#The clouds of their cloak look so fluffy and I love the flow of their hair!!!

[waifujuju]

I FORGOT TO ATTACH THE ART . Seriously Happy Birthday -July spawn

AAAAHHH THIS IS SO CUTE, THANK YOU SO SO MUCH!!!!

[krmndng]

"Even if I were to die, my name has remained engraved on your lips like an edict."

casual by chappel roan, literally. but it has lore and religious metaphors. this is chapter 1. oh yeah this is pure angst btw fluff in the start but just pure angst, pure. A N G S T (arlefuri and arlebina)

Arlecchino left an indelible kiss on her lips, a mark so casually imprinted that it seemed effortless and natural. This new sensation now enveloping Furina—could it be vulnerability? Undoubtedly. Her heart threatened to burst from her chest in this moment. From the outset of this "relationship," or so Furina had believed, she was well aware of Arlecchino's dangerous nature. The woman with white hair, pallid skin, delicate fingers, cold demeanor, and decisive actions stood as a stark contrast to Furina's own insecurities. Despite her attempts to deny and cloak her fears beneath a facade of playfulness and exuberance displayed in her trials and to the people of Fontaine, she was, in truth, a bundle of tears and anxieties.

"My beautiful princess," Arlecchino purred, her lips lingering on Furina's, her icy gloves tenderly caressing Furina's cheeks. Her dark, calamitous eyes locked onto Furina's, who appeared naive in the face of this unexpected advance. Furina's thoughts grew hazier as she reflected on the events of the past two months.

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Furina often found herself grappling with solitude, a constant companion. Even in Neuvillete's presence, she couldn't shake the uncomfortable, deep-seated feeling that gnawed at her chest. The notion of being loved or having someone stand by her side seemed almost laughable. The idea that someone would have to endure all her flaws and her longing for solitude? The thought that someone might love her if they realized she wasn't an archon? You must be joking, right?

She had no one to confide in, no one but herself. Yet she makes an effort to maintain a cheerful demeanor and to uphold the hopes of the people of Fontaine. After a day of concealing her true self, she found comfort in gazing at her reflection. Furina would sing while combing her hair, indulging in sweets, meticulously inspecting each strand of hair and counting her eyelashes as if she were with her best friend.

The routine repeated day after day, night after night, whenever she found a mirror. Even if only for a fleeting moment, she found solace in her reflection.

On a spring day, however, Furina awoke burdened. The routine she clung to had grown monotonous and dull. The same trials with their predictable outcomes, the same faces, the weight of the nation's expectations squarely on her shoulders. On this day, the claims about the prophecy intensified. She had to escape quickly as tears threatened to spill. Furina nearly experienced a full-blown anxiety attack in front of the crowd. Her breath quickened, her eyes darted around, and she clutched at her chest, overwhelmed by guilt.

Neuvillete noticed her distress. He wanted to offer comfort as best he could, but all he could do was watch her suffer in silence, for Furina detested being seen as vulnerable. After Furina ran her fingers through her hair and eyes, feigning a smile, Neuvillete intervened. He understood her intention to return to her duties, yet the demands were now more pressing than ever. Looking directly into her eyes, he gently suggested, "Shall we go and enjoy some sweets? My treat."

Neuvillete sought out a tranquil spot for her, far from the city's noise. In Mont Esus, he found the perfect atmosphere.

Furina found solace in the solitude. Surrounded only by the sound of flowing water and the breathtaking landscape before her, she savored the moment. The fluffy clouds and the setting sun provided a picturesque backdrop. For the first time in weeks, a genuine smile graced Furina's face, and Neuvillete, realizing he could do no more, left the sweets by her side and departed. Perhaps talking with herself this time would soothe the internal wounds Furina carried.

And so it was. Furina selected a dessert, took a bite, and savored the exquisite taste of the macaron. Barefoot, perched on a rock, she dipped her feet into the cool water, amusing herself by distorting her reflection on the water's surface, punctuating the scene with hearty laughter. In that moment, she appeared entirely different from her usual flamboyant, childlike self, finding joy in her mirrored image.

"You seem to be enjoying yourself, Miss Furina," a cool, deep voice interjected.

Furina nearly dropped the next dessert in surprise, her mind going blank as she recognized the figure before her.

"Macarons… an excellent choice, though I expected more from you," the knave remarked, half in jest. Arlecchino's demeanor, apathetic as ever, made it difficult to discern her intentions. She casually helped herself to one of the macarons at Furina's side. Though terrified, Furina couldn't help but feel like prey, cornered without an escape, with no one to hear her cries. What would Arlecchino do next? Would she attack or demand the truth about Furina's identity? The world seemed merciless, and Furina feared the worst.

Avoiding direct eye contact, Furina eventually mustered the courage to meet Arlecchino's gaze. To her surprise, she was met with a soft smile and what seemed like genuine goodwill. Arlecchino removed her heels and settled beside Furina, sumberging her feet in the water. Furina, who cherished beauty and all things graceful—objects, flowers, sweets, clothing, jewelry, regardless of cost—felt something stir within her as she observed the sun casting a gentle glow on Arlecchino's white hair and her now tranquil demeanor.

"The weather is quite pleasant, wouldn't you agree?" Arlecchino remarked.

"Absolutely! I was just taking a brief respite. It's rare for me to pause, as I'm usually quite spirited and dedicated to assisting my people of Fontaine. I must return shortly…" Furina trailed off, her voice trembling, but she maintained her facade, using gestures to convey her thoughts.

"No need to play pretend with me, Miss Furina," the knave interjected, fixing her gaze on Furina's, as if peering into her soul. Furina tried to discern any malice in Arlecchino's eyes, only for the knave's demeanor to soften further. Arlecchino seemed intent on revealing a more tender side, one that was humane, gentle, and amiable. Was there anything more intimate than this moment of vulnerability? Stripped of titles and obligations, baring their true selves to each other, Arlecchino sought to convey that she, too, was making an effort.

"I… I don't quite understand what you are trying to say," Furina replied.

"You understand perfectly well," Arlecchino insisted.

"I don't. Perhaps I don't wish to," Furina pouted, her composure wavering, on the verge of tears. She displayed her vulnerabilities. In all the people that exist in Teyvat, not with Arlecchino please.

"If you expect me to strike at you now, you'll be waiting a long time," Arlecchino declared, leaving Furina wide-eyed in disbelief. Could it be that Arlecchino bore similar burdens? It seemed as though she could see through Furina, through all her joys and wounds, through everything that defined Furina. Arlecchino remained enigmatic, her intentions veiled. Was this a ploy to deceive Furina?

"And how can I be sure you speak the truth?" Furina questioned.

"I believe we share a similar perspective on the world—an elaborate stage where we use masks to play our parts. You have captured my interest, Furina. I wish to bridge our differences and show you that we may not be as dissimilar as you believe."

Furina had never felt so seen and acknowledged. Had one of her dreams materialized? Could it be that someone in this existence truly noticed her and sought to understand her? A blush tinged her cheeks, and she swiftly turned away, concealing her reaction from Arlecchino.

"You'll have to demonstrate your sincerity over time," Furina replied.

"You can stay by my side and see for yourself," Arlecchino said, meeting Furina's gaze with a smile.

Poor Furina… She had fallen right into her trap.

[dreamerstreamer]

Somewhere Only We Know

Pairing: god!Dream / DreamXD x gn!reader

Summary: [Reincarnation!AU & Dream SMP!AU] Being a god can be especially lonely—Dream knows that better than anyone. Yet somehow, you always manage to find your way back to him in every life you live. If only it didn’t hurt so much to love you.

Warnings: tw// mention of death

Word Count: 5.6k

A/N: requested by the lovely 🤡 anon, who asked for a piece based on keane’s somewhere only we know! i got rather carried away when writing this, and it’s certainly quite sad, but i hope you all enjoy it! <3

Dream blinks lazily up at the fluffy clouds drifting across the cerulean sky, his emerald eyes tracing over their soft edges. He hums to himself as one of them drifts in front of the sun, the warm light suddenly leaving his face. Frowning, he sits up a little straighter, raising his arm above his head. He snaps his fingers once, and in an instant, the clouds vanish. Warmth floods his cheeks as the sun’s brilliant rays crash over him once more. He smiles, but it’s melancholic, a forlorn look passing over his face.

Just how long has he been alone like this?

Sighing, he rises to his feet, kicking at the soft dirt beneath the soles of his boots. His viridian cloak is light atop his shoulders, his wings neatly folded underneath the soft fabric. Above his head, his halos glow with a dazzling golden hue, sending beams of amber light flashing across the nearby tree trunks. Rolling his neck, he snaps his fingers again, and his wings and halos vanish in a flash. Just like that, the weight on his back dissipates, and his lips twitch. There—that’s much lighter.

His gaze flickers over to the waterfall lying just a yard away, rushing ripples of water streaming down the short cliff face and into the pool lying at its base. He crouches down next to the small pond, brushing his hand over the soft soil beneath his feet. Sparks shoot up his arm and into his fingertips, the earth suddenly bursting to life underneath his touch.

All of a sudden, a blossom sprouts from the ground, soft and pink as it unfurls its petals and soaks up the warm sunshine. Dream grins as row after row of flowers shoot up from the ground, circling around the pond and lining the trees around the clearing until suddenly, the whole space is surrounded by breathtaking blossoms. He stands back with a satisfied hum, glancing around himself with an almost nostalgic gleam in his gaze.

It’s been ages since he last returned to this little alcove in his favourite forest. He could tell no one else had stepped foot here except for him, too. After all, there was only one other person who knew about this place—the only other person in the world he knew would be able to find it in the first place.

Had it been decades or centuries since he last visited? He’s not sure anymore, but really, he’s not sure if he cares, either. There’s a reason why he doesn’t come back here very often—one that he hesitates to even think about.

It’s far too painful of a memory to relive.

“Hello?”

Dream freezes, his eyes going wide at the sound of a new voice—a familiar voice. Slowly, he turns, his lips parting in awe as he sees a figure stepping into the clearing, a mix of caution and curiosity flitting across your cheeks.

He knows that face—knows you.

His heart aches at the thought.

“Hi,” he manages after a long moment, swallowing ever so slightly.

You flash him a sheepish smile, lowering your gaze to the ground almost bashfully as you brush a stray leaf off your shoulder. “I’m sorry if I’m intruding, or anything. I was just passing by when I saw the flowers, and thought they looked really pretty, and...”

You trail off, your voice growing smaller and smaller until it fades off into silence. Dream stares at you, unmoving as his heart races a mile a minute in his chest, battering against his rib cage as your timid gaze flickers to his.

“I, um,” you squeak out, feeling the intensity of his eyes on yours. “I can go if you wa—”

“No,” Dream suddenly blurts, the word flying out of his mouth before he can stop himself. He can already feel the heat flooding his chest at the way you startle in front of him, and he sucks in a breath.

“Wait,” he says, calmer this time. “Please, I—you’re not intruding at all. You can stay.” He takes a shaky step forward, offering you a crooked yet earnest smile. “I’d love it if you stayed.”

In an instant, your face lights up, and his breath hitches in his throat at the sight. “O-Oh, thank you! It’s nice to meet you. My name’s [Y/N].”

In that moment, he could have sworn his heart stopped and would never beat, again. “What’s yours?” you ask, your eyes shining like freshly cut gemstones.

His eyes scan your face for a moment, taking in the soft panes of your cheeks and the delicate curve of your lips as your smile leaves tiny cuts in his lungs.

“Dream,” he breathes at last. “Call me Dream.”

Suddenly, your eyes curve into tiny crescent moons as you grin at him, and he feels the loneliness flowing through his veins subside the tiniest bit.

Even after all this time, he still can’t bring himself to forget your smile.

Dream hums to himself as he tosses a pebble into the pond from his spot on the fallen tree log. The stream laps at the stone once before swallowing it whole, letting it sink to the murky bottom without so much as a splash. A rustle comes from behind him, and he immediately whirls, his lips curling up into an eager smile.

“[Y/N],” he chirps, bright and keen, “welcome back.”

Your glowing face greets him in return, and he nearly combusts on the spot. He still remembers the way you had promised him you would return to see him again a week ago, when you had first stumbled upon his clearing. His head still spins at the thought, and it almost makes him forget the longing ache that sinks into his bones when his gaze lingers on you for a fraction too long.

Almost.

You wave at him as you jump over a protruding tree root, crinkles forming at the corners of your eyes. “Good morning, Dream! What are you doing here so early? The market only just opened.”

He shuffles over on the log to give you room, raising an eyebrow at you. “I could ask the same of you.”

Crouching over, you settle down onto the space next to him, not at all noticing the way he stiffens when your thigh brushes against his. “I woke up early to watch the sunrise,” you say with a half-drowsy smile.

There is a beat of silence, then Dream tilts his head at you. “The sunrise?”

You bob your head, turning to look at him. “Yeah,” you murmur wistfully, raising your arm to wave your hand up at the sky above. “I love watching all the pretty colours fill the horizon. It only lasts a few minutes, but it’s so magnificent, and I always try to watch them if I can.”

His eyes flash as he takes in your gentle expression. Then, he opens his mouth, thoughtful and slow. “Sunrises, hm? What other things do you like?”

You pause for a moment. “Other things I like?” When he nods, you hum, averting your gaze from his until you find yourself staring over at the bubbling waterfall.

“I like... I like flowers,” you begin, “but you already knew that.” He chuckles at the hint of a smile that dusts your face before you continue. “I like exploring the market every Saturday, too. They always have something new to find.”

Suddenly, your eyes flicker to life, glittering with excitement. “Oh, I also like stargazing! It’s like watching the universe paint a picture with little crystals every night, and something about looking up at the sky makes me feel so small, and I... I...” You gesture vaguely, a frustrated noise escaping your throat. “I don’t know. I just like it.”

Dream cannot help the way his heart melts in his chest at the sound you make, a certain fondness seeping into his soul. You were always so endearing—always, always, always.

“What about you, Dream?” you say suddenly, looking at him curiously. “What things do you like?”

Dream blinks at you—once, twice. Suddenly, his mind is flooded with image after image, memory after memory.

He thinks of the millennia he has lived through, the cities he has watched rise and fall. He thinks of the countless distances he has wandered, travelling far and wide with a heavy loneliness hanging in his barren heart. He thinks of soft kisses pressed to calloused fingertips and fluttering eyelids.

Then, he looks at you, with your enraptured eyes and your glorious grin.

“You,” he says, sincerity gracing his every word. “I like spending time with you.”

He watches as you stammer in reply, your eyes going wide as you gape at him in a mixture of embarrassment and flattery. He laughs at you, and his heart swells in his chest.

He’s missed you—more than you would ever know.

“Say, Dream, have you ever seen the ocean?”

The sun glares harshly into your eyes from where you lie on the earth, staring up at the cobalt sky, but Dream hardly notices—his eyes are too focused on you. “I have,” he murmurs as his gaze traces over the bridge of your nose in wonder. He’s seen more of the world than he would like to admit. After all, he was the one who created it in the first place. But to you, he’s just a simple traveler with a penchant for waterfalls.

Before he can even register it, you’ve bolted upright, bending over him with an excited shout. “Really?! What’s it like?”

He jolts at the sudden movement, all too keenly aware of how close your face is to his before his shuffles into a sitting position, resting his chin on his hand. “Well,” he begins, “it’s really big. So big that you can’t see the shore on the other side no matter how hard you try. It’s blue as far as the eye can see, and the breeze kind of tastes salty if you open your mouth.”

He catches a flash of your awed expression as he waves his arm in front of him to illustrate the vast size of the ocean. “The water,” he continues, envisioning the waves as they crash onto the sand, “is nice and cold, and if you swim deep enough, you might find fish and coral. It’s relaxing to watch the tide come up into the beach. Sometimes, shells wash up onto the shore, too. You can keep those as little souvenirs.”

For a moment, you are silent as you simply stare at him, something swirling deep within your gaze. “Wow,” you say at last, sounding completely breathless. “That sounds beautiful.” You stretch your legs out in front of you, your fingers curling into the grass spread beneath your palms. “My best friend says there’s mermaids in the ocean.” You scrunch your nose. “I don’t know if I believe him, though.”

Something dark ripples through Dream, and the tiniest of frowns passes over his face. “Your best friend?” he parrots.

You nod. “Yeah—his name’s Karl. He’s really nice and likes to goof off a lot. He’s also a really good storyteller!” You look at him then, fondly and with such a kind look it almost knocks Dream right over. “I think you might like his stories.”

His lips quirk up into a coy smile, and he leans ever so slightly forward. “Would I, now?” he croons, a teasing lilt tinting his tone. “What kind of stories does he like to tell?”

You clasp your hands together, excitement brimming in your face. “Oh, wonderful ones! There’s the one about the sleepy fox, the one about the pig who could not be killed, and the one about how we all face reincarnation after death, but my favourite,” you murmur, “is about the creation of the world.”

Dream goes still at that, his smile faltering for a split second. “How does that one go?” he asks softly.

You scoot the tiniest bit closer to his side, your gaze lowering ever so slightly. “Once upon a time,” you start, your voice as smooth as velvet, “a god descended from the heavens and carved the world into the shape it is today.” You traced your finger along the soft dirt. “He made valleys and hills, oceans and rivers, decorating the land with flowers and trees. The world he made was beautiful, but it was lonely, so he filled it with people to keep him company. He was so full of joy to have friends, until one day, he fell in love.”

Your demeanour, which had been cheerful up until this point, suddenly shifted, darkening as you let out a sigh. “He fell in love so quickly and so deeply that he was blind to the nature of his own creations, as they had a mortal lifespan, unlike him. When his lover died, a part of his soul died with them. He vanished after that, never to be seen again.” You curl your knees to your chest, resting your head upon them. “Some people say he wanders the world, mourning for all of eternity. Others say he died of heartbreak. Even fewer believe that his lover lives on and he loves them still, although they’re not entirely sure. Either way, he has yet to appear, and humanity quietly awaits for his return.”

Dream is silent beside you, his lips pressed into a thin line as his chest rises and falls with the timing of his breaths. “Why is that story your favourite?” he finally asks.

You lift your head, surprise shooting across your face. “I’m not sure,” you say softly, pondering for a moment. “I just think he sounds so... sad. It’s a tragedy, what happened to him. He only wanted to not be alone anymore.” Your voice drops even lower. “He only ever wanted to love someone.”

An ache suddenly expands within his gut, digging into his sides of his skull with such ferocity he fears he may never escape it. That same, fleeting sense of solitude slinks around his lungs, squeezing and squeezing until your eyes lock into his, and they halt.

“Do you think that he lives on?” you whisper, your gaze searching his. “That he might have found someone else to keep him company, despite his sadness?”

You pause, something like hope sparking within your eyes. “Do you think... he ever loved again?”

Dream stares at you, and stares at you, and stares at you. Your lips are right there, are so dreadfully close to him as he looks at you, feeling the blood pound through his ears as the pain in his heart begins to lift. It rises higher and higher within him before sliding off his shoulders entirely, leaving nothing behind but tender affection and warmth—a warmth he had been yearning for for so, so long.

He smiles at you then, and for once, this one is real.

“Something tells me he did.”

Dream stretches his wings out behind him with a quiet groan, feeling the cool air ruffle his ivory white feathers. His cloak sits on the ground next to him while his golden halos spin rapidly atop his head from where they float, glowing faintly in the fading evening light. After a moment, he lets his wings fold back up against his back, lowering his arms with a sharp exhale. In the distance, he catches a glimpse of the setting sun just before it dips below the horizon, shrouding the world in darkness. With a bored look, he picks at his nail, curling his toes in his shoes.

