#anyway this is turning out fluffier than the outline | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hidden-otaku-stuff · 4 years ago

Text

Complementary (The INKED Collection)

Masterlist

THE INKED COLLECTION: A series of full-length one-shots detailing the stories of various Haikyuu boys, soulmate marks, and tattoo cover-ups.

Word Count: 6.8k

tw: Death, blood, battle, major character death, disbelief in the system

Pairing: Warlord!Kuroo x fem!ninja reader

Genre: Major angst, Edo period soulmate AU

Summary: Your tattoo has dictated your fate from what Clan you would support, to what training you would do. A simple cover-up has changed your life much more than you originally anticipated. But what else can you expect from the fickle warlord you call a close friend?

Tattoo image is from Google!

AN: Thank you for joining me on the first one-shot of “The INKED Collection”! More one-shots to come, but they’ll be on the fluffier side 😅 This will be a side project, so new updates will not be scheduled~!

Complementary

Everyone had a perfect match. A complementary pair. At birth, a mark appears on your skin to designate what clan you belonged to. Where your soulmate would find you. Owls flocked to Fukurodani, weasels escaped to Itachiyama, and eagles soared in Shiratorizawa. Your tattoos were placed in the same spot as your soul-mate, designs mirror reflections of it. If one person had a black design, the other would have a similar design in white. Your head snapped up as someone entered your room, weapon in hand as you prepared for the worst.

“(L.Name), you’ve been reassigned.” (E/c) eyes widened.

“Reassigned?” Your grip relaxed, tucking your weapon away.

Kenma cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably. “Lord Kuroo has asked that you serve as his personal guard.” He pulled out a scroll, handing it to you. “As you’re aware, there’s been an increase in movements by the Itachiyama and Shiratorizawa clans. More threats have come in.”

“But I’m meant to-”

“You’re meant,” golden eyes flashed dangerously, “to do whatever your Lord commands.”

You bristled, jaw clenching. Letting out a sharp breath, you hissed, “as you say, my Lord.”

“Very well. Lord Kuroo should be in his chambers still.”

With a stiff bow, you trudged down the hall to find Kuroo. Your hand settled on the handle of the bamboo sword that hung on your hip, grasping it loosely. As a woman trained in some of the deadliest forms of combat, you weren’t meant to be a simple bodyguard. No, for all these years you’ve used your skills for espionage. After all, when there are warring clans and a sharp decline in kunoichi, or female ninjas, there was less suspicion and focus on you whenever you were in the field. You scoffed, knuckles turning white. The paper crumpled in your shaking fists before you shoved it into the inner pocket of your kimono. You’d find Kuroo later. Right now, you needed to take care of your rage before you treaded into dangerous waters. Whipping around, you made your way towards the training grounds.

Storming in, you were thankful to find it empty for once. Usually there would be a few people already, but considering that it was still early in the day, the room was deserted. Making your way to a corner with wooden posts, you shrugged off your kimono leaving only the inner layer. Before, you used to keep the kimono on in an effort to hide your soulmate mark. However, since getting your tattoo, you felt more confident in revealing your skin.

“This is a beautiful mark,” Kai, a Nekoma samurai who dabbled as the Clan’s resident tattoo artist, commented, fingers outlining your shoulder blade. He admired the white cat stretched in a moon outline that laid directly on your left shoulder blade. You hummed in response. “Are you sure?” Kai glanced between the mark and his design. He would be placing a tattoo of a red and orange phoenix surrounded by peonies directly over the mark.

“I’ve thought about this for years now, Kai-san. Please, if you will.”

“Very well, (L.Name)-san.” Kai shuffled, preparing the nara ink and double-checking the tebori tattoo tool. “Please relax, and I will begin.”

“Thank you.” You took in a deep breath to relax your muscles. Each push of the tool sent pain coursing through your veins. The first few movements had your jaws clenching, but you forced yourself to breathe through it. You’ve been through worse pains before.

Removing the bamboo sword, you let it drop to the side. You tied the extra fabric to your waist, letting it hang as you flexed your fingers, sharp metal blades clinked as finger-tips tapped together. The silver gloves glistened in the morning light, weak yellow beams bouncing off as you surveyed them. These were your pride and joy. Neko-te, or cat’s paws, were a kuniochi’s favorite weapon. It was a prerequisite to train with them when becoming a Nekoma ninja. But, you enjoyed the simple irony of it and found it fitting to use as your primary weapon of choice. Though it was often best used in covert affairs, being able to use these in larger settings could work so long as the sharp claws were dipped in poison and provided that you were agile enough.

You crouched down, closing your eyes. Wooden posts disappeared in your mind’s eyes, being replaced by three armed enemies. The world went silent, even the faint birdsong disappeared as the pounding of your blood filled your ears. You took a steadying breath through your nose, out your mouth. (E/c) eyes snapped open, launching yourself at the posts. Your dominant hand flew forward, imagining that you were swiping at someone’s neck. Ducking, you heard the swish of a wooden sword, or shinai, cutting through air before you twirled around, jutting your leg out to knock the assailant to the ground. Your hands braced itself on their chest, leaving gashes on the flesh as you sprung over the body. Landing lightly on your feet, you whirled around, another enemy was racing towards you while brandishing a knife. A rapid side-step before you were grabbing onto their arms, carefully guiding them away from your body. Claws sliced through their clothes as your grip tightened, slamming them into the ground and twisting their arm back so that they dropped their weapon. Kicking it away, you smashed their head into the ground, incapacitating them. You froze in your kneeling position before you straightened up, surveying your surroundings.

Deep gouges were left in the dirt where you’d somersaulted over the imaginary foe, dust clouds just now settling. Loud noises snapped you out of your reverie, causing you to glance behind you. The sun had risen over your head, signaling that training would begin soon. Men were huddled in groups, idly chatting while they waited for their instructor. A few had already begun sparring. You rolled your shoulders, turning back to the posts. You proceeded to dream up more scenarios, incorporating strategies that featured your neko-te.

A voice disrupted your concentration in the middle of one such exercise. “(L.Name), please come here.” Your arm froze mid-swing as the metallic claws clinked together. Your head snapped up to look behind you, casting your gaze to him.

“How’d you know I was here?” You grumbled, walking towards him.

“Yaku told me.” Hazel eyes glinted mischievously. It was rare for Kuroo himself to join in the training. Kuroo turned back to the group, letting his kusarigama pool at the corner of the space before picking up a shinai. In battle, Kuroo often preferred using the kusarigama due to its versatility. Being able to swing the weighted chain allowed him to defend and attack from a distance, and being able to switch to the blade end when it came to close contact made it the most optimal. According to him, anyways. He faced his audience once more. “Before we start today’s training, I will spar with (L.Name).”

“Her?” Someone scoffed. (E/c) eyes narrowed as you found the offending party. A grey-haired male towered over everyone. “What does a woman know about kenjutsu?” Your jaw clenched as your eyes flashed dangerously. It wasn’t that it was a bad question. After all, kenjutsu was still a traditionally male technique. Women learning it was practically unheard of. You just hated when people underestimate your ability.

“Excellent question, Lev. Why doesn’t she demonstrate?” Kuroo smiled pleasantly, rolling his shoulders back.

Slipping off your neko-tes, you kicked up a matching shinai, catching it in your hands. You tossed it into the air slightly, twirling it. “Don’t hold back on me now, my Lord.” You stepped back, adjusting your grip on your shinai before you bowed mockingly.

“Now, (L.Name), when have I ever?” Kuroo smirked, turning towards you. You rolled your shoulder. “Ready?”

You crouched, preparing your weapon. “When am I not, my Lord?”

With a cry, Kuroo brandished his weapon and stalked towards you. Both hands grasped the shinai as you parried the blow to the side, stepping to the opposite side as you attempted to elbow Kuroo’s head. Kuroo ducked, side-stepping as he swung his shinai towards your feet. You hopped up, pulling your shinai close to you as you rolled forward and away. Off-balanced slightly, Kuroo stumbled allowing you to steady yourself and straighten up. “Don’t embarrass yourself now, my Lord,” you tease. Kuroo growled, his carefree look ebbing away as hazel pools darkened. Circling each other like predators, you kept yourself close to the ground as Kuroo held himself up proudly. In this game of cat and mouse, you were determined to be the cat.

With a smirk, you slapped the shinai against the ground, sending a cloud of dust into Kuroo’s face. He let out a startled grunt raising an arm to cover his eyes, his grip on his weapon slackened. You darted forward, slicing upwards and knocking the shinai out of his grip. You grabbed his arm, using his own weight to throw him onto the ground. Kuroo’s body crashed awkwardly, his head flying back. As the dust settled, he found your shinai against his neck, your foot on his back. “That’s not fair,” he grunted.

“Do you yield?” More pressure was added to his back. Kuroo rolled his eyes, nodding. Stepping off of him, he turned over to see an offered hand. You pulled him to his feet, letting your hand drop as soon as he was up. He brushed the dirt off of his robes, turning back to his men.

“Wasn’t that cheating?” The same male protested, his arms crossed.

“(L.Name) is a well-trained kunoichi,” Kuroo explained, “using unorthodox methods,” he shot you a look, humour sparking in his eyes, “is well within her repertoire and is something I should have expected.” Kuroo cleared his throat. “You may not know the background of the enemies you face. That is why you should come to expect anything and everything in battle and have a strategy to combat it.”

Yaku stepped forward, standing on the other side of Kuroo. “Alright men, I will pair you up and we will have sparring matches.” As Yaku shouted his orders, Kuroo stepped closer to you.

“If you wanted to be on top, you should have said something sooner.”

You snorted. “That’s hardly appropriate, my Lord.”

Kuroo chuckled, a hand gripping your shoulder. “Join me for lunch after this.”

“As you wish.” You dipped your head to him before heading back to your corner.

A few hours later, you entered Kuroo’s chambers. Kuroo looked up from the table. Food was laid out, but his focus was on the scroll that he was holding up. “There you are, I was just wondering if I should send someone to find you.”

You bowed. “My apologies, my Lord. I was busy.”

“Yes, busy training.” He gestured to the seat in front of him. “Please, take a seat.” You kneeled in the spot in front of him, letting your naginata rest across your lap. He cleared his throat, setting the scroll down besides him. “As I’m sure you’re aware, I have requested you to become my bodyguard.” As you opened your mouth to protest, he held a hand up. “Both Kenma and I are worried. The rising state of tension throughout the country leaves us in a vulnerable position, especially if these reports are true.” His hazel eyes scanned your face. “I do not trust anyone else to protect me, but you, (L.Name).”

You frowned. “If you say it like that, of course I’ll do it, Lord Kuroo.”

His face relaxed. “Excellent.” He gestured to the food. “Please, help yourself.” After a moment’s hesitation, you picked up a pair of chopsticks, eating some of the food. Kuroo waited for you to take a few bites before also joining in. With your face downturned, you hid your eye-roll. Of course. First matter of business, poison-tester. You snorted. “Is something funny?” Kuroo cocked his head at you.

“I better not be your only poison-tester,” you swallowed, looking up at him, “otherwise you’ll be in some trouble if you encounter actual assassins.”

He laughed. “Don’t worry, I don’t intend on using you like that.”

****

The chilling grates of metal plates grinding against each other filled the air as you shuffled into the dining hall, blood speckled across your cheek. Making his way towards the front of the room, Kuroo took his seat. You kneeled beside him, running a blood-stained rag over the neko-te. On his other side, Kenma sat in a pool of regal red silks. Kenma had remained behind, serving as the strategist behind Nekoma. All around you were bustling bodies, roaring with laughter as the smell of alcohol and blood tainted the stale air. Shiratorizawa’s forces had been pressing on your borders, and so you and Kuroo had led a raid against them, successfully driving them away. This time at least.

The clang of metal cut the cool night air. The fire of adrenaline ablazed as you cut down body after body. With each body that fell, another surged forward to take its place. Kenma had hoped that the cover of night would help the raid with the element of surprise on-hand. But the Shiratorizawa Clan was more than prepared for such tricks as expected of one of the most powerful clans in the country. Their forces were armed and vicious in their retaliation. You ducked, an arrow flying over your head and burying itself into the enemy you faced. A body fell behind you, causing you to whirl around. Blood dripped down the kusarigama blade that Kuroo wielded, having used it to kill an enemy that had crept upon you. “Duck!” You shout, plucking a spear off of the ground and brandishing it over your head. Kuroo obeyed without a moment’s hesitation, letting the weapon soar over his head to bury itself into the enemy that was behind him.

Back to back, you and Kuroo left a circle of bodies. You would dart forward and engage in hand-to-hand combat while Kuroo whipped his chain around, driving back forces and cutting them down when men got too brave. Claws glistened with blood as you swiped at a man’s hands, forcing him to drop his sword. “I should have made you my bodyguard sooner,” Kuroo hollered over the roar of the battle.

“Of course you would need someone to protect your back, my Lord,” you retorted, cutting down another approaching enemy.

“Only when it’s you.”

The crimson glow slowly disappeared as you worked the rag harder, the acidic sting of vinegar beginning to overwhelm even your own heightened sense of smell. “Must you do that at the table?” Kenma’s face flashed with disgust as he leaned around Kuroo, glaring down at your hand.

“You know as well as I do that this is a part of my routine, Lord Kenma.” Your dry response caused Kenma to shift his glare to you. He bit his tongue, straightening himself up and averting his eyes.

“It’s improper.”

You only hummed, closely examining your claws. It’s not like you had never done it at the table before. As kids, this was the first thing that you would do after training or any battle. To drive away the ghosts and demons that followed after a life was taken by bloodstained hands. To forget about the bruises, aches, and calluses you were accumulating. As an adult, you continued this habit, finding solace in the practiced movements. After battles, you would typically seek a seat amongst the retainers closer towards the door, if not outside the hall entirely. You were reserved; being in the center of attention was the last thing you wanted in general, let alone after a battle. Satisfied by how clean they were, you slipped them off and tucked them carefully into your kimono. “Perhaps you should focus more on the celebration than on my behaviour, my Lord.” Kenma clicked his tongue at you, and instead of replying, decided to pour himself a cup of sake.

“To a successful raid,” Kenma muttered, tapping his cup to Kuroo’s. Kuroo threw his head back, swallowing it.

“To many more,” you agreed, cup untouched.

Kuroo stood, another glass shoved into his hands by an eager retainer. “To Nekoma! May more success and honor flow through the blood of this clan.” The room filled with even more roars as more people glowed like cherries. A slight frown tugged at your lips. This would be the perfect time for an ambush or retaliation, you mused. Hardly any of them can stand on their own. Kuroo downed his cup before placing it down onto the table. His black and red armor rustled as he made his way to the entrance. The golden cat on his chest glowed on the backdrop of black under the flickering fire-light. You stood up, gliding towards him. He stepped outside, the cool night air relieving after being in the stuffy room. “You do not have to follow me, (L.Name).”

“As your bodyguard, I believe that’s my duty, my Lord.”

He let out a soft chuckle. “When will you drop the ‘my Lord’ business?”

You shrugged, stepping to stand besides him as he leaned over the red fencing, eyes roaming the empty garden. You leaned your back against it, arms folded as you gazed back into the room. “You know as well as I do that doing so would be improper.” You snickered, quoting his best friend. Kuroo’s chest shook with stifled laughter. Clearing your throat, “shouldn’t you be in there,” you dipped your head towards the room, “celebrating with your men?”

He shrugs, straightening up. Kuroo offered a hand towards you. After a moments’ hesitation, you draped your fingers over his, letting his hand caress yours. A soft warmth crept through your body at the touch. With tender movements, he pulled you towards the garden.

Stepping under the glow of the moonlight, he escorted you to the wooden benches alongside the koi pond. He relinquished his grip on your hand, brushing his robes aside as he sat down. Kuroo looked up at you expectantly, patting the spot besides him. You reluctantly took a seat, worried about how this may look to others. “Do you ever wonder what your soulmate is doing?” Kuroo cast his gaze on to the pond, face blank.

You swallowed, watching as the two koi fish circled one another. The shimmering reflection of the half-moon hovered on top of them. The white fish gave the illusion of a full moon whereas its black counterpart created the all-too familiar yin and yang. Pale pink blossoms floated along the surface. “Sometimes.” Your fingers played with one another, right foot bouncing. “Sometimes I wonder what it’d be like to meet them, but I fear that I would not be able to restrain myself from the pull.” Your tongue felt heavy in your mouth. ‘I’ve only felt the pull to one person.’

“Mama, why am I doing this?” You stomped your foot, crossing your arms. Chubby fists of a six-year old clenched. Your mother knelt beside you, patting your head. Her robe raised, revealing a flying owl.

“Do you remember your soul mark?”

You frowned. “The kitty-cat?”

“Yes, honey.” Your mother pulled you into a hug, patting your back. “Nekoma is the cat Clan. You and your soulmate belong to Nekoma.” She released you, standing up and towering over you. “That’s why we trained you in the neko-te.” You pulled your hands free, unclenching them as you stared at your fingers, imagining the metal gloves that you had been using.

“But I wanna stay here with you and Papa,” you whined, jutting your lip out.

“(Name).” You jumped, blood chilling at the voice. “Stop your whining.” You turned, gazing up at your father. His arms were crossed, biceps flexed to show the owl, wings outstretched to wrap around his entire bicep. “You are a (L.Name). You will make your family proud and serve your Clan well.”

“Yes Father.” Your head hung as he patted your head.

“Now, go get changed. Lord Kuroo will be here soon to pick you up.”

“I’m leaving now?” Your head snapped up, eyes flicking frantically between your parents. Your mother had a frown on her face. “I thought I was supposed to finish my training first?”

“Lord Kuroo has arranged for you to complete your training on the castle grounds. Now get changed, I won’t ask again.” You bowed, tears welling up in your eyes as you hurried out of the room.

“Is this really for the best?” Your mother’s faint words were the last thing you heard before the door slid shut.

Returning after changing into the red kimono that your mother had laid out, you froze. Your feet moved on your own as you approached the boy that hid behind the wooden column. “What are you doing here?”

The boy jumped, whipping around to face you. “My father is here to pick someone up.”

Your eyes widened as you bowed steeply. “My apologies, Lord Kuroo.”

Kuroo’s eyes widened to match yours, waving his hands aggressively. “You don’t have to bow like that!” His cheeks glowed. “My father is Lord Kuroo. You can just call me Kuroo.” As you straightened up, a booming voice sent shivers down your back.

“Kuroo! Come here, we’re leaving once she arrives.”

“C’mon,” Kuroo offered a hand to you. Your cheeks matched your kimono as you took it, surprised at the electricity that shot up your finger-tips and through your body at the contact. A frown crept onto his face as you both looked down at your joined hands. Another shout had you both sprinting towards Lord Kuroo.

“My Lord, this is my daughter, (Name).”

You let go of Kuroo’s hands, bowing. “I will be in your care, my Lord.” Lord Kuroo surveyed you, giving a final nod.

“Let’s go.” He spun on his heels, leading you and his son to two horses. Lord Kuroo climbed onto a massive black stallion

“Here, I’ll help you.” Kuroo hoisted you by the waist, placing you onto the chestnut mare. He gave you a wide toothy grin, one of his bottom teeth missing. “I hope that we can be friends.” You nodded shyly, brushing your hair behind your ear. Kuroo climbed onto the horse behind you, snaking his arms around to take the reins. His father clicked his tongue, digging his heel into the horse’s side as he took off down the road. You tried to ignore the electric sparks that filled your body as Kuroo’s warm chest met your back.

‘Leaving Fukurodani and Mama and Papa won’t be too bad as long as I have a friend like Kuroo Tetsurou by my side,’ you thought as your family home disappeared in the distance.

Kuroo hummed. You both remained silent for a moment longer. The faint babble of the waterfall occupied the silence. Your attention drifted to the stoic male. Focusing on his deep breaths, you allowed your muscles to relax. Soreness from the battle crept in; your eyelids began to droop as a sense of calm caressed your body. “You should rest.” Kuroo glanced down at you, breaking the peaceful spell.

“Only after you do, my Lord.”

“Then we shall both go to bed now,” he murmured, standing up and offering his hand once more. You escorted him to his room, bading him good night as he stepped inside. The door slid shut, and his night guard stepped in front of it.

“Take care of him, Yamamoto.”

“I will. Good night, (L.Name)-san.”

****

Tensions were high, thick enough that even a butcher’s cleaver would not be able to slice through it. Your eyes shifted from one grim face to another when the door to the war-room suddenly slid open. You crouched quickly, hand falling on the weapon at your hip. “You started without me?”

You relaxed at the familiar sight. Kuroo stood, dipping his head slightly. “My apologies, Lord Bokuto. I was not aware that you would be arriving so soon.”

Bokuto stepped in, his mere presence filling the room. You made eye-contact with the male who stepped beside him, nodding at him. Gunmetal blue eyes twinkled as he returned your nod. “We left as soon as we received your message. You know this affects Fukurodani as much as it affects Nekoma.” The duo walked towards you. Bokuto slid into the seat beside Kuroo, Akaashi stood behind him. You took a step back, taking your place beside Akaashi.

Kuroo cleared his throat, sitting back down. “Recent reports state that Itachiyama and Shiratorizawa have started to collaborate. With Nekoma in between their territories, we will be at risk if this news is in fact true.” Kuroo gestured towards Bokuto, who sat impassively. “I have invited Fukurodani here to discuss our strategies of attack in the case that both Clans decide to attack.”

You zoned out, scanning the room once more. All around you were familiar faces. You had grown up in this clan. The country constantly teetered on the precipice of war, and you were more than aware of the outcomes. Each battle, from a small border skirmish to a full-scale invasion, ended the same. Some of these faces would disappear for good. Wives would lose husbands, children would lose their fathers. Families torn apart for what, power? Greed? What you would give for a peaceful world. A world where you could be in the arms of your soulmate as you both attended a hanami. Or at least a world where you can have mundane things and experience any other form of domesticity. Kuroo cleared his throat, snapping you out of your trance. “The meeting is over, (L.Name).”

“So it is.” You straightened up, making a move towards the door.

“Wait a moment.” Kuroo grabbed your hand. You looked over to him.

“Yes, my Lord?” He pulled a hand out of his kimono, presenting you with a white chrysanthemum kanzashi. You stared at the hairpiece, carefully looking at the white blossom that sat on a bed of bright green leaves. “What is this for?”

He cleared his throat, turning his face forward as he surveyed his clan-mates filing out of the war room. “Your hair is getting longer. As war approaches, this will ensure that your hair does not obstruct your vision.” A rosy tint dusted your cheeks. If you had spared the warlord a glance, you would notice a similar one creeping up his.

“I see.” You carefully picked it up, turning it over in your hands. “Thank you, my Lord.” You made a move to put it in your hair, only for Kuroo to do it for you. The pink roses bloomed scarlet at the contact. You cleared your throat, stepping away and nodding at him. Akaashi appeared at your side, having finished a whispered conversation with Bokuto. “Ah, Akaashi-san.” You grinned at the male, thankful for a distraction from the heat that swept through your body.

“(L.Name)-san.” He dipped his head to you. “I had a question about your kenjutsu technique.”

You stepped away from the table, “how funny, I was just about to ask you for assistance on that as well.”

Akaashi’s eyes sparkled. “Is that so?”

“Yes. Shall we make our way to the training grounds?”

Akaashi bowed slightly. “I’ll be in your care.”

You turned to Kuroo. “If you’ll excuse me, my Lord.” You bowed to Bokuto. “I will be borrowing Akaashi-san, Lord Bokuto.”

“Be sure to return him in one piece,” Bokuto warned, grinning at you. Akaashi bowed to both lords before you both made your way out of the room. The males stayed silently in the room for a few moments longer.

“Is that her?” Golden orbs surveyed his taller companion.

Kuroo glanced at his counterpart. “How did you know?”

“You look at her the same way Akaashi looks at me when he thinks I’m not looking.”

****

“The heavens seem disturbed today,” you comment, casting your eyes up. Dense clouds muddled the starry skies as the full moon twinkled.

Kuroo glanced up, pulling his coat closer. “Let’s hurry home.” You and Kuroo had been in town, visiting one of the Clan’s establishments. Fukunaga had been sent out on an infiltration mission to Shiratorizawa and had returned there to present you both with a report.

“You know what they say, clouded skies with a full moon bear ill omens.” Your hand fell onto the naginata that was strapped to your side, gripping it tighter. Loud crashing noises distracted you as bodies trudged out of the alleys.

“I believe you’ve cursed us,” Kuroo teased, the clink of metals and weapons filling the air.

“I do believe you’re right, my Lord.” In one fluid motion, you pulled the naginata over your head, steadying it in your grip. “We do not want any trouble,” you called down the alley. A faint hope in your heart prayed that they were simply drunkards who awoke due to your conversation with Kuroo, but you knew you couldn’t be that lucky.

“Well, we do.” You leapt out of the way as a knife went whistling past you, burying itself into a wooden post.

“Ambushing us? How unchivalrous.” You slipped your hands out of your sleeves, flexing your fingers. Silver claws glowed under the pool of moonlight that enveloped you. With a violent roar, pandemonium broke out. You ducked as one of the males swung at you with a tonfa. Wood met wood as you swung your arms, disarming him. Smashing the naginata into his gut, you twirled to parry the next weapon. With a flourish, you spun yourself away from the incoming enemy. The neko-te glinted menacingly as you sliced, staining them red as the male staggered back, frantically clawing at his neck. Crimson poured down from the marks you left. The skin bubbled as the fast-acting poison infiltrated his system. Besides you, Kuroo was preoccupied fending off his own attackers. Your eyes widened. “Get out of the way!” You shout, shoving Kuroo aside as a metallic glint caught your eye. A body collided with you as you grunted in shock. You stumbled back, looking down. Red blossomed over your white kimono, a knife buried in your chest. The naginata slipped out of your grasp as you collapsed onto your knees.

Kuroo’s vision went black, grabbing the male by the wrist and yanking the enemy towards himself. Kuroo head-butted him before throwing him over his shoulder into the wall. He rushed to your side, collapsing onto the ground besides you. He turned your body slightly, dismay coursing through his veins as icy claws gripped his heart. He cursed himself for not insisting on more guards. “We have to get help now!” Kuroo shouts, glancing around. Crumpled bodies littered the area. His hand reached for the knife.

“It’s too late now.” Fingers lightly curled around his wrist. “Kuroo, I can’t breathe.” Your voice cracked. As you attempted to swallow, a cough overtook you.

“I can’t lose you now.” His vision blurred as he furiously blinked. A clammy hand reached for yours.

“You’ll be fine.” Another hoarse cough. “Cats always land on their feet and so will you.”

“But I won’t have you by my side.” Tears streamed down his face, glassy eyes frantically searching yours.

“You’ll find another bodyguard,” you smiled. Crimson trickled down your chin. You weakly tried to wipe it away with the back of your hand.

