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philliamwrites · 4 years ago

Text

The Dawn Will Come [Chpt.1]

Fandom: Fire Emblem Three Houses

Pairing: Dimitri x Reader, Claude x Reader, Edelgard x Reader, Yuri x Reader, Edelgard x Byleth, lots of minor pairings

Tags: #gn reader, # platonic love byleth & reader, #reader is a tactical unit, #angst, #slow burn, #subplots, #unreliable narrator, #pining, #remporary amnesia, #reluctant herp, #canon divergence, #lost twin au, #many chapters, #original content

Words: 5.2k

Summary: Waking up in a forest without any knowledge of your past and who you are, you join the house leaders of the Officers Academy to search for a way to return your memories. Unfortunately, the church has different plans for you, and Fate places you in the centre of a cruel game with deadly stakes. It certainly doesn't help to fall in love with a house leader who is doomed to be your demise.

Notes: Chapter 2 There’s also a playlist for this story that you can find here and here.

Chapter 01: A High Destiny

A high destiny seemed to bear me on until I fell, never, never again to rise.

[Mary W. Shelley, Frankenstein]

It starts as it will end: in darkness.

Black dots dance in front of your eyes, merging into dark shadows clawing at your consciousness. A dull throb pounds in your temple, a steady rhythm that speaks of life but isn’t enough to allow awareness of your surroundings. Memory is a foreign word you can’t explain, and trying to think of the past 24 hours is an unachievable task. Every glimpse slips through your fingers like sand, and the only steady reference point is the solid ground pressing into your hands and back.

Slowly, you open your eyes. Treetops dance in the wind, towering above you like silent guardians of ancient times. The sun winks at you through thick branchesa and dancing green crowns, indicating it’s long past daybreak—but how do you know? Your memory is still a vast pool with no bottom and no means to dive into, and yet you think there’s a voice calling out to you, a heart-wrenching young, boyish voice—no, those are real voices ringing through the woods, appearing close to you. Alarmingly close.

“You’re awake,” a woman’s voice starts, moments later followed by a corresponding face. Round, lavender eyes surrounded by thick, white lashes peak from above at you, blinking curiously. It’s an expression far from friendly, but not exactly hostile either, and of all the things you can think of at this moment, it is how strikingly beautiful she is. But before you can say anything, another person joins, leaning too close in for comfort.

“You got us worried there, stranger,” a young man chimes in, squatting down beside you. His uniform isn’t exactly what you’d call fit for travelling through the woods. A heavy yellow cape falls over his shoulder, more fanciful display than practical use. But something in his posture seems very attentive, his broad shoulders taut like a drawn bowstring that won’t miss its target. “Weird place to take a nap, but hey, I’m not judging.”

“I wasn’t—” you start, immediately struck by a throbbing pain behind your right eye that reverberates through your skull and wretches a groan from you.

“Take it easy,” another voice joins, and panic spreads through you because of the amount of people surrounding you. Where the first man is a picture of warm colours—gold and sun kissed skin nourished on warm summer days, the other man observing you with a worried expression is clad in blue and black, blond hair falling into a pale face that carries the most striking blue eyes you’ve ever seen. Or so you think, because surely a colour like this, a blue stolen right out of the sky, wouldn’t be easily forgotten.

More movement and rustling of fabric, and a chill settles in your bones as you begin to fear that you’ve run into a bunch of ruffians who’ve only kept you alive for so long because they’re hoping for valuable information. More people emerge from the underbrush, carrying large sacks and backpacks with billycans dangling at their sides. Among them, a tall man with a beard, clad in robust mercenary’s gear, steps forward, concealing another young woman with sharp features and unusual greenish blue hair.

The sight of her strikes you like a bolt. It tastes like familiarity and the relief of being reunited with a long lost friend. But that is impossible. This is the first time you meet her.

Is it?

“You brats, I told you not to head off too far,” the older man bellows, crossing logs for arms in front of his broad chest. The first three take one big, polite step away from you, but don’t look apologetic at all.

“I’m sorry for our hastiness, Captain Jeralt,” the girl says, her eyes darting from you still sitting on the ground to him towering in his full height above them. “But it seems we would have otherwise not found this person.”

“This person who wasn’t really much conscious a couple of minutes ago,” the boy in yellow adds with a crooked grin. “How bad would it have been if someone else would have beaten us to it?”

“No need to make me look like the bad guy,” Captain Jeralt interrupts with a raised hand before the boy in blue can join his friends' justifications. Instead, he turns to you and regards you with a scrutinising look.

“What are you doing out here?” he demands. “Where’s your family? Friends?”

“Uhm, they’re—” you start, but nothing comes to your mind. Not only that. You don’t know why you’re out here, where you are exactly … and basically anything that should come to you about your own person remains shrouded in darkness. “I don’t know.”

Jeralt nods like that explains the very reason you’re still sitting on the ground like a misplaced cargo of cabbage. He kneads the nape of his neck, his face softening the tiniest bit. “And what’s your name?”

Unable to hold his piercing eyes, you drop your gaze to the ground, curling your trembling fingers into the fabric of your wool jacket. “I, uh… don’t know.”

If you thought you didn’t have their attention before, now their eyes are glued on your face in different levels of shock and disbelief.

“A case of amnesia?” the blond male says, not quite managing to achieve the right balance between blatant curiosity and polite worry. “Does this mean you have nowhere to go? Don’tknow where to go?”

“Goddess help you, Dimitri,” the other boy groans, running a hand through his short, brown hair. “Be any more tactless, will ya?”

“He isn’t wrong,” the girl says, observing you like you’re a fascinating new specimen in her collection of strange things. “You need a place to stay. And help until your memories return.”

If they return, you don’t dare to say because despite all things, hope still clings to you in the deepest corner of your heart, not allowing you to follow that train of thought and what it will mean for your future.

“Then by all means, if you want to join,” Jeralt says, waving a dismissive hand in your direction. “I don’t think you kids accept a No, so I’m going to save my breath.” He turns around with a grunt. “Get them your horse, Byleth. We’re late as it is, and another night of Alois talking my ears off will make me do something I’ll regret.”

The woman called Byleth keeps staring at you even as Jeralt walks past her and gives her shoulder a solid clap. You can’t say if she’s mute or just speechless because she’s filled with the same strange overflowing sensation like you: like a basin filling with water but unable to drain off. It appears you’re the same age, a couple of years older than the other three but still much younger than Jeralt, and yet the moment your eyes lock, it feels like there is something far older than any of you together passing between you. Something ancient.

“Well, first off, on your feet, little one.” Strong hands curl around your elbows, hoisting you up in one swift movement. A wave of dizziness hits you like an unavoidable spell, and the pounding from before settles back behind your right eye.

“Amazing, Claude,” the girl hisses, and quickly steps forward to steady you, pressing one hand against the small of your back where her strong fingers curl against the curve of your spine. Her other hand gently holds yours as she helps you regain your balance. “Excuse his manners. I promise not everyone from the Officers Academy behaves like a brute.”

“The what now?” you ask, hit by another wave of dizziness that might originate more from the girl’s soft lavender fragrance rather than the world spinning around you.

“The Officers Academy at Garreg Mach Monastery,” Dimitri provides this time. His posture is straight like an arrow, the stance of a soldier speaking to his officer. “That is where we attend as students and hence are going right now.”

“And you want me to come with you?” you ask like you have the option to refuse and go somewhere else. Strangely, the thought of joining a group of armed knights and mercenaries doesn’t fill you with fear or anxiety. You’re about to tread into foreign waters, and yet your heart is calm like a still compass guiding you in the right direction.

Claude clasps his hands behind his head like he’s got nothing to do with you feeling unwell at the moment. “Unless you have another place to be?”

Luckily, your head does come clear and breathing becomes a little easier. You nod to the girl and she holds you a second longer before she nods back and lets go. “I guess not,” you mumble, looking at each one of them. Byleth still hasn’t moved. By now you can’t really tell if she’s looking at you or through you. Surely, she would have said something by now if she thought you were familiar, right?

“Then it’s settled.” The girl nods solemnly, throwing her silky, white hair over her shoulder. “We welcome you in our company. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Edelgard von Hresvelg, heir to the Adrestian Empire.” Edelgard gives you a tight-lipped smile that quickly thins into a white line when the other two introduce themselves as Claude von Riegan, grandson of the Sovereign Duke of the Leicester Alliance and Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, future king to the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus. None of these names ring a bell to you, but you nod, pretending to know exactly what they're talking about.

“Okay, we need a name for you as well,” Claude proposes, tapping a slender finger against his chin. He has a strikingly sharp jaw that looks fit to cut stone. “Can’t have everyone call you stranger or little one now, can we?”

“No,” you say. “Especially since we’re about the same height.”

Claude laughs like you just told him the best joke he’s heard in years. “Soo, since we found you here … how about Glade? Or Woody?”

“How about no,” you say with furrowed eyebrows.

“Apologies.” Edeglard sighs and shakes her head, her expression a mix between disappointment and annoyance. “Claude isn’t much accustomed to the notion of consideration.”

Claude rolls his eyes. “Then you come up with something, princess. Or is it impossible because you can’t take out the stick up your—”

“Claude,” Dimitri half shrieks, his pale cheeks splotched with red dots. As he stumbles over his own words trying to apologise for Claude’s behaviour, Edelgard simply deadpans, “Bold words for someone in stabbing range.”

The fourth in this round of strange people considers you with a blank expression, her steady gaze like a solid touch on your skin. Before a greater argument can break free between the students, Byleth says a name with a surety like she’s never said anything else in her life, and hearing it, this barely whispered word immediately lost to the wind, you just know it’s your name.

“Yes, much better than what Claude proposed.” Dimitri nods, regaining his composure even though he’s still staring daggers at Claude. “It sounds more civilised as well.”

“You didn’t even suggest anything,” Claude remarks, but the huff of annoyance quickly dissipates from his voice when he jerks a thumb towards Byleth. “That’s Byleth, by the way. Funny story is, we met her just a couple of hours ago as well.”

“Fate must have brought us together here today,” Dimitri agrees with a solemn nod. “I swear on my honour as a noble knight from the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus that I will see you safe to the Monastery. Lady Rhea will surely be able to help you there.”

“Okay. Thank you,” you manage, unable to connect a face to this name in your head that feels like it’s about to burst any second anyway. The only course of action lies within those strangers who are so willingly offering help that you can’t stop worrying it’s a ruse. But without anything to offer them except your life, there’s little coming to your mind that they can anticipate in taking you with them. Tthe fact that Byleth knew your name doesn’t sit right with you as well. There’s something waiting to be grasped at the tips of your fingers, and yet you lack the strength to embrace it.

Following the little group of soldiers and students through the woods, you remain silent on the journey, only answering questions with approving or denying hums. How did you end up in this particular forest? According to Jeralt, you’re currently moving away from a village called Remire and towards the mountains to the northeast where the monastery lies tucked away between two mountains. Judging from the clothes you’re wearing, you’re a commoner, and when Edelgard pushed a slim dagger in your hand, nothing rung in intuitive knowledge about how to handle a weapon. Your mind remained silent, like an untouched chord.

There’s little you can say about the first impression those people left on you. There seems to be a unanimous dispute between the three students, hanging palpable in the air whenever an argument starts that’s pregnant with implied insults or passive-aggressive comments. From that you gather there’s tension between the governing fractions in Fódlan, something else you’ve learnt from listening to them squabbling.

Byleth and Jeralt acknowledge their bickering as if it was flies buzzing around their heads. They keep more to themselves and their mercenary comrades, indicating they’re really as much of strangers to the students as you. Their conversations are a lot quieter as well, their heads leaning close together for the illusion of privacy. More than once you notice Byleth sneaking glances in your direction, and every time you lock eyes, there’s something close to comprehension when she looks at you. The further you march through the woods, the less you try to meet her gaze. Reaching the monastery is the first step to regain who you are, or so you hope, because the opposite would mean you’ll continue stumbling through the darkness with no lead to your past or why you’re in this particular part of Fódlan, and you can only hope that this Rhea person really will be able to help you.

A sound from the underbrush cuts through your thoughts.

Thinking it might be an animal, you don’t let it bother you too much. No one else seems to have heard it, so maybe it was just your imagination. But your brain refuses to let it rest, and fails to push it away from your mind because something about the sound doesn’t seem to be right. The more you try to focus on it though, the blurrier it gets; the less you understand its origin.

Then, you hear a voice from within the woods. It sounds like a slurred whisper.

“What was that?” You stop in the middle of the road, looking around the thick trees. Claude barely manages to avoid walking into you. “What was what?”

“There’s something here.” Unable to explain further, you wave your hand around for emphasis. He looks at your hand, incomprehension written all over his face. “And that something is what exactly?” he asks.

“I don’t know.” You wave your hand wilder. “But I don’t have a good feeling venturing further.”

“You may be still tired,” Edelgard offers, not hiding her irritation that the journey stopped. “It won’t be long until we reach Garreg Mach. You can rest however long you need inside the monastery’s infirmary.”

“I’m not tired,” you hiss, hand falling back to your side where it clenches into a fist. “I just really don’t think we should go further for now.”

“And why is that?” Dimitri inquirers. He raises a hand and the soldiers following them come to a halt, a murmur of unrest breathing through their lines, and it’s just enough that you question if it would be better to play if off and admit your mind is playing tricks on you due to exhaustion.

But whenever you blink, a red veil falls over your right eye, blurring your surroundings. Little red dots move slowly in the distance through the forest. If you didn’t know better, you’d say it’s some sort of life form far away, slowly advancing on your position. “Because someone is coming,” you finally manage, scratching the thin skin below your irritated eye that’s started twitching slightly. “Someone is coming towards us from southwest. And I can’t say if they’re friendly or not.”

Three pairs of eyes consider you like you’ve grown a second head. Only Byleth stares into the woods like she might find the strangers you’re talking about waiting behind the trees if she just looks hard enough.

“Little one, are you sure this isn’t just an aftereffect from you hitting your head?” Claude offers, squinting into the woods. You’re pretty sure he’s staring directly at the moving dots but for whatever reason can’t see them.

“Unless amnesia is suddenly another term for going crazy, I don’t think so,” you snap, unable to hold back the irritation raising to the surface.

A whistle echoes through the tree crowns. Byleth snaps her head in the direction of the sound, growing all tense. She raises her hand into a tight fist, and all movement stills behind you. When you turn around, you see the mercenaries waiting in the underbrush like a flock of crows ready to swipe down on their prey. Jeralt breaks away from them and approaches Byleth, a frown cutting a deep wrinkle into his forehead.

“Bandits,” he says, and quickly signs a hand gesture to the nearest bowman. He nods and disappears between trees. “Another mile away. If we stay on this road, we’ll walk right into them.”

“Seven hundred feet, actually,” you blurt. Jeralt looks at you like you’re a cockroach under his boot. Another whistle cuts through the woods, one long followed quickly by two short. Byleth exhales audibly, and only now you notice she’s moved to stand beside you. “Seven hundred feet,” she mutters, her eyes fixed on you.

Jeralt tenses. “How do you know, kid?”

“I don’t know,” you mumble towards your boots. “I just see.”

There’s an uncomfortable silence falling around you, and you’re too afraid to look up and read distrust in their eyes.

“Does it matter?” Claude finally breaks the silence, sliding his bow from his shoulder. “They won’t be a problem with the knights and mercenaries on our side.” He jerks his chin towards Byleth, already plugging an arrow from his quiver. “You should really see her fight.”

“Wait,” you say, reflexively reaching for the hem of his cape. “Don’t engage them yet.”

Claude stops, one eyebrow arched up in a curve. “Beg your pardon?”

“They come from the woods. Which means this is their hunting ground and they have the advantage. They have dozens of archers. I think they’re waiting until you reach a glade. And then open fire.”

“Which means we’ll end up as skewers.” Claude scratches his chin and twirls the arrow between his slender fingers. “I can think of better ways to shuffle off this mortal coil.”

Dimitri perks up. “You’ve read the Tale of Hamelot I gave you?”

“I’ll give it a six out of ten. His soliloquies were awful.”

“Boys.” Edelgard snaps her fingers impatiently as Dimitri opens his mouth to protest. “Not the time.” She takes your wrist and pulls it away from Claude’s cape, her hard gaze like a sharp knife. “Are we simply ignoring the fact that we have someone in our midst knowing the enemies’ movement and deployment?” she cuts in harshly. “Is this a plan to lure us into an ambush?”

“You think someone would give away their comrades’ position just like that?” Claude eyes her wearily. “Don’t be so suspicious of everyone.”

She glares at him. “I rather be suspicious than dead.”