He’s already waved you off and watched as you wove your way out of the clearing and between the forest’s tangled trees back to your village. Now, he has nothing left to do but wait for your return the next day, his throat aching for your arrival with every passing second.

How far I have fallen, he thinks distantly to himself, to be reduced to nothing more than a helpless admirer for a human.

A moment passes, and his heart sighs.

A lovely human, at that.

All of a sudden, he hears a stick snap behind him, and Dream immediately snaps his fingers, his wings and halos disappearing in a flash, almost as if they had never existed to begin with. Whipping around on his heel, he narrows his eyes at the clearing entrance, jaw clenched in preparation. His shoulders are raised at his side, tense with anticipation when just then...

...you stumble out of the forest, tears streaking down your face.

Dream’s shoulders fall in an instant.

“Dream,” you choke out, your voice cracking sharply.

You don’t even get the chance to open your mouth again before he’s standing in front of you, his hands gripping your shoulders as gently as he can manage. His eyes scan your face as his stomach churns with agony at the despair painted onto your features. “[Y/N],” he murmurs softly, “what’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

You sniffle, lifting your head to look at him through watery eyes as you open your mouth. “Karl—he’s sick. Really sick,” you babble like a winding stream. “The doctor doesn’t know what’s wrong with him, and he’s been coughing so badly that you can just tell he’s in pain. At this rate, I—I’m scared he’s not going to get any better. He... I’ve known him since forever, and I—”

The words die in your mouth as you cut yourself off with a broken sob, and Dream almost feels as though he’s been stabbed in the gut. He never wants to see you in pain, to see you as sad as this, and the fact that you are sobbing at all makes him want to wail himself.

Softly, he wraps his arms around you, pressing you close to your chest as he rocks you gently back and forth with your head resting on his shoulder. Your tears soak his shirt, but he doesn’t mind one bit. “Shh, [Y/N],” he coos quietly. “It’s going to be okay.”

You pull back with a wary gaze, fear etched into your features. “How do you know that?” you whisper. “What if he doesn’t get better? What then?”

Dropping one arm from behind you, Dream slips a hand into his pocket, quickly rubbing his fingers together. Just like that, cool glass that wasn’t there a moment earlier presses against the warmth of his palm, and he pulls out a vial filled with a pale, rosy liquid.

“Here,” he says, pressing the vial into your hand. “This is an antidote I’ve been...” He pauses for a split second, then fibs. “...holding onto for a while. For emergencies.” Slowly, he clasps your fingers until they’re closed around the glass top, sending you a reassuring smile. “Give this to Karl, and I promise you he’ll recover.”

You blink at him, your eyes glimmering underneath the light of the swirling stars overhead. “You swear?” you ask meekly, hope dancing along the edge of your lashes.

Dream swallows thickly and nods. “On my life.”

You inhale a deep, shuddering breath, then raise your hand to wipe at your eyes before smiling at him, warm and full of affection. “Okay,” you murmur as you step back from him. “I trust you, Dream.”

The next morning, you come tumbling into Dream’s arms with a gleeful cry, tears flowing freely down your face as you knock him to the ground. This time, they’re there for an entirely different reason as you ramble about Karl’s cleared airways when the doctor came to check on him after you fed him the antidote.

Beneath you, Dream relishes in the warmth of your body against his, praying you cannot feel the way his heart hammers against his chest.

There were not enough words in the world that he could use to describe how deep his devotion to you ran.

He fears there may never be enough.

Months pass in a blur, and Dream watches with knowing eyes as summer turns to autumn. Soon enough, snow coats the clearing although the waterfall continues to flow. No matter how harsh the weather, you stumble your way back to the forest to him, and each day, Dream feels himself sink deeper and deeper into the very essence that is you.

To think that there was once a time he never wanted to return here at all.

“Dream,” you say abruptly one day, “you know, I think you might be my favourite person in the world.”

He cocks a brow at you, his lips twitching up into a small smirk. “In the world?” he repeats. “I think Karl would be offended.”

You roll your eyes at him, but you can’t stop the smile from stretching across your face. “Maybe, but it’s the truth!” You lift a hand and begin counting off on your fingers. “You’re—you’re so nice, and passionate, and bold, and bright, and...” You pause, then chuckle almost shyly. “I could go on and on, but that’s embarrassing.”

He chuckles at your words, only growing more and more enamoured with each word that falls from your lips. “It’s not embarrassing,” he says gently. “It’s cute.”

Your shoulders suddenly stiffen, and you slowly turn your head to glance up at him. “Cute? You think I’m cute?”

He doesn’t have to think twice about his response. “Very much so. I would dare say that you are even more beautiful than you are cute.”

You whine with a pout, heat crawling up the side of your neck as you dig your thumbs into your palms. “You can’t just say things like that.”

He stares at you for a second, then he flashes you a grin that is both parts wicked and affectionate. “Maybe, but it’s the truth.”

Your mouth drops open at the way he fires your own words back at you, and you gape at him a moment before you groan, reaching over to playfully bat at his arm. “Why, you!”

He laughs at you and loves the way he can tell your heart races in your chest. He loves the way you smile despite your small shouts of frustration. He loves the way you are just so endearing to him in every which way.

He laughs at you and he loves you, hopelessly and wholly.

Dream gazes up at the orange sky with a slight frown and furrowed brows, watching as the clouds coast by overhead on a distant, northern gale. The waterfall babbles restlessly at his side, and he taps his foot against the smooth stones lining the pond with abandonment. The flowers he had once grown rake this petals over the soles of his shoes as he lets out a long sigh, anxiety slowly beginning to paw at his backside.

Are you going to show up at all today? he wonders. There are some days you don’t appear at all, typically because you had to run some errands or something of the sort, but those days are few and far between. He won’t chastise you for not seeing him, of course, but he cannot simply ignore the pang of his heart when he misses you so.

His fingers drum against the cool material clutched in his hands, and a melancholic look flits over his features. It would be a shame if you didn’t appear though, especially given what he had in mind for the day.

Right then, he hears your lovely voice call out for him. “Dream!”

His frown is immediately replaced by a smile as he whirls around to see you, his hands carefully tucked behind his back. “[Y/N],” he greets, striding up to you. “It’s good to see you.”

You’ve only just made it in front of him when he opens his mouth again, excitement filling his words to the absolute brim. “I brought you a gift.”

You blink wildly at him, pointing to yourself in surprise. “For me?”

His grin only grows wider, his heart leaping into his throat. “Of course it’s for you, silly. Who else?”

You squint for a second, then smile. “Karl?”

Dream deadpans at you, and you laugh in return, not noticing the way his eyes melt fondly at your expression. “I’m kidding,” you chide, shuffling a step closer to him. “So, what is it?”

He’s practically bouncing on the balls of his feet when he finally brings his hands out from behind him, pushing them towards you. “Ta-da! Here.”

Your breath catches at the sight of his palms, and with trembling hands, you reach up to pull the curved item from his hand. “Is this... a shell?” you whisper, your eyes as wide as saucers.

He nods, his emerald eyes gleaming with pride. “A conch shell,” he says. “From the ocean.”

You sputter as you gently turn the shell over in your hands, your fingers tracing over the solid edges with nothing short of pure shock. “H-How did you even get this? The nearest ocean is at least a week’s travel on horse away!”

Dream thinks of the wings he typically had tucked on his back and how they carried him to the ocean and back in less than a few minutes, but to you, he only smiles and shrugs. “I have my ways.”

You don’t respond for a moment, then two. All of a sudden, you sniffle, and Dream is bending before you in a heartbeat, his hands reaching for yours before just stopping short. “[Y/N]?” he asks in a soothing tone. “Is something wrong?”

Your gaze is watery, but only slightly as you raise your chin to look at him, your lower lip set with determination. “Dream,” you say with a shaky breath, “I have to tell you something.” You gulp. “It’s serious.”

Immediately, Dream’s mind runs through a million and five possibilities of what you could possibly say to him, each one increasingly worse than the last. Your family is in need of funds, or you’re about to leave on a life-threatening journey. Or maybe Karl is just sick, again.

But before he can run himself into the ground with his own worries, Dream lets out a breath and tilts his head at you. “What is it?”

Your gaze falls down to your feet, and you stare at the earth for an excruciatingly long minute. Dream simply stands in front of you, patiently and earnestly waiting for your response when you suddenly open your mouth.

“I—I love you.”

Dream’s lungs feel as though they are about to collapse in his chest. “You do?”

You bite your lip, but raise your head, your shoulders trembling at your sides. “Yes,” you whisper, the syllable steeped with emotion. With one hand clasped around the conch shell, the other reaches up to rest over your chest, palm pressed flats against your left side. “My heart is yours, all of it.”

The world is a blur of colours and sounds around him, and he can feel his head spin faster and faster as a wave of memories come crashing down over him, drowning him whole. He wants to tear his hair out and scream to the heavens above until his throat is raw and he can scream no more.

You love him. You love him back, and as much as he wants to burn your words into the back of his eyelids, something else sinks its claws into his heart and tears a hole right into the flesh.

This is not the first time you have spoken these words to him. No, not at all.

He had done his best to forget them over all those years, had tried his best to outrun the anguish with every century he lived through. After all, when you live as long as he has, it is only natural for him to forget some things. Through wandering across every land he had lovingly sculpted by hand, he had hoped to erase his suffering by engulfing himself in other worldly affairs, isolating himself entirely from others.

But no amount of time could ever truly erase the memories he had of you—the first incarnation of you, from all those years ago.

He remembers how the two of you had shared your first kiss under the light of the full moon, giggling to one another as he wrapped you up in his soft feathers. He remembers the way you would hold his hand and tell him about all the things you could not wait to do with him in the very same clearing he stood in now. He remembers the way your body went limp in his own arms, coughing until your lungs could cough no more. He remembers the agony and the torment as he wasted away, too caught up in the imprint of your skin against his before you turned to dust before his very eyes.

He remembers it all, and he cannot not let himself be shattered like that, again.

“I have to go,” he whispers, jerking his arm back from yours.

You whip your head up, pain shooting across your face. “Y-You’re leaving? What?”

He takes another step back and swallows down the lump in his throat, but it tastes like acid burning his stomach. “I—I can’t stay here.”

Before he can move back again, your hand shoots out to grab at the hem of his shirt, desperation soaking into your face: “P-Please,” you plead, “you can just say you don’t love me back. My feelings for you won’t change.”

He wants to cry. No, he thinks, it’s not that. It could never be that. Not with you.

You clutch at the cloth, hoping your feelings somehow reach him through your anguished touch. “I love you, Dream,” you begin, “I really do. I love how attentive you are, how much you always seem to care. You’re always so patient with me, so kind, so generous, and it makes me melt inside. I love the way your eyes shine so brightly, and I love your little freckles. I want to count them all, and I don’t mind if that takes the rest of eternity.”

You’re almost entirely out of breath by now, and Dream’s jaw has gone slack. He can only stare at you with a look of pure conflicting despair as your eyes search his for answers he knows he cannot possibly give. “An eternity with you would be nothing,” you breathe, your voice cracking. Your grip on his shirt suddenly goes limp, and your arm falls back to your side. “Please. Stay.”

The knife in his gut only seems to twist deeper as he takes yet another step back, his cloak feeling like a boulder upon his back. “I can’t,” he chokes out. “I really can’t.”

Tears line your eyes like tiny jewels, and he wishes he could wipe them away. “Why?” you beg. “Why do you have to go?”

He opens his mouth, then closes it, shaking his head. He doesn’t even know where to begin.

In front of him, a look of absolute defeat sinks into your expression, and your voice grows smaller than ever. “At least—at least tell me if I’ll ever see you again.”

Dream’s feels the back of his eyes sting, and he clenched his hands beside him. “Not in this lifetime,” he wants to say. “And hopefully not in the next, either.”

“I’m sorry, [Y/N],” he says instead.

Just like that, he watches as the light fades from your eyes, vanishing from sight as the setting sun watches on with a sad gaze. Your lower lip trembles, and before you can stop yourself, you’re crumpling to the ground in a heap and watering the earth with your tears. You clutch the conch shell to your chest and let it dig into your chest from how tightly you press it against yourself, your vision completely blurred. In front of you, Dream holds back tears of his own, forcing himself to look away from your broken figure as he walks toward the forest away from you.

Your wails follow after him even after he unfurls his wings deep in the forest and soars up into the sky, flying high above the world below as he dries his tears with the harsh wind that bites at his face.

He will not return here for a long, long time.

He doesn’t think he would even be able to bring himself to if he tried.

Dream brushes a stray leaf off his shoulder as he steps over a root, his eyes focused on the bushes before him. A bird chirps as he strolls past a tree, nestling further into its nest as he ducks under the branch. He smiles at the sight, a deep fondness seeping into his heart as he lets his hand run over the tree’s hard bark.

He recognizes this forest—these trees. He knows this sky, has leapt over these rocks. He’s walked this path before.

It’s a shame he can’t remember how long it’s been since he last came here.

He hums a quiet melody to himself as he weaves a path between the trees, drawing nearer and nearer to the place he had been searching for with every passing second. He’s only a few steps away when a sound calls out to him—a sound that isn’t a part of the forest.

“Hello?”

Dream goes stock still, his heart coming to a screeching halt in his chest.

He knows that voice, too.

Sucking in a deep breath, he slowly steps forward, out into the entrance of the clearing. In front of the waterfall stands a silhouette he is absolutely positive he’s seen before—countless times before. Something tells him that he should leave, that he should run far, far away and disappear from view. But as he watches the silhouette take a tentative step toward him, his inhibitions fall away.

Warmth blossoms in the space between his lungs, all encompassing and full of grief as he opens his mouth.

“Hi.”

[runawaymun]

Hi there! You said you take requests. I'd be happy with an imagine about Elrond x reader drinking tea together (h/c). It could be a herbal tea or just something ordinary. Pretty please! Ofc if you feel like writing it. (If not it's ok too~)

Elrond x Platonic!Reader - Cozy

genre: hurt/comfort/fluff warnings: none, except for enough saccharine fluff to give you cavities for: @ramyun-monster reader pronouns: neutral/they/them

You would think that Imladris, of all places, would be conducive to a good night’s sleep. The air off the mountains is almost always cool and crisp, the roar of the Bruinen contributes pleasant white noise, the crickets sing in the rose gardens, and time itself seems to flow unhurried and unhindered. Still, tonight, you’re finding it difficult to relax. Your thoughts keep wheeling around in your head without any particular pattern, bringing up unpleasant memories and lambasting you with all the things you’re putting off: the little tasks that need doing, the appointments you have to keep. 

It’s pointless to keep lying in bed glaring at the ceiling (even if it is a really beautiful ceiling). Plus, you’re developing a headache. You peel back the blankets and drag yourself out of bed. The library sounds nice. You’ll head there and try and relax, and hopefully later you can try sleeping again. It isn’t terribly late yet. The moon is still low. You’ve got time.

As an afterthought, you grab your journal from the desk by the window. Maybe if you write down everything that’s bothering you, you can stop thinking about it. The floor is cold under your bare feet, and you slip into a pair of house-shoes before heading out of the guest room you’re staying in.

You take the stairs down to the first floor and find yourself in the library in no time at all. It’s empty this time of day save for the librarian --a dark-haired Noldorin elleth who you think (if you’re remembering correctly) is named Iûldis. She gives you a good-natured wave but doesn’t try to make conversation. You return her wave and head past the towering bookcases of ancient tomes and scrolls to a secluded corner that you’ve grown to love.

The library smells of ink and parchment and vaguely of petrichor sifting in from the open windows. You stop on your way to pick out a book to peruse. The corner you like is comprised of an intricately carved cedar desk and a ridiculously plush reading couch flanked with matching reading chairs. It’s the couch that you settle into tonight, placing the little book on the end table and curling up against the armrest to write. 

A pleasant half-hour goes by, but you’re still no sleepier than you began and only marginally less scattered. You set aside your journal in favor of the book. Outside, clouds obscure the moon and rain patters on the terrace. The air turns chilly with a new easterly wind. You shiver and tuck your legs up a bit tighter. That pesky headache still hasn’t gone away. The cold is giving you goosebumps but you’re reluctant to go back to your room just yet.

You catch a whiff of lavender and lemon balm just as someone sets a teacup on the table by your elbow. When you look up, you’re met with a soft smile, warm gray eyes, and an expression that hovers halfway between concern and humor. 

“Riveting reading?” Lord Elrond asks. He’s holding his own cup balanced on a tray in one hand and he has a book tucked under his arm. 

Before you can get up to give him a bow he puts a hand out to stop you. 

You hurry to say: “I didn’t hear you come over, my lord. I’m sorry.”

“Do not be.” He has a thick blanket slung over his arm, and he holds it out to you. “It is a bit cold for you tonight, is it not?” 

You blink and take it, wrapping it around your shoulders and snuggling into it. It’s fluffy and pleasantly heavy, just the right thickness. “A little, yes. Thank you.”

He inclines his head with a little smile and gestures with his teacup to the reading chair next to the couch. “May I join you?”

The first dumb thought that accosts your tired brain is why? Thankfully, you stop yourself before blurting it out loud. He probably has a million things to do so you can’t imagine why he’s bringing you tea and blankets.

...And he’s still standing there, patiently waiting for your answer.

“It’s your house,” you say. You can’t keep the surprise out of your voice. 

“So it is. Still, I find it polite to ask before imposing myself on someone else’s reading.” 

“You’re not imposing,” you say at once. In fact, it’s the exact opposite of an imposition. If you’re honest, you’re absolutely delighted that he’s here asking to join you, offering tea. Ever since you came to Imladris and he offered for you to stay, you’ve admired him. But you’re practically a nobody, and definitely a nobody when compared to him, so you’ve never really worked up the courage to do more than say hello or a few jumbled sentences to him. This opportunity is way too good to pass up.

He sets his tray with its steaming cup of tea on the table between you and takes a seat in the reading chair, placing his book on his lap. There are two spoons on the tray and a few ginger biscuits on a pretty plate and a pot which, as he opens the lid, proves to be filled with honey.

“Would you like some in your tea?” 

You still can’t really believe this is happening. You nod.

He spoons a little bit of honey into your cup and lets you stir it in. Adds some to his own, and says warmly: “I always find that a little bit of lemon balm and lavender is the perfect cure for restless nights.” 

The two of you drink your tea and demolish the biscuits, listening to the rain make music on the roof. He asks you some questions about yourself and where you’re from and seems genuinely interested in your answers, so you’re happy to give them, and he even answers some questions about himself that you’ve been dying to ask him for ages. The time passes by, the rain lets up, and you finish your cup of tea. Before you know it, you’re getting tired. You’ve forgotten all about everything that was bothering you earlier and your headache is completely gone. 

He bids you goodnight with a knowing smile and you go back to your room with that heavy wool blanket wrapped around you like a cloak --and you don’t find it at all difficult to get to sleep. 

[im-totally-not-an-alien]

Final Fantasy 7 prompts no 26

1. Typical Cloud gets thrown back in time story, but when he gets there he has a mental breakdown. After torching Jenova and the library, he tells a very confused Vincent that Sephiroth and Hojo are both still alive and that he needs to find Sephiroth and tell him the truth. He gives his future red-cloaked friend a crudely drawn map to Lucrecias cave and sends a thoroughly confused, yet hopeful, Vincent off, then promptly takes over the coffin.