“But I won’t find another soulmate.” Kuroo’s tears trickled onto your cheek, slowly gliding down to mix with your blood. He pulled his robe down, an almost familiar sight greeted you. A black cat curled on his left pectoral muscle, napping against the outline of the moon. The dam finally broke sending a tidal wave of emotions through you. Tears escaped you as shaky fingers delicately stroked the mark, a choked sob spoiled by the violent cough that tore through your body. Red streaks marred his otherwise clear skin. Kuroo’s hand tightened on your shoulder, fingers rubbing your covered mark.

Just as you were settling into the tattoo session, the shoji doors slid open. “(L.Name)?” You rolled your head to the side, eyes widening.

“Hello Lord Kuroo,” Kai greeted pleasantly, wiping away the residual ink that bubbled on your skin. He continued to poke away.

“Hello, my Lord.”

Kuroo crossed his arms, robes swishing with the movements. “What’s this?”

You pressed your chest closer onto the ground. The last thing that you wanted was to accidentally flash Kuroo. “I decided it was high-time to bear my mark.”

“I see.” Kuroo watched for a moment longer, a strange look crossing his face. “Are you covering up your soulmate mark?”

You shifted uncomfortably, only to have Kai smack your lower back. “Stop moving.”

“Sorry,” you muttered, pink creeping onto your cheeks. Clearing your throat, you gazed up at Kuroo. “Yes, I am.”

“Why?”

Kai pulled back slightly, dipping the tebori tool back into the ink. You offered him a half-shrug before shifting your head back and looking down at the ground. “This lifestyle is too dangerous for such things, my Lord.”

“I see.”

You lifted your head to show Kuroo a soft smile. “I wouldn’t want to find my soulmate and have to worry about putting them at risk. Or have them worry about my safety. I’m a proud ninja and a loyal servant of the Clan.”

Kuroo gave you a stiff nod. “Thank you, (L.Name).”

“Well I recall mentioning that this was a terrible line of work for soulmates.” Your eyes twinkled as you joked. Imperial red splattered as you spat onto the ground. Kuroo winced at the sight.

“Something like that.” A sad smile crossed his face.

“Is that why you assigned me as your bodyguard?” The words trickled out before you could stop yourself.

He gave you a jerky nod, his fingers encasing yours as he held it to his own mark. “I wanted to keep you close.” You could feel his heart drumming. A pang shot through your heart. If you closed your eyes, you could pretend that you were just laying against his chest, curled around one another under the black veil of night. Perhaps under different circumstances, in another life.

You stepped into Kuroo’s room, bowing. It was the eve before the Shiratorizawa raid. “Ah perfect. (L.Name), come help me.” He gestures to his armor. You raised an eyebrow at him.

“Don’t tell me that the magnificent Lord Kuroo needs help putting his own armor on.” Kuroo shrugged, sending you a cheeky smile.

“Even I need help sometimes, (L.Name). There’s no dishonor in asking for help when you need it.” You stepped beside him, sliding on the sode (shoulder pieces) over the kote (sleeves of various iron plates), lacing them together. As your fingers danced over the iron plates and leather straps, a soft medley filled your chest. “What is it that you’re humming?”

Kuroo had his arms extended, eyes shut as he let you work. You bent down, fingers trailing down the straps to the haidate (thigh pieces). “Just a song from my village.”

“It’s very pretty.”

You let out an airy laugh, tightening a strap. “My mother used to sing while she bustled around the house at night, finishing up her chores. I would stay up late at night just to hear her.” You stepped back, eyes carefully scanning his armor. “Finished. How does it feel?”

Kuroo lowered his arms, moving through motions to test his mobility. “Perfect.” He bent down, picking up a black hachimaki (headband), a silhouette of a golden stretching cat situated in the center of it. “Can you?” Kuroo held the fabric out to you.

You furrowed your brows. “Shouldn’t your soulmate or wife be the one to do this for you, my Lord?”

Kuroo offered you a smile, the flames of unknown emotions flickering in his eyes. “For now, I suppose I shall have to settle for my loyal bodyguard and closest friend.” A gentle hiss of air left you as you exhaled, your fingers brushing against his hand as you took the fabric. You’d gotten used to the electric pull between you both but it was still exhilarating when you experienced it. Kuroo kneeled, letting you stand behind him as you tied the hachimaki for him. “Thank you, (L.Name).” He stood, tying his sword to his waist and picking up his kusarigama. “Shall we ride?” Kuroo looked back at you.

“Wherever you go, my Lord, I shall be there.” You bowed your head to him. A knock at the door. You and Kuroo remained staring at each other as the door slid open.

“Lord Kuroo, (L.Name).” Kenma’s steady voice filled the room. “The men are ready to depart.” You slipped a black and gold cat mask on, pale sakura blossoms adorned the markings.

You were the first to break eye-contact, moving towards the door. Behind you, you heard the shuffle of Kuroo’s armor. “Let’s begin the raid then.” Entering the court-yard, you saw Lev holding the reins for your dappled mare and Kuroo’s black warhorse.

“Thank you, Lev.” You hopped on, patting Yua on the side of her neck. She had been a gift from Kuroo once you were made his bodyguard. Kuroo climbed onto Tadao, pulling the reins out of Lev’s hand in one fluid motion.

“Let’s ride.” Kuroo kicked his heels into Tadao, galloping through the open gates. You spurred Yua onwards, matching his pace as thundering hooves followed behind.

“You promised that you would be with me wherever I went.”

You offered him a soft smile. “My apologies for breaking my promise, my love.” His heart skipped a beat as shaky fingers squeezed yours.

The heavy clouds crackled above you, droplets cascading down. “The heavens cry for us, dear.” Kuroo chuckled softly, blood-stained fingers brushing against your cheek. “I love you (Name).” Your heart soared. Since you had met him, your heart has been his. Your hand shook as you raised it from his chest to his cheek, cupping it.

“I’m just glad,” a shuddering breath, “that I could save you one last time, Tetsu.” Your hand dropped, and Kuroo’s cry of anguish echoed throughout the streets. Above, thunder rumbled as the roar of heavier rain raced to match it. Crimson pools were washed away as Kuroo knelt there, your body still firmly clasped to his, violent sobs barely masked by the rain. The only time he could hold you like this ended up being the last chance he’d ever get.

Epilogue:

Curses left plump lips as you scrambled down crowded streets. Turning sharply, you let out a sigh of relief. Standing underneath the wooden blue fence was a familiar sight. “Sorry for the wait!” You waved as you approached, chest heaving as you caught your breath. He turned, grinning as he tucked his phone into his pocket. “Were you here long?”

“Not at all.” He extended his arm. “Shall we?”

“Let’s!” You laced your arm through his, tugging him along with you as you entered the park. “Y’know, this is my first hanami.”

“Oh really?” Kuroo looked down at you, his eyes sparkling. “Well I’m glad to be here with you.” He leaned down, pressing a tender kiss to your lips. Eyelashes fluttered as your eyes shut before he pulled away. As your lips chased his for another, a pale pink petal drifted down, sticking itself to your lips. You spluttered, pulling back. Kuroo let out an obnoxious laugh as he plucked it off your laps. “Should I be jealous?” He teased, holding the petal in front of your face.

“Shut up, rooster-head,” you scowled, averting your face as your face warmed. You shifted your attention to the sakura trees that surrounded you, eyes widening. “This is so beautiful!”

“Not nearly as beautiful as you.”

“You’re cheesy as hell, Kuroo.”

“Only when it’s you.” Your heart skipped a beat as you absorbed the moment. The words seemed so familiar and close to your heart. A tear cascaded down the left side of your cheek. Startled, you raised a hand to it, collecting it on your fingertip as you pulled it back to stare at it. “Are you alright?” Kuroo looked down at you, brow furrowed. “Why are you crying?”

You took in a deep breath, steeling your nerves. “I’m not sure.” You squeezed his arm, letting the sorrow ebb away at his comforting presence. “C’mon, let’s go.” Pointing down the path, you tugged him along with you. Everything just felt right, like this is exactly where you were supposed to be all along. He felt right. Like you and Kuroo were meant to be together, side-by-side against the world. You glanced up at your boyfriend, a soft smile crossing your face. Nothing would tear you guys apart, you would never let it.

AN: I did a lot of research on this, so please enjoy some of these fun facts :^)

💟 A phoenix tattoo in Japanese culture represents ‘resurrection’, ‘victory’, and ‘ardor’ whereas the peony represents ‘abundance’, ‘dignity’, and ‘accomplishment’

💟 Kuroo gave her a white chrsyanthemum hair-pin. In Japanese culture, white chrysanthemums represent ‘truth’ or ‘grief’. While in grief was the truth revealed.

💟 ‘Yua’ means “binding love” in Japanese whereas ‘Tadao’ means “loyal, faithful man”

💟 Tears that begin from the left eye symbolise sadness

Tagged: @weebintheinternet @settersloveletters

Please message, comment, or send me an ask if you’d like to be added to the taglist! 💞

98 notes · View notes

theoriginalladya · 4 years ago

Text

WIP Wednesday

Since I know there are a few people out there interested, and since the first draft ended up turning out remarkably good for a first draft (or so I think), have a bit of fluffier Caleb Shepard and Kaidan post-war, post adventure (this comes at the end of my planned story for them) after the Reaper War. (last night’s Reaper War angst is still bugging me so I’m feeling generous. Under the cut for length)

