana nodded, glancing over at Alex, who was already heading over to the absol. Tsuki sat down, laying out the right hind leg in question for Alex to examine. He offered her most of an oran berry to eat, using the remainder that he held onto to carefully smear some oran berry juice over the wound. After waiting for Tsuki to finish eating, Alex went on to pull out some of the packed bandages and wrap them loosely around her leg.

“The bandages aren’t as secure as I would usually put, since you’re still going to be moving that. They’re mostly there now so nothing gets in it and gets it infected while it’s healing,” he explained, “you might have to limp a little bit longer, to not reopen the wound while it’s still healing, but it’s better than before and you should hopefully be walking like normal by Temporal Tower.”

Tsuki dipped her head to the grovyle in thanks before standing up. She shook out her fur reflexively before bending her leg up more, ready to resume her limp from before.

“Thank you for looking out for me,” she told them.

Nelvana smiled, “that’s what friends are for.”

“Among other things,” Alex added.

“Of course,” Nelvana agreed, with a chuckle.

“Are we all ready to go now?” Keahi asked, glancing around at everyone.

Ceebee, who had been carefully flying around and getting a few of their area, fluttered closer to the group at the sound of Keahi’s question, giving zim a smile. Damien sat up from the grass, looking over at Tsuki for a moment to check her leg before standing back up.

“I think we’re all good to go!” Edgar answered.

“You going to stick around for this one?” Alex asked Giratina, casually flipping the rock in the air with a single hand.

“You did request for my assistance letting you know which floors have monster houses, so I will. However, I will leave you mostly to your own devices; I do not wish to disturb you,” Giratina told him.

“Doubt there’d be a disturbance, but alright, sounds good.” Alex shrugged. “Anyone else wanna carry them in the meantime? I’ll want my hands free, and it’s hard to hear them in the bag.”

“I don’t use my hands too much! I can carry them!” Edgar volunteered, hurrying over to the grovyle to accept the item, which Alex passed over without too much trouble.

“Now are we ready?” Keahi asked, tone filled with more amusement than impatience.

Nelvana walked over to her partner, reaching over to ruffle zir head feathers, “I think so, let’s go.”

Organizing themselves in the planned lineup, the group entered their next dungeon. Despite them entering the main building to get into the dungeon, grass still mostly coated the ground under their feet. The entire area was overgrown, immediately making it difficult to see even the walls in some rooms. Pale yellow dandelions sprouted between patches of lawn, spotting the floors with a bit of extra color. And even though they were now indoors, sunlight seemed to come from somewhere, coating each room with a warm light.

“There is a monster house somewhere on this floor.”

Giratina’s words would soon become a repetitive mantra. Fortunately, the group passed by the first floor swiftly by finding the stairs in the second room that they entered, prompting Giratina to inform them that the second floor, in fact, also had a monster house somewhere. As they would continue to do for nearly every, single, floor.

“Is that a dragonite?” Nelvana carefully peered into the next room, blurting out her thoughts under her breath.

“Huh, we were just fighting dragonair in the last dungeon… looks like the difficulty is going up fast,” Keahi responded.

Dragonite turned over to the group as they entered, their face instantly turning to a snarl. Lavender energy pulsed off the spawn, and before Nelvana could throw her club at them, they had lunged forward with incredible speed, whacking her with their tail. Nelvana let out a grunt of pain as she was flung towards the back of the group, being caught by Ceebee’s telekinesis before the cubone fell on someone else.

Tsuki crouched, snarling with frost in her breath before letting loose a beam of ice at Dragonite. Not expecting an attack from someone further behind in the group, Dragonite took the full brunt of the attack, but remained steady. Damien, after realizing that Dragonite had not been defeated by that, snapped his fingers, letting loose a thunderbolt at the foe. With that, and a flamethrower Keahi had been prepping in zir anger at Nelvana being knocked over with that dragon tail attack, the dragonite finally went down.

“Geez, big guy…” Damien gasped, nerves fluttering in his body.

“You alright, Nel?” Ceebee asked, watching as the cubone stood back up.

“Yeah, I’m alright…” she answered, making her way back to the front. “That agility trick surprised me; I’ll be more careful next time.”

Returning to the head of the lineup, Keahi giving her a gentle nuzzle as she walked by, the group continued onwards.

The dragonite of the dungeon showed themselves to be the most powerful foes of Hidden Land, but it didn’t take long to discover that the rest of the pokemon here were no pushovers either. For the first time that the team had seen, this entire dungeon was full of fully evolved pokemon, all fearsome and high-leveled.

“I dread the first monster house we run into,” Alex hissed, finally beating away a raging rampardos.

“There is one on this floor,” Giratina politely informed him.

Alex bit back the urge to snap at the deity.

“Was this… this bad when you guys went through here before?” Keahi asked.

“I… don’t remember,” Alex admitted reluctantly, “we mostly just went through it as fast as we could. Being just the three of us probably helped with avoiding most foes,” he sighed.

“If you’d like, perhaps we could try a new strategy,” Dusknoir offered, “I could go on ahead through the walls and look for the stairs, so we would not have to wander so much.”

“We can handle this!” Alex snapped, “we’re going to have to to get anywhere after this.”

“We would not want to lose you somewhere and have to search for you to heal,” Tsuki added, her voice soothing over Alex’s temperamental words.

Dusknoir’s eye creased, disappointed in the response, but accepted the answer and said nothing.

“There is a monster house somewhere on this floor,” Giratina told them as Edgar passed up the stairs to the fourth floor.

“What are the odds…” Damien groaned, rolling his eyes.

“This must be how Team Recovery felt going through Magma Cavern with so many monster houses,” Keahi mumbled, “we’ve been lucky so far to avoid them, but…”

“We’ll be fine,” Tsuki assured them, “we know how to handle monster houses.”

The fourth floor took more exploring than they would have liked to try finding the stairs, and they even ended up finding a monster house before what they were looking for. The room they entered crowed with the same nine pokemon they had been seeing throughout the rest of the dungeon, with two garchomp. As an abomasnow spawned, the room darkened with swirled with hail.

Inhaling sharply through gritted teeth, Nelvana dove further into the room, making room for the rest of the group to enter as well. She headed over to a manectric, whose pelt sparked and struck Nelvana with electricity, without much effect. Keahi moved towards the abomasnow right away, flames already beginning to puff out from zir beak. As everyone else continued joining into the battle, they moved to pokemon they had a type advantage against, if available.

With Keahi battling the abomasnow, Damien teleported over to a tropius, striking them with a thunderbolt. The fruit pokemon roared in response to the attack, flapping their wings and summoning a tornado of leaves combat the gengar. In a hurry to escape damage, Damien ran to the side, a tile with a voltorb revealing itself under his feet. Recognizing the symbol just too late to teleport out of the way, the trap exploding underneath him, catching the tropius and a couple other of the spawn in the blow and knocking them all back. Damien groaned, letting himself sink into the shadows to recover there.

“Damien?” Edgar called out, nervously watching where the gengar had disappeared.

Unfortunately, the dungeon pokemon within the radius of the explosion kept on going just as strong, and with the sudden absence of Damien, the group had become slightly outnumbered.

Fire enveloping his fist, Dusknoir pounded the purugly he had been fighting to the ground, waiting until it had vanished in defeat under his grasp before turning towards where he had heard Edgar.

“Burn as many as you can!” he commanded.

Edgar’s gaze flickered over towards the sound of the orders, pausing in the middle of his confuse ray attack. In his hesitance, the tropius blew another leaf tornado at the duskull, who yelped as the sharp plants struck him, cutting through his robes but leaving no blood.

Dusknoir’s eye widened as he winced, but he doubled down on his plan, “will-o-wisp, Edgar!”

Whimpering, Edgar summoned ghostly flames to his torn cloak before sending them at the tropius. Just as the foe was burned, Dusknoir moved forward. His eye glowed a swirling purple and red as he created a dark sphere, ringed with blue and red, which he sent at the tropius in waves. The attack struck the spawn, and then flared with the burns. Tropius screeched in pain, crumbling to the ground and disappearing in a flash of light.

“Wha-What was that?” Edgar gasped.

“Hex. It does more when the foe has a status condition,” Dusknoir informed him, “keep going; this will be a good way to get good damage out on them. I will protect you.”

Though he shook slightly now, Edgar swiftly moved on to the next spawn, and they repeated the will-o-wisp and hex combination strategy. Only a couple of the spawn toughed out the first hex that would hit them, and even then, their burn would ensure their defeat.

Eventually, the monster house was cleared out. Damien pulled himself out from the ground, appearing, physically, much better than before.

“Sorry I kind of… dipped out there,” Damien told everyone, “I wanted somewhere safe to eat an oran, but then… uh…” he trailed off, unwilling to admit why he had not reappeared in the battle again.

“It’s alright,” Nelvana assured him, “it would be better to have your help again more in monster houses, but it’s good to keep an eye on your help, especially with the bag.”

Damien nodded with relief, “I’ll try to help out more next time,” he promised.

Ignoring the other conversation going on, Dusknoir reached over to Edgar with both hands. The duskull flinched, still shaking, but did not move away as Dusknoir gingerly brushed his large fingers across the tears in Edgar’s robed body.

“Thank you for helping me with your will-o-wisp,” Dusknoir told him softly, “you will heal fine, you should still check up with Gro- Alex though. These cuts are not strong enough to scar, do not worry,” he assured him.

Lowering his arms again, Edgar nodded in return and swiftly floated over to Alex, who had been carefully watching the two interact. Alex glared over at Dusknoir, but said nothing and turned to offer Edgar the requested oran berry instead.

Once everyone had recovered, they reformed their line and moved onwards. There was no time to sit around for too long. As they were organizing themselves, however, Alex leaned up to Dusknoir.

“You don’t get to call me Alex,” he hissed quietly.