Featuring Vincent Valentine in the leading role, everything going as planned for once, a very greatful general, curious commanders, Clouds C-cells curing degradation, and Cloud finding the coffin to be ridiculously comfortable.

After the world is saved, Sephiroth demands answers. The blond keeps giving them more tasks to complete and spilling Shinras dirty secrets, leaving them to fix things while he gets to stay semi-comatose and work through all his inner trauma. Problem is, Sephiroth won't let sleeping dragons lie, and demands answers. Cloud considered moving, but decided he loved his new home. If Vincent wants his coffin back he can fight him for it.

2. Cloud absorbs all of Jenova. Everything from the living cells to the peices in the lifestream. He calls it to him and takes it all, stealing every ounce of her power. He leaves Gaia, never to return, after all, he would do anything for his family.

3. Both Cloud and Sephiroth can purr, but find it embarrassing

4. Everybody plays thier theme on a harmonica when they're sad.

5. Au where Mireille finds Cloud instead of Tifa and he teams up with her. He sprouts a wing and she uses this to convince him to take over the moniker of "Gardian Angel of the slums".

6. Vincent dads Cloud.

7. Cloud wakes up in his tent one morning to an arm around his waist. He promptly freaks out, only to find its Loz, and freaks out further.

They wake up and explain that they have nowhere to go and no one left to follow, so Cloud takes them in. He hires them to make deliveries on a set of motorcycles he's gifted them. He becomes a great big brother to the triplets.

Cloud begrudgingly allows them to sleep next to him, which was a mistake because now they sleep on top of him every night. He doesn't hate it though, and thier weight quickly becomes a comforting one.

8. Jenova moms people.

She legitimately kidnaped people and brainwashed them into believing she was thier mother. Why? She was lonely.

9. Jenova is restored to her beautiful goddess-like form. Her long ankle length silver hair was flowing in the wind behind her, large fluffy white clouds swirling lazily were emanating from her back in a strange parody of wings. In each of Jenovas six hands is one of her children, clutched delicately, yet firmly. The only exception was the hand she held before her, displaying the youngest of her children. Her precious triplets. The ones who survived. The ones who revived her. The ones who ended the world.

Her yellow haired son weeped and struggled and pleaded. It did not sway her. Her favored son rejoiced while her honorable son and poetic son looked on in confusion. She flew high into the air, leaving the worlds atmosphere within moments. She was not concerned, her children were a part of her now, they did not require a planets care.

The dark goddess summoned her meteor and made quick work of the little planet and its lifestream. The blond child weeped the entire time, he was so soft, too soft, but she loved him anyway. She sensed her silver childrens praise and the horror of the other two. No matter. They would come to love her.

She would make sure of it.

10. Post time travel AU where Sane-Sephiroth is trying to woo a certain 1st class Strife.

Cloud is having none of it.

Genesis is ruthlessly teasing the poor general and it feels like all of Shinra is trying to be Sephiroths wingman, which is only agitating the blond further. Zack had betrayed him, giving Sephiroth private details about Cloud, such as his favorite foods, scents, colors, and hobbies. Although it was a small betrayal, it hurt like a larger one. Zack knew the truth, and knew how awful the blond felt from just being around the general. It feels like the only one on his side was his newer friend Kunsel, who didn't seem to care either way, but kept digging into Clouds past, which was dangerous, what with being a time traveler and all.

11.Jessie noticed a ring on Clouds finger and gasps, "I didn't know you were married!"

"Im not." The blond grumbled, "Some nutcase grabbed my hand and shoved it onto my finger.

"Oh?" Biggs grinned, "Why are you still wearing it?"

Cloud ducked his head, embarrassed, "I...can't get it off."

"It's stuck?" Wedge asked.

They then proceed to try to remove the ring with increasingly hilarious shenanigans, starting with the basic butter trick and progressing from there, until Barret gets fed up and somehow manages to shoot it off.

12. Hojo praising Cloud

13. Cloud has so many S and J-cells that he can initate the call for Reunion. He doesn't know this however. One day when Cloud was on the brink of death he instinctively called out, sorta like a S.O.S. and a bunch of Eldrich like abominations came to his recue. Now they won't leave.

Weirder still is that they seem to serve him instead of Sephiroth, AVALANCHE still doesn't like them but Cloud has grown attached.

Hojo eventually finds out and is intrigued.

14. Genesis and Cloud start dating and psychotic Sephiroth is jealous

15. Cloud sprouts a wing, typical Wingfic, but its yellow/gold and Yuffie won't shut up about him turning into a chocobo.

[tomisakura2]

After a week ff7 ..... I can't get it out of my head .... 1 night no sleep = 20 pages a ca.1500 words .......🙈🙈

Naked....

(X/Y) closed her eyes and enjoyed the warm water running over her skin. Sighing slightly, she put her head back into her neck and let the warm water run over her face. Her arms went up as if she wanted to reach for the water running from the shower head but it ran past her fingertips. Her mind drifted away from the warmth of the water and the smell of her shower oil. The beautiful thing about taking a shower so early in the morning is that nobody is annoyed and you have enough warm water. She's been here in Edge City for 3 months now and with Tifa in the bar in 7th heaven and it's also owned by a Cloud Strife with an 'administration centre' Strife courier service. Well (X/Y) hadn't met this Cloud Strife yet but everybody tells a lot about him especially Marlene and Denzel are mega fans ...... But working in the bar was fun especially with Tifa, it was a heaven, a heaven in Edge it was a good job, sometimes hard but eventful ........

While the thoughts wander off at the same time....

When Cloud arrived it was almost sunrise, everything hurt him, the last mission was a tough one. And now, hot showers and into bed Cloud thought. As he slowly and quietly entered the bar, everything looked exactly the same as before his departure and it smelled the same, everything lay there quietly, maybe it was because everyone was sleeping peacefully, a small smile flitted across Cloud's face, he had been on the road for almost 4 months ... oh Gaia it was good to be back here, at home! Quietly he went upstairs to his room, listened to everything again quietly. Yes they are sleeping, but now quick 》 shower 《 he thought, quickly he slipped into his room. He put his sword in the corner and licked the holder/ his leather gloves opened the straps for his shoulder armour his cloak and took off his black top, then his boots, socks and pents, finally his boxer until he was naked. His clothes were now scattered all over the floor which didn't really interest him because his body was longing for a hot shower. He opened, the door listened again silently, a towel he could take freshly from the shelf. Tifa had stored them on a shelf in the bathroom for emergencies, and so he walked down the hallway followed by quiet steps that went over the wooden floor towards the bathroom ……

At the same time... ...

(X/Y) was done with showering the beautiful thing in the very early, really early morning was just showering without anyone bothering or annoying her because she showers so long. Smiling she got out, put a towel around her naked body, her wet hair lay over her right shoulder slightly twisted. She went to the bathroom door and at the same moment she opens it, she stands.......OMG!

... (X/Y) looked into beautiful sky blue balls with light green around the black iris .......... His Mako eyes stared into (e / c) balls, in the same second slid…

.. her towel to the floor in terror, and she stands naked as he stands before her. Cloud stood stiff in the doorway. (X/Y) couldn't stop your face from turning bright red.

Cloud's face was redder than a tomato when he stared at you. His eyes captured your naked body as he looked at you from top to bottom. His golden brows tightened and he licked his lips lightly. (X/Y) felt like time had stopped. Cloud's blue eyes glowed as he saw your body shaped perfectly, they looked up at Cloud's face and discovered a faint pink on his cheeks and his prickly blond hair looked like it had been blown away by the wind...

He must have just come back. Cloud couldn't bring himself to take his eyes off your body. They both looked at each other in surprise, though his face remained as unemotional as ever.

After a few minutes she closed her eyes, grabbed Cloud's wrist, before he could say anything, she pulled him slightly. He now slightly confused, lost his balance in a short moment, but he caught himself shaking his head again and his blond hair swayed gently back and forth and in a quick twisting motion she changed places with him. And now (X/Y) stark naked body stood in the hallway and in a split second the door was closed. Her head lay against the door and only now did she realize that she had held her breath. Her face was burning, the blush was still on your face. OMG Gaia what are you doing to me ... This is exactly how I always wanted my morning to be.she sarcastically embarrassed with a soft squeak ... Her face was still burning into a dark red. OMG OMG whispers (X/Y)》 Holy shit I'm screwed. …《

On the other side of the door...

By Gaia, who are you?

Cloud bent over and pressed his forehead gently against the door and heard you marble. His eyes were closed, for your figure had burned into his iris. Ghostly absent, he ran his hands through his blond spiky hair, his pulse racing and his heart racing. He had the feeling his heart had stopped, no has stopped. It jumped from his chest into yours, his thoughts turned to your sweet voice on the other side of the door ... with trembling breaths he turned around and leaned his back against the cold door. He carefully put his head back against the wood so that he could hear your voice marble again......... His thoughts racing miles per second 》I'm Cloud, Cloud Strife, Soldier/ Ex Soldier《!He tried to formulate but not a word came out ... ... ... Still with a delicate rose on his cheeks but grinning slightly like a honey pie horse, ......... fire red hair hanging wet over your right shoulder, the (e/c) eyes almost like his only without the slight green of the Mako and yet it had something of it, as clear as a starry night no more like Holy yes your eyes had the colouring of Holy, so beautiful before the stars rise, your face was as red as a tomato, as matching the hair, so adorably sweet. Delicate pale skin like his without blemish he would have loved to put his hands around your tender, narrow parts and pull you to him, so that your shapely ball could be against his firm chest, and he could pull his lips over your collarbone up to your neck to the intoxicating scent. Oh, Gaia! your scent!...he drew in with a deep breath. The warm shower scent of you in his nose and lungs intoxicated him. Ooo Gaia! you were pure aphrodisiac. As he heard footsteps and the marble grew quieter, Cloud pushed himself away from the door and walked towards the shower, still intoxicated by the sweetness of your appearance, he shook his head and moved his blond hair. You were too sweet, just sugar and the figure was breathtaking whatever you did. You took his breath away......

He let out another moan and turned on the water. But the thoughts from your naked body didn't let him....

A strange feeling surrounded his fingertips and his member felt...》 shit《 he moaned ... He wanted to move his hips and push his member into your femininity, he wanted to feel you ......

》Oohh at Gaia you are perverted Cloud Strife but what does she do with you fuck. ….《

He looked up with pleasure and pain.

Cloud gasped for breath and clenched his teeth as he grabbed the sight of you again and started to massage himself, his bounces going slowly, it felt good.

Cloud slowly gasped with pleasure as he enjoyed every sensation.

Cloud grabbed the wall with one hand as he lost himself in the sensation and the sweetness of desire and pleasure.

He groaned and groaned, Cloud went faster and stronger into it and continued hard. He became louder and more irregular well that water muffled the loud ones he made. His tail twitched with pleasure in his hand. With glassy eyes he saw you, your face erotic and warped with pleasure, rosy cheeks, eyes closed, your plush red lips slightly open, the head slightly tilted backwards into your neck. Cloud licked his lips, he leads on to your femininity 》 ......aah... aaahg !....shit!!..... oohh fuck !....《 he's panting loudly in your ear, your femininity was perfect.... and the lips, those sweet fluffy lips his name was moaning ...... he looked up at you and fucked you in these...《 fuck aha....aaahhh... 《 shower screen. He gave a loud sigh, clenched his teeth as he felt good and went over the edge... His blond hair hung wet on his face as he opened his eyes and his ejaculate disappeared into the depths of the drain. Cloud still had his head against the cool tile wall as he came down from his high ceiling breathing heavily. The now cold water was still flowing over his heated body and his thoughts were still wandering?.......

picture source "sam Osorio"

[retrogeekgal]

Repeating Mistakes

Summary: John Constantine shows up at your door after breaking your heart two years ago. Needing help from someone he trusts, he can only turn to you. But like everything with him, the truth isn't black and white. And the secrets John's keeping from you this time, may cost you your life.

Word Count: 2.7k

John Constantine x Reader

Notes: Hello everyone! This is my first posted work, so please be kind!

This fic has all the tropes- hurt/comfort, dramatic confessions of love, possessive!John, protective!John, sassy!reader-- If you can think of it, I've probably got it here.

Please leave me all the notes and comments :)

I've read some comics but this is based off of Matt Ryan's incredible portrayal of our favorite chain smoking, hard-drinking British wise ass on Constantine and Legends of Tomorrow.

Enjoy!

Repeating Mistakes (archive of our own)

Chapter One.

The dense humidity makes your thick hair curl at the ends as you step in from the outside and take in the lavishly decorated lobby. For last minute accommodations, this hotel is excellent.

A kind doorman waits to greet you, readily assisting you with your bags. Your tired eyes scan the attached restaurant and are more than pleased to see a fully stocked twenty-four hour bar just steps from the entrance. You could happily make yourself at home here for some time once your work is finished.

Making your way down the long hallway to your room for the next few days, your thoughts drift to the events that led up to arriving here. After a particularly grueling possession in the midwest, you were looking forward to taking a few days to relax and recharge.

With your key in the door, the call came through about a cursed mirror in a plantation just outside of New Orleans. The client was wealthy too, wealthy enough to double your rate if you left straight away. Despite your exhaustion, you couldn't resist.

******************

“Ghosts bring in the money down here,'' the owner, William Moss, had drawled over the phone. “Tourists want to get spooked when they visit the old south, but this is different. Doors are slamming, we hear whispers when there ain't no one else around and the room freezes during the warmest parts of the day. It wasn’t like this before we found that mirror buried on the property. I figured it must've been two hundred years old, at least. A real antique to draw in the history buffs.

"It's got some bad juju and I, well I was told" he had hesitated slightly- you remembered that clearly, “you were just the talented young lady for the job. I was informed of the great love you have for New Orleans and its culture and your reputation clearly precedes you. You came highly recommended.”

For a moment you had thought to ask who’d given you the glowing recommendation, your suspicion ate at you, but the tone in his voice said you ought to put it aside. The more information he gave you, the more you knew these were the right things to say to get your attention. And so, as soon as your full cost was deposited into your account, you had booked a flight and were on your way to the Big Easy.

*******************

You made ghost stories and cursed objects your business, and business was booming. You had once worked alongside the greatest master of the dark arts in existence, and while he had viciously broken your heart, John Constantine had taught you well.

Thanks to his tutelage, your name was well known in the occult circles as a talented mage and dark object specialist. After your time with him, you had become skilled in both light and dark magic and had exorcized more than your fair share of things that went bump in the night. So being told you were highly recommended wasn’t an odd thing. Any hesitation to tell you who recommended you, was.

Pressing your keycard to the door, you absentmindedly touch the necklace you always wear and wonder for the second time in as many days if John was the reason you're here right now; he knew how you felt about New Orleans. The magical reserves that ran throughout the city were alluring to anyone who practiced the mystic arts.

You and John had spent many nights wandering the streets of the French Quarter, feeling the power flowing through the ancient city center. Even if everything here reminded you of your biggest mistake, it felt good to be back.

You found your suspicions running through your thoughts again. This case was a milk run for you, all the pieces fell into place too easily. All but one; John had made it very clear that he never wished to see you again; the idea of this being his doing after so long made your mind run in circles. It just wouldn’t make sense, but then, John didn’t always make sense. You’d made every attempt to convince yourself this was coincidence, pushing him from your mind as you have for so long.

Your charm and skill helped to secure work in an industry that couldn’t exactly advertise, thus you typically weren’t between jobs for very long, you knew these were facts. Perhaps you only thought it was him because of the flooding memories that came along with this city. You could have said no if you really wanted to, but you couldn't pass up the chance to visit your favorite place once again, even if this did smell like John's handiwork.

Ceasing all thoughts of the british bastard, you drop your bags and crash tiredly onto the pillow top mattress in your room. You lay there for just a moment and enjoy the cloud-like softness of the bedding. Taking a deep breath, you roll onto one side, propping your head up on your arm. Your rumbling stomach reminds you that food is necessary to live and you’ve consumed none. The humidity from outside still clings to you like a second skin so a shower is also on the menu. With a groan, you push yourself up the rest of the way. You reach for the phone and order a burger along with two bottles of local beer. Happily, you charge it to your room and gather your things to take a shower while waiting.

The elegance of the marble bathroom pleases you as flip the lights and survey the room.. A large whirlpool tub sits in the center of the room with an ornate glass shower to the left and a separate door to the right. You turn on the hot water to let the steam fill the room while you shrug off your clothes. The water soothes your tired body and while you wash off the grime of the day, you lean against the wet tiles to savor the relaxation of the moment.

Eventually you feel the hot water start to cool and figure your food should be arriving at any minute. After decidedly turning off the water, you reach for a fluffy, white towel and begin to methodically dry yourself off. As you step out of the bathroom, wrapped in a lovely plush robe, you hear footsteps and three sharp knocks. Right on time. Without another thought, you unlatch the door and throw it open.

Leaning against your doorframe, half cloaked in shadow, is a shock of messy blonde hair attached to a lanky male figure. The strong scent of cigarette smoke assaults you before you have a chance to drag your gaze up and meet coffee colored eyes that give you no hint of his intentions.

“Hello darling, I was hoping we could have a chat.”

It takes you a second longer than you know it should to fully process that the man who left you crying in a London airport two years ago, with nothing but a silly piece of jewelry and a broken heart is now leaning only a few inches from where you stand. Clad only in your hotel robe and rising anger, you realize that you should have known there’s no such things as coincidences.

Without waiting for permission, John Constantine pushes past you into the room and you slam the door behind him. Words fall out of your mouth before you have time to fully process them.

“Excuse me! You can’t just- ” His leisurely presence frustrates you further, causing you trip over what you're trying to say. The bastard is entirely too relaxed given what's happened between you. You attempt to take a steadying breath before unclenching your jaw and trying again. “Constantine, what are you doing here?”

John narrows his eyes slightly at the formality of his last name but wisely says nothing about it. Instead, he lowers his hands in a placating gesture and takes a step toward you.

"You have every right to want to kick me out the bloody door but I’m hoping to appeal to your sense of decency. I need a favor and believe it or not, you’re the only one I trust.”

You sharply exhale in disbelief but John continues, undeterred.

"I know what I said to you." He says slowly. "I know how bloody awful it all was. I had my reasons, but believe me luv, I wouldn’t be here right now if there was any other way. I know what it did to you when--”

You cut him off, quick and angry, before the logical side of your brain can reign you in. "When you left? You have no idea what it did to me!"

“I know, I'm… listen” he says, his voice low and determined. “I have a chance, a small one, to break into hell. There's just a few missing pieces. I had to hope that you’d hear me out to start and that with any luck, you kept that necklace I gave you.” He looks at you with mild incredulity once he sees it and flashes a crooked smile that you’re frustrated to find still makes you swoon.

You look at him for a moment, mindlessly your hand moves to touch the small pearlescent stone sitting between your collarbones. “Yes, I kept it.” your voice soft, barely above a whisper. You thoughts are swirling. Did he think you would have thrown it away? So many times you thought that you should have but every time you hovered the necklace above the trash, you just couldn't. You hated that you couldn’t. Why couldn’t you throw away a stupid piece of jewelry when he so easily threw you away?

"Sweetheart, if I could just,” his pause is all the incentive you need to cut in, this time your voice is more controlled than before but barely restraining the anger you feel.

“No. It's been two years. Two goddamn years Constantine.”

“John.” He says softly, leaning against an armchair, hands shoved in his pockets. “Come on, luv. It’s John. Don’t be like that, don’t be so cold ay?”

