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syrakhanistan · 2 months ago

Text

signs of a coming War

((This will not make sense if you haven’t read the Stonefire Arc.))

35 seconds past 2310 hours, XX/XX/2010. Roughly one year prior to W-Impact Event. Special order of operation on behalf of the Incubator of the First Officio Assassinorum with the assent of the Warmaster of the First Officio Assassinorum.

Operation: Executed, successfully. Minimal casualties.

Side Objective: Executed, successfully. Minimal casualties.

Second Objective: Executed. Objective(s) confirmed. Assets involved to be debriefed; solution to be assessed and ascertained.

“Yo, Mel! Sorry for the rush briefing, and the somewhat-abrupt semi-kidnapping, but this job’s a good one, I promise… and it’s also an order from the top. We’re to be embedded into an independent international task force special forces unit comprising of American, Syrakhani, British, French, and Russian soldiers en route to an abandoned military complex within the violent disputed border region based on the salt flat made from the former Lake Chad, set between Cameroon, Niger, Chad and Nigeria.

I’m to be deployed in one squad, you’ll be deployed in another alongside your, ah, current comrade-in-arms, Oug’di al-Gawa’a (or whatever they’re calling themselves today). This special international task force is being deployed following reports of a known terror cell meeting with WMD specialists in the disputed, lawless area - the same fundamentalist terror cell responsible for those brutal attacks in Paris and London a year or so ago. This was originally enough for some level of intervention; however, this has since changed - as intel came in that the terror cell was under attack from a seperate terrorist organisation: the infamous ultranationalist zealots that’s been tearing most of Central Africa a few new ones. These guys, if anything, are more of an interesting threat - given that they are confirmed to have access to WMDs, and used them at least once (and were potentially involved in the supplying of the weapon used in the Hizawi tragedy).

However, while destroying terror cells and extracting important intel is certainly good for a laugh… I’m damn sure you can guess that you’re not just here to spray bullets. Our more specialized expertise has been requested, predominantly because we were in the area, for a seperate objective - direct from the higher-ups.

Your primary objective (as opposed to the secondary objective of turning terrorists to paste on the walls) is the location and extraction of a particularly important asset, who we can only refer to as Asset I. That’s an i, not a 1, friend. If you wanna be pedantic, call them Iota.

Neither of us are actually cleared to know what the details surrounding I actually are - but, somehow, the Asset was either captured or was simply, for some reason, located on-site at this facility. Therefore, the higher-ups need us to infiltrate with our assigned squads, and secure the Asset - ensuring no harm comes to them from either side of the battle. Once you have confirmed the asset's safety, and the special forces units have confirmed their own tasks, the independent task force will issue a command to allied Syrakhanistan Air Force and Navy units on standby to bomb the area to smithereens.

God is with us. Blessed is She.”

You are Mel Anna, formerly known as Three. You are a magical girl (formerly an unofficial hire before your exemplary performance landed you a true contract with the Sixteenth Officio Assassinorum), and you’re currently in free fall above a hostile combat zone following abrupt orders from your superior and erstwhile friend, Colonel Kiryu.

You've just jumped from a High Altitude Low Opening position from a modified Russian/former Soviet supersonic aircraft (the aptly named "Black Canary" for it's near-prototype status; an upgraded Tu-160 chassis built with prototype Tu-144 equipment, then further modified by American engineers before being... acquired... by Syrakhanistan), directly into anti-aircraft fire.

So much for taking advantage of two opposing enemies fighting each other - now both of the ground-forces of the terrorists were attacking you all, too.

Luckily - no pun intended - this was to be expected. As in, you'd already predicted this. Your powers from your wish (some powers of which you'd just activated with a small flash of light to help defend against the onslaught of firepower) allowed you to perfectly predict the future - often to either brilliant or terrible results, to the point that you'd been repeatedly advised to only use your primary wish-granted power only when given explicit permission from higher-ups.

This prediction was clearly enough to give some a sense of easy security. Your assigned co-worker and partner-in-crime, the ever-confusing Oug’di al-Gawa’a (commonly known currently as the more simple Ogawa; A shapeshifter and cloner by magical nature, wish unknown, and especially talented Callidus assassin currently contracted with the elusive Twentieth Officio, who has changed name (having previously been known as, among others, Ougi Kumahara, Di Mario, Kagali Ojigawa, Publius Maximus, and Gabriel bin Darra), history, and even flesh and mind several times over - in the short time you'd known them, let alone before your assignment together) was currently posing for an unseen camera while nearing terminal velocity. They noticed your gaze amidst the flak bursts and gave you a cheerful wave, much to your chagrin.

As you descended to the military facility built into the already corpse-ridden salt flats, you threw out a few of your personalised magical tarot cards towards your allies desperately attempting to maneouver out the way of the anti-air fire, the cards flipping in the air and turning into small shields of energy, protecting them.

"Deploy PWSS on my mark." You say over the comms as the wind rushes around you. "Mark".

Your equipment deploys, alongside the other members of the squad, activating into a quasi-wingsuit, quasi-parachute mechanism (you’d forgotten to actually ASK what PWSS even meant), allowing you to accelerate faster down to your destination but with more control, as well as to hit the ground in such a manner that you WEREN'T reduced to a splatter on the concrete.

You hit the ground with a solid thud, going straight into a forward combat roll, as the soldiers operating flak cannons on the rooftop of the complex turned to fight your incoming group.

A flick of your wrist, and cards from nowhere spin out, cutting the throats of several enemy combatants, while Ogawa swung around behind them, cloning instantly, each one holding weapons - knives, guns, even a machete - and carving a line across the rooftop.

The gunfire and missiles continued to stream away nearby, even as your squad regrouped after clearing the area.

You motioned towards a set of doors (the other set on the roof being left clear for either another squad such as Colonel Kiryu’s, or for exfil), and the group moved into the complex, slowly checking corners, clearing rooms, checking for mines and traps.

One set of doors turned into another, each corridor going on and on, each filled with an endless stream of enemies, flies to the flame that they were.

The hallways, the rooms, the floors, all of them began to blur together, a strange feeling lurking at the back of your mind.

Like, this place was a LOT bigger than it should have any right to be.

It was built into the flat salt of a former lake; surely such ground would be hard, and less than perfect for underground structures?

Yet it just kept going. Further and further you went, meeting each floor filled with more and more insurgents, more and more corpses, more wasted bullets and more wasted energy.

You’re glad you’d asked for the extra few Grief Seeds before the mission.

The deeper you went, ironically, the more lit up the halls were. Electricity seemed to be concentrating somewhere deep below, so power seems to have been rerouted to whatever, whoever, wherever this “Iota” figure was, or whatever cage they had been imprisoned in.

Of course, the enemy also become more and more entrenched as your team descended. Your equipment indicated that by the time you reached an impressively fortified bunker-like position complete with underground towers - somehow - you were close to nearly a few solid kilometres below ground.

That’s impossible, unless…

You motion to Ogawa, giving an old hand signal and pointing to one of your comrades, between hails of gunfire from the towers.

Ogawa looks confused for a brief moment, before confusion turned to concern as the Callidus performed the check on the soldier you’d motioned towards.

Ogawa nodded. Shit.

Somehow, the bunch of you had got caught inside a Labyrinth. Either that, or the Labyrinth had been built around Iota, or perhaps to contain Iota. A Witch, and a relatively powerful one, must have manifested here - or, if not fully manifested, then a Seed must have been used in some way.