Dusknoir stiffened, but silently nodded. Alex bit his lip, continuing to glare at Dusknoir without moving, as if he had something else to say, but he moved on to his place in line without another word.

“There is a monster house somewhere on this floor.”

Fortunately, despite Damien’s early encounter with a self-destruct trap, there were far fewer traps than there were monster houses. The monster houses themselves, as the group realized that there were no new kinds of pokemon from what they had seen early one, became easier as well, slightly, as they worked out improved strategies on how to handle their numerous foes.

Not having any reason to pause for anything more than checking for traps and fighting dungeon pokemon made travel faster, though the long, winding paths of the dungeons still felt like they went on forever sometimes. They knew that if they didn’t have their own dungeon map to fill out where they were and where they had been, they would certainly have gotten lost a few times.

“There is a monster house somewhere on this floor.”

Eventually, after what felt like hours, they arrived on the safe floor on the twelfth floor. Though, despite their eagerness to have a moment to catch their breaths and talk to each other properly about what was working as strategies and battle plans and what wasn’t, there was nothing of interest on this floor and a sense of urgency prompting them to continue onwards. It didn’t take long before they decided to brave the stairs up to the next floor.

“There is a monster house somewhere on this floor.”

“This dungeon is a first for a lot of things,” Keahi commented to no one in particular when they had arrived on the fourteenth floor. “We’ve mentioned the strength of the pokemon and the lack of items, but we haven’t had any change of pokemon in this entire dungeon! Usually you have some only show up on earlier floors and some only on the later ones, but this has the same pokemon everywhere,” zie explained.

“Huh, you’ve got a point there. Wonder if it’s the fact that it’s rare that anyone comes out here that limits the variety?” Nelvana responded.

“There is a monster house somewhere on this floor.”

“Ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall-“

“Damien, I have no idea what that song is but I don’t want it stuck in my head, please stop.”

“Sorry.”

“There is a monster house somewhere on this floor.”

After what had surely been the entire rest of the day after everything they had done even before Hidden Land, they had exited the dungeon. Not the building they were in, however. It slowly dawned on those who had not previously been to this location before that they were now in the tower separate from the dungeon itself. A steady silence overtook the group as they subconsciously slowed their pace to something more casual as they began examining their newer surroundings.

Swirling runes carved into the walls decorated their path as they continued forward. The markings at first just resembled that of what had been seen on the wall of Brine Cave, but soon there were more images, now resembling pokemon, and then words of an unfamiliar language etched below the pictures.

“It’s telling a story…” Nelvana realized aloud, almost in a whisper.

Alex nodded with a small smile, “it is. It’s the story of creation. You read it to us the last time we were here,” he responded.

“Geez, these are some old runes,” Damien commented, pausing from walking to crouch beside the first set of letters. “I think I’ve seen this sort of text before… pain to try reading though.”

“And you’re from hundreds of years before now, and they were old then?” Keahi said, “these must be really old then.”

“Thanks,” Damien snorted, standing back up. “I could probably figure it out after awhile, but if Nel has read these before, I assume she’s better at figuring them out than I would be, hm?”

“I… yeah, I can tell what they say,” Nelvana murmured, moving to stand beside Damien, closer to the markings.

“Is it a human language? Could Ceebee or Alex understand as well?” Tsuki asked, glancing over at the pokemon in question.

“I can!” Ceebee chirped, “well, sorta. Damien’s right that Nel is better at reading this sort of thing aloud. And Alex can’t read this at all, strangely enough.”

“It’s a human language, but uses a different text for it…” Alex sighed.

“Do you want to read it for all of us now?” Keahi asked, stepping over to zir partner.

“…I could, if you want,” Nelvana answered after a moment, smiling slightly.

“I’d like to hear it!” Edgar chimed in.

Nelvana nodded, and then slowly began to read. Her words were unsteady at first, but eventually she grew into the rhythm of reading the strange words, even finding herself able to merely skim as she read, as if this were something she already knew deep within her mind. As she finished reading a section of the text, the group would move together to where the next portion was written.

The story of creation was something most of the group were familiar with, but there was something special about having it be read from these runes. This tale varied from time to time depending on who told it, but this version stuck to the core of history, telling it as it was.

Mew was the first pokemon to grace existence. They lived alone in space for many years by themself, until one day, they grew bored and lonely with the empty life they lived. They created their first child, Arceus, to accompany their existence. Arceus, however, found the vast nothingness of space unpleasant, and thus they decided to create something more. Mew could create life, but Arceus could create planets, and together they would be able to form a world. Arceus created many planets, but it was their first that Mew decided to create living beings to live on. As these mortals found their own meanings on this world, Arceus found that if they wished to create more, then they would need more help than just themself and Mew. Thus, Arceus took off pieces of themself to create three children of their own. Gods of time, space, and anti-matter, to keep a watchful eye over the balance of this world and existence itself.

The story went on to tell about Dialga, Palkia, and Giratina, and Giratina’s betrayal of the other three; something that Giratina had personally told the group about already, and something that now felt worse to read about here. As they passed on that part, the walls seemed to crumble away into rumble, anything written on them lost to the decay of time.

With them passing by where the ruins themselves broke apart, the group found themselves standing at the base of one more set of stairs, the final platform sitting above them in the distance. The stones under their feet were polished compared to the ruins before, and almost seemed to reflect some of the sunlight off them, creating a small glow.

To their left, far off into the horizon, were several floating stone islands, surrounded by colorful clouds, and finally…

“See that?” Dusknoir gasped, “that’s Temporal Tower, out there.”

“We’re almost there…” Tsuki mused softly.

“Just up here should be the Rainbow Stoneship, which will take us to the Temporal Tower,” Ceebee added, pointing up the flight of stairs ahead of them.

Taking heed to Ceebee’s directions, everyone continued forward up the final set of stairs at Hidden Land. At the top, was simply a large, circular platform. In the center of the platform were more markings, this time perfectly matching those on the wall of Brine Cave. The markings faintly glowed with various colors, almost encouraging the group to step on.

After a pause, Alex stepped onto the center of the platform, and then turned back to silently welcome the others on. Nelvana followed her partner right away, and Ceebee fluttered over with them. One by one, everyone else stepped on as well, huddling around each other to make sure there would be enough room for everyone to get on without falling off. Finally, Dusknoir, at the back of the group, floated over to join everyone else.

There was another pause, but before anyone could go to ask how they were supposed to activate this, all the markings lit up at once. The platform slowly spun as it rose from where it had been sitting before, and once it reached its full height, it began floating towards the Temporal Tower, a glowing rainbow trailing behind.

“They’re expecting us,” Ceebee gasped.

First [ARC 1]: In which the human is transformed First [ARC 2]: In which a present is prepared Next: In which the tower of time is explored Previous: In which the dungeon with fossil foes is explored

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nitr0glycer1ne · 5 years ago

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Ducktober/Duckvember Day 7 - Redraw/Rewrite

Heya! I decided to change the theme from redraw to rewrite, and chose the ending of one of my favorite episodes, The Duck Knight Returns!. Except, there might be a twist... Enjoy!

Two Darkwings ran towards the terrifying machine, but only one managed to stand in front of it and push the other, and Launchpad, out of the way. Launchpad’s eyes met the youngest Darkwing’s, their fiery brown shining bright with sheer heroism and a mischievous spark, then-

The explosion was as deafening as it was heart shattering, blinding Launchpad and the man standing next to him. They couldn’t even see if Darkwing was injured, not with the heavy smoke filling the space around the giant electric rod that had gone up in flames. There were screams in the studio, but none of them reached Launchpad’s ears, filled with a painful ringing and a throbbing sensation of guilt. He should have run towards what was left of the machine, even though there was little hope Darkwing was uninjured, or even that he had survived, but he couldn’t, his legs frozen in place and in time.

Launchpad only managed to turn his head from the disaster when he sensed someone collapsing next to him. His watery eyes found the crumbled form of Jim Starling, kneeling on the ground, his body limp and slightly trembling. His hat had been blasted a few meters away by the explosion, allowing Launchpad to glimpse at the actor’s face, seeing all of the regret and the misery of the world on it.

And then, Launchpad wasn’t looking at his cherished idol anymore. Jim Starling was nothing more than an old, bitter man, desperate for attention and clinging to his past glory as if clinging on to life. There was no Darkwing Duck in that instant- only a sad man coming to terms with the disastrous consequences of his hubris.

Launchpad found himself sitting on a chair in the studio, facing the wall as if to make sure what was left of the disaster wasn’t in his field of vision. He hadn’t any recollection of how he had ended up there, but the boy sitting next to him was a clue, as was the warm plastic cup he handed the pilot.

“Didn’t find real hot chocolate here.” Dewey apologized. “Only the stuff in vending machine where they put water instead of milk… buuut, I did find some marshmallows to put inside!”

Dewey smiled at his friend, adding a few of the sugary treats in the beverage. Launchpad gave the kid a weak smile, nothing like the joyous smile he seemed to have in all circumstances. It pained Dewey to see such hurt on the pilot’s face, but he hoped things would quickly be back to normal.

“Hey, it was an amazing fight, wasn’t it?” he tried to cheer his friend up. “I’m sure Darkwing, I mean, the one who wasn’t a bad guy, is somewhere under that pile of junk. He looks pretty strong!” “Yeah…” Launchpad nodded, sipping some of the cocoa. It was barely drinkable, but he truly appreciated the gesture nonetheless. “He’s a real strong guy.”

Launchpad kept on drinking, and Dewey kept on talking, hoping to help his friend regain his usual optimism. The duck had barely finished his drink when a hand tapped on his shoulder:

“Hey, you’re the guy who tried to stop the fight between those two actors, right?” “Yeah, why?”