“Are you serious?” You scoff, folding your arms defensively against your chest. Memories of the last time you were with him surge forward unbidden, from the safe you’ve locked them away in and damn it, you can feel your eyes prick with tears at the edges. This is not happening. In the countless scenarios you’d thought of in the months following John leaving you, this was not how your fantasies of confrontation had gone.

"You broke my heart and didn't give a damn about it! Two years, John! For two years I've tried to push the thought of you out of my head because every time I couldn't, it'd break all over again! I hated you for what you did to me in that airport. HATED YOU. I hated you and I hated myself for still hoping you'd come back to me. God. John, I stopped hoping. I had to, but here you are, and what did you expect? I'd forget it all? That's not fair. You can't just... come back."

John casts his eyes away from you but says nothing. It seems you struck a nerve. Good.

“So yeah,” you laugh, “I get to be as cold as I damn well please. In fact, you’re lucky I haven’t hexed your ass yet. You know I damn well could.”

John folds his arms across his chest, defense mechanism mirroring yours. "I do, but I’m trusting that you won’t. You're a better person than I am, always have been.”

The intensity you find when you meet his dark eyes has an uncomfortable vulnerability but you refuse to turn away. “Just hear me out luv, and if after I’m done you still want to throw a curse at me? Fine. I deserve worse.”

John focuses on your face then and you feel shaken by what he's just said. When he speaks again, his voice is low and thick with an emotion you can't place. “You might think I’m an absolute bastard for what happened between us, but there are things out there that want to destroy me daily, and the people I care about tend to wind up dead or worse because of it. What do you think I would have done...” he stops and holds out a hand to you. It takes every ounce of your self control not to cross the few feet between you and take it. He slowly closes it and withdraws.

“You know the life I lead, you knew all the rubbish when you asked and I agreed to teach you.” The Brit laughs bitterly and drags that hand across his face. “ I prefer to walk this path alone and with good reason. I am sorry that I hurt you but I’m bloody well not apologizing for my reasons. If you’re going to hate me, hate me, but at least you’re still breathing.”

A brief knock at the door completely derails your shock and confusion at his words and you tear your eyes from his, remembering the food you ordered. "Shit. Room service. I’m not hungry anymore but it’s paid for so…”

After a moment, John strides to the door and opens it; his previous uncertainty replaced with a cocky grin. “Ello squire,” you hear him say as you grab clothes and head back into the bathroom.

****************

Your mind is racing as you slip a fitted tee over your head and pull on your jeans. One thing runs through your head over and over. What do you think I would’ve done? John didn’t often let words that hadn’t meant to be said out loud slip, but this time, you believed, he did. The thought of him reciprocating feelings, still, as he once had made your heart palpitate and left your stomach in knots. You couldn’t get your hopes up, you couldn’t think that way… but it was so hard not to.

Your hands are shaking slightly as you zip up your boots and you mentally curse yourself for letting him get under your skin like this, again. You knew you’d run into John eventually. This was a small line of work. You were both known in the same circles and had many of the same contacts. But you told yourself that when the day finally arrived and you crossed paths with him, you’d be prepared. Your abilities continued to grow without him and you’d have no problem showing John that his absence had had zero effect on your life.

But you weren’t. You weren’t prepared at all, not for this. This was an uneven footing on already rocky ground. Feelings you thought long buried were clawing their way to the surface faster than you could stop them. So much for moving on.

You want to be furious with John. Furious that he has the audacity to show his face here and ask for your help. Furious that there was obviously a bigger reason that he sent you away and he hadn’t trusted that you could handle it and furious that he thought that an explanation so simple was enough.

Yet you aren’t. You’re furious with yourself. Furious that after you had gotten over your initial shock, you were relieved to see John was safe and whole. Furious that he still had the power to disarm you with that crooked smile and make your heart skip when he said your name. Worst of all, you realize, you’re furious that you still love him. And in the end, you know that despite what he put you through- no matter what it is that John needs or what it will inevitably cost you, you're going to help him.

[hoodie-lover]

Palette and Goth Sitting in a Tree

Goth and Palette, the child of the god of death and an alternate timeline of the original and the child of the guardian of the universes and guardian of positivity respectively, were in love. Very few objected to the pairing, everyone was excited for the fact that the two children of the most powerful people in the multiverse were going to unite the multiverse once and for all.

“Goth!” Palette cried out as he ran into Goth’s room, present in hand.

“Palette!” The birthday boy cried out as he hugged and then kissed the side of his boyfriend’s skull.

“Happy birthday sweetie~. How are you?” Palette asked as he placed the gift on the dresser and kissed his boyfriend back.

“Amazing. And godly now that you’re here.” Goth said, giggling as he was kissed.

“Was that a pun?” Palette asked as he sat down on Goth’s large and fluffy bed, it almost ate him alive.

“Geno is or rather was Classic. Classic is the pun lord, puns are in my genes.” Goth replied as he flopped down next to his boyfriend.

“I see. So what are you going to do for your birthday?” Palette asked, looking over at his boyfriend, though his face was obscured by the fluffy blankets.

“This.” Goth said, holding his hands up and cheering.

“Anything else? This is your 13th birthday after all.”

“Out of literally infinite ones.” Goth said, scoffing.

“But 13 is special! You need to do something to celebrate it!” Palette urged, doing his best to climb over the mounds of blankets to reach his beloved.

“I am doing something to celebrate it, I’m with you~.” Goth said grabbing his boyfriend’s hand and pulling him towards himself.

“Get a room!” A voice called out, snarky, cruel, wicked.

“It's my room Chara! You get out!” Goth cried out, glaring at the ghost-like figure.

“Where’s the fun in that? How about you two just fu-” Chara said, but was cut off by a crash down the hall.

Their black dress, tattered at the ends, flowed like water and complemented their empty eyes and short burgundy hair. All of it was outlined by their paper white skin, deathly ill figure, and boney clawed hands. Goth was a skeleton and had thicker fingers, and a cleaner and brighter cloak.

“I’m staying here, who knows what that was. Though I would love to see the chaos that would and was caused by, this is more fun.” Chara said, winking suggestively.

Goth huffed, flipping his large white hood up over his one blank and lit eye. His red scarf fluttered as it settled.

“Don’t be an ass Chara. Leave us alone.” Palette said, crossing his arms. His sailor hat bounced as he jerked his head away. Though it wasn;t very far, the tight rainbow splattered sailor outfit didn’t allow for much movement.

“I’m bored ok! No one is yelling at you or pounding at your door with pitchforks and torches anymore! There’s no fun!” Chara complained, turning over on their back, still floating above the bed.

“Then go out and start a forest fire or something! Make an earthquake! Do something to cause panic!” Goth cried out, Palette sitting awkwardly.

“How about you go to my parent’s house? We can swap his vials and watch him freak out.” Palette suggested and Chara’s dark eyes gleamed.

“YES!” Chara screamed and Goth giggled.

“Sure.” Goth said, shrugging as an evil grin spread across his face.

Palette sighed as he regretted his suggestion. Chara opened a portal to a bright paper filled world, but Palley snickered as Chara rammed straight into a solid yet clear wall in the middle of the portal.

“What…?” Chara said looking at Palette with daggers.

“Only certain people, either powerful, politically or magically, or people I, or my parents trust can answer.” Palette said, remembering the reason Error and Nightmare hadn’t destroyed it or corrupted the easy to find universe.

“Get dunked on Chara.” Goth said, smiling a creepy ear to ear smile.

“I WILL KILL YOU!” Chara said, screaming and lunging at the duo.

The two kids screamed as Goth dragged Palette out of the room and they ran down the hall. Chara’s eyes dripped black as they barred large fangs and crawled on the walls and ceiling screaming eldritch nonsense.

“Dad! Help!” Goth yelled, his small feet pounding on the wooden floor of their cave situated house.

With a furious swipe of a large metal scythe, Death appeared in front of the two kids and they dove behind him, Palette not touching him.

“Stand down Chaos.” Death growled, holding his scythe in both hands.

“Death.” Chara spat, getting on all fours and snarling.

The standoff lasted five minutes before Chara got bored and vanished in a cloud of black smoke.

“You two ok?” Death asked, his eyes blank but loving and worried, it still made Palette uncomfortable.

“Yeah Dad.” Goth said as he hugged his dad.

“Palette? Did it hurt you?” Palette was taken aback by the use of ‘it’ but nodded his head.

“I’m going to call Ink and Dream to send you home Palette. I’m sorry this had to end so suddenly but you need to go.” Death said, slithering like a snake to the wall phone.

“I still can’t believe you have a wall phone.” Palette said, and Goth sighed.

“The house is old!” Goth protested and Palette kissed him on the cheek.

“Sure it is. Are you sure it’s not your old man?” Palette teased and Goth glared at him.

“Shut up!” Goth said, huffing as a portal opened and Dream embraced Palette, crying yellow tears.

“Palette! Are you hurt?!” Dream cried out, inspecting his son thoroughly.

“I’m fine! Sheesh!” Palette said, prying himself free from his dad’s grip.

“When Death called us I was so worried! Now what were you thinking sending Chaos the Doodlesphere’s way?! They would have hurt billions of people when they got distracted!” Dream scolded, getting on Palette’s level.

“They wouldn’t leave us alone.” Palette defended, but it was useless.

“Then ask Death. Don’t take Chaos into your own hands, you can’t handle them.” Dream said, hugging Palette once more.

“Ok. I won’t.” Palette said, nearly being suffocated by the tight hug.

“Dream! Palette! I can balance three pens on top of each other on my nose.” Ink said through the portal, Dream sighed.

“Awesome Ink. Now can you come see your son?” Dream said, less than enthused.

“Oh! Right!” Ink said and walked out of the portal. He had pens taped to pens and the stick taped to his nose bone.

Palette sighed as he was pat on the head by his dad, who was three inches taller than his son. Dream pushes Ink back through the portal and let Palette wave goodbye before the portal closed.

The Doodlesphere was bright. Really bright. The light was always downplayed when a portal was opened but the glowing was always on full display when it was not being viewed through a portal. Sure it was Palette’s home, but he needed sunglasses.

“I’m adding more!” Ink said as he taped more pens to the long stick and stood higher and higher on his tiptoes.

“Ok Ink.” Dream said, before sighing and bringing Palette inside their small cottage.

The cottage was very old fashioned and had a very rustic theme. Though it had electric lighting, running water, and plumbing, it was hard to see at first.

“Did Goth like his present?” Dream asked as he got out a cookbook and some plates and cups.

“We didn’t open it. We just talked for a while before Chara messes things up.” Palette explained, resting his chin on the table as he sat down in the kitchen.

“Ok. How about we call him later today? That way he can tell you how much he loved his gift.” Dream suggested and Palette smiled.

“I’d like that.” Palette said as Dream turned on the oven.

In Death’s house, Geno was organizing the presents, who they were from, size, how potentially dangerous they were. Geno had marked Palette’s the most dangerous, that kid was Ink’s child, the present could be literally anything.

“Daddy! Let me open Palette’s gift!” Goth whined, grabbing Geno’s scarf and yanking hard.

“Keep doing that and you’ll open it next week.” Geno threatened and Goth gasped.

“No! Please don’t!” Goth said, giving Geno puppy eyes.

“I may be half dead and dying but I don’t have a weak will. You’ve used those puppy eyes too much Goth.” Geno said, cracking a slight smile.

“No fair! Dad!” Goth yelled and Death appeared before them.

“Yes my dear child?” Death said and Geno faceplalmed.

“Tell Daddy to let me open Palette’s present to me!” Goth pouted, his small hands making trembling fists.

“Sorry squirt. I can’t argue here.” Death said, picking at his nonexistent nails.

Tears formed in Goth’s eyes as he sat down, legs and arms crossed, on the floor, looking at the ground.

“Keep up that attitude and you’ll not be opening any presents until next week. Palette’s in two.” Geno said, and Goth flopped on the hardwood, spread out like he was going to make a snow angel.

“I’m sorry. I just really want to open his present.” Goth said.

“We know. But you are 13, you can’t be throwing fits anymore, you really should’ve stopped at age two. But when I was your age I started reaping souls, and most gods do their work when they turn 13. So this is an important age for you.” Death explained, picking up Goth and cradling him in his arms, the fabric was silky and soft like a cloud.

“Death, when you put Goth down, can you help me with the presents?” Geno asked and gestures to a pile of about 10 presents on the counter.

“Sure babe.” Death said as he placed Goth down. “Goth we need you to go upstairs. I doubt you want to be spoiled.” Death said and Goth hugged as he went to his room.

“You really want to train him?” Geno said when Goth was out of earshot.

“Yes. Mine and my brother’s powers, and that of every god, manifested when we were 13. I don’t want him to reap someone he shouldn’t simply because he wasn’t trained.” Death said, inspecting the presents carefully.

“I know. But we promised, when we start to train him, we tell him and let him open the now 39 secret presents he’s gotten.” Geno said, sighing a heavy sigh.

“I know. And I know that Goth isn’t ready for that, he’d tell Palette, who’d remind Ink, and then Ink will spread the information around like wildfire and we’ll need to go into hiding. But if we start to trust the power of life and death in his little hands, we should be able to trust him with this.” Death said, looking over and Geno.

“So it’s not Goth we’re worried about.” Geno said.

“I thought you were against it.” Death said, pointing a finger.

“Devil’s advocate. And if we can keep Ink quiet, wishful thinking I know, then we won’t have to worry.” Geno said, lowering Death’s hand.

“Think we can call in a favor from Dream?” Death said and Geno shrugged.

“Don’t see why not.” Geno said, kissing Death.

“Alright.” Death said, returning the kiss.

After a quick call to set up a viewing portal so Palette could see Goth open his present to him, they were ready to party. The cake was thirteen layers, had rainbows all over it, and had small versions of Goth and Palette on it. All in all, it looked like a wedding cake but the duo designed it together.

“Make a wish Goth.” Geno said as he held his phone, ready to take the shot.

Goth blew out the candles, one on each level, in a single divine breath. As divine as a 13-year-old can be. Everyone, which included Palette via the portal, Geno, Death, and Life or Reapertale!Toriel. Dream was there by proxy, but he was listening in if something bad happened as he made lunch.

“What did you wish for?” Palette asked, his face close as it could be to the viewing portal.

“For us to be together forever!” Goth cheered and everyone awed as the two blushed and tried to kiss each other on the cheek.

“Who wants to open presents?” Geno asked, holding most the the presents in his two arms and putting them on the table, somehow not hitting the cake with his view obstructed.

“ME!” Goth yelled, taking a fistfull of uncut cake and stuffing it in his mouth as he grabbed Palette’s present.

The present was small and rectangular, with a large pink bow and white wrapping holographic paper. Goth ripped the paper to shreds and threw the bow across the room, stuffing more cake in his mouth until Geno picked him up and held him but the arms until he calmed down and Geno was able to cut the cake so no one would be contaminated.

When Goth had massacred the present, he saw a leather bound book with a yellow glass disk on the front and Goth’s name printed in calligraphy at the bottom.

“They can be used to talk. When I write something in mine, it appears in yours. You can tell when the circle glows. I have a copy but it says my name and the circle is red.” Palette explained and Goth began to cry from joy.

Dream refused to take down the viewing part of the viewing portal, he was still paranoid about Chaos. Palette even threw a Goth style fit about it and was promptly grounded for a week.

It was then he closed the portal. Life gave Goth a large and suffocating, but very fluffy, hug and vanished in a shower of golden sparks.

“I see why she was your first pick. Life is really sweet.” Geno said and Death blushed.

“Well I hadn’t met you yet.” Death defended, but Geno gave a small chuckle and gave Death a small kiss on the cheek.

“If you prefer me over a god, does that mean I’m divine?” Geno said, and Goth was gagging and hiding under a pile of pillows.

“You’re more than that. You’re Geno.” Death said as he returned the kiss and Goth was fake crying from his fort.

“Alright Goth. If you’re going to be like that, but there is something we’ve been talking about and want to tell you.” Death said, and Goth peeked out from his fortress of solitude.

“What is it?” Goth asked, and his parents sat next to him, one on each side.

“As you know, gods develop their powers at age 13, though domain may be known beforehand. Since today you are turning 13, we have decided to see if you have inherited any of my power.” Death explained, and Goth was ecstatic.

“That sounds awesome!” Goth cheered, but Geno had a somber look on his face.

“But there’s something else we need to tell you.” Geno said, sighing a shaky breath.

“What is it?” Goth asked, tilting his head.

“Before I knew about the multiverse, this is actually how I found out, I was in contact with, friends with, and nearly recruited by the Dark Sanses. Specifically Horror, Dust, and Killer.” Geno said and Goth’s jaw nearly dropped. “That was the primary reason no one trusted me when your dad and I were dating. They were scared I was a spy.” Geno explained, and Goth was silent. “And since you were born, they gave you presents. One from each every year, so you have 39 unopened presents in the Save Screen right now. They are in quarantine because I don’t know how dangerous they are.” Geno finished and Goth was silent, both his eyes blank.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Goth asked, hugging his knees.

“You’d tell Palette, and Palette would remind Ink and then, you can see what would happen. It wasn’t that we didn’t trust you, but we were worried about Ink. And we could tell you not to tell Palette, but that would do nothing to stop you. We’re not punishing you for being open with him and we did plan on telling him soon, but can you understand why we were and are scared?” Geno asked and Goth nodded his head.

“Ink has no inhibitions. The whole multiverse would know within the day.” Goth laughed, but he had a question. “Why are you telling me now if you’re scared of Ink?”

“We weren’t sure how on board Dream would be, but if you are going to learn and maybe use the power of Death himself, I honk you should know.” Geno said.

“Ok. You’re ok with me telling Palette?” Goth said and his parents nodded.

“But let us talk to Dream.” Death said and Goth cheerfully nodded.

“Is that it? Can I open the presents now?” Goth asked, giving his cutest puppy dog eyes.

“Don’t see why not. But not right now, we need to get those set up.” Geno said and Goth slightly melted at the news, but was content.

Palette was thrilled when he was the red circle on his journal light up. Sure he was grounded, but Goth probably didn’t know that, and what harm would a single conversation do? They had to test it out sometime.

“Guess what my parents just told me?” Goth had written.

“Where babies come from?” Palette seriously guessed, it took a second for what he said to process.

“Ew. No. And I already knew that.” Goth replied, drawing a cute gagging emoji.

“Then what is it?” Palette was on the edge of his seat.

“Geno knows the Dark Sanses. Horror, Killer, and Dust have been sending me birthday presents for 13 years and they didn’t tell me until now! Daddy said he doesn’t talk to them anymore.” Goth said and Palette’s jaw had dropped.

“How?! Aren’t they evil murderers?” Palette asked and Goth was quick to reply.

“Yeah. But this was before he met my Dad. So he had the excuse of ignorance.” Goth explained and Palette sighed in relief.

“Are your parents ok with you telling me this?” Palette asked cautiously.

“Yeah. But they want to talk it over with Dream so Ink won’t tell everybody.” Goth said and Palette agreed.

“Ink is an idiot.” Palette said, giggling.

“Now what are you laughing about?” Ink said, resting an arm in the door frame and smiling.

“Ink’s at my door. Gotta go. Love you.” Palette wrote and Goth said goodbye.

“Just a joke Goth sent me.” Palette lied, pushing a tiny bit of the aura he could do, it was nothing compared to Dream but it was good for white lies, when he wasn’t fooling Dream who was immune.

“I see. What was it?” Ink asked and Palette froze.