The Kiss sigil burning black on the soldier’s exposed neck gave your theory enough credence to be wary.

You radio into your comms, praying that the influence of a Witch wouldn’t impact the hardened equipment you had.

“Daisy Hand to Siren, do you read? We’re confirming unknown-class interference close to the predicted location of Asset Iota. Confirm acknowledgement, over.”

“…tua… res… fi… ack…”

“Daisy Hand to Siren, repeat last, over.”

You tut irritably, ignoring yet another round of bullets fired your way.

…well, you tried.

“Ogawa! I need cover while I do my thing!” You shout between bursts of fire.

“Did you get—”

“Nope! But I’m gonna do it anyway, otherwise we’re gonna be up to our necks in shit at this rate, let alone whatever’s up with Iota - if the Asset is even still around.”

“…fine. But using that, it’s on your ass, you hear?”

You hear, alright.

As the rapid deployment of Ogawa’s shadows began to move forward into the enemy ranks, you close your eyes, and concentrate.

Breathing in, and out. You blink.

+ Predict where the Witch is. +

You project out to the abyss, your consciousness wavering, surfing along the very edge of the accursed realms between reality, searching for an answer.

Your predictions will always be correct. You will always get the answer that will occur.

Even if it’s a terrible one.

A feeling, a nudge, a scar opening, crackling of flames, laughter, the sky falls, beating heart, cruel knives, the dead live, seas of blood, a sick jokes, corridors endlessly fading into a pit of—

There. That one. But what did…

You shake yourself back into reality, discerning and paraphrasing what little you understood.

The Witch…

You look between the Towers, through the Maze that continued behind the enemy encampment, past the bullets -

There! You fling a single card—

“Got it!” Ogawa shouts, revealing themselves amidst the horde of clones, firing a single shot following the glowing trail your card had left.

Between the towers, past the camp, past the bullets, through the corridors, hitting the Door’s window.

A screech, like the rending of metal, before fading away, the breathless agony of another dead creature - whether a natural one or an old comrade, irrelevant.

The building’s doors didn’t have windows. Ironically, unlike most Witches that bury themselves within the depths of their Labyrinth, this one had created an endless loop of rooms, spreading itself thin to create a seamless world to trap victims in.

The labyrinth dissipated, the lines of enemy soldiers vanishing in mere moments. It appeared only a dozen odd insurgents had actually been in the building; but the Witch that had either imprisoned them, or had been employed by them, had made the enemy seem insurmountable.

The illusion shattered, you and your squad find yourself in a far more spacious but still all-too corridor-like room.

A room with doors, but in particular one rather bulky looking and rusty one.

As Ogawa passes by the few corpses, grabbing the lone Grief Seed that had fallen to the floor, you once again grab your comms equipment - only to be interrupted once more by the sounds of gunfire.

Ogawa pockets the Seed, and together with your surviving comrades, you take positions next to the door which the sounds were coming from.

“Anyone home? We could use a hand!” A familiar voice shouts behind the door between the combat noises.

Your expression softens, and, ignoring your team’s surprise, you unloosen the bolt on the door, letting your friend through.

The Colonel herself immiediately shuts it behind her, a grim look on her face. “Cheers, pal. ‘Twas getting a bit hairy.”

You nod to Ogawa to keep watch on the exit doors alongside the rest, while you help Kiryu out with her many, many wounds, as the two of you walk towards the clearly suspicious larger door while fixing up the comms equipment.

“—and, do you read? Do you read or not? Over.” The comms finally crackled back to life, the Field Commander’s excitable but determined tones coming through.

“Siren, this is Daisy Hands and Chairman, we read you loud and clear. Interference has been eliminated, and we have located the probable location of the Asset. Confirmation on how to proceed? Over.”

A chuckle. “Aha! Finally! You had me worried for a moment there - not sure why, mind.” Audible throat clearing, before - “Daisy Hands, your position is getting more dangerous by the moment; we have confirmed enemy reinforcements from both OPFOR groups, and much of your backup outside has been worn down. So I need you to listen closely, over.”

“Boss, it’ll be faster if you could get on with it!” The Colonel shouted irritably, long hair swinging from side to side.

“That’s former Boss, and current Field Commander, to you - Chairman. Now then…

The location of Iota should have a massive metal door, locked down nice and tight. However, there’s a knack to opening it - besides several tonnes of high explosive, that is.”

You… didn’t like where this was going.

“The door will only open with the confirmed death of a magical girl.”

There is a soft sigh, before the Field Commander cut off the comms.

…ah.

The Colonel and you exchange the smallest of glances - right before you both bring a weapon to one another’s throats.

“I outrank you, Mel. That’s just how it is.” Kiryu murmured angrily, blade steady.

“I still haven’t got what I became a magical girl for. I won’t die in such a miserable manner as this.” You respond, with an equal level of malice, no magical weapon or card in your hand - just a simple 9mm pistol drawn from your side in the fastest of motions.

There’s a brief moment of tense silence, only occasionally broken by gunfire.

Before being properly broken by an extremely agitated Callidus.

“What the FUCK are you two doing?!” Ogawa cried aloud, sprinting towards the two of you and rolling between your raised arms.

“Out of the way, Ogawa. Otherwise it’ll be your head we take.”

“Yeah, kid, whatever you’re calling yourself these days. Go back to your position, you’re outta line.”

“Head? What? What the hell are you talking about?” Ogawa shouted, refusing to budge.

“Goddamnit, we don’t have time for this—” You say, rolling your eyes.

“Ogawa, our new orders require the death of a magical girl to open the door.” The Colonel says, her eyes still on you.

Ogawa pauses. “Bodily death or soul death?”

The two of you hesitate, before you both look at the bemused assassin.

“Oh, screw this!” Ogawa shouts down at the two of you, before roughly shoving you both out of the way.

Before you can move, Ogawa has approached the hulking metal door, and produced a Very Sharp Knife; you recognise the brand, since you’d bought it as a birthday gift - straight from the forges of KilianInc, your personal favourite Swedish arms manufacturer.

Ogawa kneels down, while Ogawa remains standing.

Oh! That’s… will that work?

Ogawa swiftly decapitates the fleshy shadow clone, neck stump spraying viscera onto the door as the head rolls onto the floor.

There’s a few moments of tension, breaths held - before your prayers are answered, as metal began clanking against metal, the doors swinging open with a rough and screeching noise.

A noise only rivalled by the equally loud gunfire outside.

Without any hesitation, you three rush into the open bunker, while the remnants of your squad continue to fortify against the next enemy assault outside.

The location where Asset I was being held was, in a word, cramped. The brief hallway that contained the vault door quickly ended and abruptly interrupted your intrusion with wall after wall of expensive-looking electronics; servers, open laptops, entire sections with fuse boxes and nothing else.

There was barely any lighting in here, the only lights glowing a dim red - like that of an emergency generator - and occasionally seeming to flicker, and almost appearing to move deeper inside. A veritable sea of wires seemed to endlessly connect every port and cable, the floor packed with them, all running to the end of the bunker.

And, at the end of the bunker, lay your presumed target. A large cylindrical metal capsule, cold to the touch, with a jewelled engraving of a single letter:

I. Styled in a Roman numeral.

The flow of glowing lights and wires all seemed to be pointing to a small panel of buttons that lay next to the capsule.

Your curious gaze was broken by the sound of an explosion; the enemy was attempting to breach the room before the bunker. More gunfire, and the occasional grunt and scream.