This goes with my previous post about them.

~~~

(setting: Western Irish coast)

“Do you ever think we might have missed our calling?” Caleb asks.

Kaidan’s eyebrow arches. Taking a knee, he picks up a stone, bounces it in his hand for a moment then hefts it into the air, throwing it toward the sea. The winds are strong, however, and before Caleb can blink, just a hint of bluish dark energy envelops it, guiding it out to the waves beyond. “What are you thinking?” he counters after a moment. “That we should have become prothean experts like a certain asari friend of ours?”

It’s difficult not to laugh, and Caleb doesn’t even try. “Something like that. Maybe,” he agrees. He stares out to the horizon, nothing but churning waves and water as far as the eye can see. The height of the cliffs offer a bit of drama to the scene. It’s a much better setting than he could ever have hoped for; if only he could find the words.

Kaidan moves up next to him, his eyes as sharp and searching as Caleb’s. “Not English Bay,” he admits with a hint of a smile and a quick grin, “but a beautiful view nonetheless.”

Caleb sighs and nods. Pulling his gaze from the Atlantic, he glances just to their north. These days, the ruins are barely discernible from the cliffs, but he knows they’re there. “Come on, I want to show you something.”

They walk for a while in silence, carefully navigating the craggy landscape. It’s strange to see; there’s barely any sign that the Reapers made it out this far. Finally, they reach the spot. Here, the ruins are a bit more noticeable, but still blend in if you aren’t looking for them. Caleb leans on the cane, thankful for it in these past few minutes. Lifting his right hand, he traces the outline in the air. “See it?”

Kaidan is beside him again. “Yeah,” he breathes, astonishment clear. “Wow. How old is that?”

Caleb shrugs. “Built in the 1400s, so the stories say,” he explains. “To protect us from invasion by the sea.” Silence falls again; Caleb’s thoughts fall to the past.

“Nothing could have stopped the Reapers,” Kaidan says after a moment.

Caleb stirs from his thoughts. “Hmm? Oh, I wasn’t thinking of them, but the Greystones.” Which, he knows, is just as ironic as their background was filled with repelling enemies from the sea as well. Ireland never had the same luck.

The wind gusts in off the sea and toys with his hair, mussing it up and casting it about wildly to tickle along his cheek and forehead. It reminds him of his younger years, too. “Anyway, my point is, despite everything that’s happened – time, war, Reapers – it still lives on, in some shape or form.”

Kaidan gives him a skeptical side-glance. “You’ve been talking to Liara again, haven’t you?”

“What?” With a half laugh, Caleb pushes his hair out of his eyes. “No. I’ve told you before, we Irish are sentimental bastards at best.” A grin turns upward at the right corner of his lips.

Kaidan’s smile matches it. “That you have.”

His eyes drifting back to the ruins, Caleb asks, “You ever wonder about leaving some kind of legacy of your own behind?”

Kaidan is silent for a minute, and it’s enough to drive Caleb to distraction so he hobbles forward a few steps. As he does, he notices something wedged in between some rocks. Crouching carefully, he retrieves it … a flutter in his chest leaving him speechless. Rising once more, he half turns to look over at Kaidan.

“If you’re asking if I’m as determined as Henry Lawson was, the answer is no,” Kaidan finally replies.

“No,” Caleb insists with a grimace, “not like that.” The loss of Miranda at the hands of her father is still surprisingly sharp after all these weeks and months. While they had never been close, she had been a friend, of a sort.

Another gust of wind kicks up, this time leaving Kaidan shivering slightly. “I guess I never really thought about it,” he admits as he walks over to join Caleb. “Ever since Eden Prime, everything’s been focused on the Reapers …”

Their eyes meet, but as usual, Caleb cannot decipher what he sees there. “And now that they’re gone?”

“A lot more possibilities are available.”

Possibilities. Caleb swallows convulsively. Possibilities he can work with, but he needs to be sure … “Look,” he says quietly, his left hand gesturing with the cane as a reminder, “if I’m just going to hold you back –.”

Kaidan moves with a speed Caleb has seen rarely outside of battle, and when he has, it’s been focused on far more pleasanter things. Before Caleb can even catch his breath, Kaidan’s hand wraps around his good wrist and tugs gently, pulling him close. The kiss that follows is fierce, possessive, and leaves Caleb’s belly flipping more wildly than before, if that’s even possible. “You don’t,” he insists when he pulls back a pace; but his hand remains securely around Caleb’s. “Don’t ever think that.”

It takes Caleb a long minute to catch his thoughts and refocus, but the vehemence in the order helps. “Right.” With effort, he pulls his gaze from Kaidan’s – he has to or he isn’t going to be able to go through with this – and stares back at the ruins again. The vaguest hint of pressure around his hand as he draws in a deep breath is the deciding factor. Tucking the cane under his left arm, he uses his now free hand to fish out the small box from his jacket pocket. At the same time, a silent prayer of thanks to his friends who were able to make this happen is sent forth; to Liara whose connections cut through red tape like a hot knife through butter, to Coats whose unending, if teasing, support had him sneaking off on his own a couple of days ago to retrieve them, to Athair whose faith in him never wavered from the moment he helped rescue the small child who wandered into St. Senan’s so many years ago.

When he pulls his hand from the pocket, he looks back over at Kaidan. The chilling bite of metal against the skin of his palm helps provide clarity for the moment; the winds off the Atlantic slow, the sun peeks through fluffy white clouds and shines down upon them, and in Kaidan’s eyes he sees … curiosity. Caleb laughs softly. Always curious. “So,” he starts, then pauses to clear his throat. “So, if you really mean that –.”

“I do.”

The smile widens a fraction. The wind teases at the edges of Kaidan’s hair now, a testament to just how strong it blows in off the coast, and Caleb reaches over to push it out of his eyes. The hint of exasperation in Kaidan’s eyes pulls yet another chuckle out of Caleb. But, as he lowers his hand, his forefinger caressing down Kaidan’s temple to his jaw, he brings it to rest between them, open, palm up. The sun flickers brightly, glancing off the mixture of gold and silver resting there, woven together in a pattern as familiar to Caleb as breathing. In silence, he watches Kaidan’s gaze shift down, notes the surprise that follows … and morphs into shock before darting back to his.

“Is this …?” he chokes, eyes wide and unable to hide anything from Caleb now.

A sudden moment of peace and calm fills Caleb, and the nerves that have plagued him for days now settle. “I’ve told you the story,” he says. “I was thinking, if you are agreeable –.”

“Agreeable?”

The amount of disbelief in Kaidan’s exclamation chases away the last of the lingering concerns. With a twist of his wrist, he moves the rings between his fingers, holding them a bit higher for Kaidan to see. “Friendship,” he murmurs, his eyes locked onto Kaidan’s now. “Loyalty. Love. I’d say that describes us, wouldn’t you?”

Kaidan opens his mouth to speak, but no words come out; all Caleb sees is a few convulsive swallows. Leaning in, he rests his forehead against Kaidan’s. “I didn’t want to say anything until the Reapers were dealt with,” he whispers, eyes closing to hide momentary grief and pain at the loss all that entailed. “But, now that they’re gone, I can’t imagine going back to a life where you aren’t a part of it.”

Kaidan’s free hand slides up Caleb’s back, coming to rest at the back of his head. He shifts just a bit, enough to tilt his head to the side so their lips can meet, and the moment their lips connect, Caleb knows he has his answer. It’s rare he can catch Kaidan off guard to the point of speechlessness, but it seems he’s succeeded; a moment he’ll always remember.

When they break apart, gasping for air as the wind buffers gently around them, Kaidan manages, “How … did you even …?”

Caleb laughs softly, releasing some of the nervous energy. “I’m Commander Fucking Shepard, according to James, remember? I can get anything done.” He concludes with a wink as his lips slide back into a grin.

Kaidan, finally, joins in. “Well, he’s sure got you figured out.”

Taking one of the rings, Caleb holds it between his thumb and forefinger. He eyes Kaidan with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “I can’t wear both of these, you know.”

There is still the tiniest tremor in Kaidan’s hand as he lifts his hand. Caleb slides the ring onto his finger; perfect fit. Then he offers the other and the process is repeated. Caleb isn’t unaffected, and by the time they exchange another kiss, he drops the cane back into place and leans heavily upon it.

“So,” Kaidan says after a while, his eyes focused on the ring on his hand, “should I assume if you figured this part out you have something else in mind for what follows?”

Caleb nods. “I don’t want to steal any thunder from your mother,” he explains, “but I thought before we left … something small and private.”

For just a moment, Kaidan stills and stares at Caleb. “That’s why you snuck off to the church the other day, isn’t it?”

One brow arches and Caleb gives his best, Who, me? look which only draws a laugh. “Maybe,” he agrees. “I guess he thought if we aren’t staying here, we might as well have something better to remember my home by.”

Kaidan’s laughter is refreshing. “I’m not likely to forget,” he replies. “With you and the kids, I’ll be the odd one out, remember?”

Caleb reaches over to run his thumb along Kaidan’s stubbled cheek. “You’ll sound like one of us soon enough.”

“God help us all.”

#ladya writes #when the muses attack #mshenko #Caleb Shepard #Kaidan Alenko #post war #mass effect fanfiction #marriage proposal #I'm such a sap when I go fluffy #but dammit they need it!

22 notes · View notes

shinyspooks · 5 years ago

Text

The Trolley Problem

listen,,, @lexosaurus I know @roseverdict already wrote a fic (which, btw, completely upstages this one and is 10x fluffier) I still had to just. write this one ashosdfskl

You can read it here on Ao3!

Despite Amity Park’s best efforts, word of Phantom’s space obsession eventually reached the GIW.

The GIW, upon receiving this information, had the realization that this was the perfect opportunity for them to turn the town against Phantom and capture him. And so, they set up a trap.

On Monday afternoon, as soon as Phantom appeared in the park, they set their plan in motion. Phantom stiffened as they emerged from the bushes, immediately on guard.

“What are you doing here? You want me to kick your butts for the 28th time?” Phantom asked, already poised to fight. Thus, he was very confused and wary when the GIW didn’t start shooting him after his quip. Something was up.

“Rumour has it that you have a secondary obsession with space. We have simply come here to see if that’s true.” One agent said. Even at the simple mention of space, Phantom flickered, his (aptly named by the townspeople) ‘star freckles’ momentairly breaking through. But it was only a flicker, as Phantom was already way to far into ‘hero mode’ due to the GIW’s presence for him to switch over to ‘space mode’ so easily.

Everyone else in the park was now paying complete attention to the situation now that Phantom’s space obsession had been mentioned, most of them worried about what the GIW could have planned for their hero. Some people had even gotten closer, ready to argue against anything the Guys In White could say.

“And so what if I have a space obsession?” Phantom said, crossing his arms, “ It hardly seems like something you’d like to learn about anyways.”

“It may not be something we want to learn about.” The agent said as another agent brought forward an object covered by a cloth, “But it is something we can exploit.”

As he said this, the agent removed the cloth to reveal what, to the onlookers, appeared to be a normal rock. Some people relaxed in relief, thinking that nothing bad was actually going to happen, but others tensed further, sensing that the agent wasn’t done.

“This, Phantom, is a very rare space rock.” The agent really didn’t need to say that, as Phantom had already recognized it as the asteroid that had been stolen from a nearby museum three days ago. He flickered again, stronger this time, but didn’t go after the rock, knowing that this must be some kind of trap. He forced himself to focus, the freckles fading off his face as he made a conscious effort to not look at the rock and stay in hero mode.

The agents, noticing this, grinned. The plan was working perfectly. It was time for phase 2.

“Why should I care about some rare space rock you guys have?” Phantom had barely finished his sentence when the agents whipped out two guns. One pointed at the space rock.

The other at the crowd.

Upon seeing a gun pointing their way, the citizens who had been watching immediately scrambled, trying to run away, only to find that the couldn’t. Glowing walls that they knew must’ve been created by the GIW shot up around them, cutting off all their escape routes. This was planned. The GIW wanted them to be involved.

“What are you doing?!” Phantom shouted, showing a rare amount of anger, “You’re endangering innocent people!”

Yet, as he said this, his eyes briefly stared at the asteroid, which was also being held at gunpoint. The faint outline of the star freckles appeared, then vanished again.

It suddenly struck the citizens as to what the GIW’s plan was. They also all instantly mentally agreed that it was a stupid plan, as Phantom was sure to save them, and there would be no damage, other than the GIW’s wounded pride and arrest.

At least, they hoped there would be no damage.

“Have you ever heard of the trolley problem Phantom?” The agent asked, and at his command, both guns fired.

Danny, of course, knew that he must save the people. Who would choose a rock over lives? And yet, even though he had decided this already, time still seemed to slow down. He could hear both of his obsessions screaming at him. And as he dove towards the people, his space obsession screamed all the louder.

To the point where…. it almost hurt.

Later, as the GIW were loaded into a police car, Danny found himself standing over what remained of the destroyed asteroid. The people he had saved earlier stood nearby, watching him carefully. He hadn’t said a word since he saved them. Eventually, one of the braver citizens slowly approached him.

“Phantom?” They asked, cautiously, “Are you alright?”

Danny couldn’t blame them for being cautious. He had just gone against one of his obsessions after all, and Amity Park had seen beforehand what happens to some ghosts when they go against their obsessions. The usual result being violence. Lots of anger and violence.

“I’m not about to go on a violent rampage if that’s what you’re asking.” Danny said. From the corner of his eye, he could see some people’s shoulders slouch in relief, but others, including the person who had approached him, still looked concerned.

“I’m more worried about how you’re doing emotionally than that, Phantom.” The person said, “So I’ll ask again, are you okay Phantom?”

“No.” Danny answered truthfully. While his hero/protection obsession was happy, and he knew that even without it he had done the right thing, he had felt his space obsession break, just like the space rock. He finally looked up at the person who had approached him, and the other people who had followed their lead and gotten closer. He gave them a sad, clearly fake smile.

“But it’s just a space rock right? I’m sure there are many others in the world.” He said, trying to brush off how much he cared about it. Despite his attempt, which wasn’t very convincing to begin with, the people knew the destruction of the asteroid must’ve affected him greatly, as even at the mention of space, there wasn’t even the slightest flicker of the ‘star freckles’. But before they could offer him any comforting words, Danny, who couldn’t handle the eyes on him anymore, took off, flying away from the group. They watched him go.

“Poor kid.” Someone said, “He looked so sad. I hope he recovers from this soon.”

Everyone present silently agreed, hoping that upon his next appearance, Phantom would be back to normal.

But he wasn’t back to normal by his next appearance. Sure, he made some witty quips as he fought the ghost, but they were weak, and he didn’t seem to be enjoying himself as he said them at all. He didn’t stick around after the battle was over like he’d recently started doing. Someone shouted something space related at him, but despite Phantom definitely having heard them, he showed no reaction. Seeing Phantom so sad, and with no sign of his space mode, the town began to worry.

And thus began the worst week of Amity Parks life.

After a whole week of Phantom’s new behavior, and no sign of his space mode, the worried people of Amity Park went to the Fenton’s. The Fenton’s were the obvious choice, as they were the only local ghost hunters who have a truce with Phantom that they could go to for information. (No one knew who the Red Huntress was, and besides, the Fenton’s weren’t just ghost hunters, they were also ghost scientists.)

Maddie and Jack, like everyone else, were also worried for Phantom, but at least they had an explanation for his behavior. But of course, they couldn’t fit the whole town in the Fenton household for the explanation, and they really didn’t want to explain it more than once. And so, they did the most obvious thing to do, and held a town meeting.

“As we all know, last week, Phantom went against one of his obsessions.” Maddie explained, “Although he did do the right thing by saving the people, and he probably knows that there are many other space rocks in the world, his space obsession broke, so scientifically, he’s reacting appropriately.”

“We have recently discovered that not all ghosts become violent when they go against their obsession.” Jack said, “Some of them get overcome by overwhelming levels of sadness instead of rage. We believe that this is the case with Phantom.”

“Thankfully, it appears that having multiple obsessions has stopped Phantom from being emotionally overwhelmed.” Maddie added, “Instead of breaking down, he’s instead put all of his focus into his hero obsession to avoid the pain of his broken obsession. In doing so, he has, we’ll say, ‘locked up’ his space obsession, which is why he hasn’t reacted to any mention of space recently. We believe that, should Phantom’s space obsession react to a positive thing about space, he should go back to normal.”

“Going against his obsession has left Phantom down in the dumps!” Jack proclaimed, pulling out a whiteboard and marker, “Which is why we need to cheer him up!”

And so, Mission: Cheer Up Phantom! Began.

Everyone in town had their own ideas on what to do. Some people made intricate models of solar systems, others made rocket ship replicas to give to Phantom as gifts. A group of teens started wearing space themed clothing, and soon enough everyone else was too. People made banners and art that could be easily be seen from Phantom’s viewpoint in the sky. There was even a #BringBackSpaceMode going on Amity Park’s Twitter!

And yet, despite all this, it still wasn’t working. They had yet to see even a flicker of Phantom’s space mode.

A few highschoolers had the bright idea to ask Danny Fenton for advice. After all, he did like space, almost as much as Phantom! Surely he would know some space related thing they could use to cheer up their ghostly hero!

They were very disappointed and confused, however, when he just shrugged and gave them a book on space before walking away, not saying a word. It was a little odd, but they eventually chalked it up to Fenton just being Fenton, and let it be.

So, basically, no one knew what to do. None of their ideas were working, and short of calling in NASA, there wasn’t much else they could do.

Then, three days after Mission: Cheer Up Phantom started, after a ghost fight, a group of young kids, probably aged around 6 to 10, called Phantom’s name. Even in his saddened state, Phantom wasn’t going to ignore a bunch of kids, and so he floated down.

“Mr. Phantom! We heard you were feeling sad, so we all came together and made this to cheer you up!” One boy said, as the others pulled an object out of their toy wagon.

“It isn’t exactly like it used to be, and we think it’s still missing some of the pieces, but it’s together!” Another kid said, and then they presented their gift to Phantom.

It was the space rock. It was messingly glued together, and definitely didn’t look anything like it did before, but it was the space rock.

For the first time in two weeks, Phantom’s face lit up, the star freckles reappearing, and shining brighter than ever before.

“You put this back together, for me?” He said, landing fully on the ground and leaning down to hold the delicate rock. The kids nodded. He looked up at them and smiled.

“Thank you.” He pulled in the group for a hug. People who had been nearby cheered, happy that their hero was, well, happy again.

News quickly got around that Phantom was back to normal. And yet, despite that, people didn’t stop with the space stuff for another whole week. They weren’t taking any chances, and they wanted to make up for the time that was missed during ‘The Weeks of Sadness’.

No one noticed how Fenton seemed to wear concealer for all of Space Week.

#Danny Phantom #Balanced Obsession AU #Space Sparkle AU #Space Mode AU #my writing #my favorite thing about this is that after all this happens Amity Park totally starts having a 'space day' once a month

275 notes · View notes

miracle-sham · 5 years ago

Text

Au Update:

———

Near the end of the September, I made a post detailing six Miraculous Aus, four of which were Maribat.

Due to A. Health issues, B. Education Issues, C. How I write, and D. My tendency to overwork myself, I've not been able to actually get much writing done that I can share yet.

So I thought I'd do a little—not recap per se as I've not put out enough content to warrant a recap but you get my gist, a review or a summarisation if you will—regarding my current place on working on all the Aus. To show that I've not forgotten or abandoned these Aus, I'm just taking my time working on them.

Also I'd like to quickly mention that as I've been working on the Aus, There's inevitably been some big changes however whether these changes will be permanent is yet to be seen.

TL;DR:

I put a couple of Aus on Hiatus (BaDoL, CaToL, SMtSoMS), I made a couple of ship changes to some Aus (ITGatHiF, SCAB), I made a lot of major and/or minor plot changes to all existing Aus, and I made a ton of new Aus (8 Maribat, 1 Pure ML).

(Quick note, the reason for the bold was because I'm writing this whilst super tired so having keywords/phrases highlighted (or in the case of the lists, with alternatively highlighted) to break up the text makes it easier for me to read what I've written when going over it.)

———

Anyway, on with the show: (see below)

Currently, I have 12 Aus planned/being worked on. (Discounting the three Pure ML Aus)

Bleed a Drop of Luck (BaDoL), May This Spirit Protect You (MTSPY), Ink That Glows and the Hearts it Froze (ITGatHiF), Street Cat—Alley Bat (SCAB), Birds Who Fly on Wings Made to Glide (BWFoWMtG), Burdened are Those With Mantles of Gold (BaTWMoG), Drain a Bead of Luck (DaBoL), Fight for You Cannot be With Them (FfYCbWT), Marigolds and Yarrow (Grief and Healing) (MaY (GaH)), Bear the World Until Your Heart Bleeds Out (BtWUYHBO), Tie Our Souls Together With Strings of Fate (TOSTWSoF), Lose Your Life and Lose Your Love (LYLaLYL).

The only one even close to being finalised enough to start writing up the first drafts is Street Cat—Alley Bat, and even then it took me about a month and a half to come up with enough concept ideas to make a cohesive plot outline for the entire story (although I say this but the final arc has yet to be fully plotted).

Most of these Aus are still in the Initial Concept part of the process—around the same place as the first four Aus where when I made the post.

Aus currently in the Initial Concept part are: DaBoL, FfYCbWT, MaY (GaH), BtWUYHBO, TOSTWSoF.

———

In regards to BaDoL, I've taken a hiatus with working on this Au due to plot issues (didn't like the way it was turning out) and so until I can figure those issues out, I'm not going to actively focus on it.

(The hiatus and reason for hiatus is also applicable to CaToL and SMtSoMS.)

MTSPY's biggest change is that I've altered the plot from being Enemies to Friends to Lovers to more of a Love-Hate Friendship relationship that's primarily platonic with possibly romantic undertones sort of deal. Because calling them enemies wasn't exactly accurate as they're both heroes and therefore on the same side and the way I've got the current plot mapped out in skeleton, calling them lovers was also fairly inaccurate. As by the end of the plot, Marinette and Damian are only just coming to terms with being soulmates so they wouldn't be diving immediately into a relationship of any sort that's not platonic.

ITGatHiF got the most amount of big changes. See I was really struggling to come up with concept ideas for this using Daminette and so I decided to change the main ship to MariTim/Timinette/Timari. I've always switched a lot of the original plot around so whilst the skeleton plot is roughly the same, the fleshed out ideas are certainly not roughly the same anymore. The original Daminette plot was a lot more unnecessarily angsty and far too convoluted, whereas the new MariTim plot is a lot simpler and way more fluffy—which is good because as much as I like angst, this Au is much more fluffy shenanigans in concept.

SCAB underwent the most and the least changes objectively as it was mostly minor plot changes with most of the biggest plot changes being in the final two arcs. When I originally made the Au post, I accidentally called it a Daminette Au (which I quickly edited) but at the time I hadn't actually decided on the ship. After careful deliberation, the chosen ship is now MariTim/Timinette/Timari.

———

Onto the new Aus:

Birds Who Fly on Wings Made to Glide (BWFoWMtG): Marinette is an award winning gymnast for the under 16s internationals, and Parisian hero; known as Ladybird and Ladybug respectively. When a gymnastics competition in Gotham goes awry, she must team up with local billionaire ward and fellow gymnast, Richard "Dick" Grayson, and local Vigilante teen, Robin, in order to stop the situation from worsening. Unfortunately for them, the situation seems to keep spiralling out of control and the two find themselves in over their heads. (Multichap, predominantly fluffy, gymnast Au.)

Burdened are Those With Mantles of Gold (BaTWMoG): As the newest holder of the Ladybug Miraculous, Marinette has big boots to fill, and she's not quite sure she's good enough. In order to stop Marinette from following the fate of her Predecessor, Her mentor/partner Félix brings her to Gotham; for training, in hopes that the threat of the dangerous city and it's vigilante protectors will be enough to dissuade the people after Marinette. (Multichap, Legacy Au, predominantly angsty.)

Drain a Bead of Luck (DaBoL): After the assassination of her parents, and her own near death, Marinette is kidnapped and raised by the League of Assassins to become the perfect Bodyguard for the Demon's heir. However when the Demon's Head denounces the current heir and takes interest in a new heir, Marinette finds herself assigned to the new heir alongside three other assassins with the orders to keep him alive.** _(Oneshot** (may become Multichap if enough people enjoy it), Assassin au, not particularly angsty or fluffy.)_

Fight for You Cannot be With Them (FfYCbWT): After a mental breakdown, Marinette is sent on an indefinite hero hiatus holiday to Gotham, America in order to detox from the emotional manipulation of Hawkmoth and her classmates. What she didn't expect from this trip, was to find both her soulmate and soulnemesis. Especially considering one of her soulbonds was severed, meaning one of the two was supposed to be dead. (Multichap, Soulmates/Soulnemesis, Enemies to Lovers, Identity Shenanigans, predominantly angsty.)

Marigolds and Yarrow (Grief and Healing) (MaY (GaH)): “It won't kill you to come to Lila's bachelorette party,” Alya said. Little did any of them know, going would indeed kill Marinette but it's not like death would be enough to keep Marinette down; after all, Kwamis aren't exactly known for making bright decisions when their holders are in danger. (Multichap, angsty, salty, fluffy, hurt/comfort.)

Bear the World Until Your Heart Bleeds Out (BtWUYHBO): The situation in Paris has been steadily worsening. With no Miraculous to undo Hawkmoth's akuma attacks, the crime rate has been rising dangerously quickly. The city is barely standing and all that's stopping it from collapsing into all out chaos are the efforts of the city's two young and pitifully untrained vigilantes who are barely scraping by. This of course, has caught the attention of the Justice League who have decided to intervene. (Oneshot (may become Multichap if enough people enjoy it), No Powers/Vigilante Au, kinda dark and angsty in the beginning but gets lighter and fluffier nearer the end, hurt/comfort.)

Tie Our Souls Together With Strings of Fate (TOSTWSoF): When a team-up, against a mysterious magic user villain, between the Parisian heroes and Gothamite vigilantes goes wrong, Red Robin and Ladybug find themselves tied together—in more ways than one—and accidentally expose their secret identities to eachother whilst dealing with a myriad of side effects from getting hit by the villain's spells. (Oneshot, Soulmate Au (sort of), fluffy, hurt/comfort.)

Lose Your Life and Lose Your Love (LYLaLYL): Marinette's fifteen when her Soulmate dies, nearly dying herself due to the nature of how her Soulmate died. Saddled with both surviving Soul Familiars, she can't do anything but continue life as it was. Eventually Hawkmoth is defeated but Marinette finds she's struggling to adapt to civilian life in Paris and so decides to move to Gotham to re-establish her life and moonlight as a vigilante unconnected to her previous hero identity. If only coping with her trauma and adjusting to her new life was as easy as media always portrays it to be. (Oneshot (may become Multichap if enough people enjoy it), Soulmate Au, Soulfamiliar Au, angsty, hurt/comfort, fluffy.)

———

35 notes · View notes

mob-likes-milk · 6 years ago

Note

Hi!! Can I ask a scenario where the reader is having like a sleepover with mob and in the night, the reader woke up and see ???% cuddling against them? I hope it's not too weird ! Have a nice day! 💖

the sweet comfortof an embrace

Pairing: Reader x Shigeo Kageyama (Mob) (Mob Psycho 100)

Summary: (Angst & Fluff) Duringone entertaining sleepover, (Y/n) decide to share some of their worry with Shigeo,their childhood friend. They are pleased he’s able to reassure them, but in themiddle of the night, it’s their turn to take the role.

Warning: Descriptionof a nightmare & mentions of panic attacks and wounded people.

Word count: 4581

A/N: I made your request very long, I hope it doesn’t bother you too much! I wanted toexperiment a bit with my writing and got carried away! (again) I had so many ideas forit, if you want me to redo it please tell me! Maybe make it fluffier orsomething! ♡

Anyway, I’m finally back from my hiatus! It was really stressful and I’m quite upset because I didn’t make itas I expected, but writing your requests calms me down and generallymakes me happy! I really hope you’ll like this story, which I found the conceptvery cute! Be ready to get more stories soon! (*´∀`*) ♡

Themidnight sky was painted with smooth strokes of sapphire and dark lavender hues;the delicate shine of the croissant moon and of the numerous ivory starsenlightened the outlines of the aligned residences. The appeasing chilliness ofthe air refreshed the rare passers-by crossing through Seasoning City, theirrestful walk guided by the warm light of the lamp posts and the few illuminatedwindows. The darkness of the night was torn apart by some awaken citizens who appreciatedthe everlasting silence of these late hours to study their courses, finishtheir work on important projects or to have fun with their loved ones.

Thistranquil night, (Y/n) was staying at Kageyama’s charming household. Their longtimefriend Shigeo suggested them to come over to spend more time together; he knewthey were free this time because their aunt didn’t ask them to look after theiryounger carefree cousins. They obviously accepted the invitation, theexcitement of stuffing their face in delicious snacks and watching stupidlyfunny movies was all they wished to have with the sweet and caring boy. Theythought about the event all day, their already packed bag had patiently waitedfor this moment inside their locker, right besides their clean shoes.

During the agreeablesleepover, hours flew by without them knowing. They enjoyed the late hours ofthe Friday night to talk about all the things they missed, to eat a mountain ofjunk foods and to watch the humorous movies (Y/n) brought. Already watchingtheir third film, the atmosphere of the bedroom felt light and gleeful; thelaughter of the (h/c) teen filled the air.

“Did theyreally end the movie by doing this to the dog? It should seriously be illegal.”They tried to muffle their uncontrollable chuckles out of the sleeping adultsand younger boy’s hearing distance, holding tight on the fluffy blanket theyshared with Shigeo. The boy only smiled back at them, unable to laugh at theblank joke. It wasn’t his type to laugh at funny movies, or anything in general,but he still enjoyed the moment he had this night a lot. He was besides the oneindividual he felt conflicted for so long; he refused to accept the feeling hehad for his friend when they were younger, determined to only feel a platonicaffection. But he can’t stop the loving thoughts of their smile, theirsparkling (e/c) irises and their outstanding capacities of being the sunshineof every life they encounter; they are truly special to him. When he knew they werefree from their responsibilities this night, Shigeo jumped on the opportunityto be with them; he wished for it for so long. At this moment, his heart jumpedat the rhythm of their laugh, a warm blush crossed his round cheeks, he trulyfelt happy.

Progress toward Mob’s Explosion: 67%

Thedelicate arms of (Y/n) made their way around their friend’s shoulders, thelaugh now muffled by the soft fabric of Shigeo’s top pajama. The warm of hischeeks increased, his hand hesitantly made its way up to their covered back,soothing them.

“Ah ah,thank you, thank you…” They calmed down and slowly retreated from the hold, to theboy’s dismay. “I think that fatigue is taking over me, we should probably go tosleep now.” (Y/n) suggested, their tired figure standing up to stretch. Shigeo was also feeling drowsy from the longday of school and the wonderful night he shared with his crush, so he simplynodded in response and let out a short yawn.

They pickedup the laptop with almost dead battery off the wooden floor to their bag in thecorner of the bedroom. The sleepy boy used the small amount of time to placeboth their futons down and to gather the colorful empty packages to throw themaway.