“Y-your sanity?” Palette replied, shrugging as he saw Ink blank out for a moment.

“That’s not just a joke. That’s a fact.” Ink said and Palette gave a sigh of relief internally.

“Yeah.” Palette agreed as Ink sat down next to him.

“So, you know you’re grounded right?” Ink reminded Palette and the child froze.

“Don’t tell Dream please!” Palette begged and Ink laughed.

“It’ll cost ya. And I’m adding another fine onto that for the use of your aura to lie to me.” Ink said and Palette cursed internally. “I may be an insane idiot but I am perceptive.” Ink commented and Palette relented, flopping down on his small white wood bed.

“What’s the currency?” Palette asked, preparing his will as Ink thought with a devilish smirk.

“Your desert. All of it for a week after you're ungrounded.” Ink said and Palette gasped.

“You heathen!” Palette screamed as he threw his pillow at his father.

“Oh you’ve done it now.” Ink said as his eyes turned red and one turned into a target sign.

“Crap.” Palette said aloud and both children froze.

“Palette? Did you swear?” Dream asked from downstairs.

“No.” Palette lied and Ink was quiet as well.

“I’m coming up.” Dream said and the two boys looked at each other, sweat dripping from their skulls.

Next

[gingerwritess]

Hi darling! Can you write Loki creating illusions were he got hurt badly just to see the reader worrying about him, then making funny of her later? Agnst on the beginning, then fluffy and funny on the end?

this was supposed to be for april fools day but i thought yesterday was still march whoops

warning: descriptive injuries, blood

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The apartment door crashes open and a limp Loki falls face-first through the doorway, actually dripping blood onto your carpet.

“What the HELL—”

You’re up in a flash and the god reaches a weak hand towards you, trying to pull himself closer to you but giving up with a grunt of pain when his shoulder pops out of its socket.

Loudly.

He grabs his shoulder and lets out a yell, rolling onto his back as you scream, too—“Arms don’t bend like that, Loki!!”

“Help me,” he hisses, his eyes screwed shut in pain, “for the love of everything, mortal, help me.”

“I-you—Loki, your bones!”

He doesn’t ask for help, like, ever.

And you’ve never really seen the god in pain, but these oddly bent limbs and gashes across his chest dripping blood all over your floor seem to be pure agony as he writhes—

“ARE YOU GOING TO JUST STAND THERE AND WATCH ME DIE?”

“Sorry, sorry!” You spring into action, snapping your gaping mouth shut and bolting to the kitchen, shaking hands rifling through cupboards: you need water, some kind of cloth, oh my god that’s a lot of blood, bandages, pain medication??

How do dosages work on Asgard?

“Loki, how much do you weigh?!” You shout and nearly drop the bowl you just filled with water.

“Is that REALLY important right now??”

“Just answer me!!” In your panic you drop the bottle of pills, sending little orange tablets flying across the kitchen. “God fucking damn it, answer me right now!”

“Somewhere over five hundred pounds, I don’t want to talk about it—” he cuts himself off with a near scream of pain, making you jump with a start and scream, too.

“WILL YOU STOP SCREAMING? I’M RIGHT HERE, DIPSHIT!!”

Fuming and shaken beyond belief, you haul all your stuff back out to the living room and dump it on the floor next to the writhing god. He’s snapped his mouth shut after your last explosion, now just whimpering and clutching his out-of-place shoulder with one hand, the other holding tight to something bleeding on his stomach.

“Okay, okay, okay…” your trembling hands hover tentatively over his body, not sure where to even begin. “Just keep breathing, Loki, stay alive for me, okay? Keep breathing, I—I’m gonna try to help you, I promise.”

He nods weakly, teeth gritting together and eyes screwed shut, and he lifts a hand to gesture at the injury to his abdomen: this one first.

“Got it, how can I—your shirt, can you roll over at all?” You scramble to undo the buckles and straps of his armour to little avail. “Forget it, I’m cutting it off you, give me a knife.”

Loki cracks an eye open and huffs a tiny laugh, lifting a finger to point to his belt under his cloak. “Always trying…always trying to get me naked, you naughty little sausage.”

You really want to slap him right now.

Blood loss seems to be taking its toll on him, his pained whimpering ceasing and being overridden by slurred words and weak touches, his eyes drooping as you find the dagger and slice his shirt open.

“Now is not the ti—oh my god, you were stabbed?!”

There’s a hole in his stomach, just under his ribs, a clean slice through his entire torso.

You know, minor injury.

“I made a monster mad…” he slurs, patting his bleeding wound almost proudly and wincing in pain each time.

“Don’t do that!”

“Pain is nice, though.” He cracks a weak smile, sending you a bloody thumbs up before going back to tapping the open wound. “Reminds…reminds me I’m…reminds me I’m alive…”

“Hey! Eyes open!” You grab his face and give him a little shake, your heart dropping to the pit of your stomach when he limply falls to the floor, unconscious. “Loki, no no no, wake up right now!”

His head lolls to the side and drops out of your hands with a loud clunk.

“LOKI!”

You drop the washcloth in water and quickly press it onto the stab wound—oh god, the gaping opening goes through him. Like, straight through his body.

What the hell am I supposed to do now? Your hands are shaking so badly that you’re pretty sure you’ve only made the bleeding worse, and the white cloth trying to stop the blood just turns bright red as it continues to soak up the never-ending flow.

Eyes start to sting when you try to keep a somewhat clean cloth applying pressure to his side and reach for his hand with the other, bringing it to your lips. “Loki, wake up, wake up, please…”

Something pokes you in the chin and you glance down at his hand.

“WHAT THE FUCK—”

His middle finger is snapped at the top knuckle, just completely going sideways, the actual bone sticking out from under a flap of skin.

On the bright side, your blood-curdling scream wakes him back up.

Chest heaving, you throw his mutilated hand away from you and grab his face again with one hand, the other still trying to stop the bleeding. “You idiot, you’re never allowed to leave the house ever again, understood? Now stay. awake.”

He laughs and pokes your tear-ridden cheek, completely delirious from blood loss. “I’m gonna die happy,” he mumbles, and a thick trail of blood starts trickling from the corner of his mouth. “You’re so beautiful.”

“Shut up, you’re gonna be fine, just keep looking at me!” You scramble to keep his head supported in your hands, but he’s heavy and limp with dead weight. “Loki, you look at me right now, don’t you dare close your eyes.”

“It’s okay, my love, it’s alright…”

“Stay awake, you hear me?” You furiously swipe away the tears clouding your vision, leaving a dark streak of his blood along your cheekbone. “Stay with me, Loki, you’re gonna be just fine, you’re gonna do something magical, right? You’re gonna heal yourself, I know it.”

He’s…dying. In your arms.

On some random Monday morning, out of the blue, came stumbling through your door and now he’s dying in your living room. Life really is a bitch, huh?

“Loki!” You slap his cheek a couple times when his eyes start drifting shut, his head rolling onto your lap. “Loki, you stay awake or I’m gonna kill you…”

“I know this is…is unexpected,” he murmurs, voice thick with blood. “But now you’ll be b-better off.”

“You are such an idiot,” you sob, abandoning the blood-drenched cloth—it’s not exactly helping anymore—and pulling him into your arms, clutching his broken form to your chest. “Where did this even come from? And like hell I’ll be better off, don’t you leave me!”

“My own stupidity.” He laughs and a splatter of blood bubbles from his mouth. “Look at me, darling, quickly.” That broken hand reaches up to weakly cradle your tear-stained cheek, and Loki coughs up a lungful of blood one more time. “I love you like I’ve never loved before.”

“STAY WITH ME, LOKI, I SWEAR TO GOD—”

The god blinks, a slow and deliberate engraining of your image in his mind, and smiles up at you with bloodied lips. “I’ll see you again, my love.”

“You’ll see me right now, you idiot, cause you’re not dying, you idiot, idiot…”

The cool, stuttering breaths against your arm stop falling.

“Loki?” You choke and shake your head—this isn’t real. This is some sick dream. “Loki, stop fucking around, come back.”

Silence.

“Oh my god, Loki, this isn’t funny—”

“Well, it is a little funny.”

Your head snaps up at the sound of that bastard’s voice to see him lounging against the doorway, hands in his pockets with a stupid little grin on his face.

“Idiot?” He asks, pressing a hand to his heart in mock hurt. “I died, my dear, and you called me an idiot approximately five times. Thank you for the lovely sentiment, I love you too.”

The broken body in your arms sparks and fades into nothing, and you slowly get to your feet, the look in your eyes nothing short of murderous.

“That…was a joke?”

Loki shrugs, that proud smirk still plastered over his lips. “Of course. You married the god of mischief, darling.”

Your jaw tightens and Loki swallows, the smirk fading slightly when he sees how, erm, not funny you found his little prank to be.

“Oh shit.”

You barrel into him in an instant, your shoulder connecting with his gut and he crumples to the floor, laughter bubbling from his mouth when you start relentlessly smacking at his arms, chest, face, anywhere you can reach.

“That—wasn’t—funny,” you seeth, emphasising each word with a good poke to the stomach. “You little fucktard, I’m gonna kill you for real for that!”

Still laughing, Loki brings up his hands to half-heartedly block your attacks, catching your furious punches with fingers wrapped around your wrists. You try to fight, to pull your arms from his grip with a huff, but he yanks you down into a searing kiss and locks an arm around your neck—you’re stuck.

“That was extremely funny,” he mumbles against your lips, locking you in place with a solid arm as you try to squirm away from him. “You look so precious when you worry.”

“You’re a—mmph, you’re a sick fuck.” You’re refusing to kiss him back, but he won’t let you move from where your mouths are pressed together.

“Such endearing names,” he dreamily sighs, kissing your pouting lips a couple more times. “I can truly feel the amount of love you hold for my sorry, broken heart…I love you too, my beautiful ‘sick fuck…’”

“YOU FUCKING IDIOT, LET ME GO—”

“…I love you more than the stars may light the sky, my exquisite idiot…”

“I HATE YOU—”

Loki pushes himself up, breathless and red in the face from relentless kisses and never-ending laughter to wind his arms around your waist, pulling you tight against him and smashing his lips to yours.

“Idiot,” he grins into the kiss, somehow squeezing you even tighter. “I hate you too.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

hope you enjoyed, feel free to send me ideas!

loki tags: @bluediamond007 @himitoshi @drakesfiance @destiel1597 @dangertoozmanykids101 @archy3001 @jcalpha1 @yzssie @skullvieplu @forthesnakeofdragons @skulliebythesea @wegingerangelica@storiesfrommirkwood @agarwaeneth @adaliamalfoy @laurfangirl424@paradisaicsam @fitzsimmons-is-forever @ladylokimischief @katelinwrites @tarynkauai @polaristrange @loavesofmeat @canadian-ravenpuff-multishipper @lou-makes-me-strong @holyn0vak @chocolatealmondmillk @swtnrholland @kenzieam @jessiejunebug  @catticas @the-republic-and-face-of-texas @doralupin01 @whitewitchdown @atomiccharmer @falconfeather23435 @babygirlicecream  @avengrcs @vethrvolnir2 @bookgirlunicorn @wabisabigrl @myhealingstar @khaleesi-marvel @ei77777 @spacecrumbs @scarlettrosella@rocks-are-pretty-odd @confessionsofastrugglingteen  @easilydistractedwriter @arttasticgreatnessoftheawesome77 @fluffyllamaswearinghats @milktearose@lcyouinhell @h0tshotholland @dontmesswithmemundane @southsidesarcasticwriter @helnik-s @lilith-akemi @fire-in-her-veinz @unlikelysamwinchesteronahunt @mischievousbellerina  @kcd15@mellowgirl01 @lokislilcaribbeanprincess @allthingzhiddleston @scorpionchild81 @lokixme @vast-ish @blue-automne

[ms31x129]

Chimera

Woohoo! Time for Chapter 2! I had to make a DJ! I felt compelled! @cultureisdarkbeer @monikafilefan @today-in-fic

Chapter 1 - Courage to Jump Tumblr LINK or if you like AO3 it is HERE. 

Chapter 2: Luck of the Irish  (Click on the name for AO3) or if you like Tumblr just clickity-click on the Keep Reading link below.

{Summary:  Months after watching the death of his adoptive parents and Mulder and Scully’s tearful exchange on the pier, Jackson decides to take the risk and head back to his home. He is in search of answers left behind and possibly something worth keeping as a remembrance before the house is sold and all is lost forever. In the attic he finds a letter from his birth mother and as he reads each line, the power and love each word possesses causes his mind to connect with the letter's past, one that he shares, and through visions he relives each moment including an answer to a familiar quarter that his birth grandmother would later carry on a simple chain around her neck only for his birth mother to do the same after his grandmother’s death.}

"My task, which I am trying to achieve is, by the power of the written word, to make you hear, to make you feel--it is, before all, to make you see." -Joseph Conrad

The handwriting drew him in first—elegant and delicate. The shapes of the letters remarkably strong, written with expertise and confident symmetrical lines. Beautiful strokes, both straight and curved, the letters flowing into one another with care and precision. His own handwriting was jagged: no artful roundness or discernable style. Sometimes his Os looked more like As and Ys like an S. They did not have that in common. With a deep sigh he dared to plunge forth, to jump and read the first line.

One day, you’ll ask me to speak of a truth of the miracle of your birth; to explain what is unexplained.

He paused at the word “unexplained” . Something within that word haunted him. His heart inexplicably raced, vision blurred and his mind blazed. Like a great rush of water, the memory returned as if he entered a time machine.

February 5, 2002  - "Handle them carefully, for words have more power than atom bombs" -Pearl Strachan Hurd

Silver. A quarter.

The delicious smell of something baking in the oven. A smile came into focus that was highlighted by lines and age. Security and warmth when he was cradled within her arms. She was an older woman, holding him tenderly with dark hair and a glimmer in her hazel eyes that matched the shiny quarter she had retrieved from her purse. After setting him down in his bassinet, she displayed it in front of his eyes. The woman flipped the quarter over like it held pure magic. As if she had never seen one before. Her features cracked into a familiar grin.

“This is luck, William. A coin in a baby's hand means they will never want for money. It’s an old Irish tradition. I put one under your Uncle Bill’s pillow when he was a baby. Same with your Uncle Charlie and your mother.”

Baby William grabbed hold of the coin. Jackson recalled the feel of it in his hand. Cold metal, yet warm in places where she had touched. With both small hands he tugged the solid object from her grasp.

A worried look clouded over the woman’s brow as she stroked his fluffy hair.

“William, I know you are special, but you will always be my grandson. You will grow to do many great things. Change the world in ways only you can dream. Always remember my dear, sweet grandchild, you can survive the unexplained—survive anything if you feel loved… and I do love you.”

The older woman with the hearts in her eyes took one last heavy breath before reasserting her smile. Even at his young age, her eyes and mind communicated to him and the words resonated making him bubble with laughter and kick with joy. The woman let out a laugh, loud and beautiful. Her face was aglow with new beginnings of a world he was ripped from and would never get to see. Their moment was interrupted by the front door and a familiar voice: Mother .

Her face bright and cheery as she finally came into view. “Mom, watch so that he doesn’t put that in his mouth.”

Mother knelt down as she took the quarter from his fisted baby hands and it angered him. He began to fuss and kick, desperate to feel the coin’s texture against his skin again.

“Shh, look,” she soothed while she held the quarter near his face. He let out a laugh as he reached for it, only to make it disappear. Jackson felt himself frown as baby William. Then his mother squeezed his button nose and out popped the quarter. She then held it out in the center of her palm for him once again, and a squeaking giggle rumbled out of his little chest as she laughed along too."Your daddy showed me that trick," she said and smiled so bright it warmed his body from his tiny rounded toes, to his now drooling, smiling mouth.  

“I was going to place it under his pillow. Give him some Irish luck,” the woman answered softly while coming back into his vision, drinking from a steaming cup.

“You know I don’t believe in superstitions, Mom, but I guess it would be alright.”

His mother’s hand gently stroked the swell of his cheek with her thumb and her bright blue eyes danced between his, connecting. A quick electric-like spark ran through him as if he were shocked. Her eyes narrowed onto his at the realization of the connection made while her hand jerked away from the softness of his face.

Jackson’s head snapped back and he found himself staring at the attic’s wooden ceiling, inhaling the musty oak while the past scent of his mother mingled with the present. He gripped his thighs and forced his breathing to slow.

“What the fuck?”

The length of the memory freaked him out. He had experienced snippets or clips of what he knew to be memories of his life as a young boy, but never to this amount of detail, and not even close to lasting that long before. His mind had never worked in a manner that society had deemed normal and this was just another example shoved in his face of how screwed up his head really was.

He scoffed and kicked the box next to his foot, angry as he glared at the letter that had floated to the floor.

“Why am I even doing this? I’ve lived my past and it certainly wasn’t all rainbows and sunshine.” Jackson shook his head and stood to pace the floor, tucking his chin to his chest as the low beams brushed along his wild chestnut hair.

Questions overwhelmed him.

“Who am I really?” he huffed, biting his lip and running a hand down his face. “Jackson or William? Some kind of freak with alien DNA? A Changeling? A Chimera? And do I even wanna find out?” Truth was he did. He wanted to know who he was and get his life back, take control of what could happen in the future. But in order to do that, he knew he had to look to the past no matter how painful it may end up being.

Overall his life was a happy one, for a kid who felt like an alien in his own skin a little more as each year past with no idea as to why. He’d laughed, played practical jokes, had friends, took family vacations, and learned life lessons. But, the bad soon followed the good.

At times, it certainly wasn’t the happiest of childhoods and sure as hell wasn’t normal; the unexplainable powers he’d just happen to acquire growing up put a wrench in the standards of normalcy. Beyond that aspect, his parents loved him and they showed it. Sometimes embarrassingly so. Perks and downfalls of adoption, he supposed. But after shit hit the fan as his powers grew and was forced to switch schools, he utilized his above average intelligence to hack into the State of Wyoming’s county birth records. That had only spurred his curious mind into overdrive. Searching high and low for clues within the confines of his bedroom, where is parents hovered less often, was his only real way to find his own answers. The answers that his parents nor doctors could ever truly give him.

The only way to find the truth was to seek it. And seeking it through unauthorized channels, after finding out his genetic material was not shared with his parents whom were raising him, was his only choice to answer the questions firing through his mind every hour of every day and throughout each night laced with dreams he couldn’t explain.

“Follow the breadcrumbs, Jackson,” Mrs. Wilson told him as she leaned over his desk, thumbing through his advanced science book. “There are always clues left behind to help guide you when you lose your way. No matter how small they may seem or how cloaked in misdirection they are, the truth is out there.”

And that is exactly what he was doing now: searching for his truth.

An average day in his grade school science class had turned into a room full of shocked classmates and a seriously freaked out teacher calling his parents to pick him up when he had hatched an egg out of thin air. Jackson cringed at the memory of being picked up from school that day and seeing the look of what he now knows to be apprehension plastered across his mom’s face. That incident only spurred his parents into action, calling the genetics specialist at the Children’s Hospital of Wyoming to make yet another appointment.

Jackson stopped pacing and slammed his eyes shut, recalling the very occurrence that flipped his childhood world upside down and had finally given him his very first breadcrumb he was unknowingly searching for already.

“Come on, come on, Jackson! Get your long legs moving!” his dad teased as he ran ahead through the reeds of the waving grass.

“You cheated!” he hollered, his golden brown hair that frizzes in humidity flopped into his eyes with each pound of his foot into the ground.