Which is a valid point and a trait you willingly admit to share with her, but that doesn’t really solve the problem at hand. Luckily, Dimitri seems to think the same. He doesn’t unfasten the spear on his back yet, but his fingers dance swiftly over the handle, immediately resting on where he can easily pull it from the straps if needed to strike down an enemy. “Fact is enemies are approaching,” he concludes, looking at his fellow students in search for a consensual ceasefire. “We must put an end to them before they target defenceless travellers on their way out of the forest.”

“Spoken like a true crowd-pleaser,” Claude says, either unable or not caring to hide the mock in his voice. “We can resolve our new friend’s condition after we take down the enemy.”

“I don’t agree with this,” Edelgard declares, but nonetheless unclasps the double-bit axe from her back and swings it on her shoulder like it weighs nothing. “But I accept that this is a more pressing issue.” The easiness in the movement robs your lungs of air, and even though there are more important matters to focus on, you wonder how her muscles play under her black uniform swinging around a thing like that. Your admiration comes to a quick end when Jeralt and Byleth close the circle. Her hand rests on the hilt of a short blade as she scans the underbrush, her body rigid with battle anticipation.

“Let them come to us,” Jeralt announces. “Let them think they have the advantage.”

“Your knigths over there move slow through the woods,” you say, gesturing at the waiting man clad in heavy armour and armed with shields. “But their amour can resist some stray arrows coming down on us. It’s the rearguard that will take them by surprise from another direction and—”

“And charge their flank or rear to finish them off,” Jeralt ends with a crude nod. “Indirect approach. I thought of that as well.”

Your mouth goes dry. The idea plopped seemingly out of nowhere in your mind, but yes, now that you think about it, that is the indirect approach tactic, first recorded after the Battle of Nicaea in … Faerghus? Or was it Adrestia? The picture in your mind is still blurry, but now you can make out definite lines of objects: Books with drawn pictures of pointing arrows and coloured lines, each lettered with a name or an approach in a neat handwriting that isn’t yours. The picture triggers another wave of dizziness, disappearing as fast as it appeared.

“They’re going to faint in three, two, one…” Claude’s voice rips you back to the present. You glare at him and raise a fist to show how close to fainting you really are. He only laughs at the tiny fist in front of his face.

“Enough brats, get into position,” Jeralt bellows, and the students scatter with a bouncing step in all their strides as they take the lead of a small unit.

You’re about to retreat to the furthest point away from battle when Jeralt blocks the way. “Not you. You’re going with Byleth.”

“I’m what?”

“Byleth,” Jeralt nods to the young woman ahead of you, “will be the commanding unit and you’ll help her.”

The world tilts a little as panic takes hold of you. “I can’t. I don’t know how to fight.”

“You seem to know enough to plan a counterattack.”

“That doesn’t mean anything.” Your voice sounds horribly piercing even to your own ears. “It was just a lucky guess.”

“I don’t know what’s the deal with you,” Jeralt says with a finality to his voice that doesn’t allow objection, and this time you clearly see the head of a mercenary guild, one that gives commands with every breath. “But that wasn’t a lucky guess. You see what it needs to win a battle. So you guide them.”

He turns around sharply and leaves, not bothering to check if you plan to abandon them. It’s madness. You should abandon these people, should flee from the fight that will demand blood and death. One, two, three … six steps and you’re standing beside Byleth, taking deep breaths. It doesn’t help. She eyes you sideways with a raised brow, and you flinch at the metallic rasping sound as she draws her sword.

“I shouldn’t be here,” you mumble, staring into the woods. The red dots are approaching faster, forming into more recognisable features of humans. “I’m going to die. Without knowing who I am or why I’m here. This is the worst day of my life. I think. I don’t know. It has to be.”

Byleth hums beside you. You can’t tell if it’s a thoughtful or an affirmative hum. “This might sound crazy, but I do trust you.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t,” you say, struck by a sudden fear that this all is a fever dream and you're about to lead them into ruin. It’s enough that you don’t even notice this is the first time you two are talking to each other since your meeting.

Byleth studies you out of the corner of her eyes, then says, “A very persistent voice inside me tells me I shouldn’t.”

“That’s your survival instinct. Listen to it.”

“Yeah,” Byleth says, and there’s something like a faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips. You blink and it's gone. “I might do that.”

You don’t really understand what’s there to smile about, but the moment quickly disappears as silence settles, only occasionally disturbed by a bird sitting in the trees above you.

“So what exactly do you see?” Byleth whispers after a moment, barely shifting in her crouching position. You on the other hand really want to move your legs before they go numb.

“I don’t know why you guys even believe me,” you mumble, and pinch the bridge of your nose with your fingers, trying to stave off another rush of dizziness. “And I don’t understand it myself. It’s the opponent, in a way. I see their strengths and weaknesses, their amour and weapons. It’s like … it’s like the flow of battle is displayed in front of me.”

Byleth hesitates a moment, then nods like everything is pretty much self-explanatory. You wonder if to her it really does sound plausible, as she is someone who is practically born in battle, a daughter to a mercenary who breathes battle and fighting. Before you can explain anything further, she ducks more into the bushes and silences you with a sharp hush, her body tensed. The first bandits approach the glade, their bows and arrows ready to strike as the Academy’s knights engage them. Swords and axes clash against each other, battle cries ring through the woods. Byleth gestures you to follow her, and out of the corner of your eyes you see the students do the same, moving around the bandits. From the distance, you notice Claude gesturing wildly. It’s a mix between pointing at himself and then at the space a couple of feet away from his unit, and though you’re unable to fully comprehend it, you shake your head. He gives a thumbs up and slows down until he halts inside the thick cover of ferns.

Just when you reach the right angle, Byleth looks back at you, waiting for your approval, and after briefly hesitating, you signal with a short nod to attack. Edelgard is the first to emerge from the underbrush. She has a dancer’s grace and a seemingly unerring instinct for what her opponent will do next. Her axe cuts through the first bandits who are too surprised to regroup in time. Dimitri and Claude are quickly to follow her. The crown prince of Faerghus wields his weapon of choice like he’s never done anything else in his entire life. The spear is the instrument to a deadly song they know by heart, and whoever stands in the way of their melody is cut down swiftly. Claude doesn’t disappoint with his steady aim either, his eyes sharper than an eagle’s. He nocks his bow, draws and impales a bandit that’s been running toward a mercenary with a crooked nose and eye patch. The mercenary gives him an offhand salute and goes back to fighting a thug twice his size.

And then there’s Byleth. At first you don’t see her as the battle’s chaos swallows her and she disappears between moving bodies. But once your eyes catch up to her again, it’s hard to look away. Byleth moves through the enemies’ lines like an avenging angel on a mission. Her sword arm causes havoc as it conducts the tact of death’s complicated choreography and one by one the bandits fall to her deadly dance. Strangely, what describes it the best, you think, is divine.

The battle is almost over. The last bandits fall or flee back into the woods as they abandon their comrades who lay down their weapons and yield. A miserable sound of relief escapes you when you see the end nearing with little casualties on your side, thanking whoever watches over you and guides your weapons in victory.

That is until you see something, and at first you aren’t really sure you see it. Veiled by a red haze, a gruesome scene unfolds before you: As Byleth is focused on helping a soldier back up on his feet, a bandit strikes her from behind, wedging a dagger through her spine and into her heart. When you blink, the scene is gone and with it the red veil covering your surroundings.

You don’t think twice. Jumping out of your hiding spot, you quickly recognise what will be Byleth’s murderer. Only he never gets the chance to approach her. With everything you’ve got, you charge into him and send him flying on the ground, you on top of him. The bandit groans, groggily turning on his back to see what struck him, and before you can start to fear for your own dear life, Byleth is beside you and rams her sword into his throat, silencing him forever.

She looks down at you and you feel like she knows what just happened. Why you jumped in. It’s in those keen, piercing eyes that speak of a unimaginable wisdom. She reaches a hand out to help you up, and when you stand, the last bandits have been secured and the chaos finally settles. That is when the throbbing pain in your right eye doubles you ever, the pain akin to a pinprick of ice hammering into your skull. The pain makes you sick as stars explode behind your closed eyes, and the more they dance in feverish circles, the harder you press your hands against your eyelids, trying to smother the pain by pressure. It doesn’t work.

Unable to breathe properly, your stumble, and when you move your hands, your fingers smear something warm and wet across your cheeks.

Someone takes in a sharp breath. “Your eye,” Byleth breathes, a hand raised but remaining hanging in the air like she’s unsure if it’s okay to touch you. In the background you hear someone calling out you’re bleeding, and it takes a few seconds to understand where you’re bleeding from. Your right eye cries blood when the pain finally knocks you out, darkness falling onto everything.

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liannyeong · 4 years ago

Text

Crimson (Chapter 3)

Summary: Jaebeom tours Yujin around the mansion, and the start of the wedding preparations.

Word count: 2463

Pairing: Jaebeom X OC

Warning(s): None

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16

A/N: Phew! Managed to get this done in time! And it’s a longer chapter too :D Do support my works by buying me a coffee! Follow me on Twitter for updates ~ See you next week! ^^

Jaebeom takes Yujin to the garden first. Standing a few steps away from the garden arch, pink flowers decorating the iron base. The vibrant petals contrast against the surrounding plain green hedges. Jaebeom doesn't bring her into the garden though. Instead, he briefly explains that it's more of a maze instead of an actual garden.

"What's in the middle of the maze then?" Yujin asks, looking beyond the arch. Interestingly, the sun is bright overhead, but the garden pathway is rather dark, and there seems to be a kind of fog clouding it, giving a mysterious aura.

"Oh, nothing much. Just a water fountain, that's all," Jaebeom responds, bringing her attention to the mansion instead. Yujin slightly frowns. Why does the fae seem rather dismissive?

"The mansion has an east wing and a west wing," Jaebeom gestures to the rectangular blocks that emerge from the centre of the mansion. "And there are three floors. The first floor is a common area, where the kitchen and the dining hall are located in the west wing. The east wing is where the servants' quarters are located."

"The second floor is made up of sleeping quarters for the rest of the household. That one, however," Jaebeom points out at the balcony just above the front door to the mansion, "is the ballroom. The third floor is the library in its entirety."

Next, Jaebeom brings her back inside the mansion. They step into the kitchen first, where Chan -- the one who served them earlier -- is focused on cooking a dish. There are two other faes busily moving about in the kitchen. None of them seem to be affected by their presence. Yujin catches the greenish glint in their eyes.

"Does your household employ different elemental faes?" Yujin asks when they exit the kitchen.

"Elemental faes prefer to stick to their own kind. But here, it's different. We don't follow the general notion."

"What about Jinyoung? He's your brother but he's not a Fire fae."

Jaebeom smiles ruefully. "That's because he's my half-brother."

Yujin expects him to go on, but he doesn't. He leaves the conversation as it is. The next room over is the dining hall, but having been there during breakfast, Jaebeom skips to the servants' quarters.

"This is where the servants stay. If you need anything, you can approach them. Preferably, you should approach me though," Jaebeom murmurs the last sentence to himself but the silence in the house makes it loud and clear to Yujin's ears.

They head up the stairs, to the second floor. Jaebeom shows Yujin the ballroom, pushing open the large wooden door. It's basically empty, the daylight streaming into the room through the glass doors, casting a glow onto the marble-tiled floor. Beyond the doors is the balcony that she saw from the garden arch.

"We shall hold our wedding here," Jaebeom suddenly says, a huge grin on his face. In an instant, Yujin feels her heart drop. The tour has made her temporarily forget the reason she was brought here.

"Well, let's continue on." The fae walks out of the room, Yujin trailing behind.

He goes past the stairs and to the start of the hallway of the west wing, pausing there. "At the very end is where my room is located," Jaebeom states. "If you ever need anything, you can find me there."

Then they go up to the third floor, where the library is. The stairs form a bridge-like structure that splits into two pathways. The library appears taller than the other two floors, thanks to the roof that is shaped like a dome. It is made of entirely glass, allowing for the steady stream of sunlight. With the vast space -- a result of the merging of the two wings into one -- Yujin guesses there could be thousands of books in total: there are aisles of books, and every wall is turned into a bookshelf too!

"All the books in the library are my personal collection," Jaebeom gestures at the aisles. “But you’re more than welcome to read them.”

Yujin stares at Jaebeom, mouth gaping at him. She has always wanted to read new books but never had the chance, considering the financial situation of her family. They only have enough to sustain their survival, rarely anything more to purchase new things. Only once did her father gift her a novel that she has read multiple times throughout the years.

"Thank you, I’d like that a lot," Yujin can’t help but return a smile, genuinely grateful and happy. This seems to please the fae, for he looks at her as if she’s never smiled before.

"Well, uh--" Jaebeom clears his throat, “Come this way.”

Moving past rows of bookshelves, right at the very end, there is an arched glass window, with cushioned seats lined on the windowsill. Looking out, Yujin gets a bird's eye view of the mansion grounds, including the garden maze. She spots a fountain in the center, true to what Jaebeom said.

“It's nice, isn't it?” Jaebeom comments.

Definitely, Yujin thinks to herself.

“Well, that’s all there is in this mansion,” Jaebeom concludes. "I hope you’re more comfortable and familiar here."

“Yes, thank you for showing me around."

“Anything for you,” Jaebeom replies, eyes rather fond. "Ah yes, you’ll be fitted for your dress today, in the late afternoon. Yeri will remind you again."

“I shall leave you to yourself then,” he says, bowing politely and making his way out.

Yujin redirects her attention to the view outside. How advantageous is this, she realizes. Having a view from this angle will allow her to monitor the movements around the mansion.

She might have just arrived here and so far, no one has tried to harm her. Still, she can't get complacent. She can't let her guard down. There's a lot of things she doesn't know, questions that remain unanswered. But it's better she doesn't delve too much into it, she muses. The fae are skilled in deluding people, she reminds herself. It's better that she focuses on finding a way out of this place. She shouldn’t stay here any longer than necessary.

---

Yujin is woken by a shake on her shoulder, her eyes still heavy. She peeks an eye, the sun already casting slanted shadows through the windows. Yeri is standing next to the bed, reminding her of the dress fitting. Yujin quickly freshens herself up before following the servant lady to a guest room situated in the west wing of the mansion.

“Why couldn’t we do the fitting in my own room?” Yujin wonders aloud.

“It’s Master Im’s orders, Lady Shin,” Yeri responds as calm and dignified as usual. Then, she comes a little closer, and whispers, “Master Im doesn’t want anyone near or in your room.” She lets out a small giggle.

Yujin frowns. In an instant, the fae immediately reverts back to her composed self, as if she's done something wrong. Her sudden shift in mood has Yujin letting out a small laugh. Yeri smiles at her sheepishly.

The guestroom is as large as her room in the east wing. Seeing no one else in the room, Yujin decides to take her place at the loveseat. She’s rather thankful to have borrowed a book from the library and brought it along. She was reading it to pass time, but accidentally fell asleep until Yeri came. Basking in the silence of the room, Yujin flips open the book and continues on the page she left off.

She didn’t keep track of the time. She was nose deep into the novel when the door swings open and a commotion follows. Looking up, Yujin sees a male fae entering the room in the longest strides she has ever seen. He stands in the middle of the room, leaning his weight onto one foot. His legs are long, Yujin notices, and his cheekbones are visible beneath his slightly tanned skin. The next thing Yujin notices is the fae’s blue-colored eyes -- a sign that he is a Water fae. Yujin slowly rises to her feet.

“You must be the Shin Yujin,” the fae says with a subtle accent, looking her up and down. Perhaps elemental faes have different cultures and slightly different languages, much like human races.

“I’m Bam, your couturier,” he introduces himself. Before Yujin can even respond, he waves his hand and a mannequin appears in front of him, at the empty space between the guest bed and the loveseat. Bam steps forward, moving his right arm in a fluid motion and a measuring tape slides smoothly down his arm and into his hand. If Yujin had blinked, she might not have even noticed it.

“Measure her, please,” the male instructs and it’s like the measuring tape comes to life. Similar to water, the tape flows from the fae’s hand and slithers its way towards Yujin. It coils around her ankle, then spreads to her hip before covering her entire body like a tight-fit suit. It measures the littlest of details, leaving no skin untouched. Once done, it flows back down to the floor, creeping up to the mannequin. The mannequin morphs to be an exact replica of Yujin’s body.

“Alright, let’s see,” Bam goes. He crosses his arms, fingers underneath his chin, brows furrowed in thought. He tilts his head to the side, humming to himself. Then in the next moment, he suggests, “Perhaps a basic dress?”