Through thecomforting silence of midnight, (Y/n)’s mind was still bothered. Even after theeventful night, the bothersome thought they had for days sadly didn’tdisappear. They glanced to the side, spotting the pastel blue walking form oftheir friend and hesitated. Did he know how to deal with this type of problem?It’s not something uncommon for students to be worried about, but they didn’twant to ruin the whole time they had together to make him reminder of school,and all the stress that come with it.

Shigeo knewhis friend felt uncomfortable when he saw they were still in the corner of hisbedroom, fidgeting and frowning at the wall. He walked to them, concerned aboutwhat happened.

“Is theresomething wrong (Y/n)?” He queried in a whisper, surprising them out of theirintense internal argument. They looked back to meet his porcelain face, theytried to search an answer on his features but soon complied.

“I’m just…Really worried about a test…” They dubiously started, an exhausted sighescaping their lips. “My grades are getting worse these days, and I’m so scaredabout how my parents will react if it continues…” (Y/n) gulped, they knew thelight mood of the night as dropped because of their foolish thoughts, theyshould have kept these to themselves than to share it with their childhoodfriend.

“I know howyou feel.” Shigeo’s voice resonated inside the quiet room, his hand now on hisfriend’s shoulder. “It worried me a lot before, I kept stressing out beforeexams because I was afraid of failing.” He gazed back at the dazzling (e/c)orbs in front of him, his voice halted at their sight. He tried to composehimself before continuing. “I-I think the best way to pass tests is not toworry about them, don’t think too much before it’s time to do them.” A smallsmile was pulling on his lips. “You don’t need to panic on them when you knowyou already studied hard; your work will pay off.”

A preciousgrin adorned the face he admires, a shy laugh escaped the young student’s lips.“Thank you so much, I will follow what you said.” They answered happily. Itwasn’t much for an advice, but it was enough for them to clear away theirinitial worry.

The teensheaded to their respective futon, finally getting some rest of the day. Thecold sheets immediately calmed them, the appeasing feeling soothing theirdrained bodies.

“Goodnight(Y/n).” the raven-haired boy said calmly, his hand on the switch of his lamp.“Goodnight Shigeo.” They replied with a smile, the blanket already wrapped tightaround their form. Mob smiled back at the sight of his crush now relaxed. Hesoftly pushed on the switch, the vanilla light of the lamp disappeared in ablink of an eye and obscurity took over the tiny room. The serene atmospherequieted their past thoughts quickly, their minds drifted away to a new worldfull of mystery.

Darkness.

Shigeo’s vision was drowned in darkness.

Everythingfelt eerie, he knew he wasn’t in his bedroom at this moment; he was standing somewherebut his subconscious didn’t accord him any answer. He turned around swiftly,his black eyes inspected inside the obscure place, but the darkness engulfedany possible item or living creature inside of it.

His jitteryfootsteps resonated against the cold sleek floor, he ran across the unknownplace to maybe find a source of light to guide him, someone he could ask for helpor even a wall to reassure him he wasn’t going haywire, but his efforts werefutile. His lungs were screaming for air and his stomach was tied in a tightknot, where was he? What is this place? Does someone kidnapped him and confinedhim in this gloomy room? If so, what has he done to deserve this? A troublingfeeling took over his senses, an emotion of unease spreading through hisshaking body.

Progress toward Mob’s Explosion: 78%

His mind was suddenly attacked by apainful headache; his hands rushed their way to forcefully grip on his short ebonyhair to stop the swinging feeling, his feet staggered to barely maintain hisquivery figure. The distressing sensation worsened, imaginary colors burned hisalready teary eyes. His drained body gave up from the torturing feeling and he droppedon his knees, his pale face felt like melting by the boiling pain, the freezingsurface of the floor seemed to slowly calm it down.

Shigeo tried to steady his unevenbreathing, his throbbing heart felt like suffocating inside his stiff chest,the aching feeling of the unknown taking over his mind.

He didn’t know where to go until asoft, pure white light emerged from the blackness of the room to meet his fuzzysight. His head snapped to its source, a new refreshing emotion bloomed insideof him: hope.

Progress toward Mob’s Explosion: 75%

His glacial hands tried to clear hisbleary eyes, his palpitation calming in relief. He took a restful breath beforelooking back at the light, its outlines wasn’t from the dim glow of a shycandle flame, neither was it from a untamed and dangerous fire, it felt moreshaped, constant, and to Shigeo, strangely familiar.

The silhouette of a running childbecame clearer through the dark. Its spiky hair bounced to the movement of hispace and a kind black smile contrasted to the brightness he offered, a roundform was held by its frail arms.

“Shigeo, I’m so happy I found you!”The young boy exclaimed, its tone enthusiastic. It was a voice Shigeo knew toowell.

“Ritsu… What are you doing here?” Heasked perplexed, standing up in the process. His fingers started to pick oneach other; worry drawing on his features about what was happening.

“More like what you are doing there!But come on, I want to play some games! Do you want to play with me?” The youngRitsu suggested, handing to his older brother the glowing ball he was holding.Mob hesitated for a second, why was his brother a toddler here? And why was heeven here to begin with?

He shook his head quickly; he didn’tneed to be concerned about all of it now. He needed to reassure and to takecontrol of himself. He drew his hand nearer to the warm light, the transparencyof his skin turning his fingers red. The aura felt light and comfortable, hewill play with Ritsu and probably, everything will go nicely.

The moment his touch brushed on thecream shine of the ball, a deafening scream broke the silence of the place.Shigeo withdrew his actions, his hands trying to suppress the agonizing screechfrom piercing his eardrums. He glanced back at his crouching brother, his darkmouth no longer smiling, but wide-open in pain. Black tears travelled thegleaming face, the outlines of his figure turning to a bloody red. He panickedat the sight, what has he done? Was he okay?

Puddles of light red splattered theimmaculate floor, the cry of the toddler became louder.

“You’re the worst big brother! Youkeep hurting me with your powers, it hurts so much!” The red figure yelled, hisbody rising and falling to the movement of his wailing.

“Wait, Ritsu! I’m so sorry!P-please-” The room started to shake violently before he could finish hisexcuse. He fell on his knees and the sound of the screams echoed back to hisdirection. Everything was out of control. Everything was his fault.

Progress toward Mob’s Explosion: 86%

Flashy colors blinded his vision,his mind tried to concentrate on his breathing but he knew everything willbreak down. He tightly shut his eyes; it was it, the moment he will loseeverything.

The screams and the shake of theroom were incredibly more violent, he didn’t know if he will support thesituation any longer. His breathing was irregular, and at the moment he thoughthe will explode, the room was back to normal again.

He looked around, his breathingstill loud after what he experienced. He used the new calm of the room tocompose himself, loads of unanswerable questions flooding his troubled mind.

The clatter of shoes hitting thecold floor made Shigeo’s head snap to its direction, beads of sweat alreadyforming on his temple. The enlightenfigure was considerably taller, its silhouette lanky and still incrediblyfamiliar. The young teen swallowed back the lump inside his throat, his handsshook at the adult in front of him. Was it his master?

“Oh! Mob! What are you doing on thefloor? Come on, stand up.” The voice of Reigen energetically demanded to thequivering boy who complied to his request immediately.

“Okay, now that you are on your twofeet,” He started, a black smirk forming on his gleaming form. “I want to tellyou my excuses.” He confessed nervously, scratching his neck out ofembarrassment. Shigeo’s eyes widened, did his master really apologized to him?But what was the reason?

“I think that… I bothered you toomuch today, and even this week.” His voice started to mumble, he wasn’t surehow to put his words clear. “You wanted to spend more time with your friend andI kept you away from that, I’m truly sorry.” Small tears started to blur hisvision; he couldn’t believe that his master finally understood his situation,and even his feelings. A genuine smile showed on his feature, this has to bethe right path.

“I think that I need to pay youbetter for your extra work, you deserve it.” The glowing figure handed to theboy a rectangular form, the edges of it slightly dropping. “Please take themoney Shigeo, it’s all for you.” Reigen’s dark lips formed a smile, his staturemore confident than before.

His hands started to shake again; hedeeply wished that, if he took the loan of money his master was giving him, theearthquake won’t start again. But he only had one choice.

Progress toward Mob’s Explosion: 90%

His hands proceed to be near the oneof Reigen’s. He retracted his fingers for a moment; the light the young adultemitted was warm and welcoming, he was scared to hurt himself if he touched itagain. He cleared his mind and went for it, his heart beating so fast in itscage.

At his touch, the light’s rim turnedcrimson red, oh no.

His tense hands gripped to his ears,a loud and deeper yell echoed through the room, a mixture of dangerously brightcolors coming from every corner of his vision. His trembling orbs tried to lookout for Reigen, panic rushed when he met the wounded form, firmly holding hisstomach.

“Mob, I told you to never use yourpowers against other! You will only wound them; you’ll hurt the ones you loveif you continue like that…” The scream of terror was making Shigeo crazy,uncontrollable tears ran across his pale face, he never wanted to be like that.“I really thought you would change Mob, I really thought you would change…” Hisvoice was becoming a whisper, the floor shook even more violently, theenlighten figure of his master falling to its side, bright blood spreading onthe ebony surface.

Progress toward Mob’s Explosion: 98%

“I’m so sorry, I-I’m so s-sorry…”

“Sorry for what?” A new voice askedcuriously.

The calm prospered inside theunknown room again, Shigeo reluctantly raised his head up to meet a figure heloves so much. (Y/n) was standing in front of him, the same dark smile adornedtheir glowing face.

“Nothing.” His dull voice replied. “Well, okay, but you can always tell me ifthere is something bothering you!” They enthusiastically said, displaying theirnatural kindness.

For a second, he wanted to tell themeverything, from the beginning to minutes ago: his wish for this wholenightmare to stop, the constant torture he has done to the ones who he trulycared, the heartbreaking cries he heard, and the true disappointment he was.

His mind suddenly blew up. He realized he had neglected thefact he was a part of the darkness he wanted to escape; his form was mergingwith the infinite hole of despair he was destined to be from. He wasn’t asource of warmth and light like they were. They were the rays of sunshine ofthe lives they encountered, they made him feel better when he wasn’t feelingokay, they cared for him when he was sick, they made efforts for his experienceof life to be better, but he never did it back to them. He hates himself somuch. His emotions locked away because of powers he wished to never have, hewas cursed to be a boy who will never make them happy, because he can’t trulybe himself.

“My aunt told me I was free tonightfrom looking over my cousins, so that mean we can do something together! Whatdo you think?” (Y/n)’s light figure jumped at the thought, impatiently waitingfor his answer, but his lips were tight shut.

Progress toward Mob’s Explosion: 99%

They extended one hand to him, anadorable black grin pushing their soft white cheeks. “So, do you want to come?”They asked. Shigeo’s eyes trembled at the sight of their delicate hand in frontof him, he knew too well it was a lure, nothing but an excuse to accuse him forthe simplest act he would do.

“No.” His voice was hollow, drainedto even explain his reasons. His eyes couldn’t look at the dreamy light anymore;he watched back the dark floor. “W-wait, why? You told me you really wanted tospend more time with me and when I’m finally out of babysitting, you refuse?” Itwas so hard for the young boy to hear, he did want to spend more time withthem, so much, but he knew he will only hurt them. “I even told my parentsabout it, I said I wanted some time to myself, to be with you more.” Theirvoice cracked multiple times, he could even hear uneven sobs. He feared he madethe situation worse. “I know I can be q-quite clingy sometime, but it’s justbecause I like being with you! We are close ever since we were kids, I reallydon’t want to lose you…” The silence was deafening, both teen waited for theother to say something, but it led to nothing.

“I’m so sorry Shigeo, I won’t botheryou anymore…” Their footsteps hit the floor loosely, they tried to go away fromhim but they abruptly stopped, loudly crying from the building sadness. Theytried to muffle their sorrowful and uncontrollable sobs, and it was at thismoment Shigeo couldn’t hold back anymore.

Progress toward Mob’s Explosion: 100%Self-hatred

They kept hiding their misery out ofeveryone’s ears, dealing with their problems all alone because nobody tried tohelp them. But this time, he will do something. Shigeo hastily ran to them, hishand out to reach their darkening form. “Wait!”

Colors flashed when his fingersbrushed against the scalding skin, a burning feeling devouring his own hand at the touch. The same scream echoed inside the dark place, his eyes watery fromthe pain he was experiencing over and over.

“Don’t touch me! You’re a monster! Amonster!” His mind started to spin, his attention could only hear their cries.His vision grew dizzy and he feels the coldness of the sleek floor paralyzinghis burned palms, everything seemed to shatter. Was it the end? Was he donewith making everyone he loves suffer? Did they finally hate him now?

“You will kill everyone with your powers!You’re the worst Shigeo, I hate you!”

Progress toward Mob’s Explosion: 160%

“I hateyou!”

Progress toward Mob’s Explosion: 535%

“I hateyou!”

Progress toward Mob’s Explosion: 999%

“I HATEYOU!”

Progress toward Mob’s Explosion: ???%

Strange lights kept flashing against(Y/n)’s closed eyelids. They stirred, slowly waking up from their relaxing slumber.Their breathing immediately halted because of the uncomfortably stifling air, theyreluctantly opened their (e/c) orbs, curious of the uncommon happenings. Brightcolors completely illumined the room in a mixture of saturated red and blindingwhite, badly hurting their still drowsy vision.

They tried to stand up, mumbling totheir friend questions of what was the reason of these flashy lights, but theysoon realized they couldn’t move. A strong pressure strangled their abdomen,what felt like claws dug into their pajama top. They started to panic,something was off and they knew it. They tried to cautiously turn their head tomeet the source of this intense force and blazing colors, their mind wonderingto everything they remembered from the past night, but the sleep wasn’t totallyoff their thoughts.

Strands of ebony hair were nowtickling their sweat covered cheeks, a black silhouette clung on themand incomprehensible mumblings filled the silence of the bedroom. Their breathstopped, they were in danger.

‘Don’t be near Shigeo when hispowers come out, he can be dangerous’ Is what Ritsu told them ever since theywere toddlers. His big brother’s force is unstable, he can’t hold to them toprotect others, he knows he could wound the innocents if he tried. It isultimately scary to not be in control of yourself; been able to kill anyone ifyou are unconscious enough, and yet, it was the situation (Y/n) was in.

Their palms became clammy, their respirationloud and uneven; they needed to escape from him and quickly. The shaking formof the (h/c) teen tried to take hold of his frail arms, their hands forcefullypushing him off themselves, but he was much stronger than anticipated. His holdbecame more intense, his mutterings louder than before, they made the situationworse.

Stress overcame their senses; theydon’t want to disappear now. They didn’t say goodbyes to their family, theyhaven’t told how much they loved their cousins, their parents, their aunt, howmuch they enjoyed to be with them, how much they care about the memories theyhad here with them and Shigeo. This boy was here from the start and they wishedto be with him until the end. A welcoming family he had, people so nice theydidn’t deserve to fade away with the fresh winds of this night. Everything willdissipate and it will be their entire fault.

They held their breath for a fewmoments, waiting for the end to come, but it never did. The flash of white andred blinded their vision, but less than before. They expired the hot air fromtheir lungs, was this whimpers they heard?

The dark figure behind them wassoftly crying on their back, the sound of sobs halting their palpitations.Their ears were now concentrating on the sound, a feeling of concern shakingtheir thoughts.

After a couple of seconds, they realizedthey were right: Shigeo was wiping on their top, the beads of sweat formingon their back tainted their shirt with his cold tears, but how will they dealwith it?

They felt like they were defusing adangerous explosive, or hiding from a wild animal. They were rummaging through theirmemories to find any advice his family had told them for emergency cases likethis, maybe if they find something they could save everyone and-

“It worried me a lot before, I kept stressing out before exams because Iwas afraid of failing.”

Exams? But it wasn’t about examsnow, it was about something serious: saving lives, they-

“I-I think the best way to passtests is not to worry about them, don’t think too much before it’s time to dothem.”

Wait, this advice could probably beuseful. Stress is an obstacle they need to surpass in this situation, maybethey could-

“Youdon’t need to panic on them when you know you already studied hard; your workwill pay off.”

It was the answer. At this moment,they knew what to do.

They exhaled and inhaled repeatedlyand slowly, taking away the amount of worry which built inside their distressedmind. They needed to relax, think of things that make them calm down.

What first appeared was a picture ofShigeo, of the precious smile he has when he sees them, the warm blush adorninghis cheeks when they laugh and his precious chocolate orbs they fall for solong ago. He makes them happy and they wouldn’t trade this feeling foranything. So if they wanted to experience it again, they had to save him.

Their now steady hands brushedagainst the tense ones of Mob; their fingers comfortably drew circles on hisvelvety warm skin, a soft hush escaped their lips trying to calm him down.Their actions started to pay off; the tight hold their friend had on themloosened slowly. A relieved smile showed on their features, will they make it?

Minutes by minutes, the blindingcolors started to let the darkness of the night take over the room again, the airbecame breathable but the sorrowful cries weren’t dying out. Cautiously, (Y/n)turned around to face their distressed and slightly awoke friend. He wastightly holding on them as of his life depended on it. Strands of hair were disheveledon his pale face, cheeks red from his uncontrollable tears rushing out hispuffy glistering eyes. His pitiful appearance was heartbreaking to look at, hisfriend’s expression was instantly lacing with extreme worry. Their silky handswanted to caress the sadness off Mob’s face, but his quivering lips made themstop their affectionate actions.

“(Y/n)… D-do you, do you hate me?”Shigeo asked softly, his voice was so quiet and calm; they didn’t restrainthemselves to snugly hug his drained figure back.

“Hating you? I don’t think it’spossible.” They laughed at their remark, watching as the dim light of the moonenlightened his figure, relief washing over his past concern. Lukewarm tears ofgratitude travelled his swollen cheeks, a genuine smile spreading on hisbeautiful face.

“Hey, don’t cry, you’re so handsomewhen you smile, you shouldn’t ruin that with those tears.” They continued to giggle,brushing away the warm liquid off his face. His face regained the crimson color(Y/n) loves so much, he was embarrassed of their actions but his pure eyescouldn’t look away from their mesmerizing (e/c) ones.

“You know, I really like you.” Theyadmitted proudly to him, a feeling of joy spreading when they saw the sparklesof surprise gleaming across his irises.

“So, so much.” They told calmly,holding close into his tense figure, their arms completely circling his chest.They could now feel his heart beating at an inhuman pace against their skin, a satisfiedsmile pushed their rose cheeks. Goose bumps made him jump from the loving acthe accepted wholeheartedly, the embarrassment of feeling them so close had alot of effects on him. He hesitantly rested his forehead on theirs, his eyelidsgently closed from fatigue, the side-effect from using too much of his poweroperating.

“I-I-I… I really like you, too.” Hereplied tenderly, the comfortable cuddles were calming him from the pesteringthoughts he had all night. Even if it was all a nightmare, he will still takenotes of it and let the ones he cares about know how much he loves them. But onlyfor (Y/n) tonight, the others will need to wait until tomorrow comes.

Progress toward Mob’s Explosion: 0%

459 notes · View notes

jade-masquerade · 5 years ago

Text

A Sweet Nuisance

Written for @jonsadreamofspring Day 2: Wolves

Jon brings a gift back for Sansa from beyond the Wall after many moons away.

Sansa hurried down the steps of the keep, pulling her cloak tight. It seemed silly to even bother with it, really, when she’d be rushing back up to take it off in mere minutes.

Jon had been gone for more than a few turns of the moon now to visit the deep north and beyond the Wall. It had been well past time he traveled to the far reaches of his kingdom—or theirs, rather, as he’d said before he left, the night they’d spent more awake rather than asleep even though he had much to do and far to ride the next day. Sansa was certain he would have many a tale to tell about his visits to the northern lords and the mountain clans, and while she was interested to hear how his proposition to the wildlings who’d refused to pass through the gates of Castle Black the first time had gone over, there would be plenty of suppers and council meetings over the next few days to discuss such. Tonight would be theirs alone.

Ghost padded silently at her side, his long strides allowing him to easily keep up with her quick pace. She had fought Jon when he announced he would be leaving his direwolf in Winterfell, insisting he ought to take the wolf for his own protection, and that Ghost would be much happier out in the open, loping along on the road instead of cooped up in Winterfell.

“At least this way I can sleep at night, knowing you’re safe,” Jon told her.

“And what will I do?” she had asked, but Jon had barely left the sightlines of Winterfell before she was grateful for his insistence. Ghost was the closest thing to Jon himself, someone who understood without words, who sensed character as well or better than she could, who knew when she needed a kind eye or to bury her hands in his fur.

Still, she knew Ghost would rather be off hunting in the wolfswood than sitting beside her as she spent her days sewing, singing, and sitting by the fire with a book in hand. He would have all the time he wanted to do as he desired now though, once Sansa locked her door with only Jon behind it, and they had no need for escorts or protectors or attendants, no need for anything more than each other.

She found she’d become as wanton as a wildling in his absence, craving his kiss, thirsting for his touch, aching for his embrace. It was shameful how often she had imagined Jon’s return over the past fortnight, ever since she’d received the raven he had at last turned back towards Winterfell. It was far more shameful how often she had imagined the night ahead with a hand between her legs.

Sansa made it to the yard just in time to watch Jon slide down from his horse and hand the reins to one of his men. She rushed towards him, but before she could throw her arms around him and press herself up against him, he reached out and held her at arm’s length.

“I have something for you,” Jon said, a smile playing on his lips.

He started to remove his cloak. It wasn’t like Jon to make lewd jests or take a pass at her, especially out in the open, with most of Winterfell watching, no matter how she knew he felt on the inside, but oh, how she hoped he desired her half as much as she did him.

Sansa felt her own demure mask slipping the longer he occupied his hands with something else other than her, no matter what it was. Would it be so unseemly for them to share a kiss, a few touches that bordered on moving beyond chaste? After all, they were man and wife, and surely all of Winterfell would suspect them of those things and more anyhow after they spent a few days abed in their chambers together.

If we make it there, a wicked voice whispered. She would have taken Jon against the haystacks in the stables it had been so long, if he wished. Or in the godswood, if he wished to pay his respects first. Or there were many an alcove along the way to their rooms…

Sansa chastised herself. Had her mind truly turned that slatternly while he had been away?

Jon drew away the edge of his cloak to reveal a bundle of white-grey fur tinted red rolled up beneath it. She squinted, not seeing why this was more imperative than a proper greeting for his wife… or improper, rather. Had he brought her the hide of a winter fox? A blanket knitted from beyond the Wall?

Then she saw the outline of a nose and noticed the quickening of breath, and it turned its eyes on her. They were brown instead of golden, but they were also as sweet and curious as the first pair of those eyes Sansa had ever set her own sights on.

No, not a fox, nor any kind of bed clothes. A wolf. A direwolf.

“We found him on our way back,” Jon explained, cupping the pup gently between his hands as its eyes darted around to take in the surroundings. “He was orphaned, or abandoned. Left all alone.”

Like us, she thought, or at least how they had been until she found Jon again at Castle Black, and then found more still with him when they took back Winterfell.

“Oh, Jon,” she gasped, not certain she knew the words to convey her gratitude. She knew she didn’t need them though, that Jon would understand even if no one else did. “You certainly have a knack for finding them, don’t you?”

She remembered the day Jon had brought Lady back, along with Robb and Bran and the rest of the pups. She had fallen in love in that instant, with Lady’s little mewls and whimpers, her delicate features, her kind nature. And even though the pup now staring back at her was a bit bigger, fluffier, and shyer, she felt the exact same way once more.

“Aye, I suppose I do,” Jon said, and he seemed to know where her thoughts had taken her. “I know you miss Lady. She was taken too soon from you.”

“Thank you,” she said, not meeting his eyes because she knew hers would fill with tears. Instead she busied herself with the pup, brushing her hands over his soft fur.

“He’s small now,” he said, “But I imagine he’ll grow fast with some care and proper nourishment.”

Sansa took the bundle of fur in her arms and he licked her face. It was something Lady had never done, nor had she wanted her to, but when the laps didn’t stop, Sansa laughed.

“All right, all right,” Jon said gruffly.

“Your turn,” said Sansa, reaching up to kiss his cheek the way she did whenever they were not locked behind closed doors. She wrinkled her nose. “You need a bath.”

“Such kind words,” he said, grinning beneath his mock discontent. She knew he wanted nothing more than to get out of sight of his men, and he dismissed them with a wave as they headed to their chambers.

“What else did you find?” Sansa asked once Jon settled into the bath. She knelt beside the tub, handing Jon soap and sponge as he scrubbed.

He finished at last, leaning his head back against the edge and closing his eyes. “Death. Destruction. Dwellings deserted. More of the same.”

“Did you see them? The Others.” The water of the bath was nearly hot enough to scald her skin, but suddenly the room seemed cold as she thought of the creatures that had once only been part of Old Nan’s stories, until the men of the Night’s Watch saw the undead for themselves.

“No,” he said. “And I don’t know if that worries me more.”

Sansa couldn’t help but feel relief. As the days passed without word when his ranging party had headed beyond the sight of the Wall, past the haunted forest, and towards the lands of always winter, she had fretted if she would ever seen him again, if Jon would return one day with haunting blue eyes.

When he opened his eyes now, they were still Stark grey, but dark, his pupils wide as they drank her in. “You could join me, you know.”

Her cheeks flushed for reasons other than the steam rising from the bath. Soapy bubbles clouded the water, but she could still very much see every line of Jon’s bare chest, his scars, the bit of hair that angled down his abdomen as he sat up further to rest his arms on either side of the tub and make space for her…

She glanced over to ensure the door was barred, and Ghost slept in front of it too, lest anyone intrude on their privacy. Even if they did, she reminded herself there was no impropriety in their actions as husband and wife. Well, perhaps most of the things they shared anyway, her mind recalling some of the more indecent ways Jon had pleasured her both in their marriage bed and out of it.

Sansa made to stand when she heard a yelp and a tug on the back of her dress. She looked down to see the pup, where he’d fallen with the hem of her dress in his mouth, the stitching torn away. “Oh!”

“He does that,” Jon grumbled, slumping back into the water.

“Lucky I can fix it, then,” she said, sweeping the pup up into her arms again.

He snuggled contentedly against her bosom, and Sansa couldn’t decide which she found more amusing: the adorableness of the pup or the look of pure envy on Jon’s face.

Sansa had prearranged for supper to be brought up to their chambers, dissuading the kitchens from preparing a feast to welcome home the King in the North by insisting Jon would be tired and prefer to rest rather than revel and entertain guests after his long journey. The truth, though, was that she had planned on not leaving bed for something so trivial as food.

Jon told her more of the good while they ate, the new lands Tormund had led his people back to beyond the Wall, the progress made on the keeps being built on the Gift, and how one of the clans leaders had praised Sansa’s leadership as Queen in the North and Lady of Winterfell, going even further to call her a true winter rose and a prized beauty, though the way Jon scowled when he said it, that might as well have fit in with the bad, too.

The pup remained firmly curled to Sansa’s side as they ate, and she fed him scraps off her plate until he seemed to grow full and collapsed, sprawled beside her as he drifted off to sleep.

“I spent two weeks traveling with him and never saw anything but a trembling ball of fur,” Jon complained while Sansa could do nothing but smile as the pup’s entire little body puffed and deflated with each of his tiny snores.

She’d had the serving girls build a roaring fire, too, and that was where she sat beside Jon with a cup of spiced wine after their meal. “Jon hasn’t had a proper hearth in months,” she explained, asking them to stack up extra wood beside it as though that were for him as well and not to keep her from freezing during the night when her clothes would lay on the ground or wherever Jon dropped them in haste instead of against her skin.

Their cups soon sat empty, their attention instead turned to one another. The bed was not far, but on the furs in front of the fire would serve well enough, Sansa mused, as Jon initiated a languid kiss. After long, cold nights by herself, thinking of Jon’s touch and the warmth of his body against hers, anything was most welcome.

She took his bottom lip between hers, intending to deepen their kiss, and he responded eagerly, letting his tongue slide against hers as he pulled her into his lap. Her hands moved to slip through his beard, then to undo the laces of his tunic, and then to appreciate the muscles of his chest and arms as she did away with his shirt entirely.

“Ouch,” Jon hissed and pulled away.

She frowned; Jon was rather sensitive in some areas, she’d learned, but not there. She glanced down to see him glaring at the impressions of two small sets of teeth on his hand between thumb and forefinger.

Ever mindful of Jon’s mood, Ghost raised his head from his paws, cast a baleful look at the perpetrator from across the room, and growled low.

“Are you hurt?” Sansa might as well have asked the pup himself, for he whimpered in response before Jon had a chance to speak.

“No, not truly,” Jon groused, easily rubbing away the bite marks and leaving the only casualty as the moment ruined. “He’ll need to learn his manners, if he’s to live in a castle with a queen.”

Sansa only giggled at both of their expressions as the pup took the opportunity to crawl back into her lap, nothing but gentle and affectionate as Sansa pet him.

“Perhaps tomorrow,” she said. “Once he has settled in. Once he knows he belongs here. Once he knows that he’s a Stark.”

“You certainly have a knack for that,” he said, settling back on the furs to watch the pup preen beneath her touch.

Sansa remembered the day she first assured Jon of it, when they stood up on the ramparts after they had taken back Winterfell, and the time she had affirmed it, when she had cloaked him in their house colors as he took her to wife. They were two of her fondest memories, and she suspected one day in the future, this very moment may be one, too.

“What will you name him?” Jon asked. “‘Nuisance’ suits, I think.”

“No, not for my sweet one,” she said, wondering how he would grow up. Would he still wish to cuddle with her like this, one day when he was larger than the rug on which they sat? Would he be as swift as Ghost, and brave and strong? Time would tell.

“All right, ‘Sweet Nuisance,’ then,” Jon said, but he followed it up with a smile.

“He’ll grow on you,” Sansa said, lifting the pup so she could press a kiss to the top of his head. “As I did.”

There would be time for that though, and time to think of a fitting name for her pup, something to honor Lady, perhaps, or one of the seasons, or a hero from one of the stories she loved.

And there would be time for other things later too, she thought, as Jon yawned.

As Sansa glanced around their chambers and happiness welled up in her chest, she couldn’t help but feel as though time itself had been turned back to that very first day she’d held a direwolf in her arms, when she’d been in her home, with her family, and it seemed as though all the dreams she’d wished for were on the verge of coming true, and she realized she had all those things once more.

#Jonsa #Jonsa Fanfiction #My fic #Jonsadreamofspring #Day 2: Wolves

66 notes · View notes

dnplegs · 5 years ago

Text

quite fetching

2.2k words, meet-cute, fluff