You’re the first to move, rushing to the computer terminal, panel, whatever it was, while signalling the other two to give cover while you inspect it.

There are a whole lot of buttons on this surprisingly small computer… thing… and none of them have labels - or, at least, labels in any language you actually understood. Some of the symbols even hurt your brain trying to look at them for some reason - but you get the feeling that the ominously glowing one on the right hand side of the machine is your objective.

In for a penny, as they say…

You press the button.

There’s a pause, before all the few lights in the room shimmer, before following a pattern and seemingly moving from electrical thing to thing all the way to the button you pushed. Finally, after some whirring and mechanical humming, something begins to stir.

The capsule slowly creaks open, and something - someone - flops out unceremoniously; falling to the ground onto their face, sticky and cold liquids gushing out from the machine and covering them and the floor with a fleshy-stinking ooze.

The person, presumably Iota, is utterly soaked in the freezing cold liquid paste; however, they’re also covered head to toe in some sort of metallic armour, with only their mouth being uncovered, and a dense band of red painted metal acting as a blindfold. Their armour seemed to act like an extension cable, given how many more wires seemed to be popping out from them. Armour that…

Appeared to be underneath what seemed to be a girl’s bear onesie. Somehow not soaked.

You’re somewhat taken aback by all this, even as the gunfire and combat grows louder outside.

“Mel! Whatever’s going on over there, get it done fast! We’re up to our necks in shit over here!” The Colonel shouted between bursts of semi-automatic fire.

You barely hear her, as you continue to look down on the Asset.

All this… for a sticky dead girl?

Oh, right - she might not be dead. You kneel down, and try to search for a pulse, or something. Difficult to do beneath layers of metal seemingly surgically attached into her.

She isn’t breathing. Nothing coming from her mouth or nose, shit.

Wait, there’s something! Her mouth is, well, full. Which is odd. Maybe it had more of the ooze? Trapping her airways, maybe?

You grunt, ignoring the stench and texture, before shoving your fingers into the girl’s mouth.

You know that feeling. This object. You carefully hook your fingers around it, and pull.

Of course.

The Soul Gem comes out from her mouth, wet with saliva and gunge, the soft hue and glow already slightly illuminating the room. And that almost biological feeling of it, that notion that the jewel is alive, an artificial beating heart, sets off a feeling of tension in you.

As you hold it in your hand, another explosion nearly deafens you from outside.

“FUCK! They’ve breached! Hold the line!” Ogawa screams.

“MEL, GET YOUR ARSE OVER HERE AND DO SOME KILLIN’ ALREADY!” The Colonel commands you, her voice audibly concerned.

Even as super-soldiers empowered by the powers of aliens, even as highly trained professionals - you were by no means Gods. Sure, you could kill dozens with your bare hands; hundreds with the right equipment; but there are only so many bodies you can bring down before their weight brings you down.

So, following the Colonel’s command, you place the Soul Gem gently onto the ground, and move to grab your rifle—

There’s a flash, a surge of electricity. The bunker seems to come to life in a single moment - a single moment where you feel your sleeve being tugged.

“Killing is not something that comes naturally… not something that SHOULD come naturally. Those who kill lose part of themselves, and gain something that no human should ever be comfortable with. Makes us even less human than we already were. I do not enjoy killing; it is a necessary evil, something I do because I must.

Because death has brought me new life on this day.”

The voice, quiet, barely a whisper, pierces your mind, speaking eloquently but eerily. You look down to your quarry, and see the previously angelic look of someone fast asleep being replaced with a creepy grin, skin stretched to the human limit.

Another surge of electricity - and it’s now that you begin to hear the screams.

“What the… fuck…?” You hear the Colonel audibly exclaim.

You manage to break off your state from Iota’s salivating smirk, and look to the entrance of the bunker.

It was absolutely soaked in blood. As you watched, the previously shot down corpses of enemies were now being joined en masse by new corpses. Seemingly from nowhere, enemies began to explode left and right, spraying blood and pieces of flesh around the room.

It’s then that the dots connected in your head:

Whatever Iota’s powers were, they were causing electrical surges around you; pulses of power, continuing to flow from her barely functioning body. And those same pulses were also being sent to the enemy - specifically, their own equipment: radios, earpieces, flashlights, phones. Anything that could be accessed with electricity - perhaps with radio frequencies, or wifi, or infrared, or SOMETHING - was now effectively being turned into a bomb.

As you gazed in awe at her handiwork, the girl herself began to stir, gripping onto your arm to steady her feet. She sniffs the air, looking around - or, perhaps, the motion of looking around, given the heavy metal blindfold.

“My thanks.”

She says softly, clearing her throat, her words still barely escaping her lips. She manages to find her footing, before slowly moving forwards, the trail of wires somehow following her every move. You follow in her footsteps as she approaches the confused Colonel.

“Ah. Ah. Resting. Besting. Testing. Testing. One, two. Yes. Good.” She begins. She speaks oddly, her accent stilted, like she knew how to speak but didn’t usually speak with human flesh. You… don’t know quite how to easily put it; if a baby was born instantly with speech abilities and the full knowledge of the lexicon, this would be like that.

Sort of.

The Colonel nods to the Asset. “Greetings. We have orders pertaining to your extraction.”

The girl listens, pausing, and nodding. “Acknowledgement. Confirmation: Colonel Kiryu, Sixteenth Officio. Yes slash No?”

The Colonel blinks a few times, taken by surprise. “Y-yes? That’s me?”

“Confirmation - Colonel Kiryu, extraction of Asset Iota: Iwakura Lain. Package is in transit”.

You blink a few times, stopping in your tracks.

Lain… Iwakura?

Your line of thinking is made concrete by a similar expression flashing across the Colonel’s face, head quickly turning to yours, the briefest of head shakes directed to you, before returning to silence.

Iwakura. The same surname of the girl you’d killed on your last mission as a (barely) human.

Iwakura. A dynasty of magical girls, a practical family lineage.

Iwakura. The surname of someone extremely powerful related to computers that Colonel Kiryu had explicitly told you to avoid.

Your only hope is that you hadn’t spoken yet nor could she see your face. If she could identify the Colonel so easily, then you just had to stay as quiet as a mouse.

+ Ogawa, no time to explain. Whatever you do, don’t speak to me. The Colonel can explain later. +, you project to Ogawa.

A brief look of confusion on Ogawa’s face flickers, while the Colonel appears to be explaining the situation to Lain, before clearing and a small nod responds to you.

“Alright, Asset Iota…” The Colonel begins before being interrupted.

“Assent: Identity is Lain Iwakura. Polite: Feel free to call me Lain. Good?” Lain speaks, her voice growing more normal with every spoken word.

“Lain, then. We’re on the move to the extraction point. Please be careful, there are some steps.” The Colonel said, motioning her head to the approaching staircase.

“Request: Could your subordinate/subordinates lift me? Body… is still malfunctioning.” Lain says, still almost mechanical, but with the smallest hint of humour.

The Colonel stops in her tracks, giving a small chuckle. “A… piggyback ride, then? I mean… Eh, if that’s your order.”

She nods to Ogawa, who blinks a few times, shrugs, and lifts the girl up. Not quite a piggyback ride, but still, Lain appeared content.

Even as the four of you moved upwards through the building, gunfire appeared to sporadically begin in earnest only to swiftly end with barely audible puffs of electrical explosions. Lain, her wires still trailing slowly behind the group, appeared to continue to be guarding the squad with her powers.