Bam snaps his fingers and what appears to be snowflakes starts falling above the mannequin, to reveal a long simple dress. It is plain white, no design apart from the lace on the cap sleeves. The material hugs at the waist and tapers to her thighs, accentuating the Yujin’s curves. The tail fans out at the bottom, forming a smooth circle on the floor.

“What do you think?” the fae asks, glancing at Yujin. She doesn’t even get a chance to form her opinion, let alone open her mouth as Bam waves his hand, shaking his head. “On second thought, never mind. Let’s try another… I think… You’ll go better with an off-shoulder dress.”

Another snap and the basic dress moulds itself into an off-shoulder dress. The sleeves are long and tight to skin. There’s a dip in the middle, towards the cleavage but it’s not too low that it is racy. Around the waist is a rose gold embroidery, and the skirt flows loosely, multiple layers of light chiffon.

“What do you think?” Bam asks again, looking rather proud at his design. This time, Yujin has the time to step forward and feel the material.

The dress is beautiful, Yujin must admit, though she wonders if it suits her.

Just then, Jaebeom barges in, door slamming against the wall, his expression sour. “Bam!” he bellows.

“Oh, hello, Jaebeom,” the Water fae greets. “I think I’m just about done here--”

“How dare you make my bride wait!” Jaebeom raises his voice at the other, jabbing a finger into his chest. “Is this how you treat your clientele? Showing up late?”

Bam cowers. Yujin feels the temperature plummet. Watching the scene warily, she notices the candles around the room dimmed low, almost extinguished.

“I chose you as our couturier and yet, you treat my bride like a fool?”

“I’m sorry, Jaebeom, I had other business to attend to--”

“Excuses!” the Fire fae roars.

“Jaebeom--” Yujin intervenes, though her voice is small. Her own heart pounds in her ears. She definitely doesn’t want to be at the receiving end of Jaebeom’s wrath, but she feels the urge to defend Bam. The Water fae has his head hung low, avoiding any form of eye contact with the other fae. Yujin doesn’t know where she got the courage to move forward, such that she touches Jaebeom’s elbow. “It’s fine. It wasn’t a long wait -- not with a book to keep me company.”

Jaebeom looks over his shoulder. His anger seems to dissipate almost instantly. Out of the corner of her eye, Yujin notices the fires are back to normal. “Are you sure? I can punish him, if you’d like.”

“That won’t be ideal, would it? We need his service for our wedding,” she placates the male.

Jaebeom exhales steadily. Then he turns back to Bam, who is still looking down at his feet. Jaebeom jabs his finger into his chest once more, and spits, “You should be thankful to the mercy of my bride. Else, you’d be dead by now.”

The Fire fae faces Yujin once more, gently tapping her shoulder, a smile on his lips. His hand slides down her arm to hold her hand up between them. “If there’s anything you are displeased with, don’t hesitate to call me.” He brings up the hand higher, pressing his lips to her knuckles. Gently letting her go, Jaebeom turns on his heels and leaves the room. Yujin can’t help but notice how Bam immediately relaxes.

“Thank you for saving my life,” the couturier expresses his gratitude with a slight bow, a relieved expression on his face.

Yujin offers a kind smile. “I don’t think I did anything but you’re welcome.”

“Such amazing ability, you have,” Bam says. “I can’t believe that it’s true.”

Yujin cocks her head to the side. “What is?”

“Well,” Bam starts rather hesitantly. “Jaebeom has always been a hot-headed person, much worse than what you saw earlier. But his temper has mostly died down ever since he moved to this mansion, you see. Occasionally, he does get angry when it comes to important matters. But the fact that he was furious at me for being late and that you calmed him real quick… You really have Jaebeom wrapped around your finger.”

Yujin got reminded of Jinyoung, who said the same words. She shrugs her shoulders. “Maybe he doesn’t like truancy.”

Bam shakes his head. “I’ve known him all my life. And I’ve never seen him like this.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “You must mean a lot to him, considering that he’s protective of you.”

Yujin doubts so. There must be another reason for Jaebeom to behave in such a manner. Even if he is protective of me, it's because he needs me for something. But I wonder what...

“Ah!” Bam’s face suddenly lights up. He whips around and snaps his fingers at the mannequin. The sleeves are gone, and thin straps are added instead. Then, just slightly above the chest, a gold jewelry wraps around the mannequin. Magic flows downward, constructing a long chiffon cape that drapes all the way down, almost touching the floor.

“How do you find this?” Bam presents it to Yujin, his blue eyes gleam with pride.

“It’s-- Majestic.” Yujin finds herself amazed by the elegance it holds.

Bam grins wide. “Perfect for the bride of the Im house.”

#got7 #got7 scenarios #got7 jaebeom #got7 im jaebeom #got7 jaebeom scenarios #got7 im jaebeom scenarios #jaebeom #im jaebeom #im jaebeom scenarios #jaebeom scenarios #got7 fanfic #got7 imagines

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dragonrajafanfiction · 4 years ago

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Dragon Dancer IV: Tightrope Walker

Once upon a time, I, Chuang Chou, dreamed I was a butterfly, fluttering here and there. For all intents and purposes I was a butterfly. I was conscious only of my happiness as a butterfly, unaware that I was Chou. Soon, I awakened and, there I was, veritably myself again. Now I do not know whether I was then a man, dreaming I was a butterfly, or whether I am now a butterfly, dreaming I am a man. -- Zhuangzi

“We’re here.”

The train had come to a sudden stop, but I didn’t feel the change in inertia. The scenery outside the window had just stopped moving. There was no sound of a whistle or breaks. The unnerving sensation broke me out in a cold sweat and goosebumps all over. I started to shake. “Mingfei...”

“It’s okay.” He took my hand. “Everything’s going to be fine. I know where we are.”

Together we stepped off the train. There was no platform, so Mingfei jumped off first and then held up his hands to brace me and let me down. The train had stopped at two large concrete barriers. We’d literally reached the end of the line and the thought of that made me shudder. “Mingfei.” I said, my voice a soft hoarse whisper.

“What is it.”

“I want to go back. This is a mistake.”

Mingfei took a deep breath and let it out. “I know you’re nervous. But you have to trust me okay? I know what’s here. I know what’s going to happen.”

He continued to lead me by the hand. I dragged my feet and he slowed his pace, not willing to tug me along.

We came to a wide open area that was partially collapsed. A large dragon skeleton was half-buried in the rubble. The bones were gleaming white and it reminded me of a 737 airplane.

“This is it. This is where I killed Fenrir.”

In the middle of the area was a large golden box shining with a green patina. Mingfei let go of my hand and jogged to it. “Yes. This is what I’m looking for.”

He pressed a button on the box and it snapped open unfolding half a dozen blades inserted in to individual sheathes. Each blade snarled and roared and rattled as though alive, but Mingfei wasn’t afraid. His hand hovered over them as he tried to pick out which one he would use.

“Come here.” He beckoned to me. “You get one too.”

I approached cautiously. “Are you sure it’s okay?”

“Yeah,” He pulled out one and it hissed in his hand in protest. “You’re S-ranked. They’ll respond to you.” It was a long curved blade of slate colored Damascene steel, beautifully striated.

“This one is called Wrath.”

“The others are Pride, Lust, Sloth...Envy, Greed and... huh. Gluttony is missing.”

“The Seven Deadly Sins...”

He looked at me as I approached and I looked away, bashfully hiding the sudden attraction these blades held for me.

“They’re the ultimate dragon slaying weapons. Forged by the Lord of Bronze and Fire specifically for killing the other dragons.”

“Is there a dragon here?” I asked.

A voice behind me made me start. “Please don’t ask stupid questions. You’re way smarter than that.”

Mingze stood in front of the concrete barrier, one hand on his waist, his sword, the missing Gluttony, pointed toward the ground. His smile was gone and his gaze was more frigid than ever. He turned his attention to Mingfei. “You can really hurt me with those you know. To be honest, I was kind of hoping you’d sleep a little longer. But I suppose three fourths of your life will have to do.”

My heart leaped in my throat and my lungs worked like bellows. This guy. This was the one who was going to take Mingfei!

I reached out without looking and seized one of the handles. It screamed as I drew it and I charged him, swinging it at his neck.

He simply leaned out of the way, and turned and fled up the pile of rubble with me hot on his heels. We sent stones cascading down the mountainous heap, the sound of our blades echoing in the empty space. But Mingze stayed just out of of the reach of my sword. He was above me, staring down with a smug smile

“Sibling rivalry is hard enough without your interference.” He said.

The rubble suddenly shifted under my feet. The white spike of a bone jabbed upward between us. The shifting rock made me lose my footing and I was falling, tumbling in a rockslide. The world spun. I couldn’t see. My vision exploded into sparks.

I suddenly stopped, a strong jerk halting my fall. I was hanging and being swung. Something had caught the back of my dress. I looked around, disoriented by shifting bones that glowed with a faint greenish light. I reached up behind me to free myself until I realized I was a dozen feet off the floor. Instead, used the momentum of my swinging to toss myself upward and grab on to another bone.

The dragon skeleton was reanimating. A yellow light in the empty eye sockets. Mingze was gone again, leaving me trapped in this maze of moving bone. Mingfei stood, staying far too calm in this situation. “Don’t do it!” I called down to him.

I had to stop this. My sword had come loose from my hand and was being ground between the vertabrae above my head. “Wait Mingfei! Don’t do it!”

The dragon skeleton lumbered forward, silently toward an unmoving Mingfei.

“Meixiu! Calm down! It’s fine!”

Mingfei was smiling. I thought he still didn’t understand. My mind was filled with dread over what might happen if Mingfei remembered his power. I wrapped my legs around the rib and start to shimmy upward, like climbing a rope at a gym class.

The blade was still stuck. The bones on the spine were grinding together with tremendous force, enough to crush me in a second. I reached for the sword but it as just beyond my fingertips.

I glanced back at Mingfei. The undead dragon was half way out of the rubble and Mingfei was petting it like it was a cat.

I stopped. They weren’t going to fight?

Mingfei looked up at me. “See? Fenrir is not aggressive. Never was.”

I stared, uncertain. A deep thundering voice echoed through the cavern. “Watch... TV.”

Mingfei sighed, a deep sadness on his face. “Sorry, buddy. I’m just here for the swords. I can’t watch TV right now.”

I was frozen in confusion watching as the zombie dragon settled down in front of a piece of 80s technology that somehow managed to get reception down here. Meanwhile, Mingfei called me down from the Dragon’s rib cage. “Meixiu! Jump! I’ll catch you!”

“Oh... ...Okay.” I gathered myself and took a flying leap, down, down and landed on Mingfei. He staggered back and fell.

The dragon suddenly turned, eyes blazing in its empty skull. Its mouth opened, shining fangs on display. It spread its intimidating wingspan.

“Woah! Easy buddy! She’s a friend too!”

I watched in awe as the dragon settled down again, looking at me. Its wings lowered. “Play....?”

Mingfei let out a little laugh. “Nah. No time for that.”

“Sister... play... play with me...”

“...eh?” I asked.

“He thinks you’re his sister... I...” Mingfei’s eyes suddenly welled up with tears and he let out a sob. “I killed him.’

“You... ... but why?” I shook my head.

“It was messed up! Chu Zihang came and attacked him. But... he wasn’t doing anything. But I had no chance to explain anything. Hee was too strong, it was Chu Zihang or Fenrir and well...”

He wiped his eyes on his sleeve.

I suddenly felt a sharp nudge. “Play?”

The dragon was now pushing me, like a puppy wanting to be pet.

Mingfei took my hand and we were about to leave but Mingze was blocking our path. His unpleasant smile told us everything without words.

“NO!” Mingfei tossed me aside and rushed towards Mingze, but the boy vanished. The cavern was suddenly rocked by a massive earthquake, bursting with heat and light, like a bomb had gone off. The dragon suddenly picked me up and tossed me behind him, standing protectively over me, hissing at this new threat.

Mingze was now completely different. Gone was his pristine suit and elegant shoes and boyish smile. Instead, his face was expressionless, his arms covered with iron blue scales that were as hard as steel. They opened and shut against his skin with a faint rattling sound, like the cocking of a hundred tiny pistols.

His dark bony wings stroked the air, keeping him aloft. Even though he couldn’t use any words here, the surging spiritual power came naturally from him, filling the cavern with the oppressive sense of impending doom. Even if I had the power of Berengaria, I had the feeling he could extinguish all my spears of light as easily as birthday candles.

Mingfei roared up at him. “Hey! Stop! leave Fenrir out of this!”

“You know how this ends, brother. If you want me, you’re going to have to come up here and get me!” Mingze was mocking. Just the heat of his body was moving air around him like a giant furnace. He inhaled a huge amount of air and the wind formed a vortex that began to swallow up the heat radiating from him. The scorching wind was then directed at the undead dragon.

The wind was too hot to breathe, like the powerful pyroclastic air that flowed down from mount Vesuvius. My skin was growing red. I felt like I was burning all over!

The smell of the burning dragon bones was overpowering. I thought of my husband, my daughter, who were going to grow up without me and started to cry, but my tears evaporated before they could fall.

“CANCEL!”

The word boomed out over the sound of the wind and the dragon’s roars, like a large bell from a church tower. In rang in my ears and I suddenly felt a strong spiritual pressure. My mind and body were both arrested in an instant.

The hot wind ceased, the air grew cool and still. Fenrir’s bones were still red hot and to the touch and stinking. But the attack had stopped.

My eyelids were sticking to my dry eyes but I could still look up and see. I saw the empty spot where Mingfei was and rolled my eyes upward. My heart fell to the pit of my stomach and my body went limp with despair.

Mingfei had gone up to get Mingze. Huge bone wings spread out behind him forming a cross with his body. Standing in the dark emptiness, his golden pupils shined so brightly that I could see the light even though his back was turned to me.

Our souls were bonded together since the day we both nearly died outside the dragon temple in the mountains. I’d asked him not to leave me and he chose to stay. If only I had let him die in that moment. If only we had both died.

“Say the words brother... say the words you said that night.” Mingze’s voice was cold and flat sounding.

“This isn’t a play and you don’t write the script. Not any more.”

It didn’t even sound like him. Mingfei didn’t talk like that. There was an eerie commanding calm to his voice, like someone who had never known fear. Unlike the Mingfei I knew, this was his natural state. It took real effort for him to maintain this aura of weakness, of ignorance, effort and a team of people around him kept his mind quiet while telling him he was human and weak.

But all it took was a separation from this environment and, like a tightrope walker in a strong wind, Mingfei began to give in to the pull of his natural state. Once he started down that path, there was no turning back.

“You’re so confident. But you’ve sold three fourths of your life to me. You still think you can win?” Mingze laughed.

This person who used to be Mingfei turned to me, he waved his hand in the air and I felt myself gently lifted and set aside.

He then turned to the bones of Fenrir raised one hand and then closed it into a fist.

The massive moving skeleton shattered into dust and, drawn by an invisible gravity, this dust surrounded Mingfei. Slowly, a bony armored plating coalesced on his arms and legs and a helmet appeared on his head, covering his hair in boney white. The sword I’d left in the vertebrae settled in his hand.

Mingze’s eyes widened and he ground his teeth. “You...”

Mingfei, continuing his strange silence, suddenly pounced on Mingze, gripping his neck with hands reinforced with dragon bone and pierced his scales through with claws.

Mingze let out an unnatural screech and jerked away. Mingfei had left long bloody cuts in the skin not protected by scales and the younger brother was clearly shaken. “You... you hurt me. Brother... you hurt me! Don’t you know? Don’t you know that if you hurt me here. You hurt me there?”

The scene suddenly shifted. As I blinked my eyes, I saw strange pillars and bubbling pools of mercury rising in a steam, filling the air. In the the center of a circle of runes was a metal cross. Hung on the cross was a child, his skin white, and so thin that I could count his ribs. He was pierced in the heart and fastened to this pole with a spear.

My mind recognized this as a place I could go. I could cross the Nibelungen and I would arrive in this place I could see. The mercury pools were real. The cross was real. The child was real.

Lu Mingze, the little brother, was still alive. His body was hung on this cross.

And I could get to him.

#Dragon Raja #Fanfiction #Writing #Lu Mingfei #Lu Mingze

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minghaoss-archive · 5 years ago

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when we were young• sicheng (m)

summary : it’s the year 2000 and you fall in love for the first time.

warnings : implied smut, angst.

dong sicheng x gender neutral reader

Sicheng. His name is the first and the last thing that you think about. His face you find in between old newspapers, photographs and the honeyed scent of Beijing’s rain.

You remember the day you met the boy. Just a few days after he moved to the area. In that little local market of the rather vast city, with music tucked away in your ears. The ruby tent towered over a line of vegetables fencing around a newly built, rather little store. Amongst the dirty, dilapidated wooden boxes people have been lounging in for years and years, the shiny white of the storefront stood out like a sore thumb. And if the sore thumb could be deemed more sore, it would be because of the grinning boy standing before it.