There was an unspoken surprise in Launchpad’s answer. He quickly got up, finding himself face to face with a police officer, behind which stood a handcuffed Jim Starling. He still had his Darkwing costume on. The fabric was torn in some places, but it was overall in good condition in spite of the rough fight it had been through. He was still missing the hat, but the mask had stayed on, and there were faint wet trails right beneath his eyes, slightly darkening the fabric.

“Starling here had something to tell you.”

The actor sighed and rolled his eyes. Clearly, he was annoyed and had trouble saying what he wanted to. Launchpad somewhat expected him to rant about the way he betrayed him when he sided with the other actor – whose name, Launchpad realized with painful guilt, he had never bothered to ask -, so the pilot was quite taken aback by the words Starling mumbled:

“I’m sorry, kid. I guess I’ve been a bit too far.”

It took Launchpad a few moments to get past his initial surprise, and he was about to answer, but Dewey was quicker than him:

“You sure did!” he scolded angrily, putting himself between Launchpad and Jim. “Why- how could you do that? Isn’t that pushing the whole method acting thing a bit too far?! That guy was a huge fan, you know!”

Launchpad had seldom seen Dewey get so angry. The small duck was glaring at the former actor, and Jim was answering with a look equally heinous, except his glare was tinted with sadness.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” he spat. “Do you know what it’s like to go from being a famous and popular actor to being treated like a nobody barely good enough to do store openings?!” “You’ll tell that to the judge.” The policeman growled, not enjoying the way the discussion was going. “Come on, now. We’re going for a little ride to the nearest police station.” “Wait!” Launchpad finally yelled.

The three other ducks looked at him, perplexed. Launchpad took a deep breath, before locking his eyes with Jim’s:

“Mr Starling. I’ve always been your biggest fan, but…” he hesitated. He wasn’t that good with words, and was very aware of it; however, it was important for him to convey his feelings on the whole debacle to his idol. “… this was plain wrong. I admire your work, and you deserve more recognition for it… but you shouldn’t be acting like one of those villains Darkwing Duck fought all the time! You should be doing the exact opposite! When I’m at a loss as to what to do in a situation, I always ask myself “What would DW do?” and I think you should ask yourself that, too! You’re as strong and capable as you were in your prime, and it’s such a waste you’re using all of those amazing capabilities of yours to do… that!”

Launchpad concluded his monologue with a vague flailing of his arms. Dewey had watched him unfazed, used to the long rants his friend could go on when talking about his favourite show, and the policeman had looked at Launchpad as if he had gone insane. But Jim hadn’t. He hadn’t blinked during the whole speech, his eyes glued to his fan, and had felt the sheer admiration and happiness and love for Darkwing Duck radiating from the duck.

And as the policeman had dragged him away, he had given the smallest of nods, whispering the tiniest “I’ll think about it.”

The whole filming crew did their best to clean up the set, and to find the missing actor. But he was nowhere to be found; not even the smallest piece of fabric or feather remained on the set. Launchpad had helped them, looking everywhere; but he hadn’t found anything, save for a few splatters of what seemed to be purple paint. He had still searched through the whole studio and even the alleys surrounding it, desperate to find the actor he had gotten along so well with.

But he had never found him, and it was a very weary and sad Launchpad who drove Dewey back to the mansion. Dewey had live tweeted most of the action and sent his brothers text about the situation; and when the duo stepped on the front porch of the manor, Mrs Beakley opened the door, guiding them to the dining room, where dinner awaited them. It was late, since Launchpad had insisted on looking absolutely everywhere in his frantic search for his new friend, and the rest of the mansion’s inhabitants had long left to their respective rooms, although Dewey was sure he’d find his brothers awake and awaiting him with a lot of questions.

After eating their steaks, Dewey started to head towards his room, but was stopped by Launchpad:

“Hey, buddy. Thanks for your help, today.”

Launchpad’s regular smile was back on his beak. A bit weaker than usual, but it was a good start and warmed Dewey’s heart all the same.

“Anytime, buddy!”

Dewey didn’t try to escape the tight hug that followed.

A purple trail of dye stains the dirty water running through the sewers, dripping from a manhole and splashing in droplets. It paints a trail, one that leads to a duck slightly hunched over, his breathing a bit ragged from the way his lungs have been exposed to an important quantity of smoke in a short amount of time. His forehead is throbbing in pain, the deep ache echoing all the way to inside his head, as if it has taken over some of his brain. His hands are balled into fists, trembling under the force the duck is clenching them with. His clothes are a mess, cheap purple dye dripping from his coat, which is slowly turning yellow. A large red hat, its brim dented and burnt in some places, covers his face, hiding an almost feral grin and eyes widened in a crazed stare.

“How could I be so blind? Adoring such a monster, treating him as an idol? Ha! And to think I was so eager to ask him for advice, to share the spotlight with him…”

His breathing gets quicker and his voice raspier and louder as he keeps on talking to himself:

“After I worked so hard to earn that role, the role I dreamt for so long, the role I was born to play! Well, then, fine! So be it! If I can’t be Darkwing Duck, if that old fool wants the role so bad he’d lie for it, that he’d kill for it…”

He starts laughing, a laughter void of any joy, his head tilted back and his eyes glued to the ceiling.

“Then he can keep it! I’ll show him, I’ll show them all, how I’m better than him! And then, that idiot will be a relic of the past, and people like Launchpad will see how they were making the same mistake than me! I’ll show them the truth, even if I have to cause a few accidents for them to finally see that fossil for what he is!”

His laughter gets louder, and his pupils are blown wide, drowning the warm pool of his brown irises in cold darkness. ------ I hope you liked the idea of Drake becoming Negaduck and that the other characters weren't too OOC! I stand by what I said for Day 5 : like writing for Jim. I feel like if Drake was believed to be dead or at least MIA because of what he did, maybe that would be a wake up call. He wouldn't do a 180 degrees and become super nice, of course; he has a bad temper and an ego out of proportion. But it could be the start of something new. Maybe he'd become Darkwing IRL, maybe not... And Drake of course has a big ego. I can't imagine him turning evil with the way events played in canon, but what if getting so close to death and almost killed by his idol had been too much, on top of the concussion ? (I tried to hint he had a head trauma possibly injuring his frontal lobe, as that kind of serious injury can cause shifts in personality, plus the frontal lobe is, amongst other things, the one responsible of inhibitions). I also liked writing Dewey and Launchpad's friendship. It's a really cute and fun aspect of the show!

#ducktober #dewey duck #launchpad mcquack #jim starling #drake mallard #negaduck #darkwing duck #ducktales #ducktales 2017 #dt17 #my writing #my fics #dewey and launchpad

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tintinwrites · 6 years ago

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c’est lui pour moi | Poe Dameron x Reader

Request: characters reuniting with someone whom they thought were dead and forehead kisses with poe! (Anon)

A/N: Here you go, anon! Please enjoy!

Rating: T

Warning: Naughty words. Injuries.

Word count: 1,707, apparently!!

Summary: You and Poe get caught up in an attack from the First Order, unsure if the other made it out alive.

GIF credit: No idea, but it’s not mine.

You woke up on the ground with a throbbing pain in your leg.

You could smell smoke, and opening your eyes had you discovering the light you could sense was from small, scattered fires.

Everything around you was in absolute ruins; what were once beautiful buildings were now broken walls sticking out of the ground, the rest of their material laying in large pieces as far as you could see.

It took you a moment to remember the blast.

Well, you didn't remember the blast itself so much as everything leading up to it.

The panic as the First Order ship loomed over the planet, the inhabitants of said planet running and screaming, knowing you needed to get to your ship and stop this, the feeling of Poe grabbing onto your hand:

Don't let go, kid, just run!

And you did run and you didn't let go, but so many people were running with you. One person tried to get ahead of the pack and rammed into you, and the force of it made your hand jerk out of Poe's.

You could still hear him yelling, see him trying to fight his way through the throng of people to get to you.

No! Y/N!

Then there was a loud noise and you were thrown back, and—

You woke up on the ground with a throbbing pain in your leg.

"Poe?" Your voice shook as you moved onto your hands and knees. "Poe?" You tried to stand and the pain in your leg intensified, so much that you fell back to the ground with a cry.

A glance down told you that there was a large, deep gash in your right thigh. It wasn't bleeding anymore which meant you must have been out for a while, and you were quite glad that whatever sliced you open didn't get an artery.

It still hurt like a bitch, though, and you were definitely going to need medical attention.

You would do that later. You quickly thought of a plan and it went as such: find Poe, get to your ship if it was still there, get to the Resistance base, then see a med droid about your injury.

"Poe! Mm...fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck..." You whimpered and panted as you forced yourself to stand, grabbing onto a crumbling wall of a building to keep yourself up. "Poe!"

There were bodies almost everywhere, some buried under rubble and none of them seeming to be Poe. The further you managed to get, the more bodies were burned beyond recognition, and your heart was pounding so hard that you thought you might pass right back out.

You didn't see Poe, but that didn't mean he wasn't there.

Not to mention all these innocent people...

You closed your eyes and leaned heavily against a wall that felt sturdy enough.

Wherever Poe might have been, he would want you to go and get help rather than spend your time trying to find him.

You hated the idea of possibly leaving him there, but you pushed off the wall and slowly made your way in the direction of where you were sure the ships were.

Your new plan was to get to your ship, get to the Resistance base, see a med droid about your injury, and do everything you could to find Poe.

If there was still a Poe to find.

It had been a week since the mission.

A week since the attack from the First Order.

A week since Poe didn't get to you in time.

A week since he woke up in the med bay with no recollection of ever getting back to the base.

A week since he tried to get out of the bed even though everything hurt, saying he had to go back for you, being held down by nurses and friends who said she's dead, you can't go back, you're hurt, you have to rest before a med droid sedated him.

A week since he was sedated a second time because he'd woken right back up and fought to get out of the bed again.