You nod to the Colonel, and signal towards your comms equipment. She acknowledges the motion, and you turn it on.

“Siren, this is Chairman. We have extracted the Asset, proceeding to Extraction Point B on the roof of the facility.” The Colonel spoke over the comms.

“Chairman, Siren acknowledges. Asset already made contact the moment you completed your objective; she speaks highly of your actions this day, particularly of your willingness to perform your orders. Over.”

“Willingness, sir?”

“…To kill Daisy Hands like that in order to open the magically sealed door, that was brave. Your commitment to the commands of your superiors is commendable. Her sacrifice will not be in vain. Over.”

The whole group stopped at this. Ogawa in particular seemed to almost be holding in laughter.

“…Roger that. Will continue towards extraction and explain during debriefing. Over and out.” The Colonel spoke softly, before reaching over to you and turning off the comms.

The group continued to move, with you guarding the rear, but there was a notable silence.

Naturally, Lain broke it.

“Apologies, but… Was I out of line in some way?” She queried pointedly to the Colonel.

“N-no, Iwakura-san, not at all. I was just surprised that you had already made contact with HQ.” Kiryu responded diplomatically.

“…Iwakura-san, eh? Not Lain?” The wired girl spoke, almost disappointed. “Why do I feel like I’m missing something here?”

There’s a barely noticeable undertone of joking irony in her words. Did she…?

She probably did, you think. You did have all the comms equipment on you; and the other two also had their own. Given that she hadn’t blown you up yet as an unauthorised set of feet following behind, she must have known you were a friendly.

But did she know you were her youngest sister’s killer?

If she did, why hadn’t she killed you yet? Was Kiryu’s intuition wrong?

You suppressed a sigh, and continued watching the group’s back - not that it was strictly necessary, given Lain’s seeming omniscience, with more than enemy exploding just as they turn a corner, moments before you shoot them yourself.

Finally, you all reach the final flight of stairs, and Ogawa pushes the heavy-set metal doors to the roof open.

Extraction comes in the form of a single experimental prototype, the Bell Boeing V-2905 Kite, a heavily armoured and rather early-stage quad-rotor aircraft designed especially for movement under harsh conditions. You’d only seen one once, refuelling when you’d been posted as a security detachment for a diplomatic summit in Nigeria - one of Syrakhanistan’s own (albeit stolen originally, but since heavily modified) mechanical works.

Out from the back steps a surprising figure, a lone girl with a messy bob of brown hair (although it appeared to be going grey rather early) in full dress uniform, one arm sticking out of a military jacket covered in medals.

“Ah! Bloody well done.” Admiral Torresa von Akiyama, Field Commander of the operation, and former Warmaster of the Sixteenth Officio Assassinorum, says with a small curtsey, before saluting properly with her sleeved hand, her loose one still by her side. “I hope that my agents didn’t toss you around too much, Iwakura-sama?”

Akiyama always was an oddball, at least if the reports from Kiryu and others were accurate; a magical girl who barely ever used her powers, who shied away from overusage of Contracted assets in preference from basic materiel operations, and who apparently never truly warmed to the role of Warmaster - to the point that when she was offered a ‘temporary position’ by the Primus inter Pares, she accepted without any hesitation.

A temporary position she’d now been occupying for a relatively long time for a Mahou Shoujo.

Saying that… ‘Iwakura-sama’? From a(n albeit former) Warmaster?

“Confirmation: Colonel Cornelia Kiryu and her two subordinates performed admirably under fire. Commendation: recommended!” Lain responded, almost cheerfully. “Irritation: I’ve told you before that the honorific is unnecessary when we speak the lingua franca. Especially since - Truth: I am no more Warmaster than you anymore.”

“Ah, pish-posh. Quartus and Dammekos both still sing your praises, and you know how much SHE has come to rely on—” The Admiral chuckled, before stopping herself. “Ahem. Let’s keep up appearances, eh?”

She turned away from Lain, and back to the three of you.

Three.

Her gaze turned to a scowl. “Wait, the fuck…?”

“Pardon?” Lain responded, still blindfolded and almost hopping to turn around, nearly tripping over a loose wire before Kiryu caught her.

“How…?” Akiyama began, her hair blowing in the breeze, right before being interrupted by the sound of artillery fire.

“I’ll explain on the ride back, Commander. I suspect we should exfiltrate the AO as soon as possible.” Kiryu spoke cautiously.

The Admiral’s gaze hardened, before relenting. “Alright. Yeah, alright, you’re right. Let’s go. And besides - I’ve got a little treat lined up for the bastards still crawling around down there. Although, before I forget…”

She pauses, and turns back to Lain. She places her hand on the nape of her neck, seemingly fidgeting, searching for something. A finger flicks open a piece of metal, and she appears to type in a code.

With a small puff of smoke and the grinding of unseen gears, the armour that Lain had been wearing as well as the Bear Oneside fell apart like a crumbling cookie, the metal disintegrating upon impact with the ground.

She’s even shorter than she looked before without all the accoutrements. Skin as pale as snow - no, paler, even colder than that of the most frozen Siberian plains in the Motherland - and soft brown eyes that seemed to never focus on anything at all. Her hair flickered a little in the breeze, still sticky from the cryogenic fluid and from sweat. All she wore under the armour was a simple white nightgown—

And, uh, yet another Bear Onesie…? Is that one of her powers? Can she just teleport those in?

You’re distracted by the Onesie, and completely miss her unfocused and wary brown eyes coming to rest upon your form hiding at the back of the group.

Your eyes meet.

There’s a moment, just a small moment, where you feel something on your back, crawling, nails skating along your spi—

“Let’s go, people! AO’s gonna get real hot soon!” Akiyama called out, breaking your gaze and grabbing Lain by one arm while Kiryu grabbed the other.

The smaller girl gave a funny little yelp at this, being unceremoniously picked up and thrown into the VTOL aircraft, much to Ogawa’s amusement.

You’re… not quite in the joking mood, as you hop into the aircraft, noting a nod of acknowledgement from Kiryu as you take a seat near the exit - as far from Lain as possible.

The aircraft quickly lifts off, seemingly quite blasé about the incoming RPG and machine-gun fire. As the complex and salt lake begin to shrink into the horizon from behind your tinted glass window, Akiyama waves to the group.

“Hey-ho! Just gonna call something in. I’d suggest averting your gaze from the windows for juuust a moment!”

…

Somewhere in the Red Sea. North of Socotra.

“That’s what I’ve been waiting to hear.”

“Receiving authentication code…”

“Authentication: 6 dash 7 dash 4 dash 2 dash 5. Authenticate?”

“Code authenticated. Read as Crimson. Authenticate?”

“Authentication confirmed. God is with us, and she will not be as merciful as we are.”

…

“Three, two, one - impact, now!” Akiyama shouted, right as—

The sky fell.

Lights, shattering, stars falling one by one in a crescendo of colours burning the backs of your eyes, even trying to not look directly out the window.

You’re forced to turn and look, both out of curiosity, and because it seemed pointless since it was so bright anyways.

Hundreds - no, thousands, of burning lights showered down on the distant salt lake. Dark red, like drops of blood in the shower (only far, far swifter), each one coursing through the sky with a sound akin to thunder, making impact and liquifying wherever it hit. The cloudy sky you had fallen from merely hours ago was physically disrupted by the waterfall of blood-red artillery fire.

If you could call… that… artillery. You’d heard reports about the end of your war, a great calamity befalling Elbrus leaving naught but a smoking crater… but this felt even worse than that. Like a dragon had been woken from a slumber, fire beating from it’s ancient chest for the first time in millennia.