Sicheng, at first sight, was still, albeit unintentionally, a very shockingly beautiful being. Every little thing about him, even the pearly raindrops caught in his lashes , his face alight, peachy, childish, his coal black eyes, which found yours suddenly. Through a wall of dotted raindrops. A reminder of how you had been staring at him all too long. "You should come in." said he, aloud, ringing, muting the soft plops of rain sloshing and splashing about.

He was the best at mathmatics in your class and you the worst. He was the least expressive, least talkative and you the most: he was the best liked and you the least. Sicheng was classified as the teacher’s pet, the perfect son, the perfect everything, he was kind and intelligent and the boy who blushed peachy when you as asked for a pen.

He was the boy your grandmum gushed about at the dinner table. People who love you always remember. He was the boy who made you deep fried tofu because you liked it better than soggy, he was the boy who had unravelled and even learned religiously, every little thing about you, from something as secretive, acute as your fear of drowning to something as open, trivial as your hate for porridge. He could name your favorite song, the entire CD, the bought for you on your birthday. He was your best friend and he remembered. The littlest of things, the biggest of things. He was your best friend, your first love and last love.

And you remembered, how well he sang, how his face shone, buttery honey, in the sun, you remember his scent, like something sweet, earthy, something real. You remember admitting to him, on your toes, in your uniform, sweaty hands pressed behind your back, when he stared back at you with wide eyes, in his khaki shirt, with surprise spreading all over his face before he smiled that smile of his, he told you he likes you too.

The feeling of his hand, the way those lithe fingers held yours still remains engraved in your bones. Sicheng excelled at riding the bicycle. One day he made you sit behind his bike, the w pavement wet , the sky darkening and the droplets rain sat against your clothes. You remember stopping by the footpath, with him spotting your favorite sweet dish, two steamed sweet potatoes, bought from a street corner shop.

That day, the smell of mud, the whooshing wind in your hair, Sicheng hooked his umbrella’s holder to his bike, leant it against a tree so it would shelter the two of you from the bullet like raindrops. That day you recall, how you two shared songs from his mp3 player, two beating hearts, bodies leaning close so the earphones don’t strain.

Sicheng had a peculiar look in his eyes, like he was the happiest boy, like he’d waited a long long time to be yours, like he were diving head first into an endless sea of his dreams. Passion. Love.

He brushed a loose strand from your face. Lost in the color of your pupils. Cool fingers travelled along the curve of your jaw and cradled the shape.

His fingers brushing against the little wisps of hair curling along your neck. Teeth and tongue. A loving peck which sent ten million electric bolts travelling all over your body. And the boy smiled after, the kind of smile he always smiled when he was genuinely, the kind of smile which reached his eyes, a smile which widened and widened when he spotted the nervous tap of your feet and the fluster evident on your face.

Sicheng was your first kiss.

And he bought you a violin, something you can’t play so well. Something he taught you by the beach, something which helps you aid your fear of the waves gobbling you up.

Your toes sunk into the wet sand and you supposed it would be convenient if it swallowed you whole. See, the sea had always been a petrifying monster. Blue and nipping and enormous. Foamy waves arrived at your toes and pleaded to wash all fears away, little by little. But it wasn't enough, of course. The spark of courage would always dim down you gazed upon the battling blues ahead. It isn't enough.

Not until he joins you.

“Hey, wait,”He sneaked his thin fingers into yours and held them like you'd slip away, had he not. When you looked up at him, his lips briefly curled up in a grin. The pink specks of dimming coloured his face.

It touched his plump, bitten lips first and spread across his cheeks, reached his golden orbs. Quartz sky, and the scarlet sun melted into the blue sea, like lovers who’ve been apart for too long. The horizon turned purple. The sun departed. Take away with her, your fears. You told yourself it’s not so bad a day to fall in love with Sicheng. The blue and the nipping isn't a bad thing.

Sicheng was your first love.

Your relationship was sweet, saccharine and all too perfect, the ride all too nice, euphoric even, but you think, it's funny how you'd forgotten, how happy things have a horrendous way of becoming unhappy, how sweet things rot and how rides could come to a screeching halt.

Sicheng’s university application sparked a new phobia in you. He told you there’s no way foreign universities would take him in with so much competition. Though, it’s only a temporary consolation because you knew, just as anyone in school, that his grades were one of the best in class. Still, you buried your kicking subconscious deep under layers of laughable expectations.

What is buried alive will find a way to claw itself out.

Your conversations with him became shorter. Visits rare. You asked him what the cause of his hollowed cheeks and reddened eyes was. You asked him why he kept pushing you away. And a mouthful of words, nothing short of horrific, Sicheng remains silent.

That day, in mid May of 2000, a season of battling winds, came the breaking, the crumbling, the smelly rotting point.

You desperately reaching out for him. It felt like Sicheng was a phantom. Standing across from you, with the same face and the body and the same hands and the same smile. Only bitter words. A stranger.

You drove yourself away from him, driving your bike at an inhuman speed. Sicheng had been dragging his fingers through his hair in a frustated manner. Suppressing the urge to tear it all out. Alone, he was. On the same pavement you’d kissed for the first time.

You had cried a good amount. Home alone with the rain threatening to make its way into your room. Thunder rumbled overhead and the yellow glow of your room finally burnt out, followed by a knock. A candle sat on your table and streaks of its light crawled before you, defeating the dark. “Great.”

You sniffled, dubiously opening the door to a rather drenched Sicheng. A Sicheng who pathetically attempted to catch his breath. His greenish brown shirt has turned a dark brown.

“What are you doing?" You asked coolly, moving aside to let him in. And Sicheng kissed you with his hands around your face, like he always did, except this time the kiss is urgent, craving, greedy and ravenous. Feet shuffle into your home and the door closes with your back against it.

He pulled away to catch his breath and kissed you again, as if enough was a foreign word in his vocabulary. He begun to kiss your face, your eyes, your nose, you cheeks. Arms wrapped around your waist. Bodies pressed tightly against each other. “I got into Harvard, my parents are forcing me to go. I was upset..I didn’t know how to tell you.”

"You're going to leave me?" You asked, lines of searing tears rolled down your heated cheeks. You remember how he touched you, holding your head against his chest. You remember how his arms brought you closer, closer and closer till there were no gaps between you two. You peeled wet tee shirt off of his body and placed your fingers against his abdomen.

Sicheng doesn't answer.

"I want to be your first." Said you, you hope Sicheng never forgets you.

A desire in him blazed so fiercely in him that he got to kissing you again. Hungry, desperate, needy. He touched you like he might lose you. Like he wanted to leave fresh scars, an open wound, a gaping split, everywhere he touched you. The sea. The battling waves.

A rut of his lips. The rush of losing. A goodbye.

Sicheng had always told you that he loved you. And you remained silent, as if to say I can't love anyone else. You can't love anyone else.

Sicheng was your first time.

Love is an awful. Disgusting. And cruel.

Especially when it slips right through your fingers.

See you hugged him close. But the tug of fate, the ugly yellow taxi, a flight and two continents had sworn to pull you apart. You hadn't cried, you couldn't cry. You dug your nails into his shirt instead. You breathed in his scent instead. You wanted to forget him instead.

Sicheng promised you he'd always love you. Sicheng promised you that he'd always think of you. Sicheng promised and promised and promised. But never does he crack your skull open and pour honeyed dreams in. Never an I will come back and always an I love you.

(Sicheng never makes promises he can't keep.)

So you'd watched his face, behind the shield of a splattered rear window. His face youthful, his smile curled, that smile of his. His smile, pearly raindrops, caught in his lashes, young, you wanted to remember him like that.

Sicheng dragged away into the wet roads of China, turning to a mere dot against the background of awful traffic and undulations of ageing buildings.

Sicheng was your first heartbreak.

Sicheng.

His name is the first and the last thing you think about. Somewhere in between dusty books, fading ink and forgotten poetry, you find bitter truths you'd rather not see. You'd read goodbyes are forever, they are syllables for people who never meet again, these words followed you around like reminders, to cinemas, to the library, like the ghost of his promises. An absence more apparent than it should be. An atrocious trick the universe had played on you.

You find yourself wishing those words, a goodbye, too many years and a heartbreak away,

were words you'd forgotten to say.

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hellimagines · 6 years ago

Text

On the Run -- Tate Langdon

*My masterlist link can be found in my blog description*

Request: “Maybe u could do a tate imagine of you first entering the murder house? ik it’s a pretty basic idea but I’d like to differentiate from violet’s.” @crashprosticoot

Summary: You’re on the run from your family’s gang, and seek refuge in the infamous Murder House.

Warnings: None (i dont think)

Pairing: Tate Langdon x fem!reader

Word Count: 1,300+

A/N: This is pretty short and focuses around the reader first entering MH.

Your feet slammed against the asphalt of Westerchester Pl, the cold wind of the night whipping around your face. Every few seconds you would look over your shoulder, only to see the black Honda Civic at the end of the street racing closer and closer. Your legs burned and your heart hammered with raw adrenalin, but you couldn’t keep going. You were moments away from collapsing to a heap, and that would only result in your death, or worse, your capture. Quickly, you looked around you, hoping to find a guarded set of trees or an unoccupied home you could break into. However, all of the old-timey villas around you had cars parked outside or lights shining through kitchen and living room windows, and the street was bare of any resourceful vegetation.

The car behind you was approaching, and if you didn’t act quickly, they were going to catch you or discover your potential hiding spot. You pushed yourself further and faster, your lungs threatening to throw themselves out of your body at any given moment. Up ahead you knew there was a mansion, a home that had been unoccupied for years because of its history of horrors. Growing up in Los Angeles, you had been warned to stay away and off the property at whatever cost, regardless of threats or dares you may have received as a child. But now, with your life and freedom moments from being snatched away, all of those warnings left your mind.

Hurling yourself down the road, the large, rusty iron gates of Murder House came into view, beckoning and whispering a promise of protection. You threw yourself at the gate, trembling fingers gripping the metal to pull yourself up. Your shoes molded against the bars, pushing to help aid with your escape- until finally, you were toppling over the top of the gate and landing in a crumpled pile on the other side. You laid there for a moment, pushing away the pain of your fall, before stumbling to your feet and dashing towards the front door. Kneeling in front of the door, you pulled a bobby pin from your ponytail and began to shove it through the lock, only for the door to swing open the second you had touched the doorknob. As if pulled by an invisible force, you found yourself hurrying inside and slamming the door shut behind you, resting your aching back against the wood. Outside, you could hear the car race by, ignoring the house completely in its search for you.

Only when you could no longer hear the car’s engine or the shouts of its occupants, did you allow yourself to exhale and slide to the floor. Your breathing was shallow and ragged, your bloody fingers holding your aching ribs as you curled into yourself on the dusty ground. All you could hear was the sound of blood pumping in your ears and the ‘ah-hu’ of your panicked breaths. Black began to seep into your vision, dancing and luring you into a state of unconsciousness. Just as your eyes began to slip shut, a pair of maroon converse stepped out in front of you, but you no longer held enough energy to lift your head. You whimpered softly before grasping ahold of the darkness and allowing it to pull you in, your body falling limp as you finally let go.

Hours later you slowly woke up, squinting at the harsh light peeking through a set of blinds. You looked around, expecting to find yourself on the foyer floor where you had promptly passed out. Instead, you discovered yourself on a plush bed, its greenish-grey comforter wrapped snugly around you and the lilac pillows fluffed underneath your head. You pushed yourself into a sitting position, wincing at the pain that ricocheted through your body, while you observed the room. Books and records lined a shelf against the wall, while a desk sat to the side, covered in random items. The room seemed untouched but also lived-in, at the same time.

Pulling yourself out of bed, you stumbled to the door and creaked it open, looking down the vacant hallway. Easing yourself outside, you used the walls to support you through the home, carefully making your way down the stairs. You figured somebody had to be living here considering you had awoken in an entirely different place than you had fallen asleep at. So, once you made it back to the foyer, you tilted your head in an attempt to try and scope out any noises to help guide you towards a sign of life.

Click!

Your body tensed at the sudden noise and your feet began pulling you in the direction it had come from, leading you to an office-type living room. Inside stood a guy around your age, a cigarette held between his lips as he peered out the window. He was wearing a tight, black sweater, ripped jeans, and his feet were clad in a ratty pair of maroon converse.

“You,” you whispered, startling the boy in front of you. He turned around and you immediately noticed bullet holes covering his shirt, before you shifted your gaze up to his face. Woah, he’s really hot.

“You passed out in front of my door, so I uh… I brought you to my room. I hope you don’t mind,” the boy stumbled, looking into your (e/c) eyes with a mixture of fear, uncertainty, and curiosity.

You tilted your head to the side, awkwardly running your hand up your side to soothe your aching ribs. “Who are you?”

“My name’s Tate, I live here. Who are you?”

“I’m (Y/N). I thought this place was abandoned? You know, being called Murder House and all,” you said, waving your hand around vaguely.

Tate paused, “It is. I live here but I’m not… alive here.”

“You mean you’re dead?” You raised an eyebrow at his implication and crossed your arms, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from wincing.

“Yeah, I’m a ghost,” he sighed, pulling the cigarette from his mouth and snubbing it out on the wall. “Died in ‘94.”

“Is that why you’ve got bullet holes in your shirt?” You pointed to his shirt and laughed quietly.

Tate looked down at your comment, his lips twitching. “Yup, I got shot by an army of feds.”

The room fell silent for a moment after that, the two of you simply analyzing the other. Tate finally spoke again after a minute, pulling the sleeves of his sweater down to cover his hands. “Are you gonna stay?”

You were taken off guard by his question but thought it over in your head. The gang you had run from was still hot on your ass, no doubt about that; and you were still wanted by the police because of your gang-affiliated crimes. But, on the other hand, you didn’t have the money to pay for a house, let alone a mansion.

“I’m broke,” you settled on, biting your lip. “If I had the money, yeah, I would. I’m on the run and if I get caught I’ll be fucked. This is a good hiding spot. But-”

“Just don’t tell anyone. Nobody comes to check in on this place, we haven’t seen a living soul in years. There isn’t even a For Sale sign out front,” Tate explained, his voice teetering on the edge of desperation. He was begging for you to stay at the house, to stay with him.

“I…” you trailed off, looking into his blue eyes before you sighed. “Yeah, alright. I can stick around for a while. But I can’t guarantee forever.”

A grin spread across Tate’s face as he took a step closer. “That’s fine by me.”

All Writing Taglist (OPEN): @teageowen @mads---world @alex--awesome--22 @hxdesworld @frozenhuntress67 @samanthasmileys @simonsaysyasss @marvelismylifffe @bademliimagnum

American Horror Story Taglist (OPEN): @featherpool-852 @sophster1881

#tate langdon #tate langdon imagine #tate langdon imagines #tate langdon x reader #ahs #ahs imagine #ahs x reader #american horror story #american horror story imagine #american horror story x reader #ahs murder house

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weirdochick56 · 6 years ago

Text

Screen- Bucky Barnes Song Imagine

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Explicit language (like one curse word)

Disclaimers: I don’t own any MCU characters/plots mentioned. i also don’t own “Screen” Twenty One Pilots and the team behind them do.

Word Count: 1, 825 words

Summary: (Requested)

This was requested by @whxtsablurryface

“Hi! Could you do a song based off of the song screen by Twenty Øne Piløts where the reader and Bucky are friends and the reader is shy? And Bucky at the end, asks her out and she says yes? Thank you!”

A/n: I love this song ❤❤ Hope you like it!

Listen To “Screen” by Twenty One Pilots Here!!

***

I do not know why I would go In front of you and hide my soul 'Cause you're the only one who knows it, Yeah you're the only one who knows it

James Buchanan Barnes was a mystery.

To everyone but you that was.

He was a quiet person, keeping to himself most times and only speaking when spoken to. It was quite the challenge to get to know him. But still, you tried, despite yourself.

You yourself were quite the timid gal. It wasn’t like you wanted to be so shy, you just...were. Social events made you nervous and talking to people was the most dreaded activity in the world. You always felt so...judged.

And Bucky, you thought, felt the same. He tried to hide it, seem strong and ready for anything the world threw at him, and everyone believed him. Not you though. He wasn’t okay and he sure as hell wasn’t ready for anything the world threw at him. You don’t come back from hell and are expected to be okay. It just wasn’t realistic.

So one day, one of your braver sides came out and you timidly tapped on his shoulder. He turned and looked at you with those bright blue eyes of his, and that was it. You might as well have signed a contract stating you and him would be best friends forever.