Four days since he was released from the med bay with strict orders to rest in his quarters.

Two days since he was allowed to limp down to ship maintenance and see how broken his ship was even though they'd been working on it for days, and he cringed at the sight of your empty ship there.

And this particular day marked the second day he'd spent out in the hangar from dawn to dusk, sitting with BB-8 at his side, waiting for you to appear.

He knew you wouldn't at this point, knew that you were taken out that day, but felt that giving up made it real. Maybe if he kept waiting, you wouldn't be dead.

He wasn't sure he could take it if you were dead.

There were so many things he felt and didn't say because you were colleagues, and he felt like an idiot for following that rule when he broke so many rules. There wasn't even a rule against relationships between two pilots; he was just afraid of fucking up your friendship when he inevitably pissed you off enough to break up with him.

He should have told you. Now he couldn't tell you anything, like how bored he was in the med bay or how much he already missed you.

BB-8 gave a soft, sad beep, rolling back and forth slightly.

The sun was setting and you still weren't back.

"Okay, buddy. I'm gonna stay for a few more minutes." He watched the little droid roll back into the base, waiting until he was out of sight before he dropped his head into his hands.

You were really gone, weren't you?

He wasn't going to hear your sassy remarks when he got too egotistical over the comms. He wasn't going to trip over his own feet and drop whatever he was carrying because he was too busy admiring the way your eyes crinkled when you laughed.

Not that that happened at least four times since you joined the Resistance.

There were so many things about you that he hadn't appreciated enough. He let them all go to waste when he should have just soaked them in and told you how amazing you were.

He looked up at the sky, and he told you, and then he stood up with some effort and grunting, and he turned to half-limp his way back into the base.

As he was going in, an alarm started going off and everyone else started running out. He stumbled back in surprise, watching for a moment before he grabbed onto someone.

"Hey! What the hell is going on?"

"Incoming ship, Commander!" The young soldier said, quickly wriggling from his grip and running past him.

Hurt or not, he wasn't going to let his friends face whatever was coming alone. He moved as fast as he could to join them, though he didn't have a blaster at the ready like many of them.

He looked up at the sky again and saw nothing. It took a few moments, but a small, broken up ship came into view, heading for the hangar. "Whoa, don't shoot yet!" He held a hand up to keep everyone under control. "No one from the First Order is going to show up in a piece of junk like that."

Nor would they fly in such a way that had the ship nearly slamming to the ground upon arrival, skidding across the tarmac. The cockpit opened, stuttering for a moment when it reached halfway, then opened all the way.

And out climbed you.

Poe blinked a couple times until he was sure it was actually you. "Y/N?"

You, too, blinked a couple times before practically crying out in relief, "Poe!"

The two of you ran at quite possibly the slowest pace ever to each other, before Poe picked up in speed and wrapped his arms around you, lifting you up into the air despite his pain. You gave a yelp of surprise, then a whimper.

"Ow, fuck."

"I'm sorry!" He set you down in an instant, looking you over worriedly. "What did I do?"

"No, no, not you...uh..." You gestured to your leg, with a makeshift bandage around your thigh.

"Oh, shit. What happened? How'd you get back?"

"It's...a long story. Lots of walking and...ship-borrowing. You?"

"No idea."

You looked at each other, then one another's presence set in and you were hugging tightly. Poe had hurt his back on landing after the blast threw him and he knew it was going to hurt all over again in the morning, but he didn't care that much.

"I have so much I need to tell you." He kissed your forehead. Again, again, again, again; until you were laughing and crying and, fuck, maybe you felt a lot for him and that was why you wanted to find him so badly.

"Please tell me in the med bay. I've been taking care of this myself and I don't really know if I did a good job."

Poe, being stupid, picked you up and started walking very slowly towards the base. Everyone kind of stared until someone ran out with med droids and a grav stretcher behind them, which you were put on.

And maybe Poe leaned a bit on it. Maybe.

He laid down on the bed next to you as you were worked on, pushing you to tell him all that happened.

You told him how you woke up and couldn't find him, how you wandered around the planet until you found supplies, how you took the only ship you could get running, how you had to stop on several other planets for rest and to refuel the high-maintenance ship.

Both of you were amazed that you were on opposite sides of the blast, yet you were out of range enough to come out with fairly minor injuries.

Once you were finished with your story, you asked Poe what happened to him and he looked at you with a strange smile for a moment before finally responding with,

I woke up here and then I realized I'm in love with you.

#poe dameron imagine #poe dameron x reader #star wars imagine #poe dameron fic #POE'S SUCH A BABE #WE SHOULD ALL GET OUR OWN POE #did i put things into words well enough idek #did you feel

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thinkdrinkandsink · 5 years ago

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Anniversary of an unimportant event

January sixth, seventh, or eighth - 2012. It’s difficult for me now to recollect anything from that time, as it’s been eight years since I fucked everything up. I find myself drifting back to this disaster of a memory every year, and I suppose that it’s the reason for my hazy thoughts as of late. What do they hide? Like tears in the rain, they cover up truths that I’ve longed to bare in the forefront, but probably never will. I used to think that our fates were linked for life because of what befell us - and I suppose that it’s just a fleeting thought now in hindsight. We aren’t really in each others’ lives anymore and I guess you are also one of the many whom I’ve learned to let go. You just happened to be with me at the wrong place at the wrong time. The event shattered my mind, and it’s taken me years to reconstruct it with the remaining pieces that weren’t lost to the darkness. I’ve learned to forgive myself for it as of last year. Yet, why do I feel this intense separation of the mind from the body each time I think about it? It’s as though I’m walking on thin ice - arduously trying to stay on top, yet simultaneously begging for the floor to crumble so I can drown myself to curb these thoughts. None of this indicates that I’m helpless, though. I don’t think I’ll ever get the answer that I’m looking for. I adamantly believed that I would never get over it, yet here I am. Those days aren’t as important anymore. Even if I continue to agonize over the memory this time of every year, it’s something I can ride out better than I could have ever hoped for. It’s become the anniversary of an unimportant event

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softhaos · 6 years ago

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FATE TRANSCENDS TIME

pairing – kim jongin x reader

genre – angst, very minimal fluff, soulmate au

description – set in a world where everyone is born with a running timer tattooed on their wrist that stops ticking once you’ve found your soulmate. it’s possible to reset the timer regardless whether you’ve found your soulmate yet or not. resetting your timer will result in death but will give you the chance to find your soulmate in a different life. you’re considering resetting your clock even if it means giving up jongin in this lifetime.

warning – none

word count – 1.6k

author’s note – did i get inspired by the wonderful dating news for this story yes i did and you can say what you want but there’s no denying that they’re a powerful couple anyway i like reducing myself to a crippling mess, am trying hard to get into writing satisfactory angst and i think i managed to achieve both of them (i lied, it’s questionable tbh) nonetheless i hope you’ll enjoy reading uwu

The stars blazing through the night sky pale in comparison to him. It’s way too cold to be standing outside at this ungodly hour yet here you are with scarves wrapped around your necks and covering your ears and hands shivering due to the frost.

The stars blazing through the night sky illuminate his handsome face and even with his brows furrowed in confusion, he looks beautiful. He stares at you in disbelief, lips slightly parted as he tries to understand your true intentions.

The stars blazing through the night sky bring the best and the worst out of him. He looks beautiful, but that doesn’t hide the bags under his eyes nor the acne scars on his bare skin. Your heart and resolve crumble little by little when he says with a cracked voice and crooked smile, “You’re joking, aren’t you?”

You wordlessly stare at him, hoping that he’d get the hint. When he realizes that he won’t get a verbal response anytime soon, he inhales deeply and runs his fingers through his jet black hair as he tries to process the situation at hand.

“No. No, y-you’re joking, definitely.” his voice is barely audible but you catch each and every syllable. He stares to the ground, more murmurs of irritation and denial slipping past his lips. The sudden urge to lift his chin up lingers in your mind, but before you can act without thinking, his head shoots up.

“Tell me you were just joking about resetting your timer,” he begs and that’s when the last remnants of your heart shatter completely.

“I’m sorry,” you say as you muster up a faint smile.

Jongin fixates his eyes on you longer, trying to comprehend your thought process. “Is it because our relationship has been made public? Is the backlash troubling you? Have people been bothering you–”

“It’s not that! I just–” you take a moment to recollect your thoughts and stabilize your voice, “– the entire fiasco is a lot to take in. I’m not sure if I could ever adapt.”

Though it’s been one month since the public announcement of Jongin dating you for a good year – of Jongin having found his soulmate a year ago – your life has taken a complete 180° turn: You suddenly have a bodyguard, can’t go out of the house unaccompanied and have to be careful about which words you throw out. Neither you nor Jongin expected the massive support from the public, yet the constant attention you garner from the media is something you could never get used to.

“Adapt to what exactly?” Jongin asks.

You shift your weight from one leg to the other. “Everything. Look, it’s already been hard going on dates before we came out clean. It’s just that– I mean– as much as I want to stay, I can’t keep up with this lifestyle until I die. I just– I can’t live like this!” the words leave your mouth faster than your brain can process while Jongin is taken aback judging by his wide eyes at your sudden confession.

As soon as the realization dawns on you, your legs give up on you. But Jongin is fast and he pulls you into his embrace before you can slump to the ground. Although his arms wrapped around you still feel like the comfort you needed the most, not even his hands threaded in your hair or his signature scent that you associate with his warmth can stop your ugly sobs.

“I want to stay, but I can’t,” you cry as the first tears flow down your cheeks. Jongin’s scarf muffles your sounds and you cling onto his jacket while he remains silent and continues with his gestures.