What had Akiyama used…?

“Ya-hoooo!! Now THAT’S fuckin’ awesome!” The girl herself screamed aloud, practically wiggling behind her seatbelt. “Fuckin’ hideous, so wonderful and beautiful!”

…maybe now wasn’t the time.

“Ah, Akiyama, Admiral-Sir. You wanted an explanation of—” Ogawa began, before being bluntly shushed by Kiryu.

“Hush. Let her have her fun.” Kiryu spoke cockily, seemingly enjoying her former Boss’s little moment.

You wonder how Lain was rea—

Oh, Gods. She’s still looking at you.

…

The quadcopter finished it’s final approach, landing softly and quietly on the helipad of the skyscraper.

It’d taken a few hours - and one rather excitable Admiral - to reach the place that Akiyama was apparently ordered to bring Lain for extraction. Not exactly the most close point to the AO, but you’re sure Command has it’s reasons.

The large metal tower was a newer development in the older city of Tébessa, near the Borma Exclusion Zone, and decidedly out of place amongst the far more proper-looking and even Ancient architecture.

All for the sake of ‘progress’, as always, in Syrakhanistan.

Her pet project - and, speaking of Her…

A sight you weren’t sure you’d ever see again struck you as the leaders of the squad began to leave the aircraft (you and Ogawa were on maintenance duty, as well as checking on the pilot) . In the corner of your eye, you saw a single pale-haired woman was relaxing against a wall near the entrance of the helipad, uncharacteristically content as appearances go.

Quite the contrast from the immediate salutes from Colonel and Admiral alike…

…and the sprinting running hug from Iwakura.

“H-hey! Iwakura-san, it hasn’t been that long…!” The First, Warmaster Hazuki, laughed warmly in response to the gratitude from Lain.

“Hazuki-chan~! It’s always too long to see you, you know!” She responded, a more pleasant grin on her face (as compared to the one from earlier). She let go of Hazuki’s broad shoulders, and gave a more proper - if somewhat mocking - salute.

“…well, as long as you’re happy, then so am I, Iwakura-san.” The First said, a small snort of suppressed laughter coming out near the end, luxurious silver hair moving like waves with each slight motion.

She cleared her throat, and approached the Admiral-Colonel pair. “Akiyama-san, it’s been a while.” She greeted them, shaking the smaller girl’s hand. She looked at the Colonel, smiling: “Ah, and… Colonel Kiryu, right? Is Jyubey still giving you the run-around?”

The Colonel shook her head, not wishing to bring the ire of the loud-mouthed Incubator to bear. “Ah, he’s always good, sir. I’m… honoured you remember me.”

“Naturally! We’re all comrades-in-arms, here.” The Warmaster spoke cordially, smiling. “Speaking of which, weren’t there more of you on the aircraft?”

Akiyama nodded, while Lain’s interest perked up, and the Admiral moved to wave us over, yet—

“Ah, I think they’re busy with work in there right now! My apologies.” The Colonel spoke suddenly, interrupting the Admiral.

The entire helipad seemed to freeze in that moment.

Admiral Torresa’s gaze seemed to rapidly move towards Kiryu, her often comedically happy expression swiftly turning to a far darker look, something like that of a predator finding a lone mouse.

Lain, for her part, simply stopped, blinking a few times. Only the smallest flicker of a scowl brushed against her eyebrows, a mere twitch.

Kiryu, for her part, stood firm. You’re unsure why she’s taking the brunt of this for you - after all, Lain could have already killed you half a dozen times over, and the Warmaster had probably already forgotten about you.

You’re… not even surprised by Ogawa’s reaction.

Finally, Hazuki herself stood there, her hair flowing in the wind. Expression stoic, frozen. A pause, before a blink, and a nod.

“I see. Well, it’s… good for them to attend to their duties. Save the grandstanding for the higher-ups, I suppose. A work-ethic we should all aspire to.” Hazuki broke the silence, one of her hands brushing a stray lock of hair from her face.

The other hand - well, how you hadn’t noticed is odd, but… She didn’t appear to have the other hand. In her entire other arm’s place was a massive metallic thing. A heavy metallic glove or gauntlet of some kind, reflecting a radiant gold in the Tunisian sun, with claws the size of katanas on each finger.

How…? You could have sworn she hadn’t been wearing that when you touched down on the helipad.

“Well! No matter. I trust your judgement on this, Cornelia-san, since they’re your subordinates.” Hazuki spoke with a light chuckle, her clawed hand waving and gesturing gracefully in the air as she spoke, as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

Akiyama seemed to have calmed down, expression becoming soft once more, while Lain nodded silently.

“My thanks, Warmaster. It’s been a long day for them, after all. I think a bit of recreational cleaning and boot-polishing is a fine enough reward, rather than chatting niceties with us old folks.” Colonel Kiryu responded, still firmly holding her ground.

+ You owe me for this. + She spoke telepathically to you.

+ I… never asked. + You respond.

+ The fact that you didn’t ask is what makes this even more worrying and favour-requiring, fool… + Kiryu indicated, somehow scowling at you telepathically while keeping a silent straight face.

You nod to nobody in particular, a silent response.

“On that note, I believe the Admiral - ah, I suppose Field Commander is more accurate for the moment - is to debrief you before your return to Jyubey. Myself and Lain will now begin extraction.” Hazuki continued, slowly turning away from Akiyama and Kiryu, alongside the Aircraft, and waving goodbye with her gauntlet-covered arm, while Lain followed suit.

“My personal thanks for all your hard work today. Oh, Lain, do be a dear and say thanks to your rescuers too, eh? Don’t be a stranger, now!” The Warmaster stopped momentarily, giving a warm gesture of thanks and telling Lain to do the same.

“Acknowledgement: my thanks for your assistance this day.” Lain spoke politely, nodding her head, before giving an odd laugh and grabbing the Warmaster’s hand - the Clawed one. This even seemed to surprise Hazuki, who gave a genuine laugh in response to Lain’s affection.

As this occurred, Lain leaned into Hazuki’s ear. You have a talent for reading lips, so you’re surprised when the only thing she says is a single letter:

“W.”

A solemn nod is all Hazuki gives in acknowledgement.

She patted Lain on the head, like one would a dog, before turning once more, waving a human-handed goodbye to the squad, and—

They vanished. No teleportation smoke, no activation signal, nothing. The Warmaster and Lain disappeared, as if never having been there at all.

As you take note of this, you glance around the cabin of the aircraft - and only then do you notice the ever so slight burn mark next to your seat. The smallest, barely noticeable, little thing - but clearly not a bullet hole or from an RPG.

Odd. How deeply odd.

===

ADDENDUM A: Absolution

(A month or so later. Aboard the Sixteenth Officio’s Private Military HQ, en route from the Mediterranean to a new heading. Bathroom No. 26, Floor No. 5.)

You find yourself washing your hands.

You and your squad had been debriefed and interviewed repeatedly since the Operation’s end. The Field Commander, and the Officio’s own former Warmaster, had apparently been tight-lipped surrounding the operation, initially out of concern for the timeframe involved, but since the Op’s end, she’d merely claimed privilege based on the vague orders from the First Officio, and then proceeded to return to Syrakhanistan and maintained radio silence.