Eventually, you had chipped away at the wall he’d built and although you were quite possibly the shyest person to have ever walked the earth, something about Bucky had drawn you in. It was much more than his glorious looks.

And I will hide behind my pride Don't know why I think I can lie 'Cause there's a screen on my chest Yeah there's a screen on my chest

Bucky’s heart-wrenching screams were the first thing you heard. Granted they were what had woken you up in the first place, but it wasn’t that that bothered you. It was the fact that he was screaming at all.

You sit straight up, pushing the covers off you and running to Bucky’s next door room. Throwing the door open your heart racing and fear taking every fiber in your body captive, you glance around for your best friend.

“Bucky?” you call out into the dark room. Cautiously, you walked further in when, out of the corner of your eye, you see a slight shifting in the darkness. More groaning.

It was pitch black and you had to rely on your senses to guide you. The room was familiar enough though, so it was fairly simple to make your way to the light switch. You were worried about him. Was he hurt?

Turning on the light, you let a small gasp escape your lips. Bucky was laying in the middle of his bed, under a mess of blankets in a fetal position. He was shivering and as you quietly approached him, you could see sweat dripping down the side of his face.

“Bucky,” you whisper, gently shaking his shoulder. Your hand was now damp with his sweat. He frowned, still sleeping, and continued screaming, tossing around in bed.

You were becoming increasingly disturbed by his behavior. “Bucky.” You shake him again. No response, more tossing and grunting.

“Bucky!” You swat his cheek lightly.

Bucky jolts awake, grips your arm with his metal hand, and flips you onto his bed all in one motion. You grunt when your back makes contact with the mattress. “Umph.”

Bucky is panting, his grip on your arm tightens significantly. It seemed he was still dazed by his initial reaction and hadn’t recognized you. Or maybe even in a trance. His fingers press on the skin of your arm even more, causing you to hiss and release a small ow.

You suck in a painful breath, trying to keep yourself leveled. Reaching up for him, you decide not to last minute. It wasn’t a smart idea to do that when he was this shaken up. So you decided to use your voice instead, hoping the familiarity of it was enough to snap him out of it.

“Buck, hey it’s me, Y/n. I’m not here to hurt you. Just,” you reach up with a shaky hand and stroke his sweaty hand gently. “Just let go.”

Slowly but surely, you see the murderous look in his eyes fade and he raises his brows tenderly. “Y/n?” his voice is groggy and you gulp, nodding.

“Yeah. You were uh, having a nightmare.” Once he hears your quivering voice, he completely releases you, inhaling lightly.

“Did I uh,” his voice breaks. He clears his throat. “Are you okay, doll?”

You can’t help but blush at the familiar pet name. You always did. You decide not to respond, slyly taking your arm slowly away from him. Instead, you get on your knees, staring at him with furrowed brows.

“You’re burning up Buck,” you whisper, pushing his damp hair away from his hair and resting your hand on his forehead. All the while ignoring your humming heart or the fact that you weren’t normally this bold. You would’ve never been the one to initiate any physical contact with Bucky.

Bucky swallows, closing his eyes at your touch. “Doll,” he opens his eyes back eyes and you repress a shiver at his longing blue gaze. “I asked you a question.”

You sigh, avoiding his gaze. “You didn’t hurt me, Buck. Are you okay?”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m fine Bucky it’s nothi-”

He suddenly takes your wrist in his hands, exposing your arm. Five blue, greenish and purple bruises are forming.

He stares at it for a minute, letting the silence engulf him as you held for your breath for his reaction.

“Leave,” he whispers hoarsely.

“Wha-”

“I want you to leave Y/n. I want you to get as far away from me as you can.” He looks into your eyes, his own filled with pain. “I’m a disease and I don’t want you near me when it begins to spread.” He releases your arm from his gentle grasp and you stare at him with your eyes wide.

“Bucky, I’m not-”

“LEAVE!” his voice is so loud, you swore you felt the ground move. You flinch back from him. He glares at you, but you know he isn’t as mad at you as he is at himself. He needed space.

You relent, sliding out of his bed and slipping quietly out of his room.

He wanted to be away from you. Not because you had hurt or pissed him in any way, but because he felt guilty. It broke your heart to hear him say that.

Did he really think he was poison?

Oh, Bucky.

Not only that, but he was full of pride and even though he knew you’d be there for him he wouldn’t accept your help. It irritated you to no end.

You knew James Buchanan Barnes like the back of your hand. Every thought that passed through his head and every emotion he felt. All except one.

I'm standing in front of you I'm standing in front of you I'm trying to be so cool Everything together trying to be so cool

The next morning, during breakfast, you try to evade Bucky. Give him his space. You really, really do. But you could practically feel the anxiety and reminiscence of his nightmare last night coming at you in waves from across the living room in the Avenger’s Tower.

It was concerning the fuck out of you. Sighing, you settle on the seat next to Bucky and fiddle with your hands at the silence. “Are you okay?” you finally ask in your usual, timid voice.

Bucky looks over at you, but you refuse to meet his gaze, looking straight ahead. “I,” he huffs, rubbing the sleep off his eyes. “I’m...fine.”

You hum thoughtfully, not wanting to mention that you knew he was lying because it would make you look bad and scare him off. Darn shyness.

You shift awkwardly, fiddling even more with your hands as the silence grew tenser. “Bucky?”

“Yes, doll?”

“Do you think I could ever get married? Like, have kids and a husband and stuff?” Your voice is but a mere whisper. You had no idea where the question had come from. Maybe you were finally tired of his obliviousness to your feelings or your hiding of them thereof. Either way, you hoped he wouldn’t catch on to what you really meant. (But then again, you did.)

Bucky snaps his head over to you, his eyes wide. “W-why? Do you have some- are you with someone?”

You burst out laughing, then blush, pausing your loud laughter. You thought it was obnoxious so Bucky must find it so as well. “Yeah sure. Because men are just lining up to be with me.”

Bucky lets his shoulders drop in relief then stares at you with a small frown. “Y/n, you’re beautiful,” he says with all seriousness.

Your cheeks immediately heat up. Oh God, why did he have to make not loving him so hard?

You shake your head. “I’m not.”

Bucky releases a small, humorless chuckle. “Y/n,” he takes your chin in between his forefinger and his thumb turning you to look at him. “You’re the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

Well, shit.

Oh oh oh We're broken We're broken We're broken We're broken people, oh We're broken people, oh

You’re blushing so hard it’s hard to figure out whether you’re a tomato or a human being. Still, you’re bewildered beyond belief by this idea he’s made up in his head. “Bucky, you can’t possibly mean that. I’m hideous.”

Bucky looks at you incredulously. Like your words were the most ridiculous things to have ever been uttered. “Why do you always bring yourself down Y/n? I’m literally telling you that you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. And I mean it, doll,” he smiles softly.

“Buck-”

Bucky doesn’t let you finish, leaning over, glancing down at your lips for a split second and pecking them lightly. You freeze, staring at him with wide eyes. “Did you just-”

He starts freaking out, a blush slowly creeping its way up his neck. “I-I’m sorry. I thought you felt the same. Y-you just know me so well and I felt like we had chemistry and- Oh God have I ruined our-”

You cut him off, in a completely new and bold move, and lean closer to him, engulfing his lips in your own. He froze for a split second, taken aback, then melted into the kiss, burying his fingers into your hair. Your lips moved completely in sync against eachother and you find it hard not to just stay like this forever.

Especially when you have to break away due to human’s irritating need for oxygen.

You gulp, looking into his eyes with a timid smile. He smirks in return to your farouche gesture.

“Well, that was...unexpected.”

You blush, hiding your face in your arms. “Oh God,” you groan.

He pries your hands off your face with a small smile. “Don’t be embarrassed Y/n. I...liked it, a lot.” You press your lips together to hide a smile.

He grins. “I was also wondering if maybe you’d like dinner?”

You tilt your head sideways, frowning. “Of course.” A big smile spreads over his face and his eyes light up like a kid on Christmas morning.

“I think Tony’s cooking something for us, when have I ever turned down dinner.”

Bucky ‘s smile fades and he smacks his forehead. “Y/n, I didn’t-” he sighs exasperatedly, looking at you. “I meant, would you like to go to dinner. With me. Just you and me alone. Having dinner.” his ears are red.

You flush, catching onto what he meant. “Y-you mean like a...”

Bucky smiles softly. “Like a date, Y/n. I mean like a date.”

You don’t hold back a smile this time. “Of course.”

***

Hi guys! Here’s another one for you. @whxtsablurryface I sincerely hope you like it!!!

I actually kinda like this one, lol.

Anyways, as always leave replies, REQUEST, send me asks about ANYTHING and let me know if you want to be tagged in any shape or form for ANY of my fics.

Also, I’m currently working on chapter two of Mr. Evans (which you can find here) which will be out sometime this weekend. So stay tuned my loves!!!

Your feedback whether purposed to be constructive, your personal opinion, or just to say something nice is so very appreciated and encourage me to continue writing, so please, do so!

A special thanks to:

@jessikared97 @lilypalmer1987 and @sherlockedtash88 my lovely forevers!!

#bucky barnes #bucky #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes fanfic #sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan x reader series #sebastian stan aesthetic

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glimmerglanger · 6 years ago

Text

bthb: tortured for information

I almost forgot, one segment of ‘in the lands of gods and monsters’ (sequel to ‘as if death itself was undone,’ post-infinity war thorki fixit) was written for @badthingshappenbingo, to fill in my spot for ‘Tortured for Information:’

(I’m not doing a great job filling in five spaces in a row.)

Since the entire fic is almost 40k, and the applicable segment only close to 3k, I’m posting it separately. It pretty much stands alone as the after effects of a capture by the enemy gone very, very wrong, anyway, but further context is available on ao3! Anyway. Without further explanation:

And Monsters

Thor should have known not to trust to happiness, not even for a second.

Life had been nothing but one nightmare after another for so long. But he had thought it was past, that with his work and Loki’s they had moved beyond the tribulations of their tormented history, into a new world with their renewed people.

But everything had gone wrong once more, starting with dark whispers of warning delivered by Agent Romanoff regarding developments on Earth, so many days ago. He should have listened to her more carefully. He wished he had.

It was too late to go back and change things, to take seriously the threat the folk of Midgard might be. They had not dared attack New Asgard - not yet, Thor thought, in a wash of sick clarity, but now that he was gone they might do anything - instead luring them away, to a place where they were unprepared to defend themselves.

He did not recall all that had happened. He remembered pain, a sick, overwhelming sense of it, and crushing weight forcing him to the ground as his thoughts turned to Loki and Frigga.

He had not been able to reach them. The thought dragged a strangled cry from his throat. He could only imagine what was being done to them, what had already been done to them. Had he not sworn on his very life he would allow no more harm to come to his family? The words tasted of ash in his mouth, echoing in his head to remind him of his failure.

He had not been able to reach his child. He had left Loki to face whatever horrors awaited alone, and now they left him in the dark, chained at his neck and wrists with some strange, burning metal that he could not break, no matter how he strained against it.

His eyes had long grown used to the dark, but there was nothing to see but more dark. He could not turn his head to either side. The thick collar around his neck prevented it and bit into his jaw and shoulders. The muscles in his chest and back, all down his arms, burned with the strain of pulling against the shackles that kept his arms cruelly extended.

His knees ached, resting against the floor. They wouldn’t even allow him the pride of standing to await whatever foul fate they’d planned for him. He knew he deserved whatever they did. His failures had to be answered. But he hoped he would be able to kill some of them first.

He hoped they would not merely leave him to rot here, starving in his own filth.

He hoped--

Light flooded shocking into the room, derailing his thoughts and burning his eyes. He squinted against it, hissing, refusing to close his eyes all the way. The white brightness of it stung like fire; he snarled into it, “I’m going to--”

“There’s something we wanted to show you,” the voice came from behind him. Thor tried to twist automatically, unsure how anyone had gotten there, and caught on the chains. He could not identify the speaker. Their voice was strange and rasping, unpleasant to listen to. Nothing here was pleasant.

“The only thing I want to see is your broken body at my feet,” he snapped, holding onto the anger in his chest for all it was worth.

The unseen man chuckled, an almost clucking sound. “Then this will be a disappointing day for you,” he said. Thor could feel the stranger, standing directly behind his shoulder. They’d stripped Thor’s armor away, left him with nothing but his skin and sweat. “Before we begin,” he said, “there are a few things you should know. First of all, you can call me… Agent White”

“Where is Loki?” Thor asked, misliking intensely the direction this conversation seemed determined to head. “Where is my daughter?”

White tsked at him, as though he were a wayward pupil. “In due time,” he said. “We have questions for you.”

“If you’ve hurt them--”

White hurt him, then. He did not know how. The pain came from everywhere, from the air around him and the air in his lungs. When it passed, he hung limp for a moment, panting for breath and resisting the urge to scream.

“Listen,” White said, patient. “We have questions for you. You can answer us and make this easy.”

Thor spat on the ground. “I won’t tell you anything,” he said, and laughed, the sound breaking to pieces inside his chest.

He felt White move and strove ever harder to catch a glimpse of him out of the corner of his eyes. White stayed just beyond his vision. “We thought you might say that,” White said. “So we set up an alternative approach, just to see if anyone else might be more interested in sharing.”

Thor’s breath caught at the words. “Loki,” he said, panting it. “He lives? You will--”

“For now,” White said. “But he’s not answering us, either.”

Thor reached for the force of the storm with all of his might and got nothing in return. It was like beating upon a closed door. He growled, “If you’ve hurt--”

There was pain, again. Eventually it stopped, leaving his head ringing and the taste of blood in his mouth. “I think,” White said, “that you are suffering under some misapprehensions. You’re in no position to threaten or issue orders. You will answer our questions, or we will hurt you until you do.”

“You will all die,” Thor told White, blinking sweat out of his eyes, barely feeling the sting of it.

White sighed. “Perhaps,” he said, “what you need is a demonstration.” Thor opened his mouth again and felt the words die on his tongue. The blinding white light in front of him changed, shifting to something that allowed him to see what was going on in the space before him.

He cried out as realization grounded itself down through his bones. Loki waited before him in a room, dark and organic. All of his armor had been stripped away, his scars dark in the greenish light. He lay on a curved table that bent him backwards, exposing his stomach and chest, the lone lines of his thighs. There were marks across his skin, purple, black, and angry red. Smears of blood spread like ugly shadows over his body. His hands were bound above his head, his hair in disorder, and his expression was terrible and distant. And he was not alone. There were two other figures in the room.

One figure circled him, impossible and terrible and familiar. Thor knew the face as well as his own, the fall of dark hair, the sharp smile, the flashing eyes. The creature looked as Loki had, once, years ago, in his mad service to the Titan Thanos. He looked corpse pale, with reddened skin around his blue eyes, his mouth pulled constantly into a snarling smile.

The second figure Thor recognized even better. He saw the features each time he looked into a mirror. But there was something wrong with his double, beyond the fact that he wore full armor and moved like a predator. It’s hands, he realized after a moment, were bloody red.

Thor yelled, crying out, and was ignored. “They can’t hear you,” White said, sounding pleased. “You may only listen, and watch. And when you are ready to stop it, you can answer my questions.”

Thor could find no reply to that, no reply as his double drew to a stop, close to Loki’s side. Loki flinched, noticeable in the tightening of the skin around his eyes and the shift in his hair. The thing wearing Loki’s face bent closer, its mouth pulled into a sharp, cruel smile as it said, “I can see that you need a break. Why don’t we just return to our previous topic of discussion for a while? Let the questions rest?”

Loki said nothing. His gaze did not shift from the middle-distance. He looked… terribly used to what was happening to him. The thought soured Thor’s gut yet further, adding to the horror of the fact that he could not see Frigga.

He startled when the doppelganger began to speak once more. “He’s just using you, as the Asgardians have always wished to use you. You know that. You’re useful now. You brought back the dead for him. You gave him an heir. He doesn’t love you.”

It was not the tact Thor would have imagined that these creatures take. They had only inflicted pain on him, after all, and surely they had to know that Loki would not---

Loki, the true Loki, jerked once, violently. He looked stricken, as though someone had reached into his chest and sunk fingers into his heart. He kept his lips pressed into a thin line, but he curled his fingers - stretched so far above his head - into claws.

“How could he?” The doppelganger continued in a slow, even voice. “Don’t you remember everything you’ve done? Everything you are? He’s a king and you’re an unwanted bastard child, left for the cold, for your enemies to do with what they wanted. You betrayed him. So many times. You know you’re nothing but a useful beast. A pliant body. How could you ever be anything more than that?”