There’s something oddly domestic about the position you're in despite the given situation. A fracture of this reminds you of the time you spent together when nobody even knew you existed in his life. Yet at the same time, it's terrifying. The way he comforts you despite your ulterior motive seems as if he’s picking up the pieces and patching your heart back together but simultaneously crushing the already small shards into nothingness.

Once you’ve calmed down and the tears no longer fall from your face, Jongin says softly, “If you need to reset it, do it.”

Those words are the last words you expected him to say.

“Are you serious?” you look up at him, sniffling once.

“Hey, you were the one who brought it up in the first place, don’t ask me,” he chuckles lightheartedly and caresses your cheek. He pauses, takes a good look at your puffy face and smiles weakly when you stare right back at him.

“If you really feel like you–” he hesitates, but swallows the lump in his throat as he cups your cheek with a trembling hand,“–if you really feel like this isn’t the time where we’re supposed to be together, then reset it.” His voice is a little bit rough at the edges, barely stable, but he manages.

“Are you sure you’ll be fine right now?” you ask, causing him to flash you yet another, perhaps brighter and more convincing smile.

“I’m a big boy, Y/N. Sure, I’ll miss you, but I can handle it. My timer won’t be affected so at least I know that at one point, I already found you.” Jongin retracts his hand from your cheek and instead, grabs your own and runs his fingers over the ink on your wrist that’s not covered by your jacket. “Besides, you never asked for an idol as a soulmate and I know you’ve been struggling because of my job. I want you to be happy and carefree,” he mutters while rubbing the same spot over and over again.

The gesture plants a smile on your face.

“Yeah, what was I thinking? You’ll do great,” you say out loud, though it’s more directed to yourself – as if you were the one who needs to be convinced that everything is going to be all right.

Upon hearing that, Jongin looks up and cracks a subtle chuckle. He opens his mouth to add on to something several times but refrains himself from speaking those words out loud. Under normal circumstances, you would press him to say what he wanted to say. This time, you stay put and invite yourself back into his warm embrace. You don't know how long you've been standing out in the cold in that position, but it feels like an eternity that you don't want to break out of.

It goes without saying that you had to let go sooner or later. Jongin is the first to realize that.

“I guess I should go. It’s way too late already," he finally says. You nod silently and slowly peel off him before you accompany him to your front porch.

Dismissing any further verbal exchange, he smiles at you fondly one last time before he turns his back to you. However, the silence only seems to last three footsteps long until you speak up, “Hey, Jongin?”

Jongin stops in his tracks and looks back to you with expectant eyes.

“Thank you.”

It was then when a switch in his mind flipped. In the blink of an eye, he's suddenly standing right in front of you and the next thing you know, his lips land on yours.

The kiss in itself is slow and sweet, yet you can sense the yearning and regret that fills Jongin up to the brim. He's being careful, trying not to push your boundaries and trying to refrain himself from doing something incredibly stupid. You instinctively wrap your arms around his neck once he pulls you closer towards him.

It's in the kisses like these where the realization hits you the hardest; the depth of his affection for you and vice versa is displayed the clearest in this kind of deep, sensual kisses. Your mouths don't part until both of you are out of breath and the warmth has spread all across your bodies.

As he tries to regain his breath, Jongin presses his forehead against yours and for a while, you stay in that position. Your heart beats furiously against your ribcage up to the point where it might actually jump out and overflow while Jongin's lashes flutter shut, relishing the last sweet moment you two share.

“See you later, Y/N,” his voice is barely above a whisper, but the soft and caring undertone laced in it makes you believe that everything will definitely end well.

With that, Jongin takes a step back, grabs your hand and presses a delicate kiss on your timer before he intertwines your fingers one final time. At this point, you're both smiling genuinely and gone is any sign of desperation and ailing.

“Yeah, see you soon," you whisper in return and then, he lets go.

The stars blazing through the night sky shine down on him as he digs his fists into his pockets and walks further away from your house until you can’t see his silhouette anymore. Your fingers subconsciously brush the tattoo on your wrist and you fondly look at the numbers inked on your skin. A genuine smile makes its way up your face and you sigh when you lift your gaze up to the sky. You don’t know when you will be reborn, but you are certain that the stars will still be there when you graze the earth in another lifetime.

You can’t wait to meet him again.

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brucenat · 6 years ago

Note

this prompt may be too angst-induced too but can you write one where nat’s about to get married to someone else and bruce wanted to stop her by confessing but it’s a little too late? i love your writing by the way, i might have read all your fics in ao3. enjoy the holidays!

thank you so much for all your patience (and your lovely, lovely compliment) I am so very sorry I am the worst ahhhhhhhhhIhopethisisn’tadisappointmenthhhhhhhhhhhhIhopeyouenjoyhhh

The mirror is betraying her. Clint called her radiant, Steve said she looked transformed. Yet, she stares at her reflection and simply sees herself in a red dress with one ringlet of hair that won’t behave.

The knock at the door is a welcome distraction. She leaves the sink to let her visitor inside.

Bruce slips through the gap, looking from one side of the bathroom to the other. “I came to make sure you weren’t jumping out the window.”

“Please.” The smile comes without her trying. He feels like the one person who’s the same today, herself included. His authenticity helps extract the part of her that’s been neglected. “I climb out windows. I have a helicopter waiting for me.”

His hands dig into his tuxedo’s pockets and releases a feigned groan. “What am I gonna do with the getaway motorcycle the guys got you?”

“Use it as part of your distraction.”

“That’s what the green guy’s for.” The instant it’s out of his mouth, regret flashes across his face. In the years she’s known him now, that self-loathing has resisted change. She still doesn’t know what it’ll take for him to believe he’s not the monster he makes himself out to be.

With a hip propped against the porcelain, she brainstorms. Part of the thinking is the recollection of their times together—the conversations that stretched into night, then dawn, the missions before they both retired their SHIELD badges, their tradition of casual hangouts that she initiated. Even Tom, the man to be her husband by the end of this day, had tried to assist her efforts since they started dating—that was one of the factors in her decision to enter into a serious relationship with him.

None of it seemed to eradicate the self-deprecation and harsh criticism from Bruce. Not completely.

“Listen…” He says, jocundity evaporated from his voice. Apprehension clings to him like a cloak. Something about the trepidation wrinkling his features makes him unreadable to her for the first time. Her only option is to stand in wait for what next emerges from his mouth.

“You look incredible.” He tells her. A nervous hand slides from his pocket up to his neck. “You’re gonna knock him off his feet.”

This time, thanks to an unsatisfied curiosity, she can only conjure half a grin. “You’re just trying to make me blush.” More earnestly, she says, “Thanks.”

His gaze goes to his shoes. There, it recovers from whatever it was that overcame him. When he returns to her, he asks, “Can I give you a hug?”

The arms she opens to him serve as her response.

Hugging him has become part of her normal. It’s familiar, a small type of home. When he draws her in, she discovers the elevated racing of her heart. Feeling his breath against her calms the beating as quickly as she notices it.

He pulls away too soon for her liking, but is forgiven when he tells her, “I love you, Nat.”

It’s not often she hears that from him. He compliments her often, but those expressions of his love are what she cherishes more than any material item or praise.

It’s only fair that she returns the truth. “I love you too.”

The smile that grows is a bashful but joyous thing. He brings a hand to rest on her bare arm and uses his head to gesture to the door. “Let’s get you out there.”

No migration is required for the reception, since both that and the ceremony are held in Clint’s backyard. She and Tom share vows, a kiss, then their first dance as a married pair. As they rotate, their arms interlocked with each other, she tries to let the onlooking gazes melt off her. She tries, but a spy’s old habits persist.

When the song ends and applause swells then fades into chatter and dancing, she swivels her gaze around, taking account of her bridesmen. Steve and Rhodey shoot her individual smiles as she finds them. Clint’s back walks away from her as he dips into his kitchen to help Laura bring out food. The last member of her party doesn’t show himself in the throngs of guests. He must be assisting inside.

At Tony’s insistence, she and Tom attempt a livelier dance to The Black Eyed Peas—a band she’d never heard of until she and Tom went through and approved Tony’s “wedding DJ setlist.” It didn’t take much to make her and Tom question the decision the position they bestowed unto their friend, but they had to throw him a bone somewhere.

She makes it to the second round of the chorus before bowing out. Tom’s got his best friend and her wife to dance with while she watches, takes a few minutes to digest this day. A note on her chair determines there’s to be a shift in that plan.

It takes one look to identify the scrawl at Bruce’s. Between slowed heartbeats and a light churn in her gut, she makes a decision. A moment later, the envelope is pressed between her palm and dress, and she’s heading inside for the bathroom. Not only for more privacy, but also to perform a cursory inspection of the inside, she dodges Laura and a strange look in her trek upstairs.

Somehow, this bathroom doesn’t feel like the same one that saw her prepare for the ceremony. Her back settles against the door once it closes, and she’s transported to yesterday, to three years ago—just before she and Tom met. Hell, once the door seals shut and she clicks the lock into place, she might as well be in some alternate version of her life. Surreality numbs the urgent fingers that pull a single sheet of paper from its sheath. Only one side contains Bruce’s handwriting. It’s more intimidating than infiltrating any enemy’s spiderweb.

A deep breath in, a longer exhale out. She reads.

Natasha,

Please don’t be too angry with me. You have every right to be angry with me, even though you don’t know why yet. Or maybe you do know, and thought that was very clear. I’m not great with hints. Unsurprisingly, I’m not great at a lot of things. I could’ve written this letter sooner. I could’ve had the courage to tell you in person. I could’ve acted years ago. I did none of those things. I thought of countless detours and escapes—alternate ways to say this, show this, classify it; countless other ways to do anything but tell you what this/it is. For that, I’m sorry.