You, Kiryu, and Ogawa attempted to explain the situation - the Witch that had oddly manifested, the Wired Girl who’d been your target, the Glassing of the Salt Lake (something which Jyubey took an EXTREME interest in), and the Warmaster of the First’s curious relationship and reaction to the two other (former) Warmasters.

As per usual, it appeared there was little to no proper communication between Officios, especially between the First Officio and their quote-on-quote ‘equals’ down on Earth. God, the whole process was a bore. Fuck this bureaucratic nonsense.

You don’t know why, but you’ve been waking up earlier and earlier over these past few days since the operation.

“Guilty conscience, perhaps?”

The voice pierces into your head, and you spin rapidly to respond—

“Relaxation: Chill, Mel Anna-san. Eversor of the Sixteenth (although I would disagree with that classification in your case); or perhaps, I would call you Three?” The white-dressed girl tossing her legs side to side from the top of a toilet cubicle spoke, a smirk on her face.

“Asset Iota… Lain Iwakura-sama.” You respond cautiously, bowing your head in respect.

“Just Lain will do, Eversor. No ‘sama’ necessary; my position these days is far more loose and without title, and certainly not worth the courtesy of a Warmaster’s honours.” The girl said, flipping down and landing in a swift motion next to you, right before hopping onto the sink counter.

“…are you here to kill me?” You manage to say, her eyes boring through you.

“Kill you…? Why would I do that?” Lain said. Her voice betrayed what appeared to be genuine curiosity.

You blink a few times, before responding quietly; you know you have to be honest, since she was almost certainly reading your mind. “I… I’m the one responsible for your sister’s demise.”

“…which sister?” Lain responded, cricking her neck with a questioning look.

“Wh-which sister? How many do you have? And how many have DIED?” You reply, somewhat aghast.

“I have several! And how many… Hmm, I dunno. Stopped counting after the second one; only really cared for my first, after all.” Lain spoke, answering each question in quick succession.

You… what? Eh?

“I… I was told that… that she was your youngest sister? Or was it a cousin? Girl with light powers? I was told to avoid others called Iwakura who might seek revenge…” You say diplomatically.

“Oh! Yes. I… barely remember that one. But I know of her; knew of her.” Lain spoke.

She seemed to make a typing action, and what appeared to be some sort of electronic form appeared on the mirrors next to the two of you.

“Let’s see here… Ah, yes, I remember this report! Quite a laugh, actually. KIA ‘in honourable combat’, my ass! Killed by a non-contracted girl using regular human munitions in a one-on-one duel. Disgraceful!” She spoke, a cruel and mocking tone to her words.

She slammed her hands shut, and turned back to you. “However, it certainly reflected well on the killer - I had actually wanted to meet her in person to offer congratulations and perhaps even give her access to an Incubator for contracting, but I was told a certain white-haired demigoddess got to her first.”

She grinned, looking down on you from the counter. “Well! This is a rather good turn of events then, isn’t it? I’d had a hunch when you awoke me that you were somehow related to me by events or some-such, but to think you had Iwakura blood on your hands? Impressive!”

She holds out a hand, smiling.

You’re… deeply puzzled. Concerned, even. You don’t turn down the handshake, mind—

Or, you wouldn’t, if your hand didn’t phase through her hand instantly.

“Eh?” You grunt in bemusement.

“Oh! So that’s how that works!” Lain acts coyly, getting down from the counter.

She walks towards you, and taps the side of your head. Somehow, this does elicit a reaction.

“Yeah, you never went for a full physical check-up after your contract, did you? They sewed your head back on, gave you a touch up, and when you contracted you seemed good as new.” Lain spoke, her finger somehow visibly poking into your eye - painlessly, mind, if rather uncomfortable - from your ear. “However, seems neither you nor they accounted for all your cybernetics that you’d had put in. Cybernetics that have now long since folded into your internal organs, regrowing with magical healing, and essentially being grafted into your biotics.”

You’re not sure how to respond. “So… I’m a Magical Cyborg Girl?”

“Pfft! If you want to call it that, go ahead.” She said, extracting her invasive finger. “Thing is, it allowed me to see you far better than anyone else upon extraction. You’re lit up like a damn Christmas tree to my eyes; so, before we left, I did a little digging of my own.”

Of her own…? Wait—

“Yup - I wasn’t staring aggressively out of any hate or whatever rubbish you thought; I was interfacing with your augments and installing a little something of mine own make.” She spoke cockily. “A little piece of Iwakura is now permanently inside you!”

As if to prove her own point, you watch in horror as one of your own eyes twists in the socket to stare into the mirror, colour changing to match that of Lain’s, blinking, before returning to normal.

“I believe we’re getting distracted.” You manage to say, tearing your gaze away from the cursed vision of yourself.

The illusory Lain claps her hands. “Ah, of course! What I wanted to say if I ever met you, my sister’s killer - was a simple congratulations.” She nods, an impressed look on her face. “A non-contracted individual, even heavily experimented on and trained well, is usually barely a match for a Magical Girl when one faces down dozens, even hundreds - a lone individual killing a Magical Girl in single combat would be laughable to most.”

She gazes into your eyes. “It was a fine kill. You did well, and the Incubators made a good choice in making your contract.”

Even as the words of praise came, all you could feel was an increasing sense of horror. “But… she was your sister…?”

“And? What difference does that make? She was weaker than you, which makes you better than her.” Lain says, smiling. “As I’m sure you’re fully aware by this point in your illustrious career, we live in a world defined by survival of the fittest. The weak die; the strong prevail. I told you myself before - killing is not a good act, but it is through death that people like myself gain more and more. A necessary evil, something I take no pleasure in, but something I recognise as a tool to be used.”

Lain nodded, an illusory hand brushing your cheek in a prideful manner. “You killed one with the Iwakura’s blood, on her home turf while serving as a Marine no less - and without any magical abilities. You are a wonderful, definitive example of my beliefs.”

You gaze back into those eyes, your own horrified expression reflected in them.

“…your thoughts betray your revulsion towards my opinion.” Lain said, seemingly disappointed. “But that’s fine. Given your background, I had somewhat hoped for a kindred spirit, unified in our love for the mechanical and the battlefield… but such is life.”

You shake your head to this. “I may love the thrill of the fight, and I may enjoy the benefits of my augmentations - not least now because my Contracted body lets me use them without any downsides - but I still have respect for familial ties. Those who I once called family were taken from me; those I used to call comrades were butchered, some of whom fell at the hands of those I now find myself allied with. I do not forgive, and I most certainly do not forget - Iwakura-SAMA.”

Lain observed your expression, determined as it was, before harrumphing somewhat dramatically. “You do you then, EVERSOR.”

She began to wave goodbye, before stopping and turning back to you again. “Wait, I completely forgot the whole reason why I wanted to talk to you!”

You pause in your disparaging stare. “Which was…?”

“Twofold. A message and a warning.” Lain said, raising two digital fingers in response. “Your Officio may not know about your unauthorised usage of Astropathic abilities to find the Artificial Witch, but myself and certain others most certainly did.”

“Artificial…? So it was—”

“Yes, yes. Call it a [REDACTED]-special. Even in their little quandary they continue to fight against, they do occasionally fulfil their obligations and tithes.” Lain speaks casually of the abomination you fought. “I deployed it following my… unfortunate capture… to protect my incarcerated remains.”

“How DID you get captured, anyway?” You manage to interject.

Lain waves a hand, while suppressing a giggle with the other. “Classified. But let’s just say it involves a few too many drinks on the wrong train ride, and leave it at that…”

That… doesn’t even remotely explain it.