Thor struggled against the bonds holding him, roaring in a fury that did not seem to reach Loki, where he stared at nothing, his eyes grown terribly bright, wet, as the thing with his face leaned close to his ear.

“The Aesir only tolerate you because you brought them back. And they’ll forget that soon enough. You’ll only remain useful while you keep the Jotun placated. And they don’t need you for that, really. Not with Frigga.”

Loki’s eyes widened. He seemed not to be breathing. “They’ll take her away from you,” the thing said, sounding almost apologetic. “Or he’ll get another on you and take that one. Give her to me, instead. Give her to me, before he can take her. I will make sure she never experiences pain. Or loss.”

The thing that looked like Loki reached out, brushing Loki’s face, and Thor bellowed, the sound torn directly out of his gut at the sight of that cold, vicious smile.

Loki twisted his face away and panted, “No.” His voice sounded strange and shredded. Broken. The thing with his face recoiled at the sound of it, a flash of confusion crossing its stolen features.

“What?”

“No,” Loki panted again. “You… lie. He loves me.”

The thing threw its head back and laughed, mockery in each echo of sound. Thor’s double joined it a moment later, and Loki jerked bodily against the bonds holding him down. “No one loves you,” it said. “You know that. You are forever unwanted, unloved, un—”

“He does,” Loki insisted, shaking his head, blinking his eyes for the first time in an age. “I gave him an heir. Brought back his people.” Something in Thor’s chest ached, even then, in the middle of this mad nightmare, to hear such reasons given for his affections, as though they would not have been there anyway, as though they had not endured through so many ages of their lives, as though he had not loved Loki even standing on Stark’s hideous tower, feeling the blade of a knife slide between his ribs.

“And you think that’s enough?” the thing with Thor’s face sneered. “Such a paltry offering—” Thor yelled once more, the agony of being unable to do anything to stop these lies, these lies delivered with his own mouth, too much to bear. He surged and struggled against the bonds holding him back, and got nowhere and nothing.

“It is for him,” Loki said, his quiet voice cutting across Thor’s ragged cries. He blinked rapidly, as though trying to clear something from his eyes. The skin around his eyes began to stain blue.

“You are lying to yourself,” the thing with Loki’s face hissed, grabbing his hair and wrenching his head to the side, the first time it had demonstrated violence. “Like the foolish child you are. You are only loved as long as you are useful. When your use wears out he will set you aside. You will be left alone again in the cold, while he picks some small, soft woman to warm his bed. Do not be a fool. Act now. Hurt him before he hurts you.”

Loki’s fingers shook, for a moment the blue faded, and then he took a wet, hitching breath and steadied. “No,” he said, his voice wrecked and broken. The blue spread, back towards his temples and something rose from his skin, something dark and shimmering, a fog bleeding out of his eyes.

“Stop!” the creature snarled, twisting its fingers tighter into Loki’s hair, shaking him viciously. It gestured at the thing with Thor’s face, and Thor had the fresh horror of watching himself fit his fingers around Loki’s neck. He ignored the pain, the agony he bought by struggling against the bonds unto the point that he thought he might break his own bones, tear muscle from tendon. And it was not enough. “You know I am right. You are a broken thing. Ruined. He will turn against you, you—”

“Doesn’t matter,” Loki gasped. The darkness hovered around his face, tendrils creeping down, moving towards his ears, his nose, his mouth. And Loki moved one of his arms, right through the bonds that held it, jerking lighting fast to close his fingers around the dark, shimmering thing, closing it into a cage, where it writhed, caught in a jail of skin and bone. “I love him.” He wept, still, but the anguish had left his face as he rolled his eyes up towards his double, and said, cold and sharp, “And now you will leave me go.”

The thing stumbled a step back, it’s form wavering, wearing a terror on its face that it hurt Thor to gaze upon, even knowing it was not really Loki. “Stop that,” it said, it’s voice changing in pitch, “Make him stop that. You don’t--”

“Did you think those words would stop me?” Loki asked, tilting his head to the side, ignoring the hand around his throat, almost curious as he watched the thing in his hand struggle desperately.

“They hurt you!” the doppelganger cried out. “We saw it, you believe them.”

Loki shrugged, something terrible in his easy acceptable. He pulled his legs up and reached out with his other hand, gripping the arm of Thor’s double and squeezing. “Hurt has never stopped me. And I know what you are, now,” Loki said, and his smile cut across his face like a knife. The Thor he held struggled. Some blackness spread up his arm, beneath the skin. Thor yelled himself hoarse, mad with relief and the fresh fear of not knowing for certain that whatever was going on would work.

“You should have never dared enter my head,” Loki said, and closed his hand, then, crushing the shadows in his fingers, and the creature with his face screamed, terribly and brutally, and--

And Thor’s cell went blinding white once more. “No!” he cried out. “Show me him once more, I--”

Pain flooded back, brutal and overwhelming, but Thor set his teeth against it. They had been in Loki’s head, doing something to him. He wondered if he did not have unwelcome visitors in his own mind. He tried to turn his thoughts inward, but the pain edged out all reason and he did not know what to look for, what to fight against.

He could hear things, in the bright light. The sounds of a battle. Loki crying out, screaming. Laughter. He tried to tell himself it could not be real. They were in Loki’s mind. In his mind, probably, but--

He cried out, the sound ragged in his throat, and then the world shifted, turning abruptly on its axis, the bright light fading, replaced by a shadow leaning over him. Hands pressed to either side of his head, cool and familiar.

He blinked upward, gazed into Loki’s face, pale and drawn but not wracked with agony. Loki said, “It’s not real. Whatever they’re making you see, it isn’t real, Thor, can you hear me?”

Behind him - through him - Thor heard terrible, wet sounds. But they were fading away, more and more as he searched Loki’s expression. “Yes,” he rasped, “what--”

And then Loki grunted, his fingertips pressing in tight to Thor’s head, and Thor sagged, the bonds around his arms just gone, leaving him to drop. Loki caught at him on the way down, holding him upright as Thor panted against his shoulder, rasping, “I saw--”

“Lies,” Loki said, “everything you saw was a lie.”

#bad things happen bingo #thorki #fanfic update time #psychological and physical torture #not fun times

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haughtbreaker · 6 years ago

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Pour Me More - Chapter 1: Slow Time

Summary: Nicole Haught had the perfect life in California. Surfing before school and parties on the weekend, a beautiful girlfriend, and friends she would die for. That is, until her girlfriend dies. With Nicole plagued by depression, grief, and a failed suicide attempt, Nicole's father sends her to live with family in Purgatory, Canada. Sharing a house with the orphaned Earp sisters, Nicole must learn to adjust to a whole new life of snow, rodeo jocks, and a girl with the smile of an angel that brings up the question of whether she can ever love again.

TW: Mention of past suicide attempt, depression, grief

Available on AO3

I'm going to apologize in advance. When I started writing this fic, I was writing it for myself. Writing has always been my solace in life and once I started writing this, I couldn't stop. It grew into a monster and now I'm unleashing it upon you the readers. Please do not feel like you have to read this. While the suicide attempt is in the past, it does come up often in the story. Thank you to @jaybear1701 for being the primary beta and my other writing buddies including @trylonandperisphere and a bunch of others my brain isn't working right now.

(**the song mentioned in this chapter is called Slow Time by Go Jimmy Go and is available HERE on Spotify**)

It was early morning, the sun just breaking over the horizon and illuminating the long stretch of beach in tones of yellows and oranges. The soft hiss of the sea filled the air, the tide moving out bit by bit with each rush of water and foam.

Nicole stumbled onto the shore, water dripping from shoulder length auburn hair and down slightly tanned skin. She swallowed loudly, her chest heaving from the exertion of her morning surf as she took one slow step after the other, the whites of her brown eyes stained red. It wasn't hard to find the spot she'd marked for herself, a small green and white cabana towel tousled slightly by the wind in the sand near the grassline.

To anyone who didn't know her, she looked like a wayward teen, trying to get a few waves in before school started. She was as wayward as they came, and maybe six months ago the situation would have applied to her, but not anymore.

Six months ago, Nicole would have been far more careful with her board, placing it on the sand with calculated intent, but at that moment, she dropped it on the ground, kicking it mindlessly to at least face the top towards the rising sun. Less than carefully, she yanked at the velcro securing the leash to her ankle before dropping to the towel, struggling against her emotions. A bottle laid tilted in the soft sand and she reached for it, taking a quick pull of the clear liquid that burned all the way down her throat to her belly.

"You shouldn't surf drunk," Shae's voice whispered in her ear, dancing on the seabreeze and testing the limits of her resolve.

Nicole sniffled, feeling the warmth of a tear slipping down her cheek in stark contrast to her chilled skin. At her hip, she untied the net bag that had one object in it, a small metal canister that slid easily into her hand. Unscrewing the airtight container, she expected empty space, but still her eyes filled with more tears, her lip trembling uncontrollably as she let the cap fall from one hand, reaching again for the bottle and messily filling her mouth with vodka before gulping it down with a gag.

"This is what she would want," she told herself as she capped the bottle, setting it aside. She couldn't bear to think of the canister being empty when what remained of her love was now spread between the waves, to become a part of the beach and coral. With a heavy heart, she filled it half with sand before she connected the two parts of the canister once more, setting it aside as she took a minute to look over the beach. Her fingers trembled as she pushed her wet hair behind her ear.

The shoreline was the same as it had been since she was a child, from the time she'd caught her first wave to the time she'd captured her first kiss. But, looking over the light sand and the greenish blue water, it was no longer the paradise it had always been. The cove hadn't changed, but she had. While the tide came in and headed out on schedule, washing away any marred surfaces and leaving behind a fresh shore, she hadn't been so lucky.

Nicole remembered sitting near the shore-break, long tapered fingers drawing hearts in the wet sand as she pressed kisses along dark skin. She remembered whispered words of love and promises of the future that were to be whisked away like the crash of waves washed away the ridiculous hearts.

And now, the water couldn't remove the scars that had been left behind, emotional or physical. Nicole's eyes drifted over the barely healed marks, remembering how the vodka had tasted on her lips as her hands trembled. She didn't remember feeling the physical pain as flesh parted, or maybe it just couldn't combat the hopelessness she felt. Instead, she remembered the beat of music that poured from her speakers, the reggae-soul song that had once brought a smile to her face now bringing nothing but tears. She remembered somehow hearing the familiar singing voice that death had taken from her months before, one that was as real as the sound of her father pounding on her bedroom door.

When you are here, it's the right time. When you're around, it's a nice time. When you are gone, it's a rough time. When you stay away, it's the toughest time. So come back home, Miss Wonderful So time and time and time, time can slow down.

Nicole blinked away another wave of tears as she shook her head, taking a deep breath. Pulling over her board, she tested the surface, finding the wax soft and pliant before covering it with sand, beginning to scrub away the coat with experienced fingers. She tried not to think about this being the last time in a while, how the beach that had held so many treasures in the past would only be a memory in the days to come.

Another tear fell, splashing against the sandy surface that Nicole worked with her hands, making sure to clear away as much wax as possible. She lost herself in the work, feeling like layers of herself were being scrubbed away with the layers of wax. Despite her earlier negligence, the board had been good to her. She couldn't dream of leaving it in storage in poor condition, not when she didn't know when she would pick it up again, or if she ever would. For now, this was the least she could do for the part of her that had been so important.

When she felt she'd done all she could, Nicole gathered her things into her small bag and stood. She picked up the now sand-filled canister once again. It was strange to think about how much heavier sand was than ashes as she moved to the nearby grass. She set it on the ground beneath the familiar coconut tree before pulling out the new blade she'd purchased that morning.

Slowly, she began to scar the bark, being far more careful than she had been three months ago with her own skin. She didn't wipe away the tears that fell as she worked, cuts turning into carefully formed letters. Her own initials were easier, nothing but straight lines, but Shae's were curved, difficult, just like Shae. Nicole finished relatively quickly, running her fingers over the NH + SP in one of those ridiculous hearts that Shae had loved so much before tucking the knife away.

"I'm sorry, Baby." She whispered, pressing her forehead to the rough bark. "I'm sorry I couldn't join you," she added before hefting up her board and turning her back on the beach and the soft hiss of waves breaking on the shore.

This time tomorrow, she would be in Canada, trading sunny beaches for harsh winters to live with an aunt she barely knew, far away from a life she had barely survived.

The rising sun slowly peaked through the patterned curtains as Waverly Earp huddled further under the blanket, trying to block out the light. She was given another two minutes before the alarm went off. With a huff, she let the alarm ring for a bit before she pushed back the blanket and quickly rolled out of bed. She snatched the hoodie from her bedpost and slipped it on as she sleepily headed towards the bathroom. Waverly had never really been a morning person, but was anyone really? She was almost to the door when a flash of color dashed in before her, the bathroom door closing just as she got there. "God damn it, Wynonna," she cursed, hitting the door with a quick punch before rubbing her eyes. She was glad her sister was back, but sometimes... "You're such an asshole."

"Gotta move faster than that, Waves." Wynonna called from the other side of the door as the toilet flushed and she heard the sink running.

"You don't even go to school anymore." Waverly's voice was a defeated whine as she leaned against the wall beside the door, her foot tapping on the floor to distract herself from the screaming of her bladder.

The door opened suddenly and Wynonna straightened her leather jacket, running a hand through her long brunette waves. "I'm taking your Jeep today, remember?"

It took a minute before Waverly recalled, realization dawning on her face. "Shit buckets. Right." How could she forget? She looked over at the room that had only recently been cleaned out. It had been a storage room for as long as she could remember, since the morning they moved in after their father had died… since Wynonna had accidentally killed him. She smiled at her sister who had only been back in town for a month now. "Give me a few minutes and I'll be ready."

"Take your time. Gus made pancakes." Wynonna was a little too giddy as she pushed past her, heading down the stairs.

Waverly shook her head. She knew by the time she got downstairs, her sister would have worked her way through most of the food. She settled for skipping breakfast as she splashed cold water on her face. Whatever kept Wynonna even close to happy, she was okay with it.

She couldn't bear to think of spending another three years without seeing her only close relative. Gus was great and all, but having her sister under the same roof almost reminded her of… before. She tried not to think about it, that night on the homestead when men had broken into their house. She'd only been six, but she understood the screams as her sister was killed, and her father was being dragged out of the house. Wynonna had shoved her in a closet, told her to cover her ears and close her eyes, not to cry, try not to breathe too loudly. But she hadn't listened. She remembered opening the door to watch Wynonna take their father's gun and…

Well, Wynonna had never been the best shot. Not like their sister Willa.

Another splash of freezing water from the faucet against her face and Waverly brought herself back to the present."Stop being so darn morose," she sighed heavily, looking at her reflection. She forced a smile onto her face, taking a deep breath. "Ok, Waverly Earp. Get your hiney in gear." She took another breath before nodding and starting her daily regimen. "You are surrounded by a sphere of positivity," she told her reflection, beginning to apply makeup as she repeated her daily mantra. "Negativity cannot touch you but your positivity can flow out and affect the world around you." She closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath, imagining herself breathing in the light of goodness. She held her breath, willing herself to absorb the positivity until her body was too full, her lungs screaming with the strain. Slowly she exhaled, expelling the darkness and negativity from her body before continuing. "There are blessings everywhere, you just have to open your eyes to see them."

By the time Waverly was ready, her hair pulled up into twin buns and makeup freshly applied, she escaped the bathroom and the negativity she had left behind to quickly dress and grab her book bag, a small skip in her step that hadn't been there moments before. She was flipping through her folder as she entered the kitchen to find Wynonna eating a whole pancake speared on a fork. "It's easier to eat if you cut it," she commented as Gus handed her a glass of orange juice. "Thanks, Gus."

"I saved you some fruit." Gus set the bowl down on the table as she accepted a sheet of paper. "What's this?"

"Emergency contact and doctor info for cheerleading." Waverly smiled before picking a few blueberries out of the bowl.

Gus slipped her glasses on, eyeing the document. "As if there were more than one doctor in Purgatory." She pulled out a pen and began to fill in the boxes and lines before pausing, her eyes narrowing. "When did you join the varsity squad?"

"They let pipsqueaks on the varsity squad?" Wynonna mumbled around a mouthful of pancake.

"Don't be rude." Waverly felt a flare of anger at her sister. "I'll have you know I have the perfect stature for cheerleading."

"Tiny Amazon: perfect stature to get railed by every jock that..."

"Wynonna!" Gus's hand smacked the back of Wynonna's head as she gave her a look of distaste.