I’m so sorry for my dishonesty. When you told me that talking to me felt like talking to a mirror, that I was someone you trusted, I thought of how I hadn’t earned that. I’m not your mirror because I haven’t given you the full image. It was never your fault—I wanted to and I didn’t let myself. I convinced myself I had dug myself in too deep. In every other way, I was truthful with you. I’ve been truthful with you in a way I never have been with anyone else.

Today, I realized that it was never too late until you said your vows to someone else. For all of this, I’m so, so sorry. I’m sorry if this feels like betrayal—I never meant for it to be that way.

I’m still finding different ways of methods of avoidance. What I’ve wanted to tell you for so long seems so simple, but I have no idea how to build up to it in a letter (I think the past 8 years have been the build up). The best way to go about this is to just say it.

I love you. I love you in a way I shouldn’t. I love you in a way where I want all of you all of the time. I want to wake up to you and fall asleep beside you. I’ve loved you for years. I’m sorry.

That’s the full image of me. It’s the first and the last time anyone will ever see it. I don’t think anyone else can see me in the complete way you do. Which is why (part of the reason why) I’m leaving I left.

I understand if you’re angry, or if you even despise me now. I’m so, so sorry for any hurt I caused you. I want you to have the happiness you deserve, which is why I can’t be a presence in your life.

Have the best life, Nat.

The pillars and turrets of stone inside her crumble. They crumble to dust and ruin, and she can’t even physically collapse with them. She can’t move anything except her eyes. Debris from the destruction emerge, but they’re in the form of tears, not ash, soot, and screams. The sobbing starts with silence. It’s her wedding day and she’s crying.

It’s her wedding day and it shouldn’t be.

Then, as her eyes and nose shed droplets, hatred seeps in. It’s a searing abhorrence for no one but herself. She does love Tom, she truly does—she wouldn’t have married him if she didn’t. Unfortunately, she also didn’t realize until now that there were very different types of love. Despite all the suppression over the past few years, her I love you to Bruce was true and altogether something more honest and close to herself than her I do to someone else. She loved him in the same way and he didn’t even know when she told him.

She’s made a mistake. So has he. After all, he is her mirror, and she’s his. She always will be. Even if he’s erased himself from her future.

She doesn’t know how to leave this room with all that it knows, with the pieces of her scattered everywhere and nowhere all at once.

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derxwnakapsyla · 6 years ago

Text

You and Her

Every so often, I think about you, and the community we built from the ground up. From the ruins and ruins of past communities we burned down because of how young and immature we were. I think about all the years we spent together, with our friends, with our family. And every so often, I start to miss it, wish for it back, the days of old, where we would just be chill, relaxed, friendly. A time where nothing was severely wrong.

But that time is gone. Long gone. It can never come back. Those friends lead lives of their own, and while some may keep in touch with others, the community is gone. Just like you. You’ve been gone for a long time now, too.

Yet, despite you being gone, your phantom persists. A husk of the you that remains. Haunting me. Plaguing me. Reminding me every time I wish for the old days that it is impossible. Your phantom hurts me every time I think about it and reminds me of its existence. There’s nothing that can be done, because you’re gone. The person I knew, one of my most trusted and valued friends, is dead.

And you took their place. You ruined everything that remained. You paraded around in their body, denying them their friends and family, and watching everything they built over the past 10 years crumble and wither away. You stole her from us, and used her body as a way of expressing your own delusions.

I’ve watched you slowly take over, and I’ve tried so hard to fight back against the tide. To be there for her, to try and help her, but there was only so much I could do, it was just a losing battle. Before long, whatever was left of my friend that I knew was gone. Even then, I continued to try my best for her. I tried to be in her corner so often, that it felt like I was one of the last people in it. No matter how exhausting it was, how stressed I was, and how much people had to try and recollect my pieces after trying to help over and over, I continued to be there. Even as you pushed past the boundaries of what I and everyone else found morally acceptable, I tried so desperately hard to give you a place... But once others started becoming uncomfortable around you, myself included, something had to be done. And so I removed you from the community I tried to build from the ruins.

Despite all of this, all that’s happened... I can’t bring myself to hate you. You didn’t ask to be brought into the world like this, and it’s not fair to hate someone because of their circumstances. I... I dislike that the friend I knew is gone, probably forever, but... I can’t change that. I’m too far away, and we’ve drifted too far apart. I’m sorry it had to be like this. I don’t know if I can ever connect with you the way I did with her, if at all. It’d be hypocritical of me to hate someone with a mental illness, especially one as severe as yours. But I don’t think we can ever be coexist like we used to.

I’m sorry.

I wished I could have been there for you more often, but I can’t anymore. I hope you can find someone who is better suited to help you in this world.

#I needed to vent pretty badly after having to remember something #I don't feel like talking about it any further than that #It sounds awful of me to essentially be making a post about how exhausted I am for dealing with an old friend's problems #but I can't do it anymor #and I need some variant of closure #Because I'm not likely to get it from talking to them #I swear I don't hate someone just because of a mental illness- i don't even hate them at all #i'm just... i'm tired #and i could only do so much before collapsing onto my other friends for support #i feel awful about this #long post

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ilovehighhats · 6 years ago

Text

Missteps, ch. 04 (FIN)

A big thanks to @ihaveauseforyou for the opportunity to share a stretch of the road with Mad Max.

AO3 version here.

And you can find the first chapter here. The previous parts are under this link and that one too.

oOo

PART FOUR:

RIDING FOR A FALL

oOo

This was an aberration. Lunacy. Madness.

Is it too late to run?

I know I'm trapped in here, in the cave, at least for now. I understand.

But the need rushes through my veins along with blood. I'm hungry to run, to chase nothing but freedom. To feel the relentless heat, and harsh wind, and abrasive sand on my skin again. The stable and solid rock under my feet feels constraining. I want slippery and shifting dirt under my feet, caked in a thin crusty layer on my clothes and under my nails.

This cleanliness, this calmness is outlandish to me now. It feels too vulnerable.

The long and the short of it is, I'm mad.

But that woman is even crazier than I.

She left me dazed on the cave floor, looking at the rocky ceiling, trying to gather my bearings after the insanity that transpired between the two of us. At least we both had the presence of mind only to use our hands. What was that, anyway?

I still tremble with last remnants of the excitement and shock when she dresses and starts her climb. My clothes are still wet, like hers, so I linger on the cave floor nude and confused for the time being. What a funny picture that must be.

The woman climbs with expertise and agility. Clearly, she has done this before. Now I can see in all their glory the muscles in her back and thighs, bulging with exertion; deceptively lean on the first glance, for their obvious strength.

She winds her way up to the hole, and I hope the edge won't crumble. It seems like the gap we fell into is mostly solid rock. Perhaps someone covered it to preserve water, and we unwittingly marched into what is someone's well. Maybe it was a naturally thin cave wall, and we were the first beings heavy enough to shatter it. The truth is, even if her bike is relatively light, with all the gear and her bodyweight it's easily over two hundred kilos.

I hold my breath for a moment, as she nears the end of her journey. It's amazing how strong she is, hanging on near flat rock anchored solely on her fingertips. I exhale only when she manages to fling her arm up into the surface and slowly pulls back into the sun-drenched landscape.

It's time for me to dress.

oOo

It's already dark by the time we manage to pull everything up. By some miracle, the rope didn't snap when she used the Reaver to get her bike out.

We camp by the gap, huddled close to the machines. No fire.

The woman doesn't talk much, and I try not to look at her too often. It's as if the episode in the cave didn't happen at all. As if we were still only two wanderers sharing the road we travel and nothing else.

Of course, that's the smart way to approach it. The reasonable way. We should be a far apart, as we can.

I crane my head up to look at the stars. Should have mapped this spot already. But I can't bring myself to leave her alone, not now. Tomorrow, perhaps, in the morning. I'll probably wake before her.

But I need the stars to measure the angle...

She straightens suddenly, motioning for me to stay in my spot. Bathroom break. Now it's the best time to get out my treasured piece of cloth, and pierce my flesh, and mark this spot for future use. The bus and the truck are good road signs. The mountain range we're scaling has some unique formations too. It would be easy to find later on.

The truth is - I don't want to leave a trace of this. Not on my map, not in my head.

But she's already here, lodged comfortably between Jesse and Sprog, between The Valkyries and Furiosa. Smiling so sweetly, enticingly, reaching out to me with a hand glistening with water...

An abundance of water all around me...

A fucking siren, that's what she is. Not a measly mermaid of fairytales and children's stories, but a mythical being preying on weak men.

Such as I.

When she comes back, I pretend to be asleep.

oOo

There's a storm brewing.

The air crackles with electricity and were both on edge. Not like it's going to rain. But clouds are gathering in a thick blanket on the horizon, mounting one above the other, rising in a never-ending crescent of perspiration. It will dissipate before droplets could ever reach the earth. If not, chances are the rain will be short and sparse, falling on a small patch of land in an acidic curtain.

What I wouldn't give to feel warm drops of rain falling down on my skin.

But I know it won't ever happen. The few short hours in the cave were the only respite I'll get in the foreseeable future from the heat and cold of the desert. This is a rare occurrence here, and I know wishing for rain won't do me any good.

Still, I long for it.

The woman is silent beside me, as one of my ghosts. Its unsettling, how calm she is, how collected. As if it never happened. Her lips were never pressed to mine. Her hands didn't caress ropes of scars on my back. Her breath didn't stutter when I pushed my fingers deep between her folds.

Was it all in my head?

The storm is rising before us in a pillar of dust.

Without a word, we stop at the nearest outcrop. The bikes make up one wall of the shelter, while the rock provides two other. It should be fine.

I'm forced to revisit that statement when it's time for us to settle. The woman (What is her name? How do I call her?) folds herself close to me. It's reasonable. Logical. Practical.

I can't forget the way she writhed on top of me, or licked her lips, or kissed my skin.

The sand is abrasive, grains frantically dancing on the wind, and soon my only thoughts are of survival.