He was taller than most kids at age eight but still hadn’t honed his ability to use the length of his legs the way he wanted. The new spring sun shone brightly into Jackson’s eyes as he ran through the rolling hills of their farmland behind the house.

The competitive side of him ached to catch his dad laughing at him from the bottom of the hill and a sudden surge of anger rushed in as he picked up the pace. He was known for his swift shift in temperament recently and had even unintentionally shattered the sliding glass door after his mom had scolded him. That same anger resurfaced and Jackson stretched out his limbs as he raced down the steep hill, leaping over a branch only to fly awkwardly through the air and land crushingly hard on his arm.

“Jackson!” He heard his dad yell and run towards him. The pain shooting through his forearm was overwhelming and when he looked down, he saw the bone had broken and was protruding out jaggedly beneath his skin. “Oh, my God! It’s broken, Son.” His dad gently touched his wrist and told him he was going to get help.

No tears came while his dad disappeared into the house. He only stared hard at the bone and endured the pain as he narrowed his eyes, focusing on just making it go away. “Please go away, go away, go away…” As soon as he chanted that, a searing sharp pain lanced through his head and down to his arm, heating and mending the break right before his widened eyes.

Jackson sat in the grass, covered in damp smelling dirt while he watched the bones in his arm straighten back out in utter shock. It was like nothing ever happened. He had done it. He had just healed himself; and he felt completely alone.

Even as his parents arrived and hovered over him, shocked and confused, Jackson had never felt more different, alien—knew in his intelligent mind that his life would never be the same again.

And it hadn’t. Not one day since then. That was the day he had overheard his parents speaking in hushed tones through the doctor’s door at the Children’s Hospital, telling them that more testing should be done since his birth parents might hold the detailed answers to their son’s medical history and the key to his future health.

The rest of his life had been spent rebelling and testing his powers in some sort of weird competition with himself. Jackson had been trying to fill in the gaps on his own and it just wasn’t cutting it anymore. He had a thousand questions he wanted to ask his mother, questions to which they needed to find the answers. There was only one way to get them now.

The question still remained: was he ready to receive them? And was she?

A loud bang and muffled noises caught Jackson’s attention and he moved to the attic’s window.

“Shit!” He jerked away from the glass and gasped as he saw two men in suits walking up the driveway.

Closing his eyes as he listened to the sounds and movement of the men outside, he heard the “For Sale” sign creaking in the wind again. An idea struck. He fisted his hands and scrunched up his face in concentration. In a matter of seconds and an exhale a breath, he was now the man shown on the sign sporting a fake smile and a bad haircut.

The front door rattled and Jackson knew that the men in black weren’t going to give up until they did a full sweep of the home. He moved to the doorway of the attic but just before he exited, he looked longingly at the letter written only for him. The decision to take the letter with all the beautiful words of nearly two decades ago etched into it with him, or let it collect dust and age without knowing every single word his mother had meant for him to read ended up being an easy one for him to make.

He lunged down and snagged the letter, folding it up in his pocket just as the back door flung open and smashed into the wall.

Using his illusion, Jackson stood before the surprised men and asked, “what can I help you with? If you’re here to see the house, another walk through is happening in a couple hours.” His voice was deceptively calm since his heart was pounding in his ears. The fact that he could easily kill them where they stood didn’t mean he wanted to do so. He felt like a monster enough already.

“You’re the realtor?” The man with thinning hair and glasses asked as he palmed what Jackson assumed was a gun at the spine of his back. “No one else has been here?”

“No, but who are you?” Jackson made his way casually to the front door and narrowed his eyes at the man’s hand. When he got no answer he unlocked the door and flung it open. “You should leave before the authorities notice that piece behind your back. And since you’ve basically broken into a home up for sale, I think they’d have probable cause to search you.”

The men shared a look and stiffened at his icy tone. Silence hung in the air until the decision of whether to explain anything to him finally came.

“We’ve been monitoring this place since the event of last year for classified reasons. No need to waste your time on a worthless phone call.” Spinning around in place, they stared up toward the landing on the second floor, as if they expected him to just pop out of his room and wave. “Seems hard to believe a house like this is still on the market,” he chuckled and nudged his partner with a smug expression. “I guess the multiple homicides might turn people off.”

It took all of his strength to not beat the hell out of these assholes standing in the exact spot where his parents’ killers stood, aiming their murder weapon at his own head from the stairway.

“Then go,” he sneered. “Unless you plan on buying?”

Attitude and rage oozed from his teenage mouth and he didn’t give one shit. His control was waning at a faster rate than he had anticipated and if they didn’t leave soon, he could only imagine how the entryway walls would look with a fresh layer of red blood painted across its pristine eggshell white.

The taller man took the hint and made one final glance around and nodded for his partner to follow him out the door and down through the front lawn. They slowly got into their car and drove off, but not before tossing out a look that could kill. And Jackson had no doubt that the men had done just that multiple times before.

He slammed the front door and locked it. His head banged against the heavy wood.

“Jesus,” he exhaled as he dropped the illusion. “I gotta get out of here.” He ran a hand through his longer hair now and slid his fingers in his pocket, brushing them along the letter he had yet to finish. “That’s just it, man… you never finish what you start,” he laughed, annoyed and frustrated with everything including himself. “But maybe now, it’s time to try.”

[honestsycrets]

Medusa I: Lagertha’s Priestess

❛ summary | After Ragnar cheats on Aslaug, or so she believes, she seeks revenge on Ragnar’s favourite son. Following the myth of Poseidon and Medusa. Sy’s pick. 

❛  warnings | non-con in chapter two, revenge, aggression

 ❛ pairing | poseidon!bjorn x medusa!reader

❛ type | multishot

Aslaug notices everything. A change in her love’s regular schedule. Not at all sitting upon the cloudy mountains in pensive thought nor flying over the waters as black as the raven the god was known for. The mighty overseer of the world, god of gods.

Of course, she expected some discrepancy after what happened. The death of his mortal lover, Freydis’s trickery and Floki’s divine punishment upon the cliff. It was meant to be. What wasn’t meant to be was all guiding point leading her to Lagertha’s palace of wisdom and war? No one would speak against the goddess.

But with her green-eyed gaze, she set her eye upon Lagertha’s palace day and night-- waiting until the sight escaped the palace. A vibrant ray of golden sunlight that might have passed for Lagertha visiting the seaside temple where the waves foamed up the shore.

“I know it was him.” Aslaug sat upon her throne in the fluffy clouds, fondling an orb with a lotus flower base. She watches Lagertha step onto her chariot of glittering gold, an owl’s claws deep in the armored golden clasps that kept her flowing white gown upon her shoulder. Down to the earth dwellers where her temple is beside Athen’s bubbling shore.

Aslaug looks to her beloved child’s lover, the goddess of love, fingers twisting the locks of her young son-- Baldur. Freydis’s face contorts neither confirming nor denying the truth. For Aslaug, it was the only confirmation she desired.

“Have you seen the earth-shaker?” Freydis says, batting at pluming clouds, just barely a mist.

“Bjorn?” Aslaug asks and turns her gaze through the opening of the waters to where the lapsing waters of the ocean. Usually, she could find Bjorn riding his horse across the open waters, claiming the lives of travelers ill-intended.

“He is not there.” Aslaug’s lips widen, pulling upon her face a great smile. “Where has he gone, sweet Baldur, hm?”

Aslaug’s fingers prod the boy’s full stomach as he plays with his bow, loosening his arrow from the grip. His chubby little hand drops the fistmele and so the arrow careens toward the water below.

“He’s gone to see (Y/N), the one nicknamed  Medusa.”

“In Lagertha’s temple.” Aslaug laughs low behind her cup. “Well, we should watch after him. He is, after all, a man.”

There was a time for everything.

For example, the task of gathering water at the foaming shores of a sandy beach was best done in the earliest of mornings when the sun had yet to peak the horizon completely. For then the men were at home caring for their daily activities instead of staring upon your flowing hair that remained uncut down your back. Bound in straps of leather through its braid, you step into the inviting, calm water.

Ubbe, raise the sun and start the day, For Lagertha’s pride waxes the way, Let us weave a new song of praise, While our goddess seeks the kill of the day.

As you sing out to the water it swells and then grows, churning around your feet as if it too were playing like the birds in the sky around your feet. The small fishes that normally grace the shallow waters nip your toes.

“Are you just going to stay out there to play? I haven’t all day!” You sway, looking out toward the horizon.

The crystal-like waters withdraw from your feet, residual beads drawing back into the great ocean to take the form of a great chariot drawn by aqueous steeds with fish-like tails, ascending out of the water. The man riding the chariot pulls the leads tight, stepping down from his mighty chariot with a billowing cloak.

“I forgot. A priestess of Lagertha has no time for me.” He chuckles, wide steps thundering the beach. He comes close enough that you might touch him.

“Well, she did make the olive tree.” You raise your hand to his short beard, dripping water over your dry gown. “And you?”

“Didn’t I make the horses that drive them and horses that haul their goods?”

You scratch the underside of his chin.

“Yes my old friend, yes, but it wasn’t enough.” You turn to watch the sun beginning to peek over the horizon. Its warm rays will soon infest the shoreline and you will have to go back inside. Bjorn breathes in,

“Humans are greedy. They take and take.” Bjorn moves beside you. “The priestesses are the only ones who give.”

“Is that meant to be a compliment?” You ask, turning your face to admire him.

“Maybe.” He nods, turning his piercing blue eyes toward you. “Why did you become a priestess to my mother’s temple? Why not mine?”

He’s full of questions today.

“She preserved me as a child.” You say. “She weaved my hair into these beautiful waves.”

Bjorn leans to look at your hair, glossy and soft in bundles down your back. He holds his hand at the wrist in front of the folded skirt around his hips. He then raises his head back up, smooth blonde strands pulled into a short ponytail upon his head.

“I can’t argue with that. How many suitors have you now?” Bjorn asks.

“I’ve lost count.” You admit. “Lagertha guards the maidens. To be a priestess, I can’t. You understand why I said no to yours, don’t you?”

No. His face reads.

“Yes.” He answers, and finally, the rim of the sun breaks from the horizon. You clap your hands together, bowing at the waist.

“Ubbe has finally raised the sun.” You say. “I should go in now.”

Like most mornings he visited you, the visits were short. It wasn’t proper for you to see him so often. You fret at times what Lagertha would think about a goddess who spent her time with a god and so, most days, you spent the time tending to praise of your goddess. Bjorn turns, extending to take one of your hands that has clapped together. In a smooth and endearing motion, he kisses the top of your hand.

“Am I going to sprout pearls on my hand now?” You tease. Bjorn lacks your humor, swashing in the warm waters back toward his chariot manned by several hippocampi.

“Until next time, priestess.”

“Until next time, lord of the seas.” You incline your head in respect for him. Bjorn takes the reins of his chariot and commands them back to the waters below. As you extend your hand to wave him away, watching as he descends below the top of the water, you aren’t alone. Below the visiting goddesses watch as you start back with your amphora toward the temple where divine Lagertha visit.

“He’s in love!” Aslaug’s voice rises, tender in celebration of a union that could have been, but would not. “I should have seen it.”

“You deal with late stages of love and I with young ones.” Freydis reclines upon her arms, her long legs bouncing flowing fabric.

“Poor Bjorn.” Aslaug sighs, flapping a fan of peacock feathers. “Go on Baldur.”

They both agree on that alone, watching your figure become small in comparison to the raised golden pillars of Lagertha’s temple. Baldur, the small boy with a cleft lip, slips off the cloud with his arrow raised high to seek Poseidon in the waters below. Lagertha’s chariot has settled in the wide opening of the temple to receive her divine sacrifices.

“Now, Freydis… Where is my beloved Ivar?”

@igetcarriedawaywithyou, @kylobien, @titty-teetee, @breathlessouls, @nejijjeoroo, @bcat1291, @readsalot73, @mslothbrok, @romanchronicles, @captstefanbrandt, @ailucascen, @michaeliskindahot, @cbouvier23, @naaladareia, @cbouvier23, @the-geeky-engineer, @dorned, @lisinfleur, @funmadnessandbadassvikings, @tephi101, @akamaiden, @ethereallysimple, @venusloviing, @happylittlepuppydog, @beyond-the-ashes, @slutforrpg, @hipsternoionlylikeunicorns, @mixedwiththemoon, @sparklemichele, @alicedopey, @lif3snotouttogetyou, @rubyquartzshades, @noregretsandyeteveryregret, @dangerous-like-a-loaded-pistol, @deathbyarabbit, @unacceptabletatertots, @beyond-the-ashes (no sig), @babypink224221, @ivarandersen, @queen-see-ya-in-valhalla, @moose-squirrel-asstiel, @icarus-fell-in-spring, @end-of-night, @gruffle1, @lol-haha-joke @arses21434,  @smileyparrots, @Moosemittens13, @miss-artemis-wild, @two-unbeatable-beaters, @wonderwoman292, @wish-i-was-a-mermaid, @fangirls94, @mcuimxgine, @killerb00sdeath, @heartbeats-wildly, @boo20017, @acacheofstrange, @shaelyn102, @astoryoffireandlight, @smokealone, @shaelyn102 @laketaj24, @peaceisadirtyword, @ly--canthrope@cris101071 @daughterofthenight117 @unassumingviking , @inforapound @wichesterwife27 , @ladyofsoa

[master-sass-blast]

Strong as Stone -Part Twenty-Two

WELCOME BACK!

Last week we got a lovely, fluffy, light-hearted vacation/one year anniversary celebration with Okoye and M’Baku.

This week marks the conclusion of the “Klaue’s Associate” plot line! Yes, babes, this is it! Part Four of ‘Cat and Mouse,’ as I’ve been calling it on Ao3, is here!

Rating: T.

Warnings: Language, suspense, mentions of cancer, and mentions of death.

Pairings: Okoye x M’Baku and T’Challa x Nakia.

@the-last-hair-bender, @skysynclair19

See everything you can through to the end. You won’t be able to see everything through --and there will be things that you shouldn’t see through--but what you can, do.

Try to keep your heads out of the clouds though, my dears. We have the tendency to get caught up in our ideas, our fantasies, of how things ought to conclude. We often craft out the perfect ending, or anticipate things down to the most minute detail.

Stay away from it, if you can help it. The results will often disappoint your preconceptions.

It’s been a lot of effort. A lot of patience. A lot of consecutive missions that required rotating the Dora Milaje and War Dogs to keep everyone from growing over tired. A lot of Shuri going in tearing out the associate’s invisible hand in their system.

Which kept growing back. Every two to three days it would register on the security scans, almost full size and intact despite Shuri continually increasing the protective measures in every way she could conceive of.

Okoye had decided, after the third time that Shuri had to tear our the associate’s tap strand by strand of code, that Klaue’s associate was a great deal smarter than he had been.

But, in the end, it paid off. Keeping the associate moving on a near constant basis meant that Okoye’s teams kept recovering more and more materials from the safe houses --and that Shuri had time to track the associate back to the main base of operations.

A two bedroom apartment Central London. Shuri had traced the root of all the associate’s coding back to there.

When Okoye had heard the news, she’d let out a victory cry of relief.

She’d spent idle moments over the past few months imagining it, imagining what it would feel like when it came, and it was finally here.

They’d found the associate and were ready to capture them.

The first thing she did, candidly, was call M’Baku.

He answered on the third ring. “‘Koye? Is everything alright?”

“We found Klaue’s associate! They’re in London. We’re moving in tonight to capture them!”

M’Baku grinned. “Well done, my love. Go kick their ass.”

Okoye smiled and blew him a kiss before she ended the call. She took a deep breath, then pumped her fist as satisfaction flowed through her. It’s all coming to an end.

“We need to assume that Klaue’s associate will be armed and heavily dangerous,” Okoye said as she manipulated a three dimensional holographic display of the apartment building they were heading to. “We’re going in fast. Take out the associate and whatever technology they’re using to hold us back as quickly as possible. We want to minimize the damage caused and our mission time. I don’t think I need to explain why a serious mess would not be in our best interests.”

They were flying over the Atlantic ocean, headed straight for the United Kingdom. T’Challa was already wearing his Black Panther suit --sans mask--and Nakia stood at his side in her usual War Dog gear. Four other Dora Milaje stood at the other side of the table, dressed in their armor. At the end opposite where Okoye stood, Shuri watched the display spin and shift.

The King, albeit reluctantly, had deemed it necessary that his sister accompany them on their mission. As Wakanda’s foremost mind and innovator with all things vibranium, they needed Shuri present to make sure that they collected and dismantled all the weapons properly.

Admittedly, he’d demanded that Shuri make herself a suit of vibranium armor as well, which was a choice Okoye wasn’t complaining about. Shuri was smart, yes, but she was incredibly new to the outside world --to say nothing of missions like these.

“All due respect, General Okoye,” Shuri said with a nervous, pinched expression, “but I doubt we’ll encounter that much resistance. If Klaue’s associate was making weapons, wouldn’t we have seen them hit the market by now --or seen a greater demonstration of their capabilities than the detonators they’ve used at various warehouses?”

“You could be right,” Okoye said, using the same calm, non-condescending voice she used with new trainees and recruits. “But it’s wiser to prepare for the worse.”

“We’ve talked about this before, Shuri,” T’Challa said in slightly exasperated tone. “This is not a social call. Klaue’s associate is a danger to Wakanda and the rest of the world; they need to be taken down before they amass too many weapons.”

“Yes, except they aren’t because they haven’t been making weapons,” Shuri retorted. “None of what we recovered matches any weaponry designs I’ve ever seen.”

“You can’t know for certain, Shuri.”

“Actually, yes, I can!”

“We have to assume Klaue’s associate is dangerous for our own safety and the safety of any innocent bystanders,” Nakia interjected before the two siblings could start arguing. “He only worked with certain kinds of people --thugs, ex-convicts, the morally gray or black. We have good reason to assume that the associate is dangerous because all of Klaue’s other friends and associates have been.”

Shuri let out a huff, looked away, and crossed her arms over her chest. “Well, I still think you’re wrong.”

Night had fallen over the city of London by the time they’d found a good place to hover over the roof of the associate’s apartment building. 

Once everyone was off, Shuri cued the ship to cloak itself. “What now?”

“We could kick down the door,” Djabi said with a smirk.

“Or just pick the lock,” Nakia fired back as she knelt in front of the door to do just that.

Okoye took the lead as she treaded down the flights of concrete stairs towards the twelfth floor.

“Are you ready, Okoye?” T’Challa asked, right on her heels, in a teasing tone that belied the seriousness of the situation.

“You have no idea, my King.” She checked to make sure the hall just off the stairs was clear, then stepped out of the stairwell.

The hall was lined with doors stained to a dark walnut color. It was eerily silent; not even a shred of noise emanated from behind the closed doors. No footsteps, no music, no conversation, nothing.

Okoye narrowed her eyes as the others stepped into the hall behind her. “I seriously doubt, even though it’s late, that absolutely everyone is already asleep for the night.” She lived in apartment complex, for Bast’s sake; she knew from experience that some people kept odd hours. Having everything be one hundred percent quiet meant something was wrong. Seriously wrong.

“You’re right,” Nakia agreed as she took stock of her surroundings. “It’s not even midnight. People should be returning from evening shifts, getting ready for night shifts, going out to clubs, or just be staying up late. Something’s wrong.”

“Maybe they’re not sleeping,” Djabi suggested with a dark grimace. “Maybe they’re dead.”

T’Challa shook his masked head. “Killing an entire floor of people would be a severe departure from what we’ve seen out of the associate thus far.”