“Anyways! I could have taken out the insurgents and other combatants myself, but I was without decent transportation - and, frankly, I was feeling a bit bummed out. Lazy, perhaps.” Lain spoke casually.

You flinch a little, suppressing an instant thought of mocking at her lackadaisical attitude, hoping she didn’t take note of your mental admonishment.

“Getting back on track. While I understand that you and your comrade were getting frustrated, you would have figured it out eventually; my humble opinion would disparage your usage, were it not for Ogawa’s clever dispelling of the Door mechanism on my bunker-capsule… and if not for your own other visions within your momentary lapse of judgement. That part in particular I took note of when looking back at your memories through this—” she taps the side of her head “—somewhat disruptive format.”

You recall it vaguely in tandem with Lain. Visions seen while floating atop the waves of the damned dimension of endless energy, searching for an answer to your prediction. Visions of flame and laughter.

“I didn’t report that particular part to any of my own comrades, and I have no doubt you didn’t either.” Lain comes to a stop.

“Why? You can understand why I wouldn’t have done so in a pragmatic sense - but why wouldn’t you?” You bleat out, to which Lain responds with a satisfied nod of acknowledgement.

“Allow me to be frank - something bad is on the horizon. Something related to why I’m seen as such a classified and important asset… something you’ve witnessed even a slice of.” Lain speaks quietly, looking over her shoulders for unseen intruders.

You narrow your gaze in suspicion. “Like what?”

Lain looks back at you. “A Witch the calibre of witch is only seen once every few centuries or so. Something one could accurately call… A Calamity.”

Calamity… What, like from—

“Exactly.” She says, clearly reading your mind. “You witnessed a mere fraction of the hell it brings with it; I’d estimate we have… about a year, given my own calculations.”

“…why are you telling me this?”

“Honestly? To get you to tell others.” Lain spoke frankly. “My humble opinion is only shared by a few others in my, ahem, escalated ranking. Luckily for me, some of the ones that really matter are on my side. But we also don’t want to… how do I say - disrupt the balance?”

You’re… not sure how to interpret that, except as...

“So… you want me to do something?” You work out.

Lain snaps her fingers. “Pretty much. Nothing too drastic, no names, no shouting in a crowded cinema. My people and I will be doing the same with various other inroads, but people on the ground floor - so to speak - tend to help spread bottom-level info faster.”

“So I risk charges of spreading unfounded rumours and getting people riled up at the prospect of a mythical and ancient enemy returning, in return for…?” You ask.

“For keeping your life, dipshit.” Lain snarls back, expression changing on a dime, before switching back to that single horrifying grin you saw back in her bunker. “By all accounts the unauthorised usage of your ability as explicitly banned by your higher ups AND THEIR OWN HIGHER UPS should bring the hammer down on you, no questions asked. Your life continues solely at my, and by extension my allies, convenience and express permission. Should you try anything dumb, like trying to reveal my involvement, or besmirching the good name of the Officios administrative apparatus, or so much as look funny at the wrong Rank Leader, and Most Holy help me, I’ll heat your cybernetics up so hot and so fast the ensuing detonation wouldn’t even leave your ashes for burial.”

You initially flinch, before nodding in understanding. “Honestly… not even surprised.”

Lain laughed at this. “You shouldn’t be! Your little life has gotten pretty used to accepting death as a penalty for misbehaviour, hasn’t it?”

You nod, sadly. “Probably isn’t good for the ol’ noggin though, is it? That type of stress?”

Lain actually groans at this in agreement. “Ugh! You’re telling me; there’ve been petitions for at least some sort of basic Inter-Officio counselling network for DECADES now, let alone actual Magical therapists… Trying to explain the concept of mental health to the Incubators is like trying to squeeze lemonade from an orange. It took us YEARS to even get permission for Inter-Officio Postal Services; hell, the cross-Officio digital communications system is still barely functional…”

You giggle at this, a moment of brevity in the dark. “Not so inhuman then after all…?”

Lain scoffs. “Don’t be silly; it’s just all too inefficient for Mahou Shoujo to be blowing their brains out instead of dying in battle or Witching out properly. Efficient oiling of the cogs of bureaucracy was indeed the thing that finally got the Incubators to give us what little healthcare they do provide…”

You laugh again at this.

“…But we digress. My request is simple: spread rumours of an apocalyptic disaster being relatively imminent. Back it up with vague hints of prophecy; a bit of Blessed Lady spice never hurt anyone - and in this case will probably do the opposite.” Lain nods, satisfied with how the conversation was progressing. “I can’t offer solid rewards currently, so it might seem like I’m offering all stick and no carrot, but allow me to promise you that having me in your good books will bring you benefits at some point along the line… If you live that long, mind.”

You nod, performing a mock salute. “I accept your orders, Iwakura-san.”

Iwakura chuckles, lightly tapping your shoulder with a friendly (if incorporeal) nudge. “Hey, you’re just as much Iwakura material as any of my cohort these days, especially with the amount of firmware I put into you.”

“Speaking of which,” Lain continues, “you’ll probably sleep better now. Sorry - my interference in your head was probably what was ACTUALLY keeping you up.”

You’d surmised as much. “Lain-san, I’m assuming that whole spiel was the warning part - but what was your message?”

Lain smiled. “Oh, that one’s more simple. Your benefactor just wanted me to let you know, ahem…”

She cleared her throat, before putting on a decent impression of a certain woman’s imperious and impenetrable demeanour.

“‘You’re not too subtle, are you? Keep at it - we’ll have a chance to talk without interference one of these days.’, is what she said. Presumably in reference to your little ‘hiding and cleaning’ routine you did on the helipad.”

You remember it well. She continues:

“Seriously, you and your boss were lucky Akiyama-chan didn’t blow a damn gasket. She gets REALLY annoyed at people disrupting her dramatic moments; she wanted to reveal you and Ogawa, the stars of the hour, all dramatic-like - but Cornelia-san trod all over her neat little plan.” Lain rattled off in an almost list-like manner.

“Apparently she wasn’t always like that…” You murmur, mostly to yourself. Lain catches on, and nods.

“Yeah… anyways; suffice to say, everyone most definitely DID notice you and Ogawa’s little schtick, but only Akiyama was really frustrated. The Warmaster of the First was mostly just saddened she didn’t get to chat to you for the first time since your little fateful encounter - and she also wanted to personally praise Ogawa for that neat little trick. Even implied to me later that there’s a promotion in the works for that quick-thinking…”

Lain’s train of thought trails off, as she seems to tap her chin while thinking aloud.

“Ah! Anyways, I’m keeping you too long. Don’t want any of your new friends thinking you’re any more loony than you actually are, right?” Lain cackled. “Just remember - spread the word of the End Times, know that both myself and your Guardian Angel stroke mysterious benefactor are still in your corner, and that we WILL blow your head up into little pieces if you fuck up.”

You nod graciously. “I’m… aware, Iwakura-sam.”

As Lain motions to ‘leave’ (a superfluous action given her digital state), you hold up a hand. “Also… for what it’s worth…” You begin. “I might not agree with your motivations, but I am thankful that you’re not full of wrath at my killing of your sister. I make no apology nor request for absolution - but you still have my condolences none the less.”

Lain shrugged. “Think nothing of it; I already consider the matter closed - and besides, this is more a case of recycling!”

You cock your head in bemusement as Lain chuckles.

“I’ll make an Iwakura out of you yet, Three-chan~” The girl sing-songs mockingly, before throwing herself into the sink’s mirror and vanishing into a puff of smoke.