Phil likes to take his dog on walks around the neighborhood. Dan works at the local elementary school.

read on ao3

Phil spent long days at university and the workload, while enjoyable, was thoroughly exhausting. So the part of his day that he loved most was walking his fluffy golden retriever, Mister, around his neighborhood, switching off his brain and enjoying time with his dog. It was a Tuesday, and Phil was yawning loudly as he attached the leash to Mister. Daylight savings time had hit him hard, his normally atrocious sleeping hours shortening even further. But he still felt an obligation to his dog and to his own routine to walk a bit every day, so he didn't resent the decision to walk out the door at 4 that day. After around 15 minutes, his usual walking time, the sun was still high in the sky, so he decided to walk further than usual. The local elementary school near his home had a nice track that he remembered vaguely and he hoped there wouldn't be many kids left playing outside. Phil's dog loved people, but sometimes he got too excited around hyper children and Phil wanted to avoid any uncomfortable situations. So, he rounded the corner into the long path outlining the playground. Luckily, there were only a few people still out playing. He heard a bell clanging and watched as the children walked inside, guided by some college students who helped out there. There were only two people left: an obscenely tall man with dark, wavy hair, and a young girl in a big coat, both on the swing set. "Mr. Dan, can we stay out longer please?" Phil overheard the girl say. "Of course, Ari. Like usual," Dan replied easily. They seemed to drift into an easy silence and Phil smiled. It was small, pleasant moments like those that made him enjoy walking around town. Phil walked around the path away from the playground, so the two stragglers didn't see him and his dog until a couple minutes later, when he had completed the lap around the small soccer fields. He saw the little girl notice him and immediately tug on the older guy's jacket, saying something pleading. Dan then turned and noticed Phil and his dog as well. He smiled. "Let's ask the man, first." He walked boldly to Phil, who stopped in his track and smiled amicably. "Can we pet your dog? He's so cute." "Of course!" Phil responded. Dan squatted next to Mister's face and pet his back softly, while Ari pet him on the head with robotic, child-like movements. "What's his name?" The man's face looking up at Phil was so pretty and soft. His smile dimpled his cheek and a light blush dusted his nose. "Mister," Phil answered, immediately scolding himself for sounding (and probably looking) stupidly smitten. But hey, he was a cooped up university student who rarely had time for any romantic or sexual interactions, so who could blame him. "Oh my God," Dan exclaimed, and Phil was worried that something bad had happened because of the urgent tone, but he followed with, "that is the best name for a dog I have ever heard." Phil beamed with pride. "Thanks, I came up with it myself." "It's so cute," he muttered. "What's your name, then? Is it better than Mister?" "Phil, so unfortunately not. What about you?" "I'm Dan," he said with a smile, shaking Phil's hand. "I work here after school in a weak effort to pay off my student loans." Conversation. Okay. Phil didn't expect to get this far. "I'm at university as well! What are you studying?" "Philosophy, at the moment. It's fascinating, but it's kind of guaranteeing me to a life of pretentiousness and poverty, unfortunately. What about you?" Dan's tone was light and easy and he was effortlessly funny. Hot and funny and good with kids and dogs???? Phil needed to pinch himself to confirm he wasn't dreaming, but then he might wake up, and he didn't want to do that when this was far sweeter. "Post-production in film. Also something that will probably end up completely useless, but it is really enjoyable. It's nice to be doing things that I'm really passionate about, although the workload is super tedious. I've got this massive project at the moment, and I love it, but it involves a lot of boring computer stuff and not much actual creativity." Dan nodded. "Oh yeah? What's it about?" Phil didn't have time to respond before Ari was tugging gently at Dan's jacket again. "Mr. Dan, can we go inside?" she said softly. "Of course, Ari!" Dan replied, turning back to Phil and smiling apologetically. "Hopefully I'll see you and Mister around?" Phil nodded (a bit too) enthusiastically. "Totally!" He planned to make good on his word. For the next two days, Phil forced himself to turn in early from his walks to work on a massive project he was working on involving horror films. It felt like torture to turn away from the elementary school and possibly miss seeing Dan again, but he had greater responsibilities. However, on Friday he was unable to resist the temptation anymore, and he turned around the corner and down the path that would eventually (hopefully) lead to Dan. There were still quite a few kids out today, since Phil had left earlier than last time, so he didn't see Dan immediately, but he was significantly taller than everyone around him, so Phil was able to find him on the swings again. Still, he tortured himself with a walk around the entire path before he passed the playground and Dan saw him and Mister. "Oh, hey!" Dan called, standing up from the swing and walking over to Phil, Ari not far behind him. "You came back!" "Yeah, I figured I could swing by the playground again," Phil said, feigning nonchalance despite the fact that Dan recognizing him made butterflies erupt in his stomach. "How are you and Ari here?" Dan was already kneeling next to Mister. "So good!" But it seemed to be mostly directed to the dog as he said it in a baby voice and kept all his attention on Mister. Ari began to pet him as well and Phil smiled. This time Dan was wearing a soft-looking brown sweater and his wavy hair was fluffier, the wind sprawling it across his forehead. He looked simultaneously incredibly cute and intimidatingly hot, and Phil might actually be developing a proper crush. Dan stood up abruptly and said, "So how's that project going?" "Oh! You remembered that?" Phil said, astonished, before realizing he was putting Dan in a pretty awkward situation. Dan seemed flustered and Phil felt completely socially inept. "Yeah, I guess. I don't meet many cool guys with amazing dog-naming skills who are also in film at university." "Really? Clearly you need to get out more," Phil joked. "Honestly, I know you're joking, but I seriously never leave the house. It's an actual problem. Unless I'm in class or making money, I'm in my dorm 24/7," Dan complained. "That's the best thing about having a dog. You have an immediate obligation to another living creature. Plus, you get to meet cool guys who study philosophy and work at elementary schools in their free time," Phil ventured. Blushing! Actual blushing! Phil was undoubtedly reading too much into this whole conversation and Dan was probably straight anyway, but again, he was a cooped up university student. He was allowed to have fantasies about hot guys he met. "How many of those do you know?" "They're a dime a dozen in this neighborhood," Phil said with a sly smile, and Dan giggled. Before Dan could respond, Phil felt an abrupt pull on the leash. He muttered expletives under his breath as he realized he was being pulled by Mister, who was chasing a squirrel across the empty soccer fields. "Gotta go!" Phil managed to cry out before he chased Mister (who had managed to break the leash free from Phil's grip) across the grass. When Mister finally ended his impromptu high-speed chase, Phil gathered him in his arms and pet him before standing again and sighing. "Mister, we might have been actually flirting, and you ruined it!" Mister wagged his tail obliviously, and Phil gave another sigh. His dog was unfortunately very hard to hate. For the weekend, the elementary school was completely empty (trust Phil. He checked.) and Phil was forced to wait two whole days before he got to even hope to see Dan again. On Monday, he was raring to go, but he still waited until 4 to leave, hoping to catch Dan more alone and without the fear of overwhelming kids trying to pet Mister. Dan caught him before he was able to walk the whole lap around the playground, though. He was at the small basketball court, which was right next to the entrance Phil always took, and he waved him down before Phil could continue his walk. "Oh, hey," Phil said when he saw Dan sitting on the bench. "How's philosophy?" Dan sighed. "As ever. We're currently studying free will and it's a total mind fu-" he cut himself off, dramatically glancing around. "Fumble?" Phil offered, laughing. "Yes, exactly!" They shared a laugh and Dan continued. "I'm kind of guaranteed constant existential crises, and adding that onto the college crisis I'm already having, it isn't a great time." "I don't really have that problem with film projects," Phil responded, sitting down on the bench next to Dan when he patted the seat. "Although the project I'm currently working on is about horror. I'm not a scaredy-cat until it's 2 in the morning and I'm sitting in a dark, empty flat after spending 7 hours watching clips of horror films." "Empty? No girlfriend or endearingly strange flatmates?" Dan inquired. "Neither, although considering how high rent is I should probably get a flatmate at some point so I don't start living off Ramen noodles again," Phil mused, hoping Dan caught onto the no, but I could use a boyfriend he was sure he worked in at some point. "That's a dark period," Dan responded, nodding. "I'm almost to that level at the moment, and - " Dan was cut off by another college student running towards them and calling his name. "Dan! Do you know where Ari is?" she said breathlessly. A look of concern immediately crossed Dan's features. "No idea, I thought she was swinging?" The woman shook her head, and Dan stood up. "I know most of the places she likes to hide out in, so I'll check those out. You make sure she isn't on the playground somewhere, okay?" The woman left and Phil stood up too. "Can I help?" Dan's features softened. "That'd be wonderful. Could you check the bushes through there? Sometimes she hides out there." He pointed toward the school and Phil nodded, jogging towards the shrubbery. Thankfully, he found her pretty quickly. She was sitting behind a bush, crying softly and picking at the grass. "Ari! Are you okay?" he asked, kneeling. Mister sat down next to Ari and she immediately began to pet him gently. She blubbered for a moment before saying, "the other boys and girls were being mean. They were calling me names." "Oh, I'm sorry. It's all okay, now," Phil soothed. She seemed to be calming down as she pet the dog. "Those kids were being mean and I'm sorry. But it's over now and you're going to be okay." "Thank you," she said softly, wiping away her tears. "Do you want to go see Mr. Dan?" She nodded and they stood up. Dan was searching around the playground when he saw them walking together, and there was immediate relief on his face. "Thank God you found her! I was so worried!" "She was sad because some kids were calling her names," Phil explained. Ari nodded, sniffling. "I'm so sorry," Dan said to her. "Who were they?" They talked quietly for a moment before Ari ran off, towards the school (apparently according to Dan's instruction). Dan stood up and muttered, "I'm going to teach those kids a sodding lesson," to Phil, who grinned at Dan's passion. "Thanks for finding her." "Happy to! I think Mister probably helped out a bit too. Dogs are often a calming presence." "Quite so," Dan said softly, nodding. Suddenly he looked at Phil with a face of determination, before saying, "do you want to get lunch together, tomorrow?" There was an immediate blush on his face before he followed up with, "Sorry, I know you probably don't swing that way, but I figured it was worth a try. I'd hate to keep seeing you and never follow up with anything, but if you don't want to it's completely - " "I'd love to," Phil interrupted, before Dan rambled himself into a hole. "I was worried I was giving off straight vibes and I'd have to be the one to ask you out." "Oh." He laughed and blushed vibrantly, and then the look of determination returned. "Well, I never thought you were straight." "Oh yeah? What gave it away?" Dan grinned. "Probably the massive tattoo on your forehead that says 'I love cock'." "Dan!" Phil protested, swatting lightly at Dan's arm. "Think of the children!" "Oh don't worry, they don't care. I curse all the time and they don't hear it," Dan assured him. "Wow. Childhood truly ruined," Phil said with a dramatic sigh. Dan smiled. "I should get back to the kids, but can I give you my number first? For the sake of coordinating a future lunch date?" "Definitely." Phil smiled as they exchanged numbers and then Dan returned to the playground with a soft wave goodbye.

#phanfiction #phanfic #my phanfic #phandom #phan

14 notes · View notes

valkyrieofsmut · 6 years ago

Text

Engel de la Gargouille Section 1 part 3

Engel de la Gargouille (Gargoyle’s Angel)

Kurt Wagner/ Nightcrawler x Female OC

Types: Smut, Angst, Mutual pining, Pregnancy, Romance, Love, Insecurity, Long as hell…

Overall series warnings: Smut, bit of violence, swearing, German (translations provided, but I have bad grammar… Sorry native speakers…) (Will be added as they come up) Chapter warnings will be added individually as well.

A/n- Most tags connected to child abuse, such as physical abuse, mental abuse, emotional abuse, and grooming for, but not physically sexual abuse. Self hatred. Thoughts about possible forced prostitution. Self harm as a way of testing powers. Blood / scabbing.

Masterlist Series Masterlist

Story!

Angeline woke in the middle of the night to sweat coating her and her sheets, her blankets had been kicked from the bed and her pillows were wet.

She rolled over, scratching at her shoulders.

She felt as though someone was poking needles at her from the inside, causing a prickly, tingly, sort of itchy feeling. She scratched and scratched, hurting as she was sure that she was clawing away at least a couple layers of skin.

Her mind was telling her to stop, that her mother was going to punish her for damaging her skin, but she couldn’t; even though it hurt, it was only in the seconds that the scratches were fresh that she had any relief.

“Stop, I have to stop- stop- stop!” She cried softly, trying to convince her hand to leave her back. She managed to switch hands and looked at the one that had been scratching.

Her eyes widened in horror; she was going to be punished, her mother was going to do more than hit her this time.

She’d thought that the wetness she’d felt was just the sweat that coated her, but her fingers were covered in red and were becoming sticky as they dried, and there was something under her nail that was probably skin.

Her other hand shot to where she could see it, and a sob pushed at her throat.

She had to hide this. She couldn’t let her mother know- maybe it would go away- maybe it wasn't that bad! she hoped desperately. She climbed from her bed and went to the mirror, pulling her shirt off.

Of course, she couldn’t see in the dark and turned her light on, going back to the mirror, looking over her shoulder.

Her back was covered in lines of blood and scratches, and panic was filling her stomach.

She had to hide this! She patted her shirt against her back, trying to get the blood off, running to her night stand and getting her glass of water. She dunked the shirt in it and washed her back, rubbing and rubbing, focused on getting the evidence off of her.

Finally, she thought her back would be clean and looked over her shoulder at the mirror.

She couldn’t see any marks, and her heart leapt with hope. Maybe it wasn’t as bad as she thought.

She felt over her skin, and really couldn’t feel any cuts, so she focused on the next pressing matter; the rest of the evidence. She looked over her sheets carefully, looking for even the most miniscule drop of red. She didn’t see any, even though she went over it multiple times, and the mattress and pillows, then the area in front of the mirror and the mirror as well.

She pulled on different pajamas and stared at the stained ones. What could she do with them?

They were obviously covered in blood; obvious evidence that something had happened…

And if she got rid of them, her mother might notice…

She cracked open her door and looked out into the hall to make sure that no one was there before creeping out and down the hall to the bathroom.

She spent hours trying to wash the blood from the shirt, but no matter how hard she tried, there was still a pinkish red wash stain that she could see through the tears in her eyes.

She hurried into her room and stuffed them under her mattress, then tried to go to sleep, only able to drift off into fitful, disturbed rest due to stress and worry.

The itchiness that had woken her up and panicked her spread down her back, and lasted for two weeks, making her go crazy and use anything around her that wouldn’t hurt her to scratch it, the back scrubber's bristles, her hairbrush, a spoon.

One morning a couple if days later, Angeline woke up to strange bumps growing on her shoulders.

She had no idea what was happening, and she was afraid, not only of what was happening, but what her mother would do.

Angeline had to rely on the training she had received from her mother to keep her behaviour natural, because, while it was true that her mother didn’t care much about how she was feeling, or what she thought, she couldn’t start acting strangely all of a sudden.

She started spending most of her free time, what little there was of it, in her room instead of stretching and doing self study in the barre room, not wanting anyone to see the strange things going on with her, and deathly afraid that they would if she spent too much time around them. She went down for meals wearing a jacket over her small shirts, just telling her mother that she was chilly when she commented.

The bumps grew larger and larger, and she started to realize that she could move them, which helped as she tried more and more elaborate ways to hide them, but was soon able to hold them at certain angles as she put her bra on so it would hold them.

Throughout that week, panic attacks threatened to overtake her when her mother got close to her, but she managed to deflect her judging gaze by positioning her body so that the changes were less conspicuous, and keeping deep, even breaths moving through her lungs, as well as somehow managing to keep up with her responsibilities. All of which were mostly done in her room anyway, since her mother was becoming more busy with some things that she wasn’t privy to, as her mother never thought it important to involve her in anything that she didn’t actively need to be a part of.

As the week had gone by; after the first two days, she noticed that the bumps had feathers starting to grow on them, and a goose egg like bump had started growing at the base of her spine. By day five, they were no longer bumps, but long, jointed flaps, almost like a whale or dolphin's flippers, and the goose egg had turned into a growing tail, leanly muscled and getting longer daily. As her flippers finished developing, they filled out, spreading down and wide, becoming feathered wings, her tail, on the other hand, looked very much the same; longer, but still flesh colored and leanly muscled. It didn't do much, she had to almost focus on what she wanted it to do to move it.

By the end of the week, Angeline had a fully formed set of white feathered wings, and a very strong tail that was just a few inches over three feet long, which made it long enough to drag on the floor if she didn’t hold it up, or wrap it around her ankle. The wings were very articulate, able to lay the long first few joints close against her back and wrap the rest around her in a tight hug.

She pulled one of her tight shirts on, expecting it to tear, however, it seemed that her mother had wanted her clothing as tight as possible, and had gotten mostly spandex blend tops that stretched around her extra three inches or so of girth. Over that, she put her jacket, and, although very warm, her wings were hardly visible!

She smiled as she stared at her back in the mirror, tucking her hair behind her ear, and noticed that her ears had grown longer and pointed, almost like the pictures she'd seen of elves. She pulled it back straight and left her hair down, as it covered the tips of her ears so they weren't noticeable.

After a nice, hot shower, and blow drying her hair and feathers, Angeline rubbed her shoulders, feeling the soreness to her new wing muscles. She flexed them in front of her full length mirror, admiring them.

Freedom.

She could hold them close, keep them hidden under a longer coat, and her tail fit under her pants or skirt perfectly. Her pointed ears poked out from her hair and her hand touched the mirror, as though to reach her reflection.

Since her "audition", she had been afraid of what would happen when she went to filming in three weeks, but she’d grown these.

She looked like a freak.

She smiled wider as she stared at her hand, pressing her middle fingers together like she’d heard they had been when she was born.

She wouldn’t be able to go to the movie.

She wouldn’t have to be in any movies.

She couldn’t go to producers, or talent scouts, or managers anymore.

She wouldn’t have to listen to her mother telling her to kneel before them and do what she’d been taught so she could get the part. It had been bad enough the three weeks earlier when her mother had tried to make her watch

She looked up to her reflection’s eyes. “Happy birthday,” she told herself.

Sixteen was apparently the perfect age, just like she’d been told, although for a different reason.

She stretched her wings and tried to flap them as if to fly. They were powerful, and she nearly knocked herself over.

She had to try this out.

She flapped and fluttered, but really just made very large jumps using only her wings, as her room didn't have enough space to actually fly.

When she’d worn herself out, she realized that she was very excited and wished she had someone to talk to about this as she stood gasping for breath and smiling.

She looked in the mirror to admire her wings again, and realized that she’d been jumping around in her underwear for the last few hours.

She was so giddy that she just laughed.

... ... ...

Angeline dug through her closet until she found her page boy hat, pulling it on and tugging it down over the tips of her ears.

She was going to have to go to school today.

She'd chosen a little fluffier of a skirt so that the outline of her tail wasn't visible, and her off the shoulder shirt hung low enough that it covered the bottom of her wings, and when she pulled on her jacket, it covered her shoulders.

She left her room, hoping that her mother wouldn't notice her perhaps strange outfit choices, and trying to act as normal as possible.

After she returned from her classes that day, and did her line practice, as well as the script practice for the movie, which she didn't want to give up all of a sudden in case her mother suspected something, she pulled her jacket off and tugged at her shirt until her wings could struggle out of the fabric.

That made it so that the shirt was choking her, though, so she quickly fixed it and found a tank top that she could pull on over her legs, since it would be hard to get it on correctly over her head with her wings either in the way, or trapped under it, and was glad to feel that the tank top ended under her new wing joints. She adjusted her shirts, finding the most comfortable way to wear them that would still let her use her wings.

She went over to her window and opened it, looking back into the room and running to lock the door before going back to the window.

With a glance outside, though, she turned back to the room, thinking that she needed to hide her identity; she couldn't let someone see her who might tell her mother, and of course the worry was so great that she didn't even realize that there was actually a very low chance that anyone she would see would recognize her, but in the end, it's better safe than sorry, and she grabbed a mask that covered half of her face, thinking this would be enough of a disguise, and went to the window again.

Pulling the mask securely over her face, she climbed onto the window sill and leapt out, flapping hard to gather the altitude she needed to get away from her house undetected. She flapped her wings, surprised by how natural it felt to have them, and how easily she was flying, despite having never done it before, or ever hearing of anyone else doing it before.

As she glided above the city buildings, she saw a bus speeding through the street, nothing out of the ordinary, except that she had also seen a flash of a boy chasing a ball into the street.

She'd seen enough movies to know that this is when the camera cut away to the ball bouncing away and tires screeched in the background.

The thought that she should do something popped into her mind with an urgency, and her wings automatically moved, tilting and angling so that she was shooting down toward the boy, crashing into him and grabbing blindly, her arms managing to wrap around him, as they careened into an alleyway.

Angeline sat up, sorting herself out quickly, and made sure that the boy was ok, pushing him to the edge of the alley before flapping her wings and taking off.

After a couple more days sneaking out to fly around the town, and stopping a man from kidnapping a teenager, she decided that she needed a bigger coat; her jacket did cover her wings, but it wasn't the most comfortable thing to wear, and wearing it out here was getting it dirtier than she expected, which was going to make her mother notice.

She snuck down to the hall closet, closing the door behind her to stay hidden, since there was a light and enough room to stand inside of it.

She looked through the coats, sure that there would be one that would work, especially since her stepfather was six feet tall, and she was only about five foot.

She found an older duster and knew that it would for sure cover her wings, as it fell all the way to the ground when she put it on, dragging just the edge on the floor as she turned around. She smiled and nodded in decision, but froze as she heard footsteps coming closer to her.

"Yeah, I know. It is depress- oh-"

Angeline threw herself between coats, turning so that the duster hid her from the view of the closet door as it opened.

"No, I agree with you, someone just left the closet light on," her stepfather assured, stepping into the closet and pausing, standing there as he continued his conversation. "I understand what you're saying; this new one is making it hard to spread the word about mutants when what it's doing is making them look good."

Angeline's brows met. Mutant? She had heard that word before, him saying it at the dinner table as he spoke about work, and maybe on a few of his work phone calls, she thought.

What was a mutant? Memory filled her mind; she'd asked that same question, and he'd told her that a mutant was a dangerous animal that looked like a human, and sometimes they didn't look human at all.

"No, for sure, I know that we will be able to make them see the truth, I mean, mutants are popping up more and more, and whatever that lunatic with the helmet does proves our point more; mutants need to be registered, and monitored." He turned off the light and closed the door behind him, still paused outside the door as he finished his conversation. "I really think that if we do that, if we can sterilize them to stop them from breeding, they'll die out naturally, and we still look good, like our only concern is for the public. Then we won't have to worry about those- animal rights groups,” he paused and made a sound like he was trying to get the taste out of his mouth, “protesting and causing a scene."

Angeline listened at the door for a few moments before opening it and hurrying upstairs.

She was glad that she wasn't a mutant; they sounded like bloodthirsty monsters, the way he spoke about them. She paused as she closed her bedroom door, pondering for a moment.

Was she a mutant? But she was a human, and had started out that way, not as an animal.

She shook her head in dismissal.

Besides, she was doing good things; saving that kid from getting hit by a car, stopping that man from kidnapping that teenager, if anyone was a bad guy, and therefore maybe a mutant, it would be the guy who was trying to kidnap people.

She was different, sure, but not a bloodthirsty animal monster.

After spending an afternoon going through her closet, Angeline found the best outfit for her excursions; a pair of older jeans that were tight, as nearly all of her clothes were, with her tail down one leg you couldn't see it, and with a tank top under her wings, and a looser, low cut, shirt over them, she could look completely normal if she had to take off her coat, but no one would be able to see her bare skin when she had to pull the bottom of the top shirt up so her wings could move freely, and the duster she'd borrowed from her stepfather not only made it so she didn't have to hold her wings so tight, it disguised the bulk from them when she just had them folded behind her, she had her hat to hide her ears, and the mask on her face to hide her identity.

For school she had nearly the same style, but with her regular jacket instead of her stepfather's duster, which her mother would never approve of.

Her mother had gotten angry at her over the week because she was eating more; she felt like she was always starving! Apparently, flying took a lot of energy.

Angeline had been afraid that her mother would hit her, or more, but she had glared at her and told her that she was lucky that her body had to be pretty for the movie and that she was too busy getting things ready for it.

Her mother's way to deal with her had turned to checking her weight daily, and looking to make sure she was appropriately dressed as she dropped her off at the school, but otherwise ignoring her so that she didn't get angry enough to hit her and leave marks where her skin would be showing for the movie.

Soon after getting her clothing situation sorted out, Angeline was flying across the city, watching the flow of traffic and the people wander along as she enjoyed the air against her skin.

She rolled in the air, laughing in amazement at how her wings seemed to know what to do; all she had to do was think of what she wanted to do, be it a dive, a roll, a flip, anything, and all she had to do was think of doing it for her wings to make it reality.

She looked down at the street, another laugh escaping her lips, but cut off as she saw a man pointing a gun at a woman. Her wings turned her to them without her even thinking it.

She landed on the roof and looked down, troubled and unsure of what to do.

The woman needed help, she wanted to help, but the man had a gun. He was dirty, and large, wearing clothing that covered him and made it hard to see his face.

“Just give me the money!”

The woman was shaking so badly that she couldn’t, and the man waved the gun at her.

Angeline felt her insides twisting, but- she was sure that the poor woman was going to get shot if she didn’t comply, and she could hardly control her shaking legs enough to not fall down.

Angeline took a breath and steeled herself, deciding to sneakily land at the back of the alley.

She could help the woman comply, at least, and that should help her survive.

Her wings let her land nearly silently on the street behind a dumpster, and she slowly left its shelter. “Please,” she said softly, and the man spun to look at her, the gun still pointed at the woman.

“Who the hell are you?! Where did you come from?!”

“I just want to help- I’ll get it for you, so please don’t hurt her…” The woman’s eyes left the gun and moved to her. “Just give him the purse and we’ll walk out of here,” she told her. The woman shook her head. “It’s the best way out of the situation,” Angeline told her. She moved closer, and the man watched her.

“Stop, don’t get any closer to her!”

Angeline stopped and looked at the man. “I’m only trying to help.”

The man was starting to react in a strange way, and Angeline didn’t know what to do to put him at ease. If she had wanted him to come closer so she could seduce him, or buy something for her, it would have been no problem, but this, calming him, she had no idea.

He waved the gun at the two of them, and neither moved. “F-fine, get the bag, give it to me!”

Angeline moved toward the woman, holding her hand out for the purse. The woman shook her head again, but Angeline stepped next to her. “Money and cards can be replaced, but not your life,” she told her.

The woman finally relented and jerkily let the purse strap slide down her arm so she could hold it out to the man. He reached out, and Angeline turned to keep her eyes on him.

The woman suddenly threw the purse at the man and ran.

Angeline and the man both jumped in surprise, and a bang echoed through the alley.

The man stared at her as she looked down to her shoulder, where it felt like she'd been punched.

Blood was starting to run down down her shoulder and chest.

The man turned and ran as fast as he could out of the space. Panic started building in Angeline’s stomach and thoughts started firing rapidly through her mind.

She had gotten shot- she had damaged her body; her shoulder was probably broken, defiantly bloody- she was getting blood all over her clothes- her mother was going to kill her!

“Oh no,” she whimpered as tears started building in her eyes.

She wasn't supposed to be out of the house without permission, which her mother only gave for school, and she was injured, had damaged her body.

Even if her mother didn't beat her to death, she would very seriously turn to renting her out to make the money back for all the trouble she'd been…

She didn't want that!

Maybe- maybe if she could get back to her room- if she could just get back to her room, her mother might never know she had left it! She would take her to the hospital and have them fix her shoulder, and everything would be ok. Even if she died, at least she’d be in her room and her mother wouldn’t find out that she’d left.

“I'm sorry, mama,” she whimpered as pain filled her shoulder.

It was different from the pain she'd felt before; that was all external pain, but this, it was a little like when her wings had started growing, pushing from the inside, feeling like it was deep in her bones.

She managed to gather herself enough to let her wings do their thing, flying her back home as she panicked.

‘Please, if mama never finds out, if everything is ok, I'll be a good girl, I won't go out anymore, I'll do what she says, I'll kneel down when she says,’ she started bargaining with an unknown force in the universe, anyone, anything, as long as it would stop the doom she felt awaited her if her mother found out what had been happening.

She made it to her house, flying high to the roof so no one would see her, then lowering herself to her window and climbing in.

The pain in her shoulder was less, now, like when her body became accustomed to her mother hitting her and stopped paying attention to it.

She hurried to the large mirror and stood in front of it, looking at her shoulder to see how bad it was.

Flying through the air had made a lot of the blood dry, and she was coated in a lot of half congealed and crusted blood.

She managed to shrug off her coat, letting the duster fall to the floor as she pulled the collar of her shirt out of the way.

She couldn’t see clearly what had happened, so she went to where she had left a bottle of water, and pulled out the ruined bloody pajama shirt she had left under her mattress, unsure of what to do with it.