She drenched our scarfs in water, and I gave her some of my vaseline to protect her nose. That's it. It's all we have until the dust storm passes. That and our bodies, huddled close, touching hip to hip.

It descends like a curtain dropped suddenly and without care. The churning mass of air and sand roars over us, slamming rocks and debris like a bully with a vengeance. But the wasteland doesn't need any reason to try to kill us. It's always that - a magnificent view and a moment of beauty paired up to distract anyone stupid enough to get themselves killed.

Stupid fucker that I am, I marvel at the brilliance of hues beyond the sand raging all around. I wonder if the woman can see the incredible play of colour from behind her goggles.

oOo

By the third day after, I'm almost back to my old self.

This patch of the wasteland is completely flat. Rough gravel paves a good road in all direction, so we use the last of the fuel to power through. I should know better. Instead of stupidly cutting through in the shortest but most dangerous route I should have taken the big arching path to the south.

I'm too anxious to get rid of the woman and get my peace, and my ghosts, back. I'm hot and irritated. Hungry. Tired.

Just another day in the wasteland.

It's the last thought that I recollect clearly before the adrenaline rush. And then, we fall into a trap. Granted, it was one set carefully, and with much consideration. A hard one to notice.Something cuts through the hum of the Reavers' engine. I turn back and see three vehicles behind. Scavengers. Closing in on us, fast.

There is nowhere to run.

I turn to the woman, see that she noticed too, and lock my eyes on her goggles. She nods. It's getting harder and harder not to grin. I'm elated with the prospect of what's about to happen.

She cackles beside me when we slow our bikes.

The gun is already in her hand, and I aim the one I grasp besides her. The shots are slow, considered, accurate. I take the vehicle on the left, while she dispatches the one on the right. The drivers are down. She gets the person behind the wheel in the middle car when they are just before us. I blow up one of the front tires, making the vehicle swerve and crash into his fellow on the left.

The woman turns and follows the third car with the muzzle of her gun. I see the target. Stupid fuckers mounted an additional tank in plain view.

It erupts into a brilliant bonnet of red, black and yellow. An animalistic scream pierces my ears.

Two cars left still.

Looming shadow of the passing cloud spills before me when I shuffle close to the wrecked cars. The sun sets, and its orange rays reflect off of the cumulus, bathing everything in a grotesque hue.

Each and every day of my life feels surreal. Each and every moment is like watching a stranger, a deranged man, acting in a way that would make me gasp and scream.

It's my new norm now. It's what's expected, what's needed. I relish ridding the wasteland of the scavenger scum polluting it. There is nothing civilised in my pleasure at blowing the brains out of a useless piece of shit. I used to mourn every death, once upon a time. Not anymore. Not for a long while. Only survival matters now.

There is no doubt in my mind I'd be dead or on my way to death if I didn't shoot first. The experience of the wasteland taught me to know in an instant who was a threat and who could be an asset, one way or the other.

The woman strips the bodies with me, rummaging through the junk in the cars to get anything of value. Ammo, guzzoline, food, water, trinkets. There's a lot of it between us two.

We drive away when it’s dark, intent on getting as far away as possible in the least amount of time. When the flames of the still burning car shrink into a little twinkling light we'll get down to rest. For now, the gravel jumps in long curving tails from under the back wheels of the Reaver and the woman's bike. A symphony of noises. The night air is so deliciously damp and cold on the skin of my face. The stinging from constant sunburn subsides, and I get back into my head for a little while. My old, unbroken self, gets back the reins and just enjoys the night ride through the desert.

oOo

I wake up with a start.

"It's okay, you're safe," she says carefully from her spot by the bike. Her tone aims for confident and calm but misses its mark by a hair. "It's alright now."

I squint and frown at her all at the same time, trying to understand what woke me up in the first place. She's still on her bedroll and doesn't appear to have moved. No one seems to be near. The night is still dark and quiet.

"You screamed," she explains at length. "I threw a rock at you, to snap you out of that dream."

It registers after a second. My forehead does have an unfamiliar throbbing sting, a little to the side...

"You threw a rock at me?"

"Well, what else could I do and not alert anyone in the nearest vicinity that we're here?" she hisses.

I only grunt to that and turn more comfortably on my side. Facing her openly, measuring her words. It's true, I have to admit, if I did as much as talk in my sleep that could be dangerous. To be honest, I'm surprised it took this long to surface at all.

"I think I recognised some of the markings on those cars," she says.

Now, this is unexpected. A change of subject to spare me some of the discomfort? How merciful.

"I heard of a scavengers tribe like that once. We may be a little too far south from my home, but we're getting there."

"Good," I say because it is. Right? That's what we're teamed up for. To get her home, get me the pay, and part ways.

"Your shoulder seems almost healed now," she throws the comment like a lifeline to get me out of my head.

That's right, I barely registered the pain from it anymore. The constant tingling of the sunburnt skin is more irritating than this. I can use it almost as I would before the fall.

I roll to my back and look towards the sky. Stars are visible, but there are a few patches of clouds here and there. Deceiving people into thinking there could be rain or respite.

Not in this life.

Not out in the wasteland.

She sighs and I wait until she breathes evenly before I close my eyes again.

oOo

I can feel the end of our journey is near. Don't know how, but it's one of those things that you don't question. Like Sprog's warnings, or Furiosa’s sarcastic sideways glance. Million information compressed into a tenth of a second.

It's not far now.

I can't wait until I am alone again.

I dread being left only with my ghosts again.

I fear wanting to stay on the road with another human being.

None of that is showing on my face, but I blurt some nonsense in my sleep again. I'm sure of it because in the mornings she looks at me differently when she thinks I don't notice.

Softly, pitifully.

There's no place for that in the wastelands.

This night we have fire and can roast some lizards. The woman cleans her bike, then eats in silence in a routine that seems too familiar by now. I take care of the Reaver, but I'm distracted, thoughts running through my head in short bursts, spilling all at once, bouncing one off the other too fast to leave a coherent sentence for me to hang on to.

My skin crawls with unease. During the day the sweat, along with caked on sand irritates me, itches in places I can't reach. Then, there's the wind at nights. Strong and cold gusts of air fall down on our camp in regular intervals, like waves eating at the shore.

Sometimes I wish for silence.

The wasteland is never truly silent. There's always a rush of sounds. Of blood in my ears, or of gale on my skin, or of sand underneath the tyres. Hurry up and die, or hurry up and live. I never know which is it in the end.

If only I could understand all those whispers. Sometimes they talk all at once, even if I feel like all the world has muted and closed its ears.

A rustle attracts my attention. It's the woman. She sits up, shifts to her knees and stands. Then proceeds to angrily take off her clothes. Scarf and goggles land softly on her bedroll, then the belt thuds heavily. She sneers like the canvas jacket did something to displease her, as apparently did her light linen shirt. It's so much different from the way she disrobed back in the cave. Now it's as if the clothes burned her, ate at her skin, melted into her hair.

She has to sit down to unlace and yank off her shoes, and she does it frantically almost. Never even a whimper escapes her lips during all this commotion. Her wrappings off her legs, she stands up and finally, a sound leaves her lips.

She sighs, then turns towards me.

Why is she coming here?

The question never reaches my lips.

The woman falls to her knees beside my bedroll.

"That itch," she mumbles, "I can't get rid of it."

I'm halfway up when she reaches me, so now we’re nearly face to face. I shift to my knees as well and grab her by the arms, to maintain the distance between us.

I have no idea what is she talking about. The answer is clear.

"Your problem, not mine. Deal with it."

"I am."

The words left her tongue at the same moment when she twisted her palms to grab my biceps. Just that, just a touch of hands on my body, through the leather of the jacket and fabric of my shirt, and I am almost leaning into her.

I let her guide my palms, again.

Delicately, and without insisting, her right-hand slides down to my elbow, pushing my whole arm towards her. I loosen the grip on her flesh, and she smiles softly, tracing the length of my forearm as far as she can reach. When my skin touches her bare back, she closes her eyes and touches her forehead to mine.

"Scratch," she whispers.

And I do. I rake my nails down her spine, relishing the curve of it, as she moans lowly and presses even closer. On the way up I press on her muscles, delicately, just enough to feel the bones of her ribcage under the skin. Then it's back to scoring down her spine, and across her shoulder blades, over her clavicles and underneath her breasts.

Her hands twist the fabric at my chest, grabbing the sweatshirt for support and grounding her into the moment.

I'm too hot and too cold, all at the same time. Her skin is cool to the touch but runs hot and red where my nails left a trail of raised welts. The marks look like a tattoo.

I grab her by the buttocks, filling my palms with the softness there. The plumpness speaks of wealth and safety. But obviously, she has a taste for danger. There's recklessness in the way she presses herself even closer to my body, a helpless resignation to the whim, the itch, that made her come here.

She exhales loudly when I press her insistently to my abdomen, the hardness unmistakeable and bold.

My forehead still touches hers when I feel the rough skin of her knuckles under my shirt. I close my eyes, focusing only on the weight of soft flesh in my hands, and sharp nails tracing a sure path down my stomach.

It's far too easy to fall. I know exactly what she intends to do.

I was like her, once. The perfect predator, the perfect prey. The wasteland blurs lines between the two.

The buckle comes undone almost without a sound and the leather of my pants parts with minimal resistance. There's not much in her way.

Vaguely, I'm aware of the too tight grasp I have on her, because she hisses, at the same time I do. But I do for an entirely different reason. The cold night air is almost soothing on my exposed skin. I open my eyes to watch the need build inside her eyes.

She slicks her lips with one fast lick of her tongue, glistening under the starlight. I can't gauge her mood at the moment, all of my thoughts focused below the waist, on her hand holding my cock.

I don't flinch, don't jerk away. Only bite my bottom lip and gulp down a moan.