You say, as if she’s not still actively in your head.

How odd.

===

ADDENDUM B: Sleepwalker

(Personal log. Dated only a few days after the operation. Location confirmed to be government black-site Project Sleepwalker, near Dyvasyab in the proximity of the Damavand Volanic Power Facility.)

The Fourth Officio always did share Quartus’ flare for the dramatic.

Those were your first thoughts as you descended once more to Terra, this time by the more traditional route that singed your senses with the stench of burned ozone and fried synapses. As much as you’d ‘prefer’ (something you hesitate to think, given that your little trick certainly had caveats) to take your personal shortcut over this stomach-churning and blunt method of transmission…

There was a certain formality necessary for things like this. And besides - the Fourth, and Iwakura-san, DID seem particularly proud of it’s seeming impenetrable nature. You wouldn't want to insult their fine work by demonstrating how easily someone with your calibre of training could find a way in.

You find yourself thrown through the Immaterium from the cold comfort of Luna into a machine-like but beautifully decorated interior, golden mechanical cogs twisting and turning inside tubes of clear shining crystal, a marble floor encrusted with gems glowing and humming with electrical currents.

“WELCOME, [GUEST]. IDENTIFY IF YOU PLEASE OR RISK INSTANT OBLITERATION.” A tannoy declared loudly, if politely.

“Authorisation Override Code: Mike-Iota-Kilo-Alpha-One.” You respond with well-rehearsed diction.

“OVERRIDE CODE CONFIRMED. GUEST VISIT: DELETED. WELCOME, #*#^',^*#*^[#**#^}”, the tannoy responded, the last segment being static-filled gibberish.

Rules were rules, after all. The Warmaster of the First Officio never left Luna except in the most dire circumstances, or with express Incubator permission - something which was increasingly difficult to get a hold of. Officially, you were currently currently performing routine maintenance as part of ceremonial training - unofficially, everyone was covering for you while you took a moment of respite. Extra unofficially, your Equerry was covering for you while you investigated a particularly concerning report from an old friend.

“W.”, she had said. That single letter still sent shivers down your spine. Even the strongest of soldiers should never forget their sense of fear; even you could still hold respect for the Witch of Witches from yore.

However, it was the small gesture as she held your hand prior to activation of the Shortcut, the few taps of Morse Code onto your grasp, that brought you down to Terra on this most unpleasant of days.

You move through a basic foyer (basic by Fourth standards - so gold, jewelled, and absolutely plastered with wiring and metal cogs), ignoring the occasional look from menials and servo-bots alike, and press a hand (the correct hand, that is) to a panel next to a flat plane of glass. A whirring motion occurs, indicating yet another identity scan - yet another thing to scrub from the records - before the glass slides open with a soft whumph, revealing a solid silver tube with only a single glass sheet as a door-stroke-window. An elevator.

You begin your descent. Several hundred metres underground, beneath dirt, beneath an active volcano, beneath DOZENS levels of dense tungsten, steel, and Most-Holy-knows what other protective materials. It had been worth the cost to build this surveillance black-site, for several rather pressing reasons. National security for your little pet project of an empire-slash-abomination, international decryption protocols, backups of all digital data across 200-odd nations... Even the Incubators from all Twenty-

Wait, no. You forget yourself... Not Twenty anymore. Eighteen? Or was it Seventeen, following the Ninth's little war?

Either way, the whole Officio system had their own little chunk of processing power for itself in this towering feat of engineering, the Fourth more than any other (mostly since your own First didn't exactly need the extra space, given how deep Luna's pockets continued to go)... And, of course, the girl it was all hooked-up to held the lion's share. The girl who other nations' interference seemed to indicate an actual artificial intelligence planning the economy and suggesting national policy - a rumour you'd allowed to run rampant and even leaned into, since the alternative was perhaps even worse.

As the elevator descended further and further in, the glass revealed floor after floor of massive server farms; all humming ominously, chittering away to one another in binary. Servers of every kind; military-grade, prototype cloud storage, supercomputers, quantum computers, even an entire floor dedicated to experimental biological interfaces (live subjects included). An endless chasm of machines, all bending to that girl’s will, her every beck and call.

She deserved it, honestly. She'd... She was a good one; a miserable existence, rumoured to be a near-deity for those who spent too long on certain sites, and certainly an object of impressive praise. The only known Mahou Shoujo to have contracted with an Incubator over the Internet rather than in person - to rather obvious and extreme effect, such so that policy henceforth changed to ban it outright.

The elevator reaches it's final destination, glass sheet flowing open to reveal a dark grey corridor, filled with wires, plugs, random open digital interfaces...

You tread carefully through to the simple wooden entrance at the end, making a mental note to lightly disparage Lain for this firehazard accident waiting to happen.

The plain wooden doors swung open with the slightest push, revealing what appeared to be a simple garden full of trees, plants and flowers; a greenhouse, with the occasional flutter of butterflies.

Iwakura-san, Lain, still liked to pretend to be human. Even just a little.

Flesh wires, like a flower, or perhaps a wedding dress, all flowing out from behind her. Slowly but surely, she turned around to face you, making sure none of her wires damaged her precious little slice of Eden down beneath the machines.

"Thank you for coming, Warmaster-sama." Lain bowed - or, at least, made the attempt. The heavy weight of machines plugged into her made it somewhat difficult.

"Please, Lain-chan. Hazuki is fine. I think we're beyond the point of formalities, no?" You sigh breathlessly, exaggerated for effect, to which Lain responds with a light chuckle. "So, Lain. We have a few avenues for discussion, I believe?"

Lain nodded, motioning towards another set of doors - this one far more ornate and heavyset. "First, I should probably apologise for that whole mess."

"Nonsense! It made for a good training exercise for the knuckle-draggers; it also helped to visually demonstrate to Itchy the usefulness of the National project and the CONTACT Act." You laugh the concern aside. "However, I would like at least a summary explanation as to how you found yourself on the salty remains of Lake T'Chad?"

"Ah, that's... a funny story." She begins. 'A funny story that cost quite a few lives, you think to yourself'; the inefficiency of the operation still irked you, not the least because of Lain's admittedly understandable lax attitude. "I had been stationed within my mobile command centre--"

[SECTION CORRUPTED - CONTINUING FROM NEXT AVAILABLE SEGMENT]

"--explain the caterpillar farm...?" You respond, exasperated. She shrugs at this, a cheeky grin on her face.

The massive security tunnel finally ended, and the two of you exited the travelator, as the massive gates to Lain's digital sanctuary swung open.

The core of Project Sleepwalker - the culimation of humanity's surveillance technology and a monument to security paranoia - was a near-endless vacuum-sealed silo, stretching into the abyss from above as below. Lain's personal equipment slid into several interfaces automatically, practically autonomously, as the mechanism surrounding the small shelter she'd built herself came to life.

Lain's 'house', as she liked to call it, consisted of a single elevated metal platform with a small fridge, a flat but comfy futon, a worn-out wardrobe, and a central column connected to both ends of the Sleepwalker silo. The platform (essentially an elevator inside the world's largest elevator shaft) activated the entire system, the silo coming to life with a surprisingly quiet hum, lighting up from every corner with tens of thousands of digital screens.

You both knew what this was. The Panopticon of Jeremy Bentham had reached the apex of it's limits, and the world had become the inmates. Every single digital camera, every single internet-connected device, cell tower, CCTV, basic