She wet the shirt and started wiping at the outsides of the blood, expecting it to hurt the closer she got to the wound.

She had washed the whole outside, and couldn’t see anything wrong, or feel any pain. With slow, soft strokes, she started cleaning over where the shot had hit her.

She still couldn’t see anything…

With her face twisted in confusion, Angeline cleaned her entire shoulder, but saw only a red welt.

She blinked in confusion and poked the spot. It hurt, but only as much as she did after getting hit with a belt, maybe.

Had she made it all up in her mind? She looked down to her clothes, and saw that her shirt was still soaked with blood in the area around her shoulder and down her chest.

She poked it again, very confused.

She went over to her dresser where a vase holding a few roses was sitting, and pulled one of the thorns off, turning it and pushing it against the soft skin near where the bullet had hit.

It caught after a moment and sank into her skin, making her gasp. She pulled it out and wiped over the blood drop that had started welling out, revealing a puncture mark.

After a moment, she wiped again, and the small hole had disappeared.

She blinked in surprise. Had she healed? Did it really go that fast?

She stabbed herself with the thorn again, and had the same result.

After thinking for a moment, she changed and snuck to the room with her mother’s wardrobe in it, finding the drawer with the alteration things in it and taking a needle and the large, heavy cutting shears and quickly went back to her room, closing and locking the door again.

She held the needle up and looked at it, taking a breath to steady herself before doing what she was about to.

Angeline clenched her jaw, pushing the needle against her arm, closing her eyes so that she didn’t have to watch it sinking into her skin.

After feeling like she had pushed enough to make it in a short way, enough to be able to tell anyway, she opened her eyes and they widened in shock.

Without realizing it, she had pushed the needle halfway into her arm.

When she just left it there, she felt a strange tugging against the skin where the needle was, and watched as it was pushed out of her arm to tumble to the carpet.

Angeline blinked at it, wondering how it had happened.

She opened the scissors, and carefully cut her ribs under her breast, probably the only place her mother would never find the cut if it didn’t heal, and watched in the mirror as it healed.

She stood and went to the door of her closet.

It was a heavy, good quality door, like the rest in the house, and she braced herself, putting her fingers in the open space between the hinges, gritting her jaw and throwing the door closed with her other hand.

Angeline could hear the light, but solid snapping of the bones of her fingers breaking as the door bounced off of them and opened back up.

Angeline whimpered as she fell to her knees, holding her crooked and deformed looking hand to her, staring at how her fingers pointed in strange, unnatural angles.

It hurt so bad, she was nearly sobbing as she watching in amazement, seeing her fingers snapping and popping as, movement by movement, joint by joint, they put themselves back into order.

Angeline moved back over to where the shears were on the floor.

She held out the hand she’d just watch repair itself and managed to get the tip of her finger into the scissors, holding one side while the other rested on the floor.

She quickly pushed them closed, and a chunk of flesh fell. She took the shirt and held it under her hand to catch the blood running down her wrist as she watched her finger bleed.

Slowly, it got longer and reformed.

She rinsed her hand off the best she could and stared at her finger.

It looked perfectly normal.

She hurried to the bathroom and washed her hand, drying it to see that it was perfectly normal.

She looked up at herself in the mirror with wide eyes. “I’m indestructible…”

Tag List!

@racheo91 @a-book-pressed-rose @tephi101 @keldachick @Randomfandompenguin @Avacadobutthole @mannls @screeching-student-unknown @lilypalmer1987 @pingu89 @gifsbysimplysonia @omnomsauruswrites @Mybloodtypeiscoffee

#Kurt Wagner #Kurt Wagner x oc #Kurt Wagner x FOC #kurt wagner smut #valkyrieofsmut #Smut #eventual smut #angst #mutual pining #Pregnancy #Romance #Love #insecutiry #multi part story #nightcrawler #Nightcrawler x oc #nightcrawler smut

7 notes · View notes

pokemoneverlastingorchard · 6 years ago

Text

New list of Pokemon

I’m just going to make another post and delete the old one. This one will be more in depth with what Pokemon are planned to be in the game. Will be adding to this as it grows.

I revamped every cut Pokemon from Spaceworld ‘97 to use in this game. I had to sort of guess what kind of stats they would have based on their looks. (Unless they’re an evolution or pre-evolution. Those are pretty easy for me to guess.) Most of the Pokemon from the Demo will retain their original name, unless I change my mind. Some though I just wanted to use different names for them for... Some reason.

Some of these will probably have minor changes to them in the future. (Specifically the outlines of some of them... Okay maybe almost all of them.)

I don’t know if I’m going to bother revamping any of the cut Pokemon from Red and Green. Mostly since I would have to trace over the art from the book first, and some of them are cut off. They’re also in black and white so it would be hard to tell what’s supposed to be what.

I also recorded myself making the sprites! (Just in case I lost them just like I lost a lot of the faces.)

Starters

Well, technically Tauros will be your starter. (And your bike.) But you get to pick from one of these three anyway,

Kurusu, Akua and Akueria, the water starter line.

Honoguma, Borubeea and Dainabea, the fire starter line

Happa, Hanamogura, and Tilian Meganium, the grass starter line. The difference between these and the regular Chikorita line (besides the elephant in the room) is that Meganium is going to have a Dragon typing as it’s second type! I may even just let all three of them be part dragon. Doubtful, but if I feel like Grass/Dragon Meganium isn’t enough to make it as appealing as the other two starters, I just might. For now though I did add “poison” to Hanamogura.

I didn’t make them any bigger because for some reason they just appear so much bigger than the other two lines in the post. It was kind of an eyesore.

Cut Evolutions

These were cut from Pokemon Gold for some reason. I’m bringing them back.

Buddmitto. (Maybe just “Budmitt” in the final.) A second evolution for Weepinbell if a Poison Stone is used. This Pokemon favors Special Attack over Attack and can learn more Special Grass moves than Physical.

Madamu, the evolution for Farfetch’d. It doesn’t really make sense for this Pokemon to have been cut. Farfetch’d was important to the story at one point of the second gen games. This would’ve been a perfect introduction to “old Pokemon having new evolutions” but nooo~!

Quiddlefish... Okay so my husband took one look at it when I was working on revamping it and said “It’s a Quiddlefish!” so... Yeah. I removed the lightning bolt that was on it’s head because there was literally no reason for it to be there.

Removed Baby Pokemon

So far these all evolve just by leveling up, since in the demo Leveling by Happiness wasn’t a thing.

Koonya, baby Meowth

Mikon, baby Vulpix

Monja, baby Tangela

Pudi, baby Growlithe. I decided to call his species “gud boi.”

Para, baby Paras. This design actually raises some questions.

Peticorn. (Petite unicorn... Despite not being a unicorn.) Baby Ponyta.

Dododo, baby Doduo... Yeah, I know. 3-2-3 doesn’t make any sense. I kind of want to give it a Pokedex entry that has two of the babies consuming one somehow, and then that one coming back for revenge in Dodrio. I... I don’t fucking know.

Betobebe, baby Grimer. Look at it! It’s so cute!

I may have baby Goldeen in the game too. I revamped the sprite and even made interesting boy/girl variants, but err... There doesn’t seem to be a way to have that separation yet.

Completely Cut Pokemon

Rinrin and Bellune, dark type cats

Bomushika, fire/water type seal

Manboo, Ikari and Grotesu, water into water/steel... I don’t understand either.

Norowara and Kyonpan, ghost types. What’s interesting about Norowara is that it apparently evolves at level 1 in the demo, which is literally impossible, so I’m making it evolve at level 2. At the start it will only know Confuse Ray and Curse, and only have 1 HP with Wonder Guard. Once evolved it will have a normal HP stat. It could be good for a “bomb,” meaning that it could sacrifice itself by using Curse on a particularly hard to beat Pokemon, but that does mean that it won’t gain any EXP.

Kotora and Raitora, thunder cats

And Gorotora. I found out recently that a third evolution was planned for gen 1 before it was dropped even sooner than Kotora and Raitora. I wouldn’t have bothered except I was commissioned to do a saber tooth Pokemon anyway, so I figured that I might as well. This one will probably be evolved using a Thunder Stone.

Urufuman and Warwolf, ice type... The concept of these two confuses the hell out of me, but those claws look like the claws of Weavile so I’m just going to say that these are a Sneasel and a Weavile who couldn’t develop feet claws so they murdered an innocent Pokemon to make them look intimidating. That Pokemon doesn’t exist but maybe I’ll make it exist someday I dunno. (Or maybe I’ll make the Pokemon they killed look like existing Pokemon, like Arcanine.)

...How did the suit evolve with them? Why would an Ice Pokemon need a coat?

Cloyster... Again. Water/Psychic type. Evolves from Shellder with a Slowpoke’s tail. (As gruesome of a mental image that is.) I may change the name of this one because it will be mostly different from the original Cloyster... Just not into “Turbann.” (I’ll come up with something else, maybe.)

Noxeon, poison type. (May change the name later.) This one wasn’t technically cut. Umbreon was originally going to be a Poison type but they switched it to Dark to show off the new type. I decided that if I was going to make this, I would use Umbreon as a base. (It’s a different Umbreon sprite than the one in the game.) I may make the ears blend in like the tail later. I don’t know how Eevee would evolve into this yet.

This one isn’t actually going to be in this build, which is why it’s all blurred out. But it is a Pokemon that was cut! I would give a hint to it’s role in my game, but that would probably be giving it away.

Pokemon made up my me, my husband or other

Eeveeon, evolved from leveling up to... 32? I dunno. This is the conversation exactly:

Husband: “Eevee needs a normal type evolution that’s just a fluffier version of it!”

Me: “So... A brown Flareon?”

Huband: “Yes!”

Vespitos (Vespa/custos, or the Latin word for “guard”)

I wanted to make a male evolution for Combee and this is what I came up with on the spot. It’s weaker than Vespiquen (With around 380 total base stats) but can still hold it’s own. You can evolve Combee into it at level 18 instead of 21 and it focuses more on attack than on defense.

Deloris, grass/ghost type. When I saw it, my immediate thoughts were “I need to make this NOW!” I don’t know if I’ll “make” a Fizzbitch move. (I would just be replacing the name of one move to “Fizzbitch.” Probably one of the legendary exclusive moves from a legendary Pokemon that’s not going to be in the game. Hell, I’ll probably turn Deloris into a Legendary!)

I have no idea if I want other 4Chan Pokemon in the game. Possibly not, considering that this one has an official canon mystery behind it that we still don’t have the answer to, but the others have been solved... Maybe Tentaquil.

Alternative Luvdisc colors! So some context: I made some very boring hearts (and “friendship circles) to show how much a person likes you. I decided to change it to Luvdiscs, but then I got an idea for a festival where you can catch these alternative Luvdisc (and OG) and if you catch all of them, you can get something cute for your house!

Also the “Friendship circles” are now Pokeballs.

(Other) Tilian Pokemon

Somebody who goes by Obermarschall on Reddit commissioned me to make a bunch of Pokemon, including some Delta/Alolan Pokemon. I can’t really see a use for some of them but I can see a use for most of them... And use them I shall!

Fairy Stantler, based on Disney’s version of Bambi. Obermarschall is going to be using a version that’s more orange in color so this version may only appear in my game!

Ice/Grass Eggxecute and Eggxegutor. They’re pine cones. I love these ideas. Though again the Eggxegutor that Obermarschall’s going to have different legs. I just prefer this one over the one they’re going to be using.

Ice Numel and Camerupt. The Numel is so fucking CUTE!

Dark/Normal Snubbel and Granbull.

Water Shuckle. Look at him. Look at him and BOW DOWN!

He’s so cute! I love him!

Maybe

Animon, depending on what Meltan or whatever it’s called turns out to be like in battle. I would have to make this a pretty special Pokemon to make people bother to evolve Ditto, which will be pretty hard to do if it’s only going to be able to transform.

Meltitan (yes I am calling it that) kinda destroyed any connection to Animon it may have had. Dammit.

They’re ground Growlithe and Arcanine based on dingos. I love them, but I realized that I would have to make Pudi part ground type too, and I don’t want to do that. Not in this game at least. Maybe I can make them part of... I dunno. Some other region, and you can trade for these two plus ground Pudi.

Ground type Ponyta and Rapidash... Only they’re zebras. They’re “maybes” for the same reason.

In the game Obermarschall’s making, they’ll be fighting/ground... I don’t know how to make it obvious that they’re part fighting so I just opted for using those poses.

#pokemon #Pokemon Fan Games #pokemon fan game #pokemon eo #pokemon everlasting orchard #spaceworld 97 #pokemon gold #pokemon gold beta

2 notes · View notes

thedeadflag · 7 years ago

Text

Forced Marriage WIP

(tentatively titled Faithfully, because the way I’ve outlined it, it’s a fair bit of a journey)

So this one’s existed for, like...half a year-ish? In some form or another? I keep cannibalizing one form and rewriting it slightly, tbh. This version’s loose outline got drafted on a car ride down to the USA to visit family for Canadian Thanksgiving back in october.

Some sections here are a bit brief and in need of filling out, but again, it’s a WIP, very early on in this one

Here’s the latest start to it. Starts angsty, but it’s planned to get a lot fluffier as it goes on

Stark. Clinical. Soulless.

A litany of words ran through her mind as the made her way down the hallway to her father's room in Polis General, the same list that she'd cobbled together and added onto over the past seven months. It wasn't right. Her father didn't deserve to be trapped in a place like this; he'd always been so imbued with life, filling every space he walked into with his joy and warmth.

These days, even he couldn't manage to fill that bleak little room. It wasn't right.

Anya shook her head and stopped a foot by of the doorway, psyching herself up. He'd sent her away to get herself some coffee, and being the loyal daughter she was, she did as her father requested, but she knew it was all to buy him time to gather his strength so he could recycle another of their recent arguments.

Up until now, she'd resisted, with good reason. Up until now, she'd shut him down, and argued back until she was too raw to remain, but it was different this time. When she saw him earlier that morning, she knew, deep inside her she knew, and there was nothing left for her to say, no more ammunition.

After all, how could she deny her father his last request?

Anya took in a gulp of air and nodded to herself steeling her nerves as she took a reluctant step towards the room, and then another that put her halfway across the threshold. It'd been a moment a long time coming, and she knew he was exhausted and he'd fought a good fight. He'd beaten cancer three times in her lifetime, an objectively remarkable feat for anyone. He'd suffered greatly, and this last bout had taken everything out of him, and she wouldn't be his daughter if she didn't understand the importance of mercy.

Still didn't mean she had to like it. She wanted him to be at rest, to be pain-free, for his fight to be over, but she couldn't stomach losing him, either. Just looking at him had her heart feeling like it was being violently torn from its tethers, a painful growing pressure coursing through her body as she stepped over to his bedside.

There was no one left. A car crash had taken her mother seven years back, although her parents had been going through a bitter divorce across the months leading up to then, so even without that, her mother likely would have been gone. And now her father was leaving her. It wasn't right. It just wasn't right, and Anya knew her father's plan, she knew it off by heart at this point, but it didn't change that in the end, she'd be alone. No matter who he insisted she surround herself with, she'd be alone.

She'd always had him. What was she supposed to do without him? Who was she supposed to turn to when she needed someone?

"Please don't make me do this. There has to be another way. I'm begging you...anyone but her." Anya reached down and clutched his hand, knowing he was already in too much pain to feel much extra.

Her father's eyes were drooping heavily, barely open. Still, his voice was clear as always. Cancer had stolen so much from him, but not that. "They'll take good care of you. They'll keep you safe. And you...I will not deny you your truth. You deserve to have a woman in your life...Clarke is one of the few who could make this work here. Trust me, pumpkin...they are good people."

Anya sniffed back her tears and forced the bitterness in her stare toward the window. "You're asking too much. It's too much, and I'm not even friends with her. I don't like her."

It was the truth. They used to be friends, but Ontari and Roan moved into Polis in grade three and shuffled her into their friend group while Clarke went in another direction. She and Clarke hadn't been remotely close since, which would have been impossible anyways with how often the brother-sister duo always butted heads with the girl. Not that she hadn't tried to get them to stop, but when that only drew ire from all parties involved, she just backed off and let the issues stay between the three of them. That said, she probably hadn't helped in fostering a deep, lengthy rivalry with the girl across swimming and art.

And while her father was childhood friends with the Griffins, she rarely encountered them over the years, and she was pretty sure Clarke's parents didn't like her much at all after everything, if just by association with her friends, or through her multi-pronged rivalry with Clarke. Why they would ever agree to her father's ridiculous plan was a complete mystery to her, but they were apparently on board.

But she knew what would happen. She'd lose all of her friends, for one; sure, most were moving away once they graduated in a few weeks, but she'd already lost enough people close to her in life. Losing her father and her friends? Not an option. She'd rather it be anyone but the nerdy outcast who always butted heads with her and was like living sandpaper with the friction she brought to Anya's life.

Anyone else would be preferable. Just about anyone at all.

"You're so strong, Anya. So strong, and I love that, but you need balance in this life. You need someone who can be strong for you when you need it, and you will. I know you will." Her father countered easily, his words drawing her attention back to his tired, loving gaze. "She is resilient, just like her mother. She is...a good girl. Smart girl, like you. You liked each other once."

"That was a lifetime ago. She pretty much hates me now." Anya insisted, knowing it was the raw, uncomfortable truth her father needed to hear. "We can't turn back the clock and pretend the last few years didn't happen, daddy."

"I would never dream of it. I could never regret a second I've spent with you, not one." Her father spoke before letting out a hacking cough. "Do I need to recite some old poetry?"

"Oh, come on, no..."

"All things will change thro' eternity. 'Tis the world's winter; autumn and summer are gone long ago. Earth is dry to the center, but spring, a newcomer..." Her father began, diving into Tennyson as usual.

"...a spring rich and strange, shall make the winds blow round and round, thro' and thro', here and there, till the air and the ground shall be filled with life anew. Don't play games with me...you're dying, I don't...I don't need you to tell me things will change and get better when you're here now, and you're dying." Anya cut in, trying her best to keep her voice from shaking, but it was no use. She could see him starting to fade. Not so much he'd be dying in the next few minutes, but he was quickly running out of time.

Time that was better spent on each other than about the Griffins.

"What's the old saying? 'To live in the hearts we leave behind is not to die'. You will never go without me...you have seventeen years and five months with me to remember me by. I'd like to think...that I've taught you enough in this life to help you with the next few years at least." Her father, of course, always had some quote or poem to pull.

Leave it to him to tug at her heartstrings like that. "Daddy, please...you know....you know you mean everything to me."

The smile that bloomed on his face was impossible not to return, all warm and reassuring. Nearly enough for her to forget the ever-looming presence of death at the edge of the room.

"The world was never made...it will change, but it will not fade. So let the wind rage, for even and morn ever will be through eternity. Nothing was born, nothing will die...all things will change." He recited, slowly bringing his other hand over to clasp over Anya's. "Even that will change, Anya. My...my light isn't bright enough to fill your world. You need more...so if it doesn't work out, it's fine, but...I want you to promise me you'll try to let their light in. I'm your father...if I can't take care of you, I need to know you're okay until you're old enough to be by yourself. So I need you to promise that...that you'll try. And I need you to promise...I need..."

"Daddy..."

"I need you to promise me that you'll marry her."

Just the thought of it had her heart blistering in pain, having vowed to never marry, to never have a family of her own, but after all they'd been through, she couldn't deny him this. Lord help her, but she couldn't deny him the peace of mind before he passed over. If he needed this, she'd do it for him. And knowing who her extended family was, and what they'd have planned for her as soon as he passed on, she knew he wasn't asking her to take her time.

Anya could endure the remaining months until she was eighteen and could be granted an annulment. Better that they head into their futures pretending it had never happened, even if something like this did echo her own views on the institution of marriage and how big of a farce the institution was in claiming to revolve around love, a pretty little myth that wouldn't be found in the legal contract her father wanted to enter into.

So she nodded along, jaw clenching at the tears that fell freely down her cheeks. "I promise."

Her father deflated with relief, his hand rubbing over hers. "Thank you, pumpkin. I...I had the nurse call them an hour ago. They should be in the chapel. The paperwork is...it's taken care of. You'll be taken care of." He let out, voice growing sluggish as sleep started to pull at his consciousness. "You'll be sad, Anya. Angry, if I know you...and I do. But you will be happy again one day. And you will always be loved. I promise you this. I promise..."

Anya just squeezed his hand as he slipped back into unconsciousness, leaving her to fulfill his dying wish.

If there was such a thing as fate, it was cruel.

The persistent knocking at the door may as well have been her entire future, as far as Clarke was concerned. She usually loved Thursdays, it was the day when the art room would open up after school and students could bring their own works from home, or the ones they'd stashed in the class' storage, and keep working on them. Ms. Gunderson apparently used to be some big shot stock broker who left that career in her early forties, and was all too happy to pour her extra money into art supplies for anyone that wanted some. Clarke would usually stick around until eight, maybe nine at night.

Instead, she was locked away in the hospital cancer ward's on-call room, with her mother trying to lure her out so her future could be annihilated that much faster. Apparently, wanting to hold onto whatever hopes and dreams she had left was rude and disrespectful.

"Clarke, get out of there! The doctors need that room!"

She stormed over to the door. "You may be the Chief of Surgery, mom, but when it comes to my life, I'm in charge!"

"I know you're upset, but this is another girl's life here, and you know it. You heard what Mister Hadar told you last week...you heard about their family from Azgeda and what they've wanted done to Anya for a while now, what they'd do if they got guardianship of her." Her mother was tossing on the guilt trip, and it more than stung like normal. This time, it felt like a knife was lodged in her chest, and every breath she took only drove it in deeper. "I know you're upset, but this is temporary. In ten years you'll hardly remember it, it'll be ancient history, and she won't have suffered in some godforsaken conversion camp when it was avoidable."

It wasn't as if she needed to be reminded of the stakes. She'd spent many weekends in her life fighting for Trigeda to implement a state-wide ban on conversion therapy, one that had gone into effect a year and a half ago. Clarke wasn't narcissistic enough to take credit for the new law, but it was part of her principles, part of her vision for working towards better lives for LGBT people in her state, her country.

She knew the dangers Anya faced from her horrible Aunt Nia and the Frost family. She knew that half a year to a year and a half was more than enough time to inflict untold horrors on a vulnerable, grieving girl. She knew the stakes, they'd been drilled into her over and over across the past three weeks.

She just didn't understand why no one ever considered what this would do to her. As if it wouldn't affect her at all, as if it wouldn't destroy major hopes and dreams she'd held onto for most of her life.

"Clarke, do the right thing."

The right thing.

She wasn't just going to leave Anya high and dry, regardless of how she felt about the girl. She wouldn't be so selfish to be party to subjecting Anya to suffering that she'd fought so hard against over the years. No, she would indeed do the right thing.

Just, could she not have a little bit of a breather and vent before watching her entire future go up in flames? Was that really too much to ask? Was it so out of line to hold onto the last fleeting shreds of her life plans as long as she could before their inevitable destruction?

It wasn't fair, but life had never been particularly fair to her, so that wasn't anything new. It was just a major heaping of unfairness, and she deserved support and patience, not being rushed to the altar right after school in her skinny jeans and her old grey top she wore on Fridays, both of which were more than a little paint-marred. Not that she was embarrassed, but getting married in her art clothes wasn't exactly part and parcel with all she'd hoped for on her wedding day. Given the fact that she was marrying a veritable nemesis of hers instead of a loved one, as a freshly minted eighteen year old, within a state where same gender marriage wasn't yet on the books, officiated by a Methodist reverend to fit her parents' religious views as if this was actually legitimate marriage and not just an arrangement, the straw on the camel's back had already long since broken. This was just the rotten cherry on top, adding insult to injury.

Clarke didn't bother to wipe the tears from her face, knowing there was no shortage of them and she wasn't equipped to keep them away, not right now. No, she grabbed the door handle, unlocked it, and pulled it open, glaring down her mother.

"Just because it's the right thing to do, doesn't mean it's right, mom."

It never would be right. In no universe was her marrying Anya Hadar a good and right thing that would lead her towards a better life. However many miserable months later, when they eventually got annulled or divorced, all she'd have to show for it would be an array of broken hopes and dreams and a derailed future with no chance at getting back on track.

She'd do it. She wouldn't be Clarke Griffin if she didn't, but she wished even just one other person knew the cost of what they'd asked of her.

"Let's get this over with." She grit out, marching back towards the chapel to confront her fate, the life she knew falling away behind her with every step.

The chapel felt better fit for a wake than a funeral when she stepped into it, Clarke mirroring her own expression with clear anger, grief, and nausea practically shining in neon lights across her face. Clearly, neither of them wanted to be there, neither of them wanted this, and yet, there they were.

Anya fought back another wave of nausea at the sudden recognition of Clarke as her bride. Weddings and marriage had always been a farce, but it was hard to distance herself from all the social messaging around it. Some part of her, a tiny part, felt the magnitude of what was happening to them, and it was sick.

Not that she would, but if she ever married of her own volition, it certainly wouldn't be Clarke Griffin standing with her at the altar. Not even with the girl's unique situation allowing her the ability to marry another woman where most wouldn't be able to. She supposed it was a benefit counterbalanced by the fact that Clarke, as a bi woman, wasn't eligible to marry a man.

It let her be able to take advantage of the situation, or at least allow their parents to take advantage given her outright disapproval of the plan, and Clarke's evident disdain of the situation. So while she could take heart in that she would never have it on record that she'd ever married a man, and fulfill her father's dying wish, Anya was pretty sure that Clarke wasn't getting anything out of this.

She would have felt bad for her in most any other circumstance, but her father was dying and she couldn't spare the energy to care about Clarke. Not right now, at least.

"Can we get this show on the road already? I have somewhere to be." She ground out, marching up to the altar to stand beside Clarke with a huff that she ensured conveyed her full annoyance at the matter. She gestured to the reverend the Griffins must have brought. "Come on, get on with it."

The man shot her an affronted glance before focusing on his script. "We are gathered here today in the sight of God to witness and bless the joining together of Clarke and Anya in marriage. The covenant of marriage was established by God, who...with his presence and power, graced a wedding at Cana of Galilee. And, in his sacrificial love, God gave us the example for the love of two souls. Clarke and Anya come to give themselves to one another in this holy covenant." The reverend began, thankfully milling through his script at a decent clip instead of the many she'd known in the past to drag things out. It was a small mercy, but a mercy nonetheless. One she might have taken comfort in had Clarke not started sniffling across from her. "I ask you now, in the presence of God and these people, to declare your intention to enter into union with each other, through the grace of Jesus Christ, who calls you into union with himself as acknowledged in your baptism."

At that, the reverend handed them both a piece of cardstock with a few words on them for the ceremony of it all, as if that was remotely important and not simply a complete waste of time. Why they couldn't just sign a document and get it over with, Anya had no idea.

Clarke took a shaking breath, her father's hand massaging the girl's shoulder as she seemed to fight for composure. Well, that or to keep from vomiting or breaking down. Anya wasn't entirely certain, nor did she really care.

"Clarke, will you have this woman to be your wife, to live together with her in holy marriage? Will you love her, comfort her, honor her, and keep her in sickness and in health, and...forsaking all others...be faithful to her until death do you part?" The reverend continued his spiel, and Anya could feel each second burning away at her soul, knowing each was one she'd never get back. Each second was lost time she could be spending with her father, if her father hadn't concocted this absurd plan and roped her into it.

"I will." Clarke let out, voice all quiet and strangled, shoulders starting to shake from the clear emotions bubbling up within the girl.

"Anya, will you have this man to be your husband, to live..."

"Woman." She bit out alongside the pained gasp across from her, her focus turning razor sharp onto the reverend, who immediately flushed at his blatant error. Anya refused to even spare a glance Clarke's way, not wanting to risk any measure of compassion or empathy when her energy was better spent getting through this and getting back to her father. "I'm a lesbian, I'd never marry a man. This whole thing's a fucking sham, and I'd never marry her on my own anyways, but we're two women, and you're not going to make another fucking mistake like that again or so help me fucking god."

"My sincerest apologies, I was reading for the script and...and it doesn't matter. I'm sorry." The man glanced at both of them and Clarke's parents before continuing. "Anya, will you have this woman to be your wife, to live together in holy marriage? Will you love her, comfort her, honor her, and keep her in sickness and in health, and forsaking all others, be faithful to her until death do you part?"

She rolled her eyes at the sincerity in his voice, as if this wasn't a bit of legal finagling to get her a new guardian that would supersede her extended family. It wasn't holy, or rooted in love and mutual faith. It was a business transaction.

Still, she had to say the words, even if they felt like acid coming off her tongue. "I will."

At that, Clarke's father handed out a pair of simple wedding bands to each of them, because apparently being branded as another person's property was necessary. Not wanting to waste any more time on the farce of a ceremony, Anya reached over and grabbed Clarke's hand.

"I, Anya Hadar, take you, Clarke Griffin, to be my wife. To have and to hold, and all that shit. With this ring, I wed you." She was quickly running out of patience, feeling the invisible pull of her father, not wanting to miss out on the little time they had left together. She jammed the ring down Clarke's finger more than anything, but with how upset Clarke already sounded, given Anya wouldn't look her in the eyes, it didn't seem as if she made anything worse.

Clarke's grip on her hand wasn't as vise-like, but it was firm enough that Anya'd probably need a little effort to pull her hand free. She could respect that, if nothing else.

"I, Clarke Griffin, take you, Anya Hadar, to be my wife from this time onward. I pledge to share my life openly with you, to speak the truth to you in love. I promise to honor and tenderly care for you, to cherish and encourage your own fulfillment as an individual through all the changes of our lives. I promise to be loyal to you with my whole being as long as we both shall live. This is my solemn vow." Clarke recited, hand shaking as she slipped the band over the tip of Anya's ring finger.