“Or maybe they’ve finally completed whatever they were trying to build,” Aneka offered. “Maybe they’re trying to show us just how powerful they are.”

“I don’t think it’s that,” Shuri interjected, “but I am only picking up one life sign other than ours.”

Shit. “Spears out. Be at the ready for anything.” Okoye walked up the door with the correct number plaque and glanced at T’Challa. “Do we knock or kick it in?”

Before he could answer, the electronic lock on the door made the ‘key accepted’ chirp. There was the snapping sound of the bolt sliding back, then the door swung open to reveal an empty, dimly lit room.

“Well, that’s auspicious,” Djabi said dryly.

“They know we’re here,” Nakia whispered. “They’ve probably been watching us the whole time.”

“We can’t abort the mission now,” T’Challa said as he crept towards the door. “We need to retrieve the stolen vibranium.”

Okoye managed to edge past him, spear in hand, and peered around the edge of the door.

The space was one large room that ran the entire length of the hall. Various desks and tables dotted the room; the desks and tables themselves were littered with machine parts, computer pieces, and a variety of desktop screens, computers, and laptops. A giant display screen interface --like the largest iPad Okoye had ever seen--ran along one wall, showing various calculations, research read outs, and files in almost every language conceivable.

And, in the center of the screen, was a video feed of them crouching by the door.

“We’re on camera,” Okoye muttered as she swept her gaze around the room in search of the recording device. “And I know why there aren’t any other life signs. This is just one giant room. The other doors in the hall are fakes.”

“Any sign of the associate?” Nakia asked.

“Not yet. It looks empty, almost abandoned.”

They all filed in one by one, on full alert and ready to strike whatever flew at them.

Well, except for Shuri, who immediately pulled on a pair of sterile gloves and started rifling through the technology on the tables. “It’s exactly what I suspected...”

“What are we looking at?” T’Challa asked as he surveyed the space.

“Junk. Stripped and harvested for whatever was needed.”

“If it’s junk, then why keep it?” Aneka asked.

“My best guess is that it’d look suspicious to have so much electronic trash coming out of the one building all the time. They probably have a special disposal service remove everything for them to keep a low profile.”

From across the room, in the darkest of the shadows, someone started clapping their hands.

Okoye whirled towards the noise, ready to face down whoever was waiting for them.

The lights flicked on, one by one, until they could see who had been clapping.

Okoye gasped. “You!”

An Indian woman with long, wavy black hair smirked back at her. “Me.”

“You know this woman, General?” T’Challa asked.

“She interviewed me at the dinner after President Trump’s non-apology speech,” Okoye spat out. “And she posed as a scientist during Shuri’s lecture on Wakandan science and technology.”

“That’s right!” Shuri exclaimed. “Dr. Khatri!”

“Not your real name, I take it,” T’Challa added.

She shrugged, expression impeccably unruffled. “It can be, if you want it to.”

“I’m not referring to you by a fake alias.”

“All my aliases are fake. But, if you’d like something for this conversation, you can call me Jhanvi Singh. That’s the name I’ve been using most recently.”

“I assume you know why we’re here, Ms. Singh.”

“What, you mean this isn’t a house warming party?”

“Your little game is done,” T’Challa said flatly. “Surrender yourself and whatever weapons you’ve created.”

Jhanvi chuckled as she turned away from them, walking towards an empty desk at the back of the room. “Mm, I think not.”

“That wasn’t a request.”

“No, I’m not saying I won’t.” She spun and hopped up onto the edge of the desk, sitting there. “I’m saying I can’t.”

“You’ve already sold the weapons,” Nakia concluded. “We’re going to need the list of your buyers.”

“I don’t have one,” Jhanvi said as she tapped at her phone.

“Enough of this,” Okoye growled. “She has no weapons with her. There are eight of us versus her.”

“Oh, I didn’t say I didn’t have any.” Jhanvi looked up, hazel eyes glowing a faint shade of copper.

Two panels in the ceiling opened, allowing two massive artillery style guns to drop down and take aim.

Okoye gritted her teeth as the guns deployed --then gasped when her spear retracted into its storage capsule, seemingly of its own volition.

Next to her, T’Challa’s suit shut off, retracting into the necklace Shuri designed and revealing the shirt and slacks he was wearing underneath. He stared levelly at Jhanvi. “That’s why you were so unconcerned over our presence.”

Jhanvi smirked triumphantly. “Well, would you look at that. The deck was stacked in my favor after all.”

“You have mental control over the technology in the room, right?” Shuri asked. “How do you manipulate everything? Is it an implant?”

Jhanvi shook her head. “I’ve always been like this. No one knows why, but you have to make the most of what you have.”

“And you can mentally control any technology?”

“As long as I’ve had enough time to interface with it or the mother technology it stems from.” She paused, blinked, then raised her eyebrows. “Except your shielded jacket. Holy shit, you actually made something I can’t break into! That’s amazing!”

Shuri grinned. “I’ve had several weeks to get familiar with your capabilities. You’re extremely adept at evading my firewalls.”

“Don’t take it too hard. Security measures are the easiest to get past; you just have to figure out how to climb the wall --by the way, the Pentagon ought to contact you for an upgrade. Their defense measures are feeble compared to your most basic stuff.”

“I’m guessing that when you infiltrated the conference, you had enough time to get into enough of our systems so that you could always regrow whatever I tore out? It’s the only explanation I can think of.”

“Basically. Your coding is gorgeous, by the way. I practically wept every time I crawled through it.”

“Can we save the love fest for a later date?” T’Challa asked with an annoyed expression at his sister. “If you don’t have the weapons, and you don’t have a list, what can you give us to help us track down your buyers?”

“Nothing, I’m afraid. And there won’t be a ‘later date,’ either.”

T’Challa frowned. “I’m not following.”

“She has a brain tumor,” Shuri said softly. “Don’t you? I picked up on some irregularities in your coding, but I wasn’t sure...”

Jhanvi’s smirk turned into a sad smile and she tapped the spot just above her left eyebrow. “Cancerous. Inoperable because of excessive entanglement in the blood vessels. Based on the prognosis I was given, I’ve got... three hours left. At the most.”

Okoye felt disturbed as she processed Jhanvi’s statement. This isn’t a round up. It’s a last good-bye. “If you’re dying, why let us find you?”

Jhanvi shrugged. “Like the King said. The game’s up. I’d like to be recognized for my efforts in evading you, instead of only existing as a faceless figment of your imaginations. I mean, how many of you thought I was a woman?”

Okoye shared a silent glance with Nakia. Even though they’d never assigned a gender to the associate during their efforts to track them down, she’d assumed --they all had assumed--it was a man. It just made sense, given Klaue’s background.

“Exactly. I’d like to be remembered accurately, even in the official ‘pain in the ass’ records of Wakanda’s justice system.”

“Miss Singh, I’m incredibly sorry that you’re in your current predicament, but we need anything you can give us about the weapons you designed,” T’Challa said urgently. “Vibranium weaponry could devastate the world --and undo all our efforts to integrate ourselves with the rest of the world. We’d lose our abilities to help those that need us most.”

“Very compelling --but no.”

“Why not?”

“Because she hasn’t made any weapons,” Shuri said.

Jhanvi grinned and made a clicking noise with her mouth as she pointed double finger guns at Shuri. “Boom. There it is.”

T’Challa let out an annoyed sigh. “If you haven’t made any weaponry, then what have you been doing with the vibranium?”

“She’s been making medical technology.” Shuri fiddled with her kimoyo beads and images of some of their salvages from the safe house and warehouse sites flashed on the screen embedded in the wall. “Prosthetic arms and legs. Implants to reverse Alzheimers and memory loss. Nano technology blood clotting injections to help hemophiliacs. You’ve been using the last of Klaue’s vibranium to help people. Your random jumping around was you going where you were needed.”

“Having a tumor in your head gives you perspective. Trying to spend your life coloring inside the lines only limits how much you can help people.”

“So you teamed up with Klaue to get access to the materials that would let you help people quickly,” Nakia surmised.

“He needed someone to help him fly under the radar after you branded him,” she said. “I needed vibranium so I wouldn’t have to wait for the outside world to catch up with you.”

“You helped a man that killed our people,” Okoye hissed, disgusted. “Men, women, children!”

“You aren’t any better!” Jhanvi snapped. “You’re sitting on a mountain of technology and research that could do so much good for the world, but you refuse to release any means to make your results tangible for everyone else because of your paranoia! Do you have any idea how many people would benefit from having access to medical centers with vibranium technology? Cancer patients. Auto-immune disorder victims. People with cystic fibrosis. Prematurely born babies. Your death count is higher than Klaue’s could ever be!”

“We haven’t always made the right choices,” T’Challa admitted. “But we’re working on fixing that.”

“Yeah, you released your research, but ninety percent of it is fucking useless without vibranium! You gave the world a cart without a horse!”

“Wait.” Nakia held up her hand. “I agree we can do more, but I don’t understand something. Why let us think you were building weapons when you weren’t? We could’ve helped you.”

“Right. Because you’d absolutely let someone have a vibranium powered prosthetic. Sure. Besides, I’m dying in three hours. I’d like to have a little fun before I go.”

“You don’t have to.” Shuri stepped forward. “We have the ability to operate on tumors like yours. We can take you back to Wakanda and perform brain surgery on you.”

Jhanvi smirked bitterly. “Right. Because you’d absolutely perform surgery for a thief and known associate of criminals.”

“I would,” Shuri said. “You could be a major asset to us.”

“Asset!” Jhanvi let out a harsh laugh. “All my life I’ve been asset! Everyone wants to use my abilities! I can disable enemy satellites, guide unmanned crafts to carry out airstrikes, take down an entire country’s communication system! Everyone wants a piece of me without ever considering if I’m okay with what they’re using the pieces for! No, Princess, I would rather die than let you use my abilities for your own ends!”

“Your ability to control technology is not your greatest asset!” Shuri exclaimed. “And it’s not what Wakanda needs most right now.”

“Isn’t it?”

“No. Your humanity is. Your perspective. We’re trying to help the world become a better place, and we don’t even have the awareness to realize that most our medical procedures are unattainable without vibranium technology; it’s such a commonplace thing for us that we forget that we’re the only ones that have it. We need someone like you to help us focus our efforts in the right areas. Otherwise, all our work will be in vain because we’ll never reach the people that need us most.”

Jhanvi hesitated, glancing between Shuri and T’Challa warily. “You’re not the King. You can’t make that kind of decision.”

Okoye watched as T’Challa mulled the idea over. It wasn’t, technically, the safest option, but...

There were a lot of technicalities in Jhanvi’s favor. She hadn’t stolen the vibranium --Klaue had, and she’d actually kept his cache from falling into the wrong hands by using it to make medical technology.

She also hadn’t directly killed anyone. An extremely fine line --not one the council was likely to walk--but a line nonetheless.

Okoye watched as T’Challa looked to Nakia --who nodded--then took a moment to regard Jhanvi when he looked over to her. She hasn’t built any weaponry. She just wants help people.

She pursed her lips together as another thought occurred to her. She’ll die in three hours if we don’t help.

Ayo wasn’t going to like this. At all.

Ayo is an adult. The risks are minimal --at the very least, we can save her from the tumor, then incarcerate her. She looked back at T’Challa and nodded.

“I think we can come to an arrangement,” T’Challa said.

Jhanvi was quiet for a moment --then nodded. “You’ve got a deal.”

Okoye yawned and tried to rub the exhaustion out of her stinging eyes as she wrapped up the mission report. Almost done. Then you can sleep.

Shuri had used a neural stabilizing helmet to medically induce a coma and ‘freeze’ the cancer once they were back on the ship. As soon as they landed in Wakanda she whisked Jhanvi off the ship on a stretcher; three doctors were already waiting on the platform, and Shuri disappeared in the palace with them in seconds.

Ayo had been waiting for them, too. She glared at Jhanvi’s stretcher, her expression a rare picture of unmitigated fury.

Fortunately, Aneka had been able to coax her partner back inside the palace. Okoye trusted that the youngest soldier would be able to talk Ayo down --eventually.

She looked up when the door to her office opened and gasped softly when M’Baku stepped in. “What are you doing here?”

“Emergency council meeting. To talk about the fate of Klaue’s associate.”

“Right.” Okoye yawned again. “I forgot. I should get some sleep before that happens.”

“It’s in the evening. Don’t worry.” M’Baku kissed her forehead. “Dewani said Shuri was performing surgery on the associate?”

“Removing a malignant tumor. It’s a long story.”

“I gathered.” He rubbed his hand up and down the back of her neck. “Are you almost done?”

“Basically.” Okoye filled out the last few requirements, then submitted her mission report. She sighed tiredly and let her head drop to her desk. “I hate night missions. They always take the longest. Always.”

M’Baku chuckled and gently tugged her out of her chair. “Come on, Okoye. Let’s get you back to your quarters.”

“I’d rather sleep in your quarters.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

She nodded sleepily. “Yes. Sleeping with you sounds like heaven right now.”

He carried her to his room --at her request; the palace was basically dead right now anyway, and walking felt downright impossible--and gently set her on his bed. “I’ll find something for you to change into,” he murmured as he pressed his lips against her brow.

“One of your sleep shirts, please,” Okoye mumbled as he rifled through the dresser. Once she had a shirt, she pushed herself off the bed and shuffled to the bathroom. “I’m changing and washing my face, and then I’m passing out.”

Even having the water one at the coldest temperature the sink cold go did nothing to kick-start her system. I’m getting too old for this.

And, admittedly, that was a reality of her job. Being the General was a highly physical task. Most women retired between the ages of thirty-five and forty to start working as trainers for the Dora program or advisers to the Council, tribes, or War Dogs program.

Right now, all it meant was that she’d start shifting more of the night missions to Ayo, who was set to become General when Okoye stepped down.

Candidly, it wasn’t a choice that Okoye felt any particular grief over. Night duties of any kind had never been her favorite.

She dropped on the bed next to M’Baku and nestled against him as he pulled the blankets up over her. “Good night.”

“Technically, it’s morning.”

“Shut up and let me sleep.”

“Miss Singh.”

“Not anymore. But you can still call me that, if you like.”

Okoye narrowed her eyes at Jhanvi and crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m pleased to see your surgery went well.”

“So am I. Still have the magic touch, which is nice.” She flicked at glance at Ayo, who was glaring stonily at her. “I don’t think she likes me much.”

“You killed two of my friends with your ‘harmless detonators,’” Ayo spat out.

“And your country could’ve prevented the deaths of millions with your technology.”

Ayo clenched her teeth together. “You should be rotting in a prison cell.”

Jhanvi smiled, expression indicating that she was fully aware how badly she was pissing off Ayo. “And yet, here I stand. Free as a bird and an unofficial consultant for the Wakandan outreach program.”

Aneka latched on to Ayo’s wrist. “Come on, babe. Leave her alone. She’s only having fun pissing you off.”

Jhanvi watched the two women leave, edgy smile unfaltering. “Shame. Anger looks good on her.”

“You’d do well to leave the Commander well alone, should your paths ever cross again,” Okoye lectured in a stern, threatening tone.

“Or?”

Okoye took a step towards Jhanvi and leveled her fiercest, most intimidating glare at the woman. “I don’t need technology to kill you. Remember that.”

The edgy smile didn’t even wobble. “Duly noted.”

Okoye watched as two of the Honor guard members escorted Jhanvi to the landing platform. I’ll be watching you, associate. One misstep on your part, and I won’t hesitate to take you out.

[sunflower-soulmates-blog]

ten things that i associate with the signs.

aquarius: heart eyes, deciding to learn a new language at midnight, mismatched socks, blushing cheeks, being unable to hide your excitement, having a folder on your laptop dedicated only to the evidence of cryptids and aliens, suspenders, squeezing your feet into the converse you’ve owned for six years because you can’t bare to part with them, the erasers on top of all your pencils, covering yourself in temporary tattoos because you can’t bare the thought of the pain real ones come with.

aries: fluffy socks, red lipstick, polaroid cameras, picking strawberries in a field, wide brimmed hats, rain clouds, hoop earrings, braids, laughing until you cry, over exaggerating how big the spider you saw in the bathroom was.

capricorn: 
making playlists at 3am, sunflowers, long walks, musical theatre, flower crowns, horror movies, running into a loved ones arms, having hundreds of books but only reading the same one over and over again, video games, band shirts.

taurus
: forests, low light selfies, dark purple, coffee dates, carving pumpkins, long flowing cloaks, pulling all nighters because you don’t want to stop reading, tucking flowers behind your ear, pretty tea cups, the crunching of leaves beneath your feet during autumn.

sagittarius: 
love letters, photo albums, black coffee, losing track of time when you are in nature, misty waterfalls, ombré hair, complementing strangers you see on the street, holding onto plane tickets to remind you of the places you’ve visited, writing cute notes and leaving them around the house for your significant other to find, instantly researching topics your friends say they find interesting.

gemini: 
ballrooms, soft pink, roses, comfy sweaters, family portraits hung above the fireplace, waking up to the sound of crashing waves, holding hands, daisy chains, silk nightgowns, wild imaginations.

cancer: 
dark eyeshadow, dyed hair, hidden diaries, decorating your room for every season, contagious smiles, long hugs, singing at the top of your lungs with your windows rolled down, running down the stairs in the morning for your first cup of coffee/tea, knee high socks, colouring your nails with a sharpie.

libra: 
neon lights, mirror selfies, your old school bag being covered in badges, loud and contagious laughs, karaoke nights, speaking your mind, having that one song that can always make you get up and dance, rhinestones on your clothes, stickers on a nintendo ds, the feeling when you win a game of mario kart.

scorpio: 
loud music, tall platform shoes, sarcastic eye rolls, dramatic makeup, deep red, scrolling through an online store for hours, vodka, leather jackets, the cheers from the crowd when the contestant you were rooting for wins, being full of energy throughout the entire day.

leo
: friendly smiles, relaxing at the beach, the proud feeling you get when people laugh at your jokes, frequently changing your aesthetic, big headphones, back and forth texting with your significant other while they’re supposed to be working, pulling pranks on your teachers during class, fishnets, chapped lips, messy bed sheets.

pisces: 
huge earrings, smudged eyeliner, rose coloured lipstick, your hair blowing in the wind, binge watching tv shows, small concert venues, loud laughs, thrift stores, donating hours of your time to pet shelters just so you can hang out with all the animals all day, procrastinating homework.

virgo: 
messy buns, spontaneous tattoos, the smell of cigarette smoke at a jazz concert, witty comebacks, mascara that has run down your face, wearing clothes that make you stand out - not on purpose, you just don’t care for the current fashion trends, having a large CD collection, only buying alcohol that looks aesthetically pleasing, high heels, lip bites.

[shafscribbles]

It was blurry, almost blinding. The sky looked bright. too bright. Maybe it was always like this? No, it wasn't always like this, cloaking the world. It was an ordinary day, the candy-floss clouds lazily sprawled across; sometimes puffy and tall, other times no more than mere wisps, dashed across the sky by some divine paintbrush.

The sky never failed to amaze me, filled with mysteries and endless amounts of space. Over flowing with wonders, yet so much space, so void. The sky was ever-changing, its various colors of navy blue, black, lavender, turquoise, and a fiery tangerine painting the dome above. The birds flew through that ever developing canvas of the dawn, as if their wings were fine quills, drawing such buoyant hues. Those wings in that sky became the color of my dreams and whenever i needed a memory to lift me off the ground, they were there.