Nothing in the wasteland had the right to be this gentle and survive.

Her left hand grips at my shoulder and she presses impossibly close, stomach to stomach, lifting her right knee momentarily. Her foot is on tiptoes when she angles her hips just so, and I slide inside her tight heat. Then she lowers her knee back down and we're close, so close together, even my breath isn't entirely my own.

I didn't remember a woman being this hot. Captivatingly sweet and wet. Tight and soft at the same time.

Both her hands are at the back of my neck now, holding tight. She whimpers and squeezes the muscles in her thighs, and - oh god - it's the best torture. I barely can move, but there's no real need to, not yet. A slight tip of my hips is enough to push my cock deeper inside, to wrangle a satisfied sigh out of her mouth, and straight into mine.

Contrary to what I want to pretend before myself, there is no dizziness clouding my reason. My head is absolutely clear. I can feel, see, and remember everything in razor-sharp detail.

How her nostrils flare at every intake of her shortened breath.

How she knits her eyebrows in concentration, squeezing me with her internal muscles.

How her wetness leaks out, tickling the fine hair at the top of my thighs.

The grasp on my shoulders turns desperate. She strains for the release, but doesn't hurry. If anything, she seems more thorough, more intent on getting each and every movement exactly right.

It does feel perfect.

The pleasure is almost agonising. Although she does most of the work, I'm not idle. Every upstroke is mine, with my hands on her hips, my pelvis grinding insistently up and up. Each backstroke is hers, with her muscles tensing, grabbing, pulling...

I can't breathe anymore, the mingling of air and moans between us suddenly too much. I grab her hair with one palm, press my head to her shoulder and now that I can gulp the cold desert air, now I begin to move in earnest.

The woman sinks her nails in the leather of my jacket and holds fast.

I'm tensed into a stone, rigid muscles focused only on one task.

This is what freedom should feel like. Not the constant fear and exhaustion, but this, pure pleasure and elation.

Her mouth is at my ear, whispering spells and demands. I go faster when she tells me to. I go deeper, although I don't think it's possible. I go harder, throwing my head back, feeling first her lips at my craned neck, then her teeth, and finally her climax.

She's almost spilling through my hands when she's done, but she tries to hold on. I ram my cock up ruthlessly, chest heaving in the futile effort to give me enough oxygen to calm down that frantic heartbeat. It grows into a stampede, and blinds me with a white rush of the finish.

Tranquillity does come soon after that, under the guise of a feather-light kiss.

I don't even know, when exactly I fall back onto my bedroll, and then - asleep.

oOo

On the next day, it all seems like a dream.

Wordlessly as always, we gather all our supplies in the morning, clean up the campsite and set on our way. Just like any other day.

My mind wanders, trapped in between last night and the brightness of the day. What will happen when we stop to sleep this time? Will she come to me again? Will I mark the spot on my map? Will Sprog hop out of her hiding behind my eyelids, and remind me all of the things I thought long forgotten?

Fuck.

I'm distracted, barely seeing what's before me. The landscape is monotone, and I let it blur in the corners of my vision. We ride as much as possible, to get the last leg of the journey as fast, as possible.

Like a blind dog, I walk straight into a trap. Again.

We're surrounded before I can even register that there are guns - a lot of guns - pointed at my face. My gloves creak weakly when I tighten the hold on the handles of the Reaver. Just a second ago this was an uninhabited, empty plain. The group literally appeared out of thin air.

I would fight, but what is there to do? Where could we run?

"You're trespassing."

The voice, low and growling, comes from behind us. I angle my head a bit - not too much - to hear better. Too many opponents, too many variables. I just need to wait it out, long enough to see an opening.

"Trespassers are dealt with swiftly here," the voice continues, clearly mocking.

What would they want? Bikes? Weapons? Blood?

"How exactly, pray tell?" The question rings out clearly from my left. Fighting the urge to snap my head I try to hide my rising panic.

"Shut up," I hiss at the woman through clenched teeth. What is this madness? Why would she say that?

"Who asked that," the male voice rasps.

My companion stupidly revealed her cards, and all I can do now is calculate. Women are a precious commodity. She is marked, and clearly, they know she has more value beyond the obvious.

If the guy closest to me looks away, I could try getting behind him and maybe shoot his pal with...

Before I finish my thought I see the woman taking off the wrapping from her palm. In a steady and confident gesture, she raises her arm, elegantly showing the tattoo to all of the people around us.

"No, but I insist. Do tell, what happens to trespassers here? And while you're at it, I'd like to know which of my brothers you report to."

What? Brothers?

I'm not the only one astonished by her words. The men and women murmur and look towards that mysterious figure behind our backs.

"Impossible!" he yells. But it's weak and comes out pathetic. Most of the guns are lowered, although still directed towards us.

The woman finally turns towards him, unimpeded by anyone. She makes a show out of looking the yeller up and down.

"Ah, weak chin, red hair, iron knuckles... You have to be Paddy Knuckles."

"You've heard about me," he says triumphantly, preening before his men.

"Sure I did," she replies, amiably at first glance.

I'm sure she smiled while saying that. I'm also pretty certain that smile did not bode well for poor Paddy. Her back is straightened in a way I saw once before. When she prepared to kill those scavengers. It's like glee radiating off of her frame. Still contained, but barely.

Not for the first time, I wonder if I am the mad one here, or if it's she.

"I heard that you're a crafty one."

"I sure am."

"That means I don't have to spell out the deal here, do I?"

Silence.

Some of the people sniggered after a few seconds. I would huff a chuckle too - if I wouldn't know how dangerous was the game she played. Was her leverage really big enough to humiliate the guy in front of his men?

"Fine, let's do it this way since you like to play dumb." She sighs, practically radiating exasperation. "I'm taking over. Any complaints may be referred to Master Proton."

The name changed the atmosphere around us as if the air instantly thickened.

"I'm in no mood to chit-chat any longer. You know who gets rewarded here, and for what. And who gets punished." She cocked her head at Paddy. Despite the goggles, he must have seen something in her eyes. "Time to do your job."

I don't know what was it in the end, her confidence or whatever that tattoo signified, but to my amazement, the group puts away their weapons.

She gives a few orders, and I watch everything around me, adrift in the situation without a clear definition of a role. What am I now? A guest? A hostage?

What is she?

Somebody gives me a pitcher of guzzoline. I let the Reaver drink it all, then wait for everyone to take their vehicles out of hiding.

The woman looks at me, finally, for the first time since this surreal ordeal started. That tattooed palm reaches up to her scarf and she slides it down. Takes a big gulp out of a canteen, then hands it to me.

When I reach for it she doesn't let go. Makes sure I look right at her. She mouths at me two words. They make the skin on my back crawl and tighten at the same time.

Trust me, is what my mind interprets from the movement of her lips.

And then she straightens back up. Orders the oblivious crowd to go.

They escort us in silence. As a sign of good will, they ride in a big spear-shaped formation towards our destination, letting me and the woman tag as the very last, along with Paddy.

No one notices that I'm not all there. I feel like my soul shattered and I leave a breadcrumb-like trail of it behind me, piece by piece, hollowing out the closer we get to the woman's home.

What awaits me there?

Maybe I just got dizzy from the fumes.

I slow down and stop the Reaver. This is madness. Why would I go wherever they're leading me?

The woman notices first. She gives Paddy some kind of gesture, and they keep on riding, slower and constantly looking back, but away and away.

I'm not getting calmer just yet, but this helps.

She's by me in an instant.

"You need food. And water. And guzzoline."

"I can take care of myself."

"I know you can. You're my bodyguard." The goggles slide down with an impatient movement of her hand, along with the scarf. In the sharp sun, I can see that her hair has fiery strands. I never noticed that before.

Her eyebrows are matted with dust, lips chapped and dry. Still, she smiles and my stupid brain sees her for a split second like she was out in that cave, dripping with water. Enchanting, bewitching, alluring.

A fucking siren is what she is. Even when there's not a drop of moisture in sight.

"Let me take care of you."

I bite my lip, considering.

None of the questions running through my mind make it out of my mouth. Not even the one that stubbornly flashes in my head over and over again.

Like how you did in that cave? Like how you did last night?

I want to ask, but I'm too scared of her answer.

Shaking my head I frown and feign confidence that I've long lost.

"I only need pay for my work. Deal's a deal."

Her smile fades, but those eyes still carry some elusive charm. It's the colour. That must be it. The green.

"Deal's a deal," she echoes. "Come on, then."

And I go - stupid, stupid, stupid - like the idiot fucker that I am.

Where is Sprog, Angharad, Jesse? Why won't anybody talk me out of it?

Before I notice, we're there. To my defence, there's not much landscape-wise to see. A hill rising gently out of the desert. Rocky as anything besides it. But there is a gate, a massive maw of a gate, guarding an entrance to the belly of that hill.

The spearhead of the motorcade reaches it long before both of us, and as we arrive I can clearly see inside. There are people and bikes. Fire and water. Plants, growing freely, for all to touch.

She stops just before the entrance. There's a man there, weighted down with hardship and years. She leaves the bike on the road and sprints towards him.

I watch his joy and gauge her reaction. She's pleased but uneasy.

I wonder why, only until she turns towards me.

She waits for me to come.

Life is cheap in the wastelands.

But even if cheap - it still has some worth.

I just have to decide what mine is worth in this very moment.

The gate of the oasis beckons, as do the woman's lush green eyes.

Water. Shelter. Food.

The gravel creaks under my boots with each step. The finality of my decision thudding heavily with every nervous beat of my heart. Each step is measured and careful.

A misstep could have cost me my life.

oOo

THE END

#fandom: mad max #mad max #max rockatansky #Fanwork: Fanfiction #fanfiction #fandomtrumpshate #fandomtrumpshate2018 #ihaveauseforyou #smut

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