Waverly didn't let it phase her as she chewed on a strawberry. Considering just a few months ago she'd been dating Champ, one of the school's best cattle wranglers in the last Purgatory Rodeo, she didn't really have much room to argue. At least she'd come to her senses when he tried to convince her not to take the college course she had enrolled in, saying she didn't need to be so smart because she was pretty enough.

"I've sworn off of all jocks, thank you very much." She stuck her tongue out at her sister. "Besides, I don't really have time for dating. I'm taking that extra class in ancient history and I'm going to be swamped if I'm going to graduate this year." Well, that and she was self aware enough to notice that lately it wasn't just the boys she'd been watching at school. She needed to take some time to figure things out and overanalyze everything as she normally did.

Wynonna shook her head as she pushed up from her chair. "I don't know why you're in such a hurry to graduate."

"Someone in this family should graduate high school." Waverly sniped. She knew it was mean, but still the words slipped out before she could stop them.

To her credit, Wynonna just raised an eyebrow before slinging an arm over her shoulder. "Well… then let's get you to school, Nerd."

Bundled up and prepared for the day, Waverly slipped into the passenger side of her red Jeep. She'd worked at the local pub, Shorty's, all summer, sweeping floors and washing dishes, not only because employment looked great on a college application, but it also allowed her to scrape up enough money to buy what she considered her own bit of freedom. Wynonna didn't drive it often, but after she dinged up Gus's truck something fierce, Gus had been more likely to having Wynonna ask Waverly first.

Wynonna hopped into the Jeep with a grin. "You know, for someone who gets cold easy, you sure picked the worst vehicle possible."

"She may be cold at times, but she's got heart…" Waverly commented, not following up with the silent kinda like you she thought instantly.

"That has got to be," Wynonna started the jeep easily, "the lamest thing I've ever heard you say."

"Haha," Waverly buckled her seatbelt firmly. "Just be careful and keep it...Wynonna!" She screamed as her sister punched the gas and the jeep's tires spun in the snow for a good second before lurching into movement.

Wynonna only laughed.

#wynonna earp #wayhaught #wefanfic #Pour Me More #tw: suicide mention #tw: grief

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wrino · 7 years ago

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interstellar border control

Hi, anon! I’m sorry this is so late and if this isn’t exactly what you had in mind when you requested that prompt; I had a lot on my plate this week and I rarely had enough time to write/browse tumblr. I did, however, really enjoy writing this, so I made time for it (though in hindsight I probably should have just studied lol). Plus, although I originally meant to write a long drabble, this ended up being an actual full-length oneshot (that you can read on ao3 here). Thank you for the request <3

Oh, and I might have gone a little overboard with the worldbuilding for this. There’s a glossary of terms at the end for if you get lost.

Kei stares at the tiny yellow spaceship from the control room window. He makes out a few details, like the green Kando flag on the roof and the heavily-tinted windows, but not much else. The ship floats, suspended in space, like some sort of cosmic yellow teki on the black sands of Gamuro.

“Carriage Alfa-15328, you are approaching Yooru territory. Please state your party number and party leader’s name, affiliation, and intention,” he drones into the microphone.

“Yamaguchi Tadashi, uh, traveling alone. Kando affiliation. Kuroo sent me to repair the nucleonic plasma splitter? Clearance code 3648,” the ship replies, voice echoing in the chamber through the station’s speakers. Kei verifies the numbers with the ones scribbled on his palm.

“Oh. Right. Come in.”

The ship slowly nears as the runway extends toward it. Yellow expands in Kei’s vision until the shape is as large as the palm he holds up to shield his eyes from the decidedly bright hue, and Alfa-15328 finally lands on the dock with a loud thud. Kei winces.

He didn’t think it was possible, but Yamaguchi’s bulky neon orange spacesuit and fluorescent pink toolbox shine even brighter than his garish vehicle. Light bounces off his tinted helmet as he walks toward the station. Kei looks around at his monochrome chamber and imagines the orange leaning against the black walls, the pink sitting by the gray nutriment conserver, the orange sleeping on his white too-short bed. It gives him a headache.

A sharp ring alerts him of Yamaguchi’s arrival at the door. The overhead monitor shows Kei a bright orange fishbowl peeking curiously at the security camera, so he presses a green button on his left.

He’s still staring at the monitor when he hears a swish behind him. Heavy steps thump against the floor; Kei turns around when he counts three.

“Tsukishima Kei?”

“Hey,” Kei nods.

“Hi.”

Yamaguchi presses a button on his wrist, and Kei finds himself staring back at warm brown pools when they had just been an abyss of black space seconds before.

“Ah, you don’t need that,” Kei realizes out loud.

“Huh?” Yamaguchi’s voice is muffled by the spacesuit. His words scratch and thrash against the helmet’s material.

Kei taps his own temple twice. “The atmospheric conditions on this station are set to Yooru’s, and conditions on Yooru and Kando are pretty similar. Kuroo never wears a helmet when he goes here.”

Yamaguchi just gawks at him, or at least that’s what Kei assumes by the way his eyes widen. Kei can’t see his eyebrows, but he imagines Yamaguchi raising one anyway.

He sighs. “What could I possibly gain from tricking you into suffocating?”

“Money?”

Kei rolls his eyes. “I wish. Take off the helmet, Yamaguchi.”

Yamaguchi laughs, doesn’t stop laughing until his helmet’s off, and Kei hears it unrestrained. Without the obstruction, Yamaguchi’s voice is gentle and mellifluous. He places the helmet delicately on the floor.

When Yamaguchi looks up, Kei hopes the gasp he hears from himself is absolutely internal.

Yamaguchi has entire galaxies on his cheeks, on his nose, the tips of his ears. The spots on his face glow against his tan skin in soft old, completely unlike the noisy yellow parked outside the station. Kei’s grayscale room is suddenly bathed in the color. This random mechanic is a star and Kei’s own artifacts are the revolving planets in its solar system.

He wants to ask how Yamaguchi handles the light when all Kei himself has known is dark, murky Yooru and the tenebrific expanse of empty space. He wants to ask if Yamaguchi illuminates every room he enters. He wants to ask if the spots emit heat as they do light, if Yamaguchi’s skin feels thousands upon thousands of pinpricks of fire. If Kei runs his thumb across Yamaguchi’s cheek, will he burn?

“Wow. You’re really tall.”

And the moment is over. Kei blinks twelve times in rapid succession, sees gold-black-gold-black behind his eyelids every split second. He struggles to take back his breath. Does Yamaguchi not notice the room’s brand new decorations?

“Right,” Kei croaks. “The splitter is over there, right behind that panel.” Yamaguchi nods. He walks toward the wall Kei points to and kneels so he faces the only patch of gray on black walls. He procures a screwdriver – an average silver, Kei is more than glad to note – and works to release the panel until it clangs to the floor. The angry sound almost drowns out Yamaguchi’s gasp.

“What? Is it that bad?” Kei’s mind immediately goes to exploding space stations and his long, limp body, forever suspended just beyond his home planet’s atmosphere.

“No, no,” Yamaguchi laughs, waving away Kei’s panic with each lilt. Every bounce of his shoulders makes the gold dance across the walls. “It’s just… this is a really nice model. Do you know who does Materials Procurement for your station?”

“Shouldn’t you know? You work for the company that made it.”

“Ah, I’m just an intern. I’m training to be an aerospace engineer, so I have a background in cisthoron machinery. So…” Yamaguchi trails off, gesturing vaguely to himself and at the plasma splitter: a thin glass cylinder wedged shallowly in the wall.

He takes a flashlight from the toolbox. Kei furrows a brow at that. He considers asking him why he doesn’t just shove his head in the wall and light the work area with the dots on his face, but restrains himself when Yamaguchi flicks the flashlight on. Kei kneels down beside him.

“That’s definitely a fracture. Just a hairline one, though,” Yamaguchi whispers, as if scared his own voice will completely shatter the very thing he’s trying to repair. He points at a thin blue line on the glass that Kei has to inch closer to see.

“Um. Cool?” He whispers back, warming at their proximity. When had they gotten so close?

“Cool,” Yamaguchi affirms, breath hot against Kei’s face before he pulls away. “We won’t have to totally change it.”

Kei loses track of how many things Yamaguchi pulls out of his toolbox then. Haphazardly spread out in front of them are four different-sized wrenches, two gluckans, an assortment of nuts and bolts, and other tools Kei only mildly recognizes from Kuroo’s routine trips – Kando instruments.

“Why do you need all that for a hairline fracture?”

“Well, cisthoron materials are a lot more complicated than typical Earthen or hassium-based particles,” Yamaguchi starts, sharpening the larger gluckan as he speaks. “With this particular splitter, for example, it would be much better for you long-term to engage the uranium-rutherfordium links embedded in the glass’s lattice to accelerate the self-healing process, but to do that you’d have to, um, re-polarize the multiphasic generator – that’s the tiny cloud thing in the middle – or else attempting anything else with the splitter is pretty moot.” Kei stares at him.

“What, you thought I was just going to glue the break shut?”

Yamaguchi smiles up at him, like he knows Kei thought exactly that. He beams brighter than the glow on his cheeks.

More yellow takes over the room when Yamaguchi takes the gloves off his spacesuit. The spots on his knuckle almost twinkle as Yamaguchi takes the gluckan he’d been sharpening and lightly traces a square on the plasma splitter. The square turns blue, and the area inside it evaporates into thin air. Gas oozes out of the cylinder through the hole.

When Kuroo comes over, Kei naps or reads a book as he pretends to listen to the mechanic rant endlessly about work or fawn over his boyfriend. But Kei watches Yamaguchi work until he finishes, and until the blue light of Yooru’s third moon looms over the station and douses them in blue. Yamaguchi’s spots take on a green tinge.

“Okay. I’m done, Tsukki.”

He stares at the greenish dot on the tip of Yamaguchi’s ear. If Kei moves the slightest bit to the left, the blue from the window is blocked and it becomes yellow again. He forgets to respond.

“Er, I can call you Tsukki, right? Tsukishima is too long, and Kuroo said –“

“I don’t mind,” he cuts him off. He doesn’t. Yamaguchi says the two syllables simply but secretly, like his most favorite song, like a symphony he wants to keep to himself forever.

Kei’s head spins remembering the melody. He really doesn’t mind.

“Everything checks out. The transdimensional conduit’s giving off a weird ‘I’m broken’ vibe, though,” Kuroo says from the bottom bunker, exactly thirty-one cycles since Kei’s splitter was fixed.

Kei himself sits cross-legged near the bunker’s overhead entrance, peering down at Kuroo after every chapter he finishes of the book open in front of him. “There’s no such thing as a transdimensional conduit.”

“Gotcha. Well, almost.”

Yooru’s third moon peeks into the station’s window. Kei’s reminded of gold-sometimes-green spots. If Yooru’s second moon had greeted Yamaguchi instead, would the dots be orange?

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Is it about Yamaguchi?”

Kei drops his book, heart thundering wildly in his chest. He looks down at Kuroo through the bunker’s entrance. “Excuse me?”

“Routine activity check,” Kuroo explains, screwing a panel shut. “Oikawa told me to examine your browser for ‘suspicious activity’. He was laughing, so I expected porn, but the hundred thousand Yamaguchi Tadashi, Kando, glow spots – you don’t have freckles on Yooru? – Wimble searches were pretty funny as well.”

“Oh my god.”

“I’d give you his number, but his internship ended about ten cycles ago. He’s an engineer at Metsua now.”

Kei blinks at that, almost too embarrassed to be properly impressed. Metsua was the pinnacle of aerospace engineering. Only the richest had Metsua hovers, could afford transport with Metsua spaceships, could buy Metsua anything. “Wow.”

“Yeah, wow. Too bad, too. We haven’t really found anyone else with cisthoric experience.”

No Yamaguchi ever again, then. Kei deflates. A pit the size of an ueshi finds a home in his heart. It cuts off his circulation, sends his insides into a frenzy he doesn’t understand and leaves his limbs limp and cold.

Kuroo somehow notices. “If it makes you feel any better, he has the biggest crush on you, too. Wouldn’t shut up about how cool you are and how nice the station smelled. You know he calls you Tsukki? It’s cute.”

The pit in his chest buries itself deeper.

“And no. I don’t know why his freckles glow.”

It is incredibly hard to fracture a nucleonic plasma splitter.

Kei realizes just that when he wipes the sweat off his face for the twelfth time that cycle. An array of sharp, heavy, and sharp and heavy tools lay in between him and the splitter, some marked with red chalk. Those marked lie to his left in a messy pile of metal and condensed plasma, while the only three left unmarked lie to his right in a neat line. A multi-spacial theraknife, a silver nanoparticle abrasant, and a stainless steel nail clipper – just to cover all his bases.

He picks up the theraknife and waves it slowly near the cylinder. Nothing happens. He rubs the abrasant against the glass. Nothing happens either, but the rubbing does make a squeaky grating sound that grinds on his ears. The fracture has to be noticeable, but not big enough that it looks intentional. It shouldn’t be either too near or too far from where the last crack was. The splitter shouldn’t actually break, lest Kei’s station explode with him in it.

It is decidedly difficult to even scratch a nucleonic plasma splitter, but Kei is determined, if only to see Yamaguchi again.

Kei picks up the nail clipper and taps the side of the splitter. There, at the very corner of the cylinder, appears a slight crack.

He runs to the control panel. His legs move faster than his brain can interpret his actions, and he calls Kuroo without thinking.

“Tsukishima? It’s late.”

“Hey. My splitter is fractured again.”

There’s shuffling on the other line. “What? Again? Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Kei replies, voice thick with fatigue. How long has he been awake?

A pause.

“Nucleonic plasma splitters are durable as fuck,” Kuroo says, finally.

“I know.”

Another pause.

“Did you break your splitter so we’d have to bring in Yamaguchi? From another company, in another planet, four hundred light-years away?”

“That’s a loaded question,” Kei replies, slowly.

“It’s a yes or no question.”

“Oh. Then yes.”

Kuroo groans, and Kei can only imagine the slapping sound he hears as an exasperated facepalm.

“Fuck you, Tsukishima.”

Kei hums. “So you can get it fixed?”

“If you don’t kiss him, I’ll kill you.”

Kei can’t say he doesn’t remember why he took this job. Being a Gatekeeper is thankless, but it pays glamorously – certainly much more than any work he could have done back on land. He’s almost never busy, given the fact that his side of Yooru is hardly a tourist spot, unlike the opposite side where Hinata is stationed. As a result, the only carriages he’s ever had to deal with so far were delivery ships, locals, and, of course, Kuroo. He passes the time by reading electronic books and using his exceptional Uninet connection to find obscure music from different planets.

His station’s only big enough for one person, though. Kei doesn’t ever regret being a Gatekeeper, but he’s a lot lonelier than he would ever care to admit.

“Can you pass me the pa – um, the green knife thing,” Yamaguchi says, holding out one hand while the other tinkered with the splitter.

“The paduin. I’ve seen Kuroo use it.” Kei sets the tool on Yamaguchi’s outstretched hand. Yamaguchi hums back at him.

Kei’s room is alight again, sixty cycles after it was last. His usually bland furniture seem as happy as Kei; gold kisses them over and over, even more so than last time.

“You know, splitter fractures are pretty uncommon. Like, really uncommon, actually. I know someone who’s kept his splitter perfect for years, and it wasn’t nearly as nice as this one, Tsukki.”

“Um,” is the only thing Kei can reply, lightheaded after hearing the nickname again.

“There. Done.” Yamaguchi wipes his hands on his suit before moving to put away his things. Kei helps him without beng asked to, picking up a bolt that had rolled away from them. It makes a clanging sound when he drops it in Yamaguchi’s toolbox.

They stand. Yamaguchi hesitates before walking towards the helmet on the corner table.

“Wait,” Kei says, before he can stop himself. Yamaguchi whips around to face him. “Wait.”

“Yeah?” Yamaguchi’s voice squeaks, and it is in it that Kei hears his own hope mirrored.

“Why do your spot – freckles, I mean – glow?”

“Oh, um,” Yamaguchi stammers, hands flying to his cheeks, as if he can hide them under his fingers. “Kando thing.”

Kei raises an eyebrow. “Kando thing?”

“People of pure Kando lineage usually have at least one spot on their body. Kuroo doesn’t have one because he’s half Vol, I think. But my friend Suga has one by his eye, and my mother has some on her cheeks. Not as much as me though,” he laughs softly. “I have them everywhere.”

Kei nods. He wants to ask so much more, but he’s deathly afraid he’ll never stop if he starts, like a dam will break and his confessions will come in tsunamis if he so much as makes a noise. Still, he wants to give Yamaguchi words he can keep in his pocket, even if they’re to be forgotten later, buried under the praise of more significant individuals.

“I think they’re interesting,” Kei says finally, his voice hoarse. He clears his throat.