It was the way that Clarke took hold of her hand with both of hers that on instinct had Anya's gaze drifting upward, meeting Clarke's tearful, stormy eyes. She immediately recognized the fresh grief and pain there from before, but there was a new intensity as well, a similar sort of determination swirling in there to the kind that bewildered and aggravated her to no end during swim meets.

"With this ring, I...I give you my promise that from this day forward you shall not walk alone. I have no greater gift to give. May my heart be your shelter, and my arms be your home. May we walk together through all things, for I will share with you my joy so that it be multiplied, as I will share your pain, that it be divided. With all that I am, and all that I have, I honor you." Clarke finished sliding the band down her finger to where it settled, never breaking eye contact with her.

Anya would never admit it later, but she averted her gaze first, finding the vows and the intensity radiating off Clarke to be a special, disconcerting sort of distraction that she just did not need to concern herself with at the moment. She did not need those infuriatingly piercing blue eyes boring into her damned soul over a fake wedding ceremony. She did not need the tension in her chest from Clarke offering to be her home, as if that was anything Clarke would or could ever offer her.

As if that was anything she'd ever want, either, despite the deep knot forming in her chest. Whatever, it'd been a really emotional day, it just made sense that Clarke could inadvertently feed off of some of that and stir up a response in her. It wasn't like any of it was real or legit; the last thing she wanted was to get married, and the last thing she needed was any sort of partner.

She was more than fine on her own.

"Anya and Clarke, just as two very different threads woven in opposing directions can form a beautiful tapestry, so can your two lives merge together to form a beautiful marriage. To make your marriage work will take love." Anya scoffed at the reverend's assertion, although he wasn't entirely wrong. The only reasons she'd endure the sham of a marriage until its end point would be the love she held for her father. No other reason. "Love should be the cornerstone of your marriage, but it will also take trust...to know in our hearts that you want the best for each other. It will take dedication to stay open to one another, to learn and to grow together even when this is not always so easy to do. It will take faith, to be willing to go forward to tomorrow through the grace of God, not knowing what it will bring. And it will take commitment, to hold true to the journey God has set you upon what you both now pledge to share together."

Anya rolled her eyes about as hard as she ever had as the Reverend brought her hands to cover Clarke's hands. Clarke's warm, soft hands. "Now that Clarke and Anya have given themselves to each other by solemn vows, with the joining of hands, and the offering of rings, I announce to you that they are wife and wife, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Those whom God has joined together, let no one put asunder. The peace of the Lord be with you both, always. Amen."

As soon as the reverend let go of her hands, she marched over to the side table in the chapel and scribbled her signature onto the paperwork waiting there. "Well, this has been fun, but I have somewhere to be." She nearly slammed the pen down, the chapel's air more and more stifling and suffocating with each breath. It was all preposterous and ridiculous, and she needed to get away to somewhere she could breathe again, somewhere that was real and genuine.

Thankfully, no one called out after her as she stormed out of the chapel, finding her way back across the hospital to her father's room to plop down in the chair at his bedside, the steady beep of his monitors dismissing her nerves, bringing her out of the chaotic senselessness of the wedding and back to more stable ground.

Anya took his hand and held on, hoping he'd been right about all he'd said, that she'd be happy again one day. With the prospect of life without him approaching quickly, and the sham marriage to Griffin, it was hard to imagine his assertions could be further from the truth.

The call had come in the middle of the night.

After she'd been crying in her room for two hours, and her father had finally stepped into ther room to check on her, the call had come in, whisking away any shot at a reprieve. Her mother and father had left for the hospital a little past one, leaving her with orders to finish prepping the guest room for Anya, not that she had any idea how to help with that, let alone where she'd find the energy. She'd already done the laundry, made the bed, made room for any of Anya's things she might bring over, and installed the old mini-fridge by the bedside. There wasn't much else to do, leaving her to lounge in her room with Snoopy at her side, too burnt from anxiety and tears to sleep.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, it was the weekend, so she could afford to be awake. She could fix her sleep schedule later, and there was a good chance her mother and father would allow her to take a mental health day on Monday if she really wanted to, especially since it was so late in the school year and she'd kept up in her studies. Not that it mattered anymore, with her life ruined and all.

God knows she deserved time to grieve and process after everything.

Hell, Clarke wasn't sure she'd ever been so humiliated and heartbroken at the makeshift ceremony earlier that evening. All her life, marriage had been something she'd fantasized about as a positive, life-affirming event where she'd be joining herself to the person she loved, the person who wanted to spend the rest of their life with her as their wife. She'd be surrounded by gleeful, accepting friends and family members, she'd say her personal, handwritten vows, they'd kiss each other to celebrate, and then they'd spend the night celebrating their union with all their loved ones.

Instead, she'd been called a man, bitterly rejected at the altar, had even the simplest vows spat on by her bride who seemed repelled by even holding hands with her and having heard her makeshift, cobbled together vows she'd pulled off the top of her head. The ceremony was concise, and tiny, just her parents, Anya, and some stranger reverend she'd never met in her life, certainly not the one from her church.

Hell, the only reason she hadn’t been more devastated about the misgendering was that a lot of the jerks at school had gotten her so used to the experience that it was more second nature to let it roll over her, except this was her wedding, and the officiant had called her a man, a husband.

Clarke the Husband.

Because even after some very good fortune with hormones and genetics, apparently that’s what she’d remain in a lot of people’s eyes. Trigeda was much more accepting than Azgeda, and Polis was the most LGBT+ friendly city in the world, arguably, but there was still so much to be done, and so much shit to trawl through, and her wedding should have been a safe place away from that. A place where, bare minimum, she was accepted as the woman she was.

All in all, it'd been a soul-wrenching disaster, a nightmarish wreck of what should have been one of the best days of her life, the first day of the rest of her life with her partner. They'd get a dog, they'd have children, have a family so full of love and hope. She'd spent so long dreaming about falling in love, of someone falling in love with her, and creating a bright future for themselves.

All of those hopes and dreams were gone now.

She'd barely made it home to bed before collapsing, dehydrated and eyes stinging from her unrelenting weeping.

As always, Snoopy was there to cuddle with her and attempt to cheer her up, her pup burrowing into her side. She could always count on him for comfort, and even in his old age, he was still spry enough to hop up onto bed with her. If she was going to get through the next half year or so, she was going to need him at her side.

Wells and Raven, too, but both were gone this weekend and on social media blackout, having left on their debate club trip to Nationals with their coach mandating that they purely focus on Saturday evening's event. The wedding had initially been planned for next week, so she didn't blame them for not being around. She just missed her friends.

Being alone had never been easy for her. Not that her parents hadn’t hung around for a bit to comfort her after everything, but they’d also put her up to this in the first place, so it was hard to really accept that at face value.

And given the newly bleak future outlook she had to deal with, she'd probably end up alone more than not over the years. After all, having sexual experience wasn't always frowned upon, but being an eighteen year old divorcee? Who would even want to look her way again once they learn about that?

Probably no one. As much as she always fought to hold onto hope, it was hard. In the face of her new future, it was a daunting task, one she wasn't sure she was capable of.

"All I wanted was to marry someone who loved me. Most people get that...why couldn't I?" She wiped at her face with the back of her hand, taking comfort in Snoopy nuzzling her shoulder as she pet him with her other. "And Anya...she looked so...angry when I said the vows. I know she probably hates me, but...she didn't even try to make it okay for me. She was...shit, she was offended that I put any effort into mine, even if I winged them. I just..."

She let out a sigh, unsure exactly how to finish that thought. In truth, she wasn't sure why she'd recited those vows, not in the heat of the moment, and not really hours later, either. The only thing she remembered thinking was that it wasn't right. It wasn't right to go through the ceremony and not try to respect it, to not respect each other to even a basic extent despite everything. If she did want to get married later in life, she'd need to not have the whole thing ruined for her the first time around, after all. How to keep it from being ruined was just a complete mystery, though, and not something she was sure she could manage.

And sure, their marriage wasn't rooted in love, not in the usual sense. Anya did it out of love for her father, that much was clear, and Clarke did it out of love for her greater LGBT community, her people, but as individuals? It didn't play a role

"Maybe that's why she was mad. Maybe she thought I was just...saying words for their own sake. She's always been a bit brutal and honest. As much as I wasn't lying, I...I guess I wasn't telling the whole truth, either, maybe. I don't know." She worked through her thoughts, going back over her vows, mentally pushing away the stricken expression on Anya's face when she'd spoken them.

The sound of the front door opening downstairs had her and Snoopy's ears perking up, her pup predictably getting to his feet and off the bed to greet her parents and Anya.

Anya who, by now, almost certainly had lost her father.

Her father listened to the radio religiously in the car, and always came in singing or whistling something, no matter the hour, but there was none of that as she listened, breathless in anticipation. Just slow, plodding footsteps making their way around the ground floor briefly before ascending the stairs.

Clarke got out of bed, tiptoeing over to the door and quietly closing it, hearing some muted conversation between her father and Anya as they made their way up the hall. Or, talking on her father's part, and crying that only made sense coming from Anya.

Because of course her father would be comforting Anya. He was an empathetic soul, he hated when anyone was hurting, and she couldn't hate him for that, but she knew how this would go. Anya lost her father, that would take priority. There was no hope of him or her mother helping her get through this with any consistency. Not even Snoopy had come back to her.

Clarke's teeth bit into her lip, the taste of copper soon touching her tongue, sharp and distinct like the intense rivalry she'd had with Anya over the years.

The burden of her life's demise was her own cross to bear, and if she had to, she'd bear it alone so her parents and Anya wouldn't have to, not that they'd probably notice. It'd be better that way for everyone, it was the right thing to do; she just had to survive the weekend before she'd be able to have her friends help her through it.

"Just have to get through today and tomorrow." She muttered into the darkness, capping off her thoughts as she got up and made her way back to bed, feeling much sleepier now. She could wait until she woke up fully rested before putting any specific plans to action.

Only time would tell if she'd have any luck, but she had to hope for something better than this.

He was gone.

He was gone, and she was alone, tucked into a strange bed, in a strange room in a strange house, having been whisked away in the dead of night. She couldn't even go home.

Not that the Griffins hadn't tried, but her Aunt had been a 'guest' at their home for a week now, like a damned vulture, and the woman and her burly family members no doubt would have taken her straight to Azgeda by force had she entered through her front door.

Her father had been smart enough to have her pack some things in advance and keep the luggage in his hospital room, so she wasn't without some necessities, but she still felt foreign in the Griffin household.

She was alone now. Alone, isolated, no family left to her name. No friends to keep her company and comfort her, although she was certain Luna and Lincoln would be by whenever she felt good enough to reach out. It didn't ease any of the blinding pain coursing through her grief-wracked frame, but it offered a minor reprieve in the future, and she could cling onto that eventuality for now.

Anya thought she'd been ready. Her father's fight against cancer had been long and drawn out over nearly three grueling years now. In truth, she'd long since wanted it to be over if only to end his suffering, but now that he was gone, she already missed him, and there was no filling that vacancy. No more time left.

Her face burned from all the tears and crying, but she knew that wasn't about to end any time soon. It felt like all the grief she thought she'd worked through in advance over the past years had simply bottled up in wait for this moment, the sheer unrelenting force of it all flowing out of her in a torrent of anguish she hadn't felt since the death of her mother.

It wasn't right. None of it was right.

"What did I do to deserve this?" She muttered through broken sobs, clutching at the duvet and burying her face in it, trying to muffle the noise more for her own pride than out of fear of keeping anyone awake at nearly four in the morning.

She heard the creak of her door, apparently not having fully closed it earlier, and jolted up to a seated position, looking up at eye level before glancing down and immediately spotting the golden retriever from when they'd arrived. He was an old dog, bordering on ancient for his breed, loads of white across his drooping face.

The effort of jumping onto the bed seemed to take a bit out of him, but the dog just let out a tired huff and slumped down, resting his head on her stomach.

Anya reached down and took hold of the tag on his collar. "Snoopy." She read aloud, a laugh breaking through her crying, if only for a moment. "What idiot named you Snoopy? Shit, probably Clarke. Who names a golden pup like you Snoopy?"

Snoopy just stared up at her all expectant and innocent, and damn if she wasn't a huge sucker for dogs. Besides, she could really use a friend right now, and dogs were pretty good at that.

"Okay, you goober, you can stay." She added, scratching at his ears and neck, letting the pup's presence comfort her, even if just a little bit.

As sweet as the dog was, it was hard not to keep getting pulled back to the crevasse her father's death carved into her heart. "What am I supposed to do now?"

There was nothing. Nothing in her future anymore. No father, no career, and with essentially all of her friends moving away, not even them, either.

With her favored post-secondary institute being smack dab in Azgeda's recently acquired territory after negotiations with Delphi, her choice to seek out fashion design was practically annihilated. The legal age in Azgeda was nineteen, meaning a year and a half until she could cross the border and attend her dream school without worrying about her aunt grabbing her and tossing her into conversion therapy. A year and a half of either sitting in Trigeda doing nothing, or attending Polis U's second tier program.

The same school Clarke would be attending for pre-med, of course. Same school her friends derided all her life. Polis was a beautiful city, the best city, but if you were to ever become anything in this life, you had to leave home.

Except, now she was stuck there alone, without a father, without a home, without a future career, and knowing her friends would probably laugh eternally at the thought of her having any sort of ceremony with Clarke.

"I don't know what to do..." She murmured, scooting Snoopy a little higher up, enough to cuddle a little better, unable to allow herself the briefest of smiles at his kisses before he rested his head on her shoulder.

What she hell was she supposed to do? If cuddling a stranger's dog was her best answer, she was completely screwed.

As fitting as the torrential downpour was, it really was making it difficult to keep her eyes open or breathe without choking on the rain falling down on her face. Maybe it was a little extreme, but she'd run out of places to stow away. It'd been hard enough on Saturday even with her parents hovering around Anya, but when she hadn't shown up for brunch on Sunday as per tradition, they went on the lookout for her.

On one hand, it was nice to see that some traditions were still valued.

On the other, she really didn't need to involve her parents, only for them to flit away after a minute or two to see to Anya. She'd escaped out her window and climbed up to the top of the roof, and she'd been there all day, but the light rain had progressed into a storm.

Still, better a storm out there than deal with the storm brewing in her home. At least the rain, as suffocating as it was, kept her focused on the feeling of being waterlogged with her skin aching from hours of stinging rainfall.

Better to keep all the surface-level stuff at the forefront.

"Clarke?!" Her father called out into the storm, her bedroom window swinging open. She found herself holding her breath for a moment before realizing that he definitely wouldn't hear her, and there wasn't really anywhere to hide if he cared to look up.

Which, of course, he did, peeking is head out enough to angle it around to catch sight of her. "Hi dad."

She watched him roll his eyes and disappear back inside for a brief moment before an umbrella sprung out. Her father climbed out onto the treacherously steep roof, taking careful familiar steps up until he could plop down beside her, holding the umbrella over as much of her as he could. He was always a softie like that, even when he was clearly frustrated. "We've been looking for you. Your mom's worried sick, and after all this rain, you might actually get sick." He sent her a soul-piercing look, those bright blue eyes boring into her for answers, asking the unspoken question of what made her feel like she had to come out there.

Which wasn't exactly easy to answer, not when thre last thing she wanted was to make her father feel guilty for doing the right thing. "Can't a girl appreciate a bit of H-Two-Oh?"

"Well, you always did like to dance in the rain." Her father mused openly, a warm smile spreading on his lips for a fleeting moment before worry creased his brow again. "I don't see you dancing. Hard to imagine you'd be in the mood, kiddo."

"Understatement of the century." Clarke couldn't quite catch her words in time; even if it was obvious she was hurting, it wouldn't do to make it a spectacle. She could handle it on her own. "Still, I'll be fine. I just needed a distraction for a little while."

"A book is a distraction. A movie. A walk in the park." Her father's gentle chiding had a pit forming in her stomach as dread washed over her heavier than the rainfall before. It wouldn't be so easy to convince him after all. "Clarke, I'm not here to pass judgment or make you do anything. God knows I was a mess when I married your mother, and I was almost thirty-two years old at the time, and I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her. You just turned eighteen a month ago...you don't have to pretend you're fine when you have no reason to be."

Leave it to Jake Griffin to cut to the chase. He never was much for beating around the bush. She got a little bit of that from him. "I'm not saying I'm fine right now, because I'm not. But I will be...and Raven and Wells will help with that. So I'll be fine, I promise...you and mom can focus on what matters."

Her dad's eyes narrowed a slight bit, and it wasn't from the sudden gust of wind blowing the rain even more into his face. "You know that you matter more than anything else in the world to me and your mother, right?"

Clarke shuffled closer and rested her head against his shoulder. There was no need for them both to drown in the rain when they could both be reasonably safe from the downpour. "I know. It's just..." She stalled, unsure what to say, not wanting to hurt him. However, he'd no doubt he his usual curious self and wheedle it out of her, it was just a matter of time. And like her mother always said, it was better to rip the band aid off than go for the slow agonizing peel.

"Like I told mom, we did the right thing helping her, but...it doesn't mean what happened was right. Not everything can be fixed, dad. Sometimes when you lose something, it's gone." She spoke, allowing herself a sigh knowing that as much as she loved him and drew comfort from him, he couldn't make this feel better. He couldn't make it right. "Words can't make it better. I need time to figure it out, and you can't hold my hand through this."

Where she expected some form of rebuttal or reassurance, she was met with a gentle laugh, her father taking hold of her hand with his free one. "I promise I'm not laughing at you, it's just that I didn't expect to hold your hand through you coming to grips with being married. Moral and emotional support, of course, but...to be perfectly honest, I'm surprised you haven't dug in your heels yet."

Clarke stared at him like he had two heads, since he may as well have, given the utter lack of sense he was making. "Dug my heels in where? Dad, I lost...I lost a lot."

"And since when do you just give up without a fight?"

She blinked hard enough for her eyelids to sting, because what? "What?"

"I'm not saying you have to, it's just...I've never seen you let anything go that means something to you. You've always worked to make it happen, come hell or high water." Her dad raised a decent point, but he was missing a pivotal bit of information that changed everything.

"You forget that Anya pretty much loathes me, and she really rubs me the wrong way most of the time, too." Clarke clarified, expecting one of his understanding nods, but he just cast her one of his infuriating knowing looks instead. As if she was supposed to know what was going on in his head. As if he knew what she was going through! "Dad, come on!"

He just laughed again, shaking his head. "Kiddo, the whole swim team hated you, but you won them over. When the school board made you ineligible for the team this year, the whole squad...Anya included...fought to have you reinstated."

It was a fair point, if off the mark again. "She only did that because she wanted to keep proving she could beat me in our practices and relays, and that she was the best. That doesn't count."

"Okay, but Melody and Danielle didn't have a stake in that. They read their letters at the board meeting. You changed their minds about you. You fought and won there." Once again, he missed the point. Melody and Danielle were sweethearts. They'd just been ignorant and led astray, but it hadn't taken long to bring them around.

Anya was another matter entirely. "You're missing the point, we're dealing with Anya, here! Anya...who hates me, dad!"

"I can't expect you to forgive her completely just yet, kiddo. I don't know what's gone on between you to cause that sort of rift, but I know that high school, that chapter of your life...it's ending. You're both entering the next chapter, one where Anya won't have her father to help navigate her through it. One where she'll be grieving for more time than she'll likely be able to bear on her own." Her father spoke, all calm and slow, eyes looking off at the trees at the edge of their property. "That girl's been crying in her room since Friday night. I raised you to be kind, to do the right thing, even if it's helping someone you don't see eye to eye with. For better or worse, she's your wife, Clarke."

"How the hell am I supposed to make our marriage mean anything, or be anything but a complete life-ruining catastrophe when she wants nothing to do with me?" It was an impossible situation; she understood what her father was saying, but how was she supposed to get through to Anya? How was she supposed to earn her way past Anya's walls and help her, even if she did give it a shot?

"No one said it'd be easy, but doing things the right way rarely is." Her dad spoke, fixing her with his suddenly intense gaze. "I won't pretend to know exactly what you're feeling, or what you think you've lost, Clarke. I won't pretend that this marriage is going to last your whole lives, or that it's anything near what you dreamed of. I know you're not happy, and you wanted better than this, and I want better for you, too. I'm just asking you to look me in the eyes and tell me you can't do it, that it's not worth fighting for. That it's not the right thing."

There had been one truth that she'd been working from since this whole debacle started, and that was that Anya more or less hated her, and nothing was about to change that, so the whole duration of their brief marriage would be miserable and a complete disaster. In all actuality, that was a damn realistic take on the matter, and her father's words didn't have Clarke changing her mind about that.

However, he was right, in a sense. Usually, she fought harder. She'd pushed back before the ceremony, of course, but not since. It wasn't as if she was just lying down and accepting the complete and utter loss, but she was in the midst of staring it down and coming to terms with it, since marriages required two people to work out their issues as a team, and Anya wasn't about to be up for that or probably even entertain the reality that they were married.

Which all presented a pretty shitty situation, and looking forward, Clarke had a sense that it'd lead to a tumultuous, horrible few months of bickering and pain and hostility, and maybe her father was right. Maybe it could be better than that if she tried hard enough.

As much as she didn't like how abrasive Anya could be around her, she wasn't so heartless as to make her home a hostile place for the newly orphaned girl. She wasn't about to show up all the time with guilt trips and frustrated rants and bring Anya's defenses up for no good reason.

Anya had done plenty of things to earn her frustration, but this wasn't one, and she certainly wouldn’t hate her for it. Anya's father dying was no one's fault, and her parents offering Anya a home wasn't Anya's fault. She could hate Anya for any future defiling of her hopes and dreams when it happens, but right now? Anya deserved what little peace and comfort she could manage, and Clarke wasn't going to get in the way of that. In fact, maybe it was her responsibility to ensure that for her spouse.

It didn't change that living with Anya was going to be a special kind of hell, but unlike Anya, she had a heart. She could be lenient, take the high road, try to make the best of things. It was the right thing to do.

"The right thing..." She mumbled to herself, the puzzle pieces clicking together in her head as she slumped over onto her back again, letting out a heavy sigh. "I already did the right thing."

Maybe she was just overtired and exhausted from hours of being pelted by steady rain, and needed to think it through better after a good rest, but a sense of clarity was forming in her mind, and it all made sense. She had a tendency to fight for a better future, to surround herself with people she loved and care for them, work with them to better their lives. Being a bit of an outcast, that didn't leave her with many, but she did have people she cared for, who she'd do anything for.

Combine that with her unwillingness to let go of her future hopes and dreams, and it really did all make sense that she cobbled together her vows at the ceremony.

She didn't have to love Anya to consider the girl one of her people. She could care for her platonically; as hard as that was to fathom in the moment, she'd managed to work with Bellamy to eventually become friends after him being one of her greatest bullies throughout her childhood. Not the best of friends, maybe, but decent friends. And like her father said, she'd won over the swim squad minus Anya, a group of girls who cared for and accepted her even if they all ran in different social circles.

So the potential, as dim as it was, did exist, and all she needed was a glimmer of hope. Hope that she could get through these next months with her soul intact. Hope that she could keep from rendering marriage and partnership a worthless, eternally tainted institution by upholding her vows.

Loyalty and fidelity were the easiest, she knew. She didn't exactly have people beating down her door to date her. She could speak the truth to Anya out of love, if not for Anya personally, then out of love for her people in general and for her love of the truth. She could care for Anya in her time of grieving and transition to adulthood, having a good feeling that the girl had many more changes in her life coming up fast, and she'd need help. She could encourage and value the potential growth and efforts Anya made towards constructing her own future. She could, in time, provide some semblance of solace for the girl in troubled times. She could, perhaps in time, offer Anya her habitually affectionate side. She could place herself in Anya's life and ensure Anya never felt alone in any of her struggles or her happier moments. She could honour their pact and honour marriage as a whole, keeping at least some of her future dreams and hopes alive while potentially turning an enemy into at least a neutral party.

Was it probable? Nope.

Possible? Just barely, but it was enough to let her grasp onto those formerly fading tendrils of hope and reel them back in. She was Clarke Griffin; if anyone could manage it, it was her.

She wouldn't let this tragedy, or Anya herself, take more away from her than was necessary. She'd fight like hell to keep a connection to her dreams, and she wasn't so much of a monster that she'd let Anya go through this tragedy alone; she hadn't lost her family, but they'd had a scare or two, and she knew that sort of fear, that dread, and the pain it brought her over those months. It wasn't the same, but it was something, and maybe they'd be able to form a connection of sorts out of it after everything, too. Still, her future happiness was the most important thing to focus on, she wasn't going to just let it go without a fight, and she'd always been a girl of her word.

The vows had been spoken. It was her duty to uphold them.

Clarke met her father's gaze. "I can do it."

Her father smiled and pulled her in for a hug. "Whatever you need, your mother and I will help however you need us to."

"I need the car." She let out as an idea came to mind, one that wouldn't fix anything, but could be a good start. "Well, I need a shower, and change of clothes, and to dry off, but I need the car."

They both moved to sit up, her dad holding the umbrella over her head as they made their way down towards the window again. "I'll leave my credit card on the kitchen counter, you do what you need to do."

Once she was safe indoors and out of the rain, she embraced her dad, pulling him in for a tight hug. Hope could be a dangerous, painful thing, but it could also be wonderful, and Clarke needed to be an optimist. She had to believe she could salvage something out of all of this absurdity. "Thanks, dad."

"Always, kiddo."

She made quick work of grabbing a change of clothes, knowing she didn't have a whole lot of time to get what she needed done on a Sunday afternoon. Still, her father promised her whatever she needed. A day off on Monday could make sure everything would start off smoothly with a little luck and willpower.

And maybe, just maybe, Anya wouldn't make an attempt on her life tomorrow for her efforts.

Everything ached. The sun had risen already, bringing with it the stinging heat of summer that demanded more sweat from her when she'd already cried out every ounce of moisture in her sore, exhausted body. It'd been a long time since her father was part of her breakfast routine, but she'd always stop by afterward, and just knowing she couldn't do that had her feeling emptier than anything, a vast chasm no meal could hope to fill, not that she had the energy to go out and make one.

Not that she'd admit that to anyone, of course. Not out of pride, even if that was entirely justified, but out of just not wanting to get the Griffins hovering even more than they already were. At least Clarke had spared her from her presence so far, but Abby and Jake were insistent, and too kind to be angry at, which put her in a predicament

As much as they were relative strangers to her, they were kind people, and she couldn't be cruel to their kindness. It wasn't something she could find it in herself to do.

She could maintain a good distance from them and keep them in the dark as much as possible, though.

After all, no sense in dragging anyone into her suffering. She'd been given the week off by her school, so she had plenty of alone time ahead of her. She'd survive it, even if she wasn't sure how she'd emerge on the other side just yet.

The sound of the door's quiet creak met her ears, forcing her to expel more energy than she'd liked to stifle her dried out, tired sobs and pull the covers over her face, feigning sleep. She wasn't particularly successful in her efforts, but the intruder didn't seem to notice, or care.

The end of the bed dipped slightly, something hard being rested right at the tips of her feet. The wagging of Snoopy's tail against her thigh told her it was a Griffin, but that was dead obvious already.

"Are you hungry?" The sound of Clarke's voice would have had her bolting up to her feet and dragging the other girl out of the room if she had the energy, but it was already too much of an ask to quiet her own emotions to a barely reasonable level. She didn't have anything else in the tank. Anya shook her head, shame rising to her cheeks as she let a sniffle slip out. "You need to eat, even if it's just a little bit of something."

The hard object at the end of the bed was thankfully whisked away, Anya vaguely keeping tabs of the movement around her room, thinking Clarke made her way to the dresser briefly before returning and pressing a knee onto the side of the bed this time, right in front of her. "Please just eat a little fruit. I'll leave you alone if you just please eat something." Griffin's voice was a little softer, smoother, like velvet. It would have been more than a little alluring coming from anyone but Clarke Griffin.