I wonder if anyone noticed how pretty the sky was today, how the blue was bright and soft all at once. I wonder if they saw the serenity of the clouds that sailed by, gently passing on toward anyplace the wind wishes them to reach. I wonder if they let their eyes rest upon their white tops and follow the infinite greys that blend so harmoniously with one another, almost bluish. I wonder if they, as i did, imagined them to be Beluga whales swimming through a clean ocean, a happy family, singing, playing. If they did, i hope they felt at least a little of what i feel, a calm sense of awe as warm as sunny rays. If so, i hope they felt a tingle in their fingers and heightened senses, the heady aroma of blooms and the subtle movement of leaves, the way light reflects from both foliage and feathers. So i pause, let my feet join the serenity of quietness, and breathe. That's when i feel it all the more, sense energy from the trees, the birdsong and the very soil upon which i stand. They say the universe is all connected, as are we all, and in this moment it's so tangible, real. Feet firmly planted on the ground i look up at a defiant sky, the dome of our existence. I see no fairness there, no sense of responsibility. Some days are dark, angry, bitter spitting rain, hail, fire and brimstone. Others calm, serene with light fluffy clouds as if there wasn't a care in the world. Why? I ask myself.

The sky, as brilliantly blue as any other summer day, was impervious to the carnage below. It was a cruelty, an evocation of summers past when we were whole and young, not decimated by this senseless conflict, not burying a loved one every other day of the week. It was a reminder too of our mortality and that our great troubles are insignificant to the world. This azure wash above will be here next year and every season to follow whether we were here to witness it or not

[chatoyism]

Intimidating || Jimin One Shot

→ Summary:Your ex-boyfriend just dumped you recently so it was hard to get rid of the feeling inside your chest. A good stroll in the forest lake seemed like a nice way to deal with it, but was it really a good decision when it was currently a full moon?

→ Genre: Fantasy, Supernatural

→ Member: Park Jimin

→ Words: 2.4k

A/N: This one shot is one of my very late pieces of writing so the work you see here may look a bit stiff. Terribly sorry about it but please enjoy it to the best of your abilities! It’s even better if you check out BTS’s Comeback Show on MNET!

Walking alongside the edge of the lake that stood in the middle of the dense forest, you kicked a rock with your leather boots into the water letting it send ripples in all directions. The sound that bounced from your boots echoed slightly into the woods, ricocheting against the trees and deeper into the forest. Each footstep of your shoe crumbled against weak dirt that supported the edge of the lake, some parts slipping into the water making the lake grow a bit bigger than it was before.

You let a desperate sigh escape past your lips as you went to sit down on the grass, dew particles stuck onto the skin of your hand you used to prevent yourself from slipping in. It wasn’t normal to casually walk in the forest with nothing on you and sit by the empty lake looking miserable as ever. You were just one of the few people who weren’t afraid to enter past the woods since rumours had spread around that supernatural took over the forest at night.

You couldn’t believe such stupid words fool your senses in this kind of mood. You were infuriated already at the fact someone made you become this fearless. You were glad at least, all of his memories of mental abuse and fake confessions were swept away never to lay a hand on your mind again. He never did anything good on you and it made you feel better that what he left behind was now gone. What it did to you hurt you the most.

You loved him.

Every inch of his body with his beautiful smile and puffy cheeks made you happy just by glancing at him, your boyfriend who kept you feeling better than ever for 3 whole years. He always slept with you when he came home late, and tucked you in blankets when he saw you shiver in the cold. You missed those times it felt like he cared about you. After all those years when marriage was about to fall upon you, he disposed of you and went looking for someone else.

What did you do wrong all those years? What could you have done wrong to make him leave you like that?

Those questions meant nothing to you. He was gone from you now and it didn’t matter anymore since you felt alive to be yourself. Without him.

Dreaming aimlessly and staring at the shimmering stars in the night sky, you gazed at the grey clouds that floated overhead and watched it flew by. You smile at the irregular perfections. The fluffy edges and soft inner clouds made you happy since it felt like you were looking at yourself.

Whilst gazing at the stars and wiggling your foot that spread out in front of you, a sudden noise made you flinch making you focus your attention on the sound.

It was loud and quick, soon to fade away immediately after you came back to your senses and looked in the direction it came from. Whipping your head around from side to side, you quickly stood up and kept a defensive posture if someone came and attacked you.

Before you could react, the full moon that glistened above the lake that shimmered in front of you disappeared behind the clouds. It was almost in a flash when it disappeared, making you believe that what had happened could not have been just a giant gust of wind.

No moonlight shone through the cracks of the clouds, pitched black darkness enveloped you inside the dense forest that you got yourself into. In all directions, you could not find the exit and what you got stuck in would be the last place you’d ever be found in.

You could feel yourself draining out your energy at the darkness that swept into the forest. A cold shiver went up your spine and goosebumps laid itself on your skin. You were hopeless now since you were always scared of the dark. You didn’t have anything to defend yourself and one wrong step could send you into the cold and murky waters of the lake.

As you tried to calm yourself down brushing off any signs of discomposure, the noise echoed beside your ear once again, instead loud enough to the point it was almost right beside you. You immediately stiffened, unable to move in the darkness as you could hear your heart beating inside your chest.

“Well, Well…” The noise responded. You couldn’t believe your ears when you tried to let nothing escape your mouth. Something was talking to you, in the woods. “Look what we have here.”

The sound was right beside your ear, you could feel faint breaths of air tingled against your neck as you refused to move even one centimetre away from the spot you were standing in.

“I wonder how she will taste once I take all her blood out and cook her dead…” The stern voice let out a devilish chuckle and move closer towards you.

You could feel an object grab hold of your shoulder, clawed shaped darts digging into your skin as it had no intention of letting go of you. A smooth texture brushed past your cheek, the feeling of cloth or a cloak move past your body as it moved to stand in front of you. The “thing” let out a smile and in the corner of your eyes, you could see two piercing yellow orbs reflect light onto the surface glaring at you.

“Don’t be scared. This won’t take you long before I get to hear deafening screams escape past your plump lips…” The voice groaned and grab hold of your shoulders, the body part where the yellow orbs were moved closer to your neck before opening its mouth wide.

Mentally screaming inside your head for the thing to go away, you close your eyes praying to your family that you would never ever leave them alone on a dark night like this again. You screamed in your head that you were glad the man of yours left you so he wouldn’t have to laugh at his ex-girlfriend dead like he planned on seeing. You couldn’t end your life like this.

As you were about to let out a scream, a growl zipped through the darkness and made the creature look towards the direction, preventing it from biting you to death. Before you could run away, the sound with the growl pounced towards the creature, clawing the skin away as it crunched every bone and broke every body part. Sharp claws that faintly glistened in an unnoticeable light dug deeply into the skin of the monster, blood bursting out of the creature and pouring onto the skin of the rescuer.

Soft fur that was on the monster was drenched in blood and the bulky, muscular chest heaved great amounts of air into its lungs. The creature hadn’t given up and pulled out a chunk of flesh from the furred animal, letting out a deafening scream pierce through the darkness as you stood in unbelievable shock. You tried to make a move and run for your life, however, the creature that was about you bit you dug deep into your thigh using the only energy it had left and made you trip, smacking the back of your head against a tree

As a few more scratches bruised the skin of the furred animal, it took a bite of the creatures head before blood showered everywhere. It was the last thing you had seen before you were brought to unconsciousness.

An unknown source of light had hit your eyelids the moment you woke up. You groaned suddenly at the light that had woken you, making you sit up and rub your eyes awake. Before you could look around you, a sudden burst of pain struck the back of your head and thigh, blood boiling around your skin as you grabbed hold of your leg with pressure.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” A voice called out from the corner. You rubbed your eyes trying to focus your vision on your surroundings.

Your eyes widened in shock. Around you were tall stalks from the large trees that created a nice and cosy den to keep in the cool heat. Its thick leaves made a suitable roof over your head that covered any sunlight from seeping through, and branches from the side were used to hold any objects such as jars, lanterns and utensils. You were shocked to see what was around you. You sat silently while the pain from your body subsided.

Before you could look anywhere else, you had noticed the shirtless back of a human faced towards you in the corner with smoke rising up into the roof that was supposedly covered by leaves from branches. The roof seemed to be a pile of leaves gathered together over a large fishing net above the ground with just a bit of sunlight seeping through the spaces. You raised an eyebrow and looked at the ‘human’s’ back. You noticed large gashes embedded the skin, blood was pouring out as it continuously flowed down till it reached the cloth supporting its lower torso. In other words, soaking the rim of their shorts with red, opaque blood.

“Please do not move any further than that, Miss…” A stern voice begged to you. “It will only worsen the pain.”

You looked down and found your thigh wrapped in a thick casing of cloth to keep the blood from escaping. Feeling your head at the area behind your head, you felt a soft fabric brush past your fingertips. Somehow, this person managed to heal your wound.

“Who are you…” You managed to blurt out.

Standing up in a broad posture, it turned around and walked towards you. Your eyes were almost playing tricks. Walking towards you was an angel that descended from above. With a soft smile, it, or rather 'he’ sat down beside your seat and peered at you. He was in your eyes, unbelievably handsome, his facial features almost impossible to get anywhere else in the world like he was one of a kind. His lips were luscious and plump, his cheeks were puffy like mochi sweets and his eyes. Dark and mysterious, the way you always liked in guys.

Trying not to freak out at what you saw, you quickly turned around making sure your innocence wasn’t taken away just yet. You noticed a large chunk of his side stomach torn out from his body, revealing gruesome pieces of his flesh to hang low. You were immediately concerned.

“You do not need to know about me, Miss. What I worry about more is what you happen to be doing here in the middle of the forest.” The boy explained and put out a hand to feel your temperature.

As you gave him your finger, he held it tightly and caressed your skin, feeling your body and seeing if there were any complications. You felt surprised how soft his skin was, it made you tingle at the way his smooth fingers brushed past your thumb bone.

“You are fine now. You do not have to worry about anything from here and on.” He spoke and stood up, making you look at his abs suddenly. You gulped and looked away.

“Y-You’re injured.” You mentioned as he looked down.

“Don’t worry. I’m fine.” He just smiled and turned towards the flaming smoke in the corner.

You tried to bring some memories into your thoughts but pain sucked in and took your chance. As you failed to recover your memories, one suddenly appeared in your mind.

The sound of the growl still lingered in your head, two monsters battling each other in the woods as you stood in silence listening to what you could hear. You recalled a large furred animal pouncing in and saving you from any further danger. Remembering the creature had almost bitten into your neck, you could see the blood flowing everywhere before blacking out.

You turned towards the boy that sat in the corner. The gashes and the large chunk from his stomach reminded you of something. As you tried to remember what it was, you let out a single sentence.

“What are you, exactly?” You exclaimed. It turned towards your direction.

You noticed him flinching when you asked the question. In response, he let out a sigh. “I knew you would say it eventually.” He got up and walked towards you.

“About what?”

“About you wondering what I am.”

You looked down and noticed he was right.

“I am not like you since you already saw from my wounds. These large scratches are nothing compared to how you people react. They are just minor wounds.” He explained and touch the edge of a scratch, a sizzling sound responded to his approach only for him to sit quietly with no emotionbeing expressed whatsoever, staying still with a straight face.

“W-What are you t-then…” You stuttered and moved away slowly.

“That creature you heard, he’s not like me either. He is evil… He was about to kill you, but…” He stopped.

“I was the one who killed him before he could hurt you.”

You sat in shock at what he said. What you saw that night were two creatures, one incredibly huge and the other skinny and weak, the one who tried to kill you. Comparing his size to the huge creature, he was nowhere near the width of its body. He couldn’t have been the monster you saw that evening. He was bustling with muscles covering his arm, abdomen and most notably, his thighs. Even if he were any of them, he would be too small or too big to match their sizes.

“T-That’s not right…” You let out a croak.

All he did was sigh. “You are right. It’s because I’m not a human.”

You backed away against the wall as he tried to creep closer to you.

“W-What are you then, who are you, tell me…”

He looked down before softly smiling, his plump lips making your heart churn in circles at how beautiful it looked. What is he? And how did this boy make you feel different?

Before you could fall into the trap of his smile, your gaze looked up at his head. What you saw was unreal. It was only something you saw in the movies, but you couldn’t believe it. Two large ears were perked on the top of his head, covered by his hair.

“I am Park Jimin…

And I’m a Werewolf.”

[thorne93]

Who Will Win? (Part 25)

Prompt: Jefferson (Once Upon A Time) sees you on the sidewalk one day, his “dead” wife.

Word Count: 1225

Warning: Threats, language, angst, sadness, darkness

Notes: This will span from season 1 through 5, if you don’t want spoilers, maybe don’t read this, haha. Also, the reader’s Storybrooke name is Alice. Beta’d by the amazeballs @like-a-bag-of-potatoes and badgered @amarvelouswritings Thank you both! Could never get this done without you!

Tags:  @amarvelouswritings @cocosierra94 @essie1876 @magpiegirl80 @letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked @harleyquinnandscarletwitch @iamwarrenspeace @marvel-imagines-yes-please @superwholocked527 @myparadise19982sand @missinstantgratification @thejulesworld @nedthegay @marvelloushamilton @munlis  @bubblyanarocks3​​ @thefridgeismybestie​ @kaliforniacoastalteens @random-fluffy-pink-unicorn@hardcollectionworldtrash @igiveupicantthinkofausername

Sebastian Stan Tags: @nedthegay @lostinspace33 @alwayshave-faith @elleatrixlestrange @buenostardissherlock @the-red-world-of-jess-chibi  @lenawiinchester​​  @memory-of-a-goldfish​

Who Will Win Tags: @mrs-lancelot @elivanah @ultrarebelheart @learisa @isis278

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

While Emma went to get the wand, you went home to your castle, to find a friend waiting.

“Merida,” you said, curious as to why she was there.

“Hello,” she greeted with a small wave.

“What are you doing here? I would’ve thought you would’ve been long gone.”

“Why? Because you wanted to kill the man who murdered my father? Not likely. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had and with or without the darkness in you, I still believe you’d want Arthur dead.”

You shrugged. That was true. You had a lot of bitterness and anger before becoming the Dark One, it was simply amplified now.

“Your father was a good man who deserved better. Arthur doesn’t deserve life, let alone a kingdom.”

“Where did you go right before you were about to strike him down?” she questioned.

“Jefferson, he...he pulled me back to confront me on why I missed our daughter’s birthday today. When I told him what I was doing instead, that I had forgotten, he took her and went back to our previous home…” you explained, the sorrow in your voice.

“Oh, Y/N, I am so sorry, lass.”

“That’s why I’m here now. Emma is going to meet me with the sorcerer’s wand and I’m going to try to get to Camelot. Hopefully we can get you home too.”

“Really? I can go home?” she asked, stepping toward you.

“Yeah, I hope so.”

“Wait, why are you going to Camelot?” she wondered.

“I need to speak with Merlin about getting the Darkness out.”

“I’ll help you,” she said with conviction.

“Merida, you don’t have to do that. You need to return to help DunBroch. You’re their queen and they need you back there.”

“But you need help and you’re my friend. You helped me find my father’s killer.”

“Yes, I did,” you gave a soft smile. “Thank you, Merida, really, but your kingdom needs you.” You reached for her hand and gave it a small squeeze, and that’s when Emma showed up with the wand, her parents and Regina in tow.

“What are you all doing here?” you wondered. “I got this.”

“We figured you could use the support. Plus, we had to get Excalibur,” Snow explained.

You smiled slightly. “That’s very sweet but I…”

“No buts, we’re coming with you come hell or high water and we’re getting this darkness out of you,” Regina vowed with an assuring smile.

“Thank you. I don’t deserve this,” you said, tears rolling down your cheeks.

“You don’t deserve what’s happened to you but you deserve friends and happiness,” Snow encouraged.

“Thank you. Okay, everybody ready?”

Everyone nodded and you tried to focus on the Enchanted Forest, waving the wand to try to conjure a portal. After a moment, the wind picked up around you and a door with a portal appeared.

“I did it,” you gasped.

“Great, now let’s go get Merlin,” Emma said as she lead the way into the portal.

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

Your first mission was to get Merida safely home to her kingdom. You teleported her home after a tearful goodbye.

After that, you all went to find Merlin. It took several people but finally, you found your way into Camelot, and eventually, Merlin.

“He’s a tree?!” you exclaimed. “That rat bastard Arthur.”

“There has to be a way to get him out,” Snow said.

“Don’t you think someone would’ve done that by now?” you asked, becoming defeated.

“Don’t give up,” Emma encouraged. “We will get this, okay?”

“Okay, so we need to find out how to release him,” you started.

“Let’s check the castle, everyone on the way here said Arthur knew of the prophecy,” David suggested.

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

After two days of poring over books and spells, nothing was in there about freeing Merlin and the loss of your family and frustration was pushing your Darkness even farther inside you.

“This is pointless,” you said, throwing a book against the wall.

“Y/N,” Emma chastised.

“I’m sorry. I'm just…”

“You need a break, we all do,” David said.

“No, we need to keep working!” you insisted angrily. “I came here to get my family back and we don’t stop until that happens!”

“No one can do anything on little sleep and tunnel vision,” Snow urged.

“Maybe you can’t, but I don’t need sleep. You all can go. I’ll keep at it,” you offered.

“No, we’ll stay up with you,” Emma assured.

You shook your head and sighed. “No, I mean it. It’s fine. You all get some sleep.”

After a moment, everyone nodded and went off to sleep. You sighed and sat on a stool in the room in the top of the tower you all had been holed up in. Suddenly, you heard something, or...felt something. You weren’t sure, but you felt a pull to something. You stood up and turned around, your eyes scanning for it, until you saw it…

A dreamcatcher.

It was flickering, the circle inside was flickering an image until you grabbed ahold and it was almost as if you were sucked in.

You saw it all play out. You saw how Merlin was trapped in the tree, how he tried to defeat a Dark One but couldn’t, and they used a tear against him. You knew this was it, this was the key to getting him out. As much as you wanted to wake everyone up, it wouldn’t make any difference if you got him out in a few hours or right now. You decided to let everyone sleep some more while you worked on a hobby of yours.

As soon as Regina was awake, you showed her the dreamcatcher. Together, you worked to ready the potion. Then the Charmings came in to see if you had any progress. They realized you had made some sort of progress with the way you were skipping and humming around.

“Okay, it’s ready, I think we just need the tear of...a lost love,” Regina informed finally.

“Okay, I can do that,” you said.

“Uh, I’m not sure that will be enough. You’ve lost them before,” she reminded.

“Not like this. Not...not when it was their choice to leave me,” you informed.

She pursed her lips but nodded. You thought of your family and how you lost Jefferson, and Grace, and within a second, the tears flowed freely. Regina captured one and bottled it.

You all carried the ingredients down to the tree, conjured a cauldron, and stepped back to let Regina work her magic. She put everything together, as soon as it all mixed, white and black clouds swirled around you and then charged into you, making you gasp.

“Y/N?” she asked, taking a step toward you.

You couldn’t answer her though, you didn’t know how long this would last. You stepped forward and pushed the energy that was going in you, right back out. The magic of the Dark One, Emma Swan, and this potion Regina had concocted. One hand had white magic, the other was black as night. You pushed it out, wrapping it around the tree, letting your magic unleash as you stepped closer and closer until it blasted you back.

When you were all able to look, a man in a cloak was trying to stand, but he seemed weak.

“I’ve been waiting for you, Y/N,” he greeted.