“You can touch them,” Yamaguchi replies, almost immediately. And then, as though he catches himself: “I mean, only if you want to!”

“I want to.”

“Okay.” Yamaguchi gently takes Kei’s hands and guides them slowly toward his face, settling them on his cheeks. He keeps his hands over Kei’s as the latter runs his thumb across tan and gold – and red, because Yamaguchi’s blush is nothing less than violent.

It’s warm. The freckles themselves don’t emit any kind of heat, but Yamaguchi’s cheeks are on fire. Kei prefers it, especially because his own face feels just as warm.

“I broke the splitter,” Kei whispers. He doesn’t dare put away his hands. Neither does Yamaguchi.

“What? Why?”

“I wanted to see you again.”

Kei’s rarely ever this candid, but Yamaguchi’s flush encourages him. He keeps his eyes on Yamaguchi’s widened ones.

“I’ve thought about you every cycle since I met you.” He feels Yamaguchi suck in a breath, feels his head bob slightly up and down as he struggles to breathe.

“Is that… is that weird?” Kei asks, slight panic edging into his tone.

“No. No, no, no,” Yamaguchi shakes his head so vigorously the flashing gold makes Kei dizzy. “Not weird. Me, too, Tsukki. Me, too.”

“Oh. Cool.”

“Great,” Yamaguchi beams. He squeezes the hands still on his cheeks.

Kei smiles back. The tips of his mouth reach out to find the last ounce of courage he has.

“So,” he starts.

“Kuroo said he’d kill me if I didn’t kiss you.”

GLOSSARY (in alphabetical order)

Alfa-15328 - the name of Yamaguchi’s ship. I made them use a variation of the NATO phonetic alphabet, so the ship’s name is actually A-15328.

carriage - more common term for “vehicle”

cisthoron - class of materials

cycle - an Earthen day

Kando - Kuroo and Yamaguchi’s home planet. It’s the most similar to Earth in terms of general content, but it has a lot less water and the colors are all different. Also what you call people from Kando.

Gamuro - a desert planet

gluckan - a common tool

Metsua - one of the biggest aerospace companies in the universe. Imagine SpaceX but in the future and actually in space. It’s on the planet Raghu.

multi-spacial theraknife - a common tool on Yooru. Basically like a swiss army knife but with more deadly lasers.

nucleonic plasma splitter - a component of most space vehicles. I don’t know what it does, but Yamaguchi probably does.

nutriment conserver - a refrigerator

paduin - a common tool on Kando

silver nanoparticle abrasant - like steel wool but with silver

teki - endemic to Gamuro, an insect that is as small as an Earthen ant (hence the simile)

transdimensional conduit - fictional thing Kuroo made up to fuck with Tsukki

ueshi - endemic to Yooru, an animal the size of an Earthen elephant (again, hence the simile)

Uninet - the Internet but in space

Vol - what you call people from Voluri

Wimble - Google but for space people

Yooru - Tsukishima’s home planet. It’s kind of dark and swamp-y and ugly. Sorry Tsukki.

#tsukkiyama #hq fanfic #haikyuu!!#hq #what a dumb title #im sorry if this wasn't what you were looking for anon #but it was great practice and i had so much fun thank you!#ask #anonymous #also i put this under a text post because i wanted to be able to tag it immediately/use a read more #i wrote a fic!!!!#rhinocepost

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maraistyping · 5 years ago

Text

Across the universe

Will closed his eyes forcefully as he felt the structure of the castle shake violently like a leave in tempestuous weather as another blast of energy stroke against the force field that was bound to break sooner than later. He could hear the sound of the alarms echoing along the empty hallways of the palace, alerting the few beings still on board that the situation they all feared was closer to reality than a simple speculation, way that it had been presented before the relative period of peace they had been leaving shattered to no more than mere ashes, broken fragments that the blue eyed would have loved to pick up. The blond really wished things could be as easy as his mind made them sound.

He knew he had to keep himself calm, freaking out wouldn’t do any good, but it was really hard to be rational when the noise produced by multiple explosions reached his ears, a constant reminder of what was at stake and a glimpse of what could happen if anything were to go out of hands. It was anything but a nice thought, it was a dreadful scenario that shouldn’t be more than a nightmare and yet it seemed craved behind his eyelids, bloody images forever frozen in time for him to watch.

Not even in his wildest dreams had his brain been able to put together such gruesome collection of scenes like the ones that could be seen happening on the other side of the glass that separated the control room from the starry area outside. Maybe it was simply naïve thinking but the blue eyed had hope for the conflict to be finally over, for there to be peace in every single corner of the vest universe he had got to love with time. Perhaps it would have been better to be more specific with his wishes instead of just wording them mentally in the vaguest way possible.

The blond took a deep breath, considerably hot air filling his lungs to the point that he was certain he would choke on the element that was supposed to make him feel better. He had promised them that he would be strong, that no matter how hard the situation looked form his perspective, he wouldn’t let his spirit be crushed against the weight of hopelessness; said task was, in all honesty, becoming harder and harder as the anxious tics passed by.

His glance hesitantly wandered around the room for what probably was, at least, the tenth time in a row, trying his best to avoid overthinking, putting a lot of effort in stopping himself from falling into a spiral of endless panic. There was enough negativity where he stood, the people surrounding him certainly didn’t need to deal with his wild line of thoughts which apparently were trying to push his sanity to the limit.

Muffled voices started to reach his ears, the sound of violence spreading outside having finally started to dim down a little, although that did nothing but made the pitch of anxiety grow on his stomach, the uneasy sensation that slowly passed through his nerves not having apparent plans of leaving him alone any time soon.

He tried to recall how exactly had they all ended like that: horrified by other’s actions as they fought to keep a grip on themselves. His mind, however, was blank, void of everything except for the sensation of constant panic that crawled through his whole being, freezing him in place against his better judgement.

There was a time when things weren’t like that though, a gentle voice reminded the blond as he forced air into his lungs, a painful reminder that made his heart shattered under the pressure of sweet memories long lost. The thought brought cheerful images back to the surface, scenes from the past that seemed to reach for him, wanting to drag him into a bliss that would be impossible to experience in the world he was now living in.

The blue eyed nervously passed a hand through his already messy hair, his shaky fingers tangling themselves on his blond locks, twisting them lightly in partial exasperation as the pit of anxiety began growing on his guts, making him feel dizzy. He could feel the air around him becoming heavier, threatening to bring his body to the ground with help from the gravity that had been his only pillar of support besides the wall surface his skin had stopped to acknowledge.

Somehow remembering past chapters of his personal history made him feel even worse, the good feelings of yesterday were toxic, a subtle poison that changed progressively from sweet remedy to deadly venom. It sickened him, how something that used to bring him peace at night when sleep didn’t seem to have any intentions on catching up to him now just left him with an awful taste on his mouth.

The air around him suddenly changed drastically, the delicate scent of beautiful flowers whose name had slipped between his fingers invaded his lungs, his heartbeat reluctantly going back to a much more slower pace as lines started to get drawn across the blank canvas of his mind.

Lilac petals hovered above his head, dancing freely without a care in the world, the hills with lively greenish grass as their stage a couple of more daring ones brushing his blond hair, leading to the corners of his lips tugging up slightly. Spring had always been his favorite season as far as he could remember, everything around him seemed to born again at that time of the year: the imposing trees stopped being void of company, leaves colored by a cheerful nature went back together to make each other company once more, new flowers bloomed proudly where others had saved a spot, the luminescent rays of the stars above shone elegantly as a warm welcome.

On some very rare days, when he was free of responsibilities and had a friendly hand that was willing to tag along on his adventures, he would sit down under that magnificent tree he had seen grow and taken care of for the last couple of years, the one his mother had looked after since it was nothing more than a frightened little seed. It had grown so much since the first time he had seen it with his own eyes: its branches were no longer scrawny to the point that Will had imagined them all breaking in half if the wind showed no mercy, it looked less than a reanimated object as a certain shade of dark brown stopped being the predominant color, soon being replaced by a joyful green which was later on joined by a vivid purplish-red color displayed by the small flowers that seemed attracted to the few visible roots.

The blue eyed would rest his head against the hard surface of the overgrown plant, closing his eyes as the giant body of leaves projected a large shadow above him, covering him like a silent blanket. His mind quickly traveled to the distant figure of his mother in moments of quiet like those, he wondered if she would be proud of what she had contributed to construct, of the individual she had put a lot of effort into raising.

Sometimes, if the fates were in a nice mood and decided to behave favorably towards him, the feeling of loneliness he tried so hard to keep buried inside his being wouldn’t be a weight he had to carry on his own. He particularly enjoyed those moments where he could sense the familiar embrace that held him safe and warm, gesture that in certain occasions could resemble the ones he knew would never come back.

It was nice, however, getting a reminder that he wasn’t truly alone, point that hit the blond with more force as well as determination whenever his siblings were around to spend some of their free time with him. Of course that didn’t help the sentiment of guilt that appeared at times within himself go away as he thought of all the things the pair could be doing instead of wasting his time on their older brother.

Will appreciated the gesture anyway. He loved the fact that the two of them had found an empty space on their busy schedule to be with him once again, a throwback to those sleepless nights he experienced with more frequency as a child when at least one of his favorite persons in the world would sit down next to him as they talked about all the possible adventures the blue eyed could be part of, themselves always included in the tale, except that those fictional scenarios that had been spoken long ago was now a reality for the pair. Knowing other individuals that, even though had different appearance from theirs as a whole, shared similar dreams and wishes was now part of his brothers reality, had been for a couple of years, and he would be lying if he said he wasn’t happy nor proud of them: they had the courage the blond was almost certain had skipped his genetic code.

Another loud noise brought him back to reality, his glance momentarily fixing its attention on the multiple explosions that tinted the sky with violent colorations of red and yellowish shades. They were almost hypnotizing, the way gray smoke twirled in forced delight as neon lasers announced their way, pushing aside in a harsh manner whatever object in between their body and their final destination. The spectacle was definitely breath taking, but for all the wrong reasons.

Will forced himself to look away, he knew that if he continued to stare he would lose it, he wasn’t about to break the last promise he made before hell got loose before his eyes. The blond could still hear his brother’s, Michael, voice loud and clear, telling him to be strong while he placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, his thumb gently rubbing his skin in a soothing manner as a soft smile adorned his features, those that seemed mostly reserved to the blond, before he pulled away.

His brown irises met his own blue ones briefly for the last time before the dark haired was no longer in sight, a flash of red running through the halls alongside with a taller guy wearing a blackish armor of similar style to the attire that was covering the other’s body being the only trace left on Will’s memory that the moment was not simply the product of his imagination.

The blond bitted the inside of his cheek, shaking his head in a rather violent way as he felt his eyes starting to sting as if invisible needles had started to crack the area surrounding the marks of greenish coloration framing his bottom eyelids on each side of his face. The words pronounced on their short goodbye seemed meaningless as the time flew by without any positive light bathing the situation they were all facing.

The sound of an explosion made him wince, the thin hairs on the back of his neck bristling at the unexpected event, although he assumed he should have gotten used to those by now. Part of him wished he was out there as well, in a ship with his siblings, protecting the place he called home, the people who, like him, were worried about not being able to see the following day. Will doubted his contribution would be worth anything though, he was no fighter, he hadn’t been made for that kind of activities.

It could be worse, he told himself before quickly discarding the thought. It was better not tempting the odds with words like those, they apparently took them as a personal challenge, one would have guessed he already knew better based on previous experiences.

Soft mumbles could be heard not so far away from him, loud enough to draw his attention towards the source of the sound, his glance stopping on three individuals not so far away from him whose levels of interaction had different variations on each case, both of them being the ones he held closer to his heart. At least you are not alone.

The trio of different appearance seemed focused on their own world, furious mumbles and incomprehensible whispers getting to his ears in a weird mix of voices and tonalities. Their expressions were in a constant state of change, their hands moving frantically as, he could only assume, each one pronounced their own position on a certain matter, one that apparently they were more than just passionate about.

The blue eyed hesitantly took a couple of silent steps closer to the individuals, although the new proximity still wasn’t enough to properly make up the words. His legs lead him a little closer, trying to ignore the sinking feeling settling on his stomach as the air around him became even denser and hard to shallow. He doubted he could continue to function in those conditions.

The sun kissed features of his father, framed by almost golden locks which made his hair feel like a mere copy that failed to capture most of the characteristics that defined the original, was one of the first things he was able to fully focus on despite the great disturbance happening outside the giant fortress that had been his home since he was nothing more than just a child who had just started to open his eyes to the world. Of course, moving there would imply the older blond to not spend a lot of time with his offspring, his younger would realize that reality later on.

Perhaps he could never said he would be holding the best paternal figure of the year award anytime soon, but Will would have to admit that, even though his work as royal advisor, the surprise of being told what the other did on a daily basis hadn’t worn off completely, didn’t let a lot of free time for their already somehow broken family, without it he wouldn’t have been able to meet and properly get to know one of his closest friends: the young girl with bright kaleidoscopic eyes who seemed both distressed and furious about the words that were coming out of the mouths of the two adults.

He had found her one day sitting down at the edge of a balcony as he wandered around the magnificent halls of the palace, his young mind thinking about all the possible adventures he could have in all the multiple rooms he had seen as well as in all the ones he had yet to discover. Their talk, even though it was brief compared to the conversations he used to have with his siblings when they were around, pleasantly left a mark in each one of them, they both appreciated the company they felt they were lacking of.

The meetings held between the two continued through the years, seeing each other grow as well as their peculiar friendship which only got stronger as tragedy stroke as quick as a lightning. They have both bonded over the fact that their mothers wouldn’t be around anymore, as morbid at it may sound, especially when that topic of conversation was born in the mind of a kid who should be thinking about cheerful scenes.

Everything around him seemed fine, at least as alright as a situation playing in front of his stare would allow, until, to his horror, the girl of brown locks started to slump towards the ground, only to be quickly grabbed by the black haired man nearby, her father, before she got to close to the ground.

His blue eyes widened in panic as he felt himself desperately launch forward, his irises unable to unglue themselves from unconscious figure that was being held tightly not so far away from him, the delicate movement of her chest being the only sign that showed that things could have gone worse. The sound of his steps made his father turn around, his expression reflecting something that he could only identify as pity.

“Pipes!” The blond called out, worry more than evident on his voice. He tried to get closer to the other but he found out that both of his arms were being held tightly, preventing him from moving forward.

“Will, calm down.” He recognized the voice of his father speaking softly, thing that did anything but calm him down. The tone of his voice made him sick, fire quickly spreading through every nerve of his body as the words echoed inside his head. How was he supposed to be calm in a moment like that? The whole situation was all wrong and there were people demanding him to just be alright with it? The mere suggestion angered him.

“Let me go!” He struggled to break free of the grip, which only made the later to grow in strength, making it clear that his order would be ignored due to external reasons that weren’t yet quite clear.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that.” His father said, resignation running deep into his statement.

But of course you can, he wanted to shoot back but he honestly doubt his words would have any effect on the older being, who seemed really fixed on his task. He felt a shiver pass though his spine as he closed his eyes forcefully, trying to focus on his breathing more than in the noises that had started to sound loudly once more, making it hard for him to think.

“Stop fighting, I’m only trying to help.” He heard the older blond whisper. For a small fraction of time, it reminded him of the time prior to all this mess, those nights when sometimes he would talk to a smaller version of him that was drifting between sleep and awake, when the other would say sweet words to him along with his mother as the later delicately passed her fingers through his messy blond locks

Will shook his head, pushing the memory away, a broken whimper leaving his lips as the anger left his body, soon replaced by the sinking feeling of desperation that came with the bargaining step of the staircase that tried to make sense of the thoughts passing wildly through somebody’s head when they try to come to terms with the inevitable.

“Let me go to her! I want to… I have to know if she’s alright.” The blue eyed let out as he sloppily tried to get rid of the only thing that was holding him down, not really caring about anything else at the time other than being able to see the state of the one of the only few people he truly cared about.

Suddenly, he felt the restrains lose some of the force previously applied. That was it, his chance. The blond didn’t manage to get free though since, as soon as he came up with a considerably realistic idea, an unexpected wave of pain made his mind go blank, his muscles relaxing against his better judgement, his arms and legs going limb despite his own commands.

“I’m so sorry, William.” His ears managed to catch faintly before he found himself falling to the ground, the gravity attracting him towards the floor as dead weight. It didn’t take long for the darkness to engulf him, clamming him as a part of its realm, embracing him tightly as the warmth sensation surrounding his body slowly left him on his own.

#solangelo #nico di angelo #will solace #pjo #voltron au #my writing

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