Anya waited for Clarke to leave, but the infuriatingly stubborn girl remained as seconds turned into minutes, and the longer it went, the more her grief built up inside her, bubbling and burning in her chest.

She wouldn't let Clarke see that. She wouldn't let Clarke win. Not here, not now. She'd sacrifice a battle to win the war.

In as swift a motion as she could manage, she tossed the covers away from her head and shoulders enough to grab the bowl, refusing to make eye contact as she popped a peach chunk into her mouth.

"Thank you, Anya." Clarke murmured, using that same frustrating tone of voice. "If you come out today, I'll see you then. Otherwise, I'll see you tonight. Take good care of her Snoopy."

With that, Clarke thankfully shifted off the bed, her slow deliberate steps fading off towards the door.

"Good morning, Anya."

She waited for the door to close before struggling to a seated position, the tiny bit of peach reminding her body enough of its hunger and need for liquids to give her that jolt of energy to finish eating. Anya quickly mowed down the bowl of fruit and scanned the room with bleary, bloodshot eyes, not needing to look hard to spot the rest of the breakfast tray.

Not because it was completely visible, but because there was a big stuffed gryphon plopped beside it atop the dresser.

It took a minute or two to get to her feet, and another to find her balance before staggering over to the furniture, shaking her head at the silly plushie. And yet, as she picked it up, it was clear the thing wasn't new. It'd definitely been loved in the past, even if it wasn't haggard, either.

More than anything, its presence confused her, so she left it there and brought the tray back with her, a little happy to see there was something for Snoopy as well. Not wanting her bed to become a massive mess, she placed his bowls on the ground at the side of the bed.

"There you go. Eat up, bud." Anya whispered, fighting every instinct not to just flop back onto the bed from exhaustion, forcing herself to eat a little of the eggs, toast and bacon before guzzling down the juice and settling back in to face her future again.

As if Clarke could snag some sort of moral victory in taking the high road. When she recovered enough energy, she'd lock the door, not wanting to give the girl another chance at thinking she was better, that Clarke would come out of this on top. For making her father's death into yet another of her petty squabbles or competitions.

"I know I can't offer you food, but you'd still take my side, right, Snoopy?" She asked idly as she set the tray on the nightstand, pulling the covers back over herself once the dog rejoined her on the bed. The damn gryphon plushie look so damned sanctimonious from its perch, and she really just needed someone to share her grief with that wasn't going to use it against her. She couldn't let her friends see her like this, especially living with the Griffins, knowing that'd probably be the end of their support, and she really needed it right now more than ever.

She just had to survive this. She'd spent the last few years living a day at a time, what were a few weeks more?

#Faithfully #clanya fanfiction #forced marriage au #thedeadflag #writewritewrite #long post

7 notes · View notes

voltron-fanfiction · 7 years ago

Text

Ears

Requested by anonymous

Pairing: Galra!Keith and Lance

Finding out Keith was part Galra had rocked the team, but eventually everyone got used to it. He was still the Keith they all knew and loved (but Lance would never admit to that). But what came as even more of a shock was when Keith began changing. Not praising Zarkon and muttering “Vrepit sa” in his sleep kind of changes. More like... Physical changes...

He didn’t turn purple or anything, but he did become much more aware of his animal-like instincts. He grew taller (much to Lance’s dismay) and stronger, which Keith didn’t really mind. The most drastic change was probably Keith’s ears. Almost overnight, they elongated and grew fluffier, almost resembling a wolf’s.

Keith had never been really bothered by his appearance before, but with the growth of these new ears, he suddenly felt very self-conscious. Of course the team was 100% supportive and gradually he came to not mind them. Especially so when he realized his hearing was heightened by 59.3% (according to Pidge).

Yes, Galra Keith was something no one even thought twice about anymore. Especially Lance, who, after a while, realized his feelings for Keith were a little more than platonic. Thankfully, Keith felt the same way and it wasn’t long before the two became a couple.

But old habits die hard and it was not at all uncommon to hear Keith and Lance bickering about something. Today, it was about whose Lion was faster.

“It’s Red!” shouted Keith. “When we first got our lions, Allura literally said that the Red lion was the fastest.”

“But,” Lance was quick with his comeback. “You weren’t there on the mermaid planet. Blue flew underwater. Way faster than the Red Lion could ever go. Ask Hunk. He was there.”

Keith scoffed, “Yeah sure. Even if that were true, it’s not like we’re constantly fighting in water. We’re fighting in space. No water there. So technically my lion is faster.”

The two continued bickering much to the annoyance of the only other person in the room, which was Pidge. They were about to get up and leave when they had a mischievous thought.

“Hey,” they shouted to get the two pilots attention. “Since we can’t actually test whose Lion is faster at the moment, why don’t you just race yourselves? It’ll solve the dispute for now.”

Of course, since both boys being naturally competitive, they were instantly game. But then they started arguing about how to actually compete the race. Pidge groaned, got up, and left the room. The race would definitely be entertaining, but they had better things to do.

“Let’s just race from one side of the room to the other and back. Whoever gets there first wins,” reasoned Keith.

“Fine by me, but you have to actually touch the walls with your whole palm. No fingertip cheating,” Lance added.

Keith rolled his eyes, but nodded anyways. Both boys put their hands on the wall and braced themselves for the start.

“Ok,” Keith said. “On one, two, thr-”

“Wait, wait!” Lance interrupted.

“What is it?” Keith groaned.

“Why do you get to count down? That gives you an unfair advantage.”

“How so?”

“You’ll know exactly when you’re gonna say three, so you’ll be the first one to react.”

Keith widened his eyes. He loved Lance, but it was moments like these that he could be extremely ridiculous.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Keith grumbled.

“I am not. I am not letting you cheat.” As he was saying this, he brought his hand up to playfully tug on Keith’s ear to let him know that he wasn’t being completely serious, but when Lance pulled gently, but firmly on Keith’s ear, a small, breathy moan slipped past the Galra’s lips.

Both of them froze as they processed what had just happened. Lance was the first to snap out of it, grinning devilishly. “No. Way,” he said. Before Keith could react, he did it again, this time letting his fingers trace lightly down the side of Keith’s ear.

Lance’s boyfriend shuddered at the feeling. He was mildly humiliated by this, but he couldn’t deny just how good it felt.

Lance brought his other hand up and starting playing with both of Keith’s ears; gently tugging on the ends, rubbing his fingers along the backside of them, and tracing the outlines. Keith was trying his best, but it was impossible not to melt under the sensation.

He just about died when Lance leaned forward and started placing kisses along them. Keith let out a pleasurable sigh and moved closer to his boyfriend, not caring anymore about being embarrassed. Lance continued his assault while Keith crumbled beneath him.

After a moment, Lance chuckled under his breath. “Does this mean I win for now?”

Keith pulled back and playfully glared at his boyfriend. “Shut up,” he muttered, before pulling Lance down for a kiss.

#voltron #vld #keith kogane #lance mcclain #pidge gunderson #klance #galra keith #fanfiction

24 notes · View notes

words-writ-in-starlight · 7 years ago

Note

so i'm assuming that all the reincarnated ham crew look like their musical actors, which, awesome. but i was thinking about jefferson, who was a racist fucker being reincarnated as a black man. like. how would that even go down?

*emerges from cave, shamefaced* Right, so, does anyone remember that this AU exists? Because I swear to God I didn’t forget, I just only now have had the time. I actually have a bunch of prompts for it, not all of them are going to get written based on...like...my inspiration level, but also this series is alive again, so like. Yep. Here is some Jefferson. Full disclosure, I dislike Jefferson and think his economic plan was some racist bullshit, so...that is evident.

To all you newcomers, I do recommend reading the other stuff, even if you could probably figure it out.

All In One Spot AU

So, the academic affairs office holds out longer than theirpredecessor. Not by much, but by alittle. It takes two full weeks for Alexto hammer through his petition to be allowed to take more than max credits—and it’squite a petition. Angelica takes one look at the twenty-page,double-sided, single-spaced letter to the dean of academics and disavows anyinvolvement, and John grins fondly, remarking that the dean has no idea what he’sgotten into.

The dean, incidentally, has lived his life with pleasantly dim memoriesof Philedelphia with cobblestone streets and a vague impression that he knowsthe unfortunate teacher annually strong-armed into teaching History of theAmerican Revolution. He recalls verylittle else of his time in the Continental Congress—indeed, at gunpoint hecouldn’t have identified what exactly he was doing, back then.

He has a blindingly vividflashback upon looking at the first page of the letter—the pamphlet, really—and immediately feeds the entire thing through hisshredder.

“Jake,” he says, sticking his head out of his office to look at hissecretary.

“Yes, sir?”

“Approve whatever Hamilton’s request was before he sends anymoreletters. I’ve seen enough for severallifetimes.”

“You got it, boss,” says Jake, whose past life was a blissfullyunremarkable farmer in the Italian countryside and who therefore has no ideathat his boss is sparing them all a lot of trouble.

Now, the reason this matters is because Alex walks into his Econ 101class for the first time two weeks into the semester, takes one look at thelesson outline the grad student wrote on the board, and makes a sound ofabsolute incoherent horror.

“Oh my god,” Alex says faintly, frozen in place two steps inside thedoor. He was never an especiallyreligious person, but he’s wondering if maybe the universe is punishing him forpast crimes. He’s not saying one way orthe other if he deserves it, but this seems excessive. “Jefferson is haunting me from beyond thegrave.”

“Listen, kid,” sighs the grad student. She wears her hair buzzed short on one side and is clutching her coffeealmost as fiercely as Alex is, and he thinks this is maybe not her first classtoday from the also, I don’t carelook on her face. “We’re doing a reviewof some basic socioeconomic structures, and the Jeffersonian/Hamiltonian debateis, like, critical. So could you--”

“But it’s bullshit,” Alexbursts out before he can even try to hold his tongue. “It was bullshit when Jefferson first came upwith it, and it’s bullshit now.”

“Jesus Christ,” a voice fromsomewhere in the front third of the lecture hall mutters. A tall figure unfolds itself from a chair andsays, “Have you ever taken an economics class in your life?”

Alex can actually taste the way his blood pressure skyrockets. It occurs to him, briefly, that someone—possiblyEliza, also possibly the General—might kill him if he starts a fight right now,but. On the other hand. He’s going to start a fight. He’s got no choice, basically.

“Have you?” he demands rudely,turning to stare up the lecture hall at the young man—maybe a sophomore, he’stoo angry to be sure, but he’s wearing a very questionable magenta hoodie andhis hair is even fluffier than Lafayette’s and honestly he has a very punchableface, in Alex’s humble opinion—and narrowing his eyes. “I mean, do you have a single legitimateargument for why Jefferson’s bullshit plan would work? Because let me just say, plenty of Southernersloved to sit around and talk about how the country was being railroaded by thebig cities in the North but--”

“If the North can’t balance their own needs with the supply they cangenerate, why should the South--”

Fine, if that’s how he wants to play it. Alex raises his voice to try to drown the other guy out. “If the South wants to call itself a part ofa country, it needs to support--”

“State-by-state trade--”

“—what, you expect landowners to share their profits freely enough tokeep a country alive, God you’re naïve--”

“—freedom from the chokeholdof a national bank--”

“—so the country can be held hostage by the South?”

“Farms and farm owners should be able to dictate where their finances--”

“—can’t punish the North for the sin of not having huge arable fields--”

“—your vaunted manufacturing facilities cover it?”

By now they’re bellowing at each other over the heads of the rest of theclass, real anger kicking up an intellectual debate into something familiar,and so Alex isn’t really surprised by the next slip of his tongue. Old habits, new dogs—old dogs? Something like that.

Anyway.

Point is, Alex slams his textbook down onto the grad student’s table andhollers, “Goddamnit, Jefferson, I wasright and history proves it, get off your fucking high horse!”

There’s a long couple seconds where Alex remembers, in the dead silencethat’s settled on the lecture hall, that he was kind of planning to keep a lidon that? Oh well, any hope of secrecywas blown to shit by Washington’s class anyway and fuck it, he’s right, he was right then and he’s right now, andfurthermore—

“Go fuck yourself, Hamilton,” the tall guy says, and Alex has a smallheart attack.

“Jesus God, fucking Christ, what the fuck,” the grad student blurts allat once in a rush, but Alex doesn’t answer her, too busy taking a deep breathto launch his next volley.

Admittedly, it’s not a gracious one, but listen, just listen: Alex is not a gracious personand no one ever said he was, certainly never more than once, and definitely notafter having an argument with him.

“Hey, look, I’m sure it’s rough to realize that all your best effortsonly ended in Andrew Jackson’s racist ass closing down the federal bank andlanding us all neck deep in shit a hundred and fifty years later--”

“Excuse me, I wrote--”

Alex drives over the tall guy’s protests—Jefferson’s protests, and wow, he’s going to hear about this fromWashington later. “—but you really haveto get over your bullshit economic plan and just admit that it depends on slavery.”

“It does not!”

“Oh my god it does, it totallydoes, the only way your plan works is if there’s basically no economic overheadfor labor, and like, listen, buddy, I’m not sure if anyone ever told you this,but we had a whole war about the slavery thing, it was a very big deal, itkilled like a million people and then we agreed that slavery was bad.” Alex pauses and very slowly arches an eyebrowat Jefferson, enjoying this…probably more than he should. “Do youagree that slavery was bad, Thomas?” he asks with a wide smile.

If Jefferson purses his lips any harder, Alex thinks they might actuallyfuse. “Still an asshole and animmigrant, I see.”

“Well, not all of us had such an easy karmic target on our backs as,say, just for example, a slave owner with a realbad track record getting brought back as a black guy,” Alex points outgenerously. “If Maria shows up, I’m morethan happy to let her follow Peggy’s example and punch me, I’m doing mypenance.”

“I don’t deserve this,” Jefferson tells the ceiling.

“I dunno, man,” the girl sitting next to him says. “Sounds like you might. Like, I did the reading and your plan was kind of bullshit.”

Honestly this is the greatest thing that’s ever happened to him—well,no, it’s not even the greatest thing to happen to him this month, but it’s upthere, okay, it’s way up there. “I feel so, so validated,” Alex tells thegrad student, who looks like she might be in shock? Her eyes are wide and her jaw is slack, so hecocks his head and asks, “Are you okay?”

She shuts her mouth with a click, closes her eyes, swallows. Pinches the bridge of her nose between herthumb and finger. It’s shockinglysimilar to Washington’s patented Headache Pose that always appeared during thelatest cabinet battle royal.

“Can you two be trusted to not kill each other if you sit on oppositesides of the hall?”

“Come on, now, we worked together for like—most of a couple decades,”Alex says after a second of mental math.

“Yeah,” she says, opening her eyes and visibly trying not to be star struck, which Alex…appreciates, to becompletely honest. “And then you, youknow, mutually annihilated each other and he spent a couple more decades tryingto blackball your name out of the history books.”

“It’s so rare that I feel like the bigger person,” Alex says, bouncingon his toes.

“That’s because you’re unnaturally small,” Jefferson mutters, sullenlyresuming his seat.

“I am not listening to baseless insults about my height right now, thankyou, Jefferson, I have the eternal trump card and there’s nothing you can doabout it.”

The grad student puts her head back into her hand, and squeezes her eyesshut.

#all in one spot au #alexander hamilton #hamilton #hamilton fic #reincarnation au #thomas jefferson #tjeffs #I'M NOT DEAD #also is it blindingly obvious from this ficlet that i've had this argument?#because i have #this is an angrier shoutier transcript of an argument i've trotted out several times #basically PAY YOUR FUCKING TAXES #this has been a psa #anyway rip this grad student idk who she was maybe anna strong or something #she doesn't deserve this #washington is going to be Very Done also when he finds out this is a thing #pour one out for all these students who are going to have to put up with these two assholes in their econ class #now some more full disclosure: i have never taken an econ class #anyway A N Y W A Y #god focus jesus okay #in case it's not blindingly obvious i low-key assume alex had adhd and write him accordingly #OKAY NO MORE RAMBLES #necessary tags #moran writes stuff #anonymous #asked and answered

72 notes · View notes

scripttura · 6 years ago

Text

CHAPTER TWO : cruelty’s a fickle thing .

The sudden snap in the air is suffocating. Like ice cracking with it’s chill and sharp fringes alike popping in your ears, nevermind the static electric charge burning at your skin and the inaudible yet ( somehow ? ) booming snap of thunder - it all happens at once, faster than you know, and while you’ve never explicitly felt sans’ magic alone, you know that’s what this is.

Magic. His and the… other one’s.

You’re pressed against the back of the couch, chest heaving while curses of all kind spill from the newcomer’s fanged maw; sans’ skull is screwed into concentration and anger alike, an expression that just doesn’t look right on the usually so jovial and distant comedian.

He’s holding the other skeleton by magic alone to the floor near your feet, where he snarls angrily, only to hiss out what might be a whine at the feeling of what must be sans’ magic ( like ice , cold and frightening and depthless ) sharpening even thicker into the air.

He had lunged at you. He had lunged at you, and even now beneath the luminescent pale blue outline of his body, his claws lay outstretched, monstrous looking things even to sans’ own ivory phalanges. His left eye mirrors Sans’ ghostly trail of cobalt with striking ruby, only his is fading, set on you hard and fast as he grows silent.

The feeling of static, like the build-up of an electrical storm before lightning strikes, fades. You don’t know what to say. Your throat feels chokingly tight, it had happened all so fast. Nevermind the fact the stranger who looked near identical to Sans had blindingly lunged at you, but Sans being so fast to pin him - nevermind using his magic to do it!

“ Drux . ” You’ve never heard sans snarl like that. It’s softer than - Drux’s ? - but has it’s own threat to it all the same, knowing and hard in its weight. His teeth are bared in a stretched out grin, yet sweat dapples his forehead all the same.

He’s waiting for something, and while you look from Sans to Drux, how that one fading red eye turns to two glinting embers in each socket. He stares you down until eventually he seems to give in. His body seems to settle into it’s weight on the floor and he looks away, to the corner of his eye-sockets.

“you’re not gonna do it again?” The more familiar skeleton asks to Drux’s unspoken defeat.

His teeth bare again, and the grumble is far less a snarl this time, “just lemme the fuck up already, blue! i ain’t gonna touch your pet. ”

“I’m not his pet.” A beat. You choose the moment to finally speak, your own nose crinkling.

“no?” Ruby lights swing your way once more, burning into you. Those teeth take a cunning curve, and his voice sounds almost condescendingly sweet, “oh fuck, ‘m so sorry princess . that’s what you are right? a princess , thinkin’ you can tell me what to do - ”

“ drux - ”

“- but hey, even if you were royalty, i’d still kill ya fucking dead , so shut it. ”

You blink. You’re not so much offended - or threatened? Not when he’s on the ground by Sans’ magic holding him hard and fast, though something unnerves you by how at ease he seems under it - just… surprised? His threat is laced with venom, true and true, and he huffs to look back to the Skeleton you know out of the corner of his sockets once more.

“are you done yet?” Exasperation is defined in the lines of Sans’ skull alone, as if this whole routine isn’t new to him. You, on the other hand, still have no idea what’s going on, but slowly have started to ease from being pressed against the back of the couch.

“yeah yeah. now let go. i got mustard of yours t'drink, asshole.”

Sans sighs, and pauses before shooting you a look. You can’t quite read it, but the way his smile tips up at the corners is in no way friendly. No, but not outright bitter either: you just can’t read him , can you?

Then the magic dissipates, said skeleton lowering his hand as cobalt fire turns back to those two star-like lights hanging fadedly in his sockets. His shoulders slump, his expression ragged. You never really got the chance to look him over before you were lunged at and the world snapped - he’s not wearing his hoodie, long sleeves rolled up and covered in what almost looks like stains if you’d been working with machinery. The same shorts as always, same slippers, but a pair of red, large framed glasses are folded at his collar, only shattered.

The stranger, however, looks no worse for wear. He picks himself up with surprising grace and that same twisted snarl on his teeth, grumbling all the while. Brushing himself off, he’s… about the same size as Sans? No. Exactly the same size. In fact, almost everything is exact.

It’s as if you took Sans and… made him edgy . Sharpen his teeth to interlocking fangs, scars touching his bones almost everywhere you looked; not that you could see much. He must be wearing at least three layers! A thick black and red jacket with a hood much fluffier than Sans’, a turtleneck sweater, and a long-sleeve shirt beneath that, too. He wore shorts all the same, and unlike Sans’ slippers - yellow and black tennis shoes.

You were confused, to say in the least.

“I don't understand. What’s going on?”

But you should know better than to press. Even as Drux glares at you scathingly, he turns on his heel back into the kitchen - all the while, Sans is still giving you that look. That quiet knowing one, distrust the only thing you can read in that ever-present smile of his.

“you don’t need to.” His tone is surprisingly clipped. “when’d you break in here anyways?”

“I didn’t break in?” Your voice pitches and you sit up straighter, nearly swallowed whole in the large blanket Papyrus had been so kind to get you. “Papyrus let me in. I asked him ‘are you sure sans would be okay with this’, and he said yes, so what else was I supposed to do? Sleep in the snow again?”

You don’t mean to sound so scathing. And yet, unfamiliar laughter dredges up, husky and ragged all the same from Drux, holding a bottle of mustard up near his teeth. He’s wandered back in to watch you and Sans, leaning against the kitchen doorway, amusement gracing his smile.

“oh shit blue,” He snickered, “i was wrong. sounds like you got more of a pest problem than a pet. ” For all the humor he seemed to find in this, Sans didn’t share it, and neither did you. Sans’ quick look to him made Drux’s expression quiet and he shrugged, still smiling all the same, “just sayin’.”

Sans sighed, speaking as he looks back your way, “look, kid. you can’t keep staying here -”

“Then where , Sans?” Challenging him couldn’t be a good idea, but you were desperate. He had to know that, right? Ever since you fell down that stupid hole no more than a month ago, things had been… hard to say in the slightest. Not to say monsters weren’t kind, Toriel and Papyrus shining examples, but whether in the Ruins or Snowdin, you were hassled and confronted wherever you went - even by monsters who didn’t know you were human!

You had nowhere to go. Monsters were kind, but seemed to mostly see through you. You had no home, not down here, and you had no gold. The inn was too expensive, and you were tired of breaking and entering just for a place to sleep that wasn’t going to kill you - and even then, it could, if the wrong monster found you sleeping defenselessly.

So when Papyrus had offered his couch for the first time? Of course you took it. But you had nowhere else to go. move forward, sans would sigh, but move forward where? To Waterfall? Where Undyne waited, the Princess and Captain you’ve heard about all rolled into one, with an unfettered and undying hatred for humanity?

No. No thanks.

Besides, your drive to reach the surface as is was… weak. You really had nowhere else to go, and it seemed Sans didn’t care - or didn’t want to care.

“I can’t sleep at the inn, I don't have the gold,” You explain, and do so excruciatingly slow. “And I’m not going to steal it, or get a job and you know that. I can’t keep breaking in to other places, because who know will catch me. I’m not going to stay with anyone else, because either they know or they don’t, and if they don’t, they will. So yeah, let me just sleep out in the snow again, and see how many fingers I lose. ”

A sigh escapes you, short and huffed, your shoulders dropping. You didn't like being so tense, nor so sharp - not with anyone. But either Sans wasn't getting it, or he needed to just say what he meant.

“Sans, Papyrus let me in, and as far as I know, it’s his house too. I can’t keep going forward - I don’t want to. I’ll die, and you know it. ”

A tense silence sets over the room. The way Sans and Drux look at you alike is… unsettling. Both of their expressions mirror the other: not angry nor humored, but… open. Softened, maybe?

The voice first to speak isn't one any of you are expecting.

“THE HUMAN'S RIGHT AND YOU KNOW IT, BROTHER.”

The look the duo share is a unique type of mortal terror. Alike in so many ways and not - Drux just about slinks into the kitchen with a muffled curse, while Sans’ shoulders drop and his smile softens, genuinely so.

Only it's not. It's not genuine at all. He's making himself soft for Papyrus alone as he descends the stairs, dressed still in his pajamas. He must've been woken up by all the comotion, and you feel relief break the tension in your chest.

You're not sure why Drux hid himself away in the kitchen, but you're not going to ask. If you're reading this right, and you think you are…

You shoot sans a look. The one he gives you is half chilling, half pleading.

… So whoever Drux was, he doesn't want Papyrus knowing.

Leverage.

“JUST EXACTLY WERE YOU SAYING TO OUR HUMAN FRIEND, SANS?”

Papyrus has the talent of looking both scathingly disappointed and genuinely curious in one look. Childishly charming and slyly cunning is an expression he pulls of frighteningly well. He even shoots you a wink! It's such a kid-like gesture, and yet from him it feels genuine and authentic ( dare you say charming? ) and you relax all the same, giving him a small, bashfully grateful smile.

Sans, on the other hand, gets about as close to shrinking back as he can: shrugging and widening his smile even more dopely. “i dunno. i was just, y’know, makin’ sure they hadn't broken the law.”

Papyrus’ face falls immediately. “SANS -”

“... bein’ under a rest and all when i came in.”

Papyrus groans, and it's only partly good-natured, and were it any other situation? You'd even crack a smile if you didn't know any better. Disarmingly humorous. It's dangerous, the way Sans wields humor like a weapon to pacify his brother.

“ REALLY? ” Tall skeleton sighs, crossing his arms: sans, for all his defense, just winks, grin taking a fiendish look.

“what can i say, bro?” His laughter doesn’t sound exactly kind , but you’re only just starting to pick up on that, the way it chortles hollowly in his chest, “‘m pretty humerus. ”

Papyrus seems about at his wits end, drawing an ungloved hand down his skull, “COMIC SANS FONT, MAKE ONE MORE JOKE. ”

“...”

“GO ON, I DARE YOU.”

“...”

“... REALLY. TRY ME.”

They’re just staring each other down. Sans is sweating. Papyrus’ expression has turned near serious as it can get. From the kitchen doorway you see a flash of red and a sudden low curse - Papyrus’ head turns, but you clear your throat to drag both his and Sans’ attention in a split decision.

“Come on Papyrus,” The smile you wear is weak. “He’s not telling a fibula. ”

You don’t like having to come to Sans’ aid, nor the skeleton hiding in the kitchen. But the look the former shoots you is almost… grateful? Confused, but relieved all the same. Papyrus stares at you blankly for a moment, and while your joke has fallen a bit flat, it got the job done, didn’t it?

But now that you have both of their attention...

“... Seriously. I’m really sorry. If I had any other choice trust me, I wouldn’t bother you Sans - Either of you. But...” Your hands wrangle the blanket nervously, and you look down, trying to clear your head. “... I really don’t have anywhere else to go. I meant what I said the first night - I really didn’t plan on making this a regular thing but I just don’t ...”

You look at Sans, and try for sincerity. His eye-lights are as faded and unreadable as ever, and although they seem… softer, but that may just be for show.

“Sans, I’m sorry that I didn’t make sure you were okay with me sleeping over in the first place. I didn’t mean to upset or offend or snap at you like I did. I’m just…”

Frustrated. Upset. Exhausted.

Weary.

“... You know.”

You mean to say it offhandedly. But the way you meet his gaze, and the way his smile twitches it more of a tell than any words he could give. You think he truly might have some idea of what you’re going through, if in some way. You can see it in the way he deflates, and turns askance all while shrugging his shoulders again.

“... yeah, i get’cha kid.” He’s a lot better at the off-handed thing. Even as he looks at you from the corner of his eye-sockets, voice turning a bit hard, “but if you’re gonna drop in from time to time, you gotta check in with me first. and help around the house if you do. and uh… hang out with my super cool bro, of course.”

Papyrus, for all intents and purposes, looks near ecstatic at the near one-eighty in tone for the conversation. You’re not sure if you’ve just touched something in Sans, finally breaking through to him, or if he’s only being amenable because of Papyrus and Drux’s ( hidden ) presence.

“THEN IT’S SETTLED!” Papyrus clasps his hands together excitedly, but without his gloves, the sound is harsh and abrupt, causing you to wince. “OH - UH, WHOOPS! SORRY, HUMAN! BUT FROM NOW ON, YOU CAN STAY ON OUR COUCH AS YOU LIKE UNTIL YOU’VE COME TO AN ARRANGEMENT! AND I, THE MAGNIFICENT PAPYRUS, SHALL HELP YOU WITH SUCH!”

Oh, his smile could probably outshine the sun, and you return it, albeit with much less strength.

This is good. You’ve got a place to crash if worst comes to worst, so long as you let Sans know sometime in advance. You’ll do your best not to step on any toes while securing some kind of solution - you were still figuring Snowdin out, let alone the Underground, and having at least some steady ground under your feet would be a good starting point.

Funny. You’ve never had the motivation to actually do something for yourself before now.

It’s… actually more relieving than you could have possibly imagined. Something breaks in your chest, chokes at your throat, and tries to well in your eyes. You realize almost too late, and with your now watery smile laugh out a little broken thing, and wipe at your eyes, feeling almost too embarrassed to look at the duo.

“I - thank you. Thank you, really. I… I know it’s stupid but it’s… god .” You laugh again, a softer, still a little choked up before swallowing and clearing your throat.

“HUMAN, ARE YOU - OH STARS, ARE YOU OKAY? I DIDN’T MEAN TO UPSET YOU! WAS IT SOMETHING I -”

You grin up at him, and wipe away the last of your tears, and how his expression scrunches, “No! No, oh my god. I’m just… happy. Relieved, y’know? It means a lot to me, just having somewhere to go to if I need to.”

Papyrus’ expression softens, so much so it’s almost painful to look at. He’s so kind, and the way he smiles now is such a soft, kindly thing. He even goes as far to lower his voice, “Of Course, Dearest Human. It Would Be Cruelty To Offer Anything Less.”

It would be cruelty to offer anything less.

That tightens your soul.

“... what my bro said.” Sans’ voice cuts in a little unexpectedly, and he’s not looking at you or Papyrus. Just off to the side, hands pushed into the pockets of his shorts.

Sans doesn’t seem to want to say anything else, even at yours and Papyrus’ inquisitive glances.

So, instead, the taller of the two stands to his full height once again, smiles in that charmingly sweet way of his, and bids the two of you adieu for the night. He explains rather cryptically he has a dream he needs to work on trapping, which sounds crazy if you didn’t know Papyrus personally.

He scoops Sans into a rather large hug, then, bends over to give you one as well. You’re not sure how you feel about being left alone again with Sans and company, but it’s still dark outside in that artificially bioluminescent way Snowdin has of keeping time. You could still sleep, you think, if Sans keeps to his words behind his brother’s back.

You don’t mistake the way Papyrus lingers as he rises the stairs, gaze stopping on Sans.

“OH, AND SANS?”

“uh, yeah bro?”

“DO INTRODUCE ME TO YOUR FRIEND TOMORROW, WOULD YOU?”

The way Sans sputters is priceless , as is the sound of bones hitting tile from the kitchen, presumably, from Drux knocking on his ass in his surprise. You can’t help but jolt out a laugh, even as Sans flushes a soft blue, and Papyrus winks once again almost triumphantly.

“GOOD NIGHT, SANS! GOOD NIGHT, HUMAN! GOOD NIGHT, SANS’ FRIEND!”

“are you fuckin’ with me-”

“Night Papyrus!” You can’t help but wave, silly as it is, but he has such a presence around him that makes it feel anything but. The skeleton waves back as Sans returns his good night, promising to be up soon to read him properly to sleep.

And, with the click of Papyrus’ door, you’re once again left alone.

#ttp #ttp update

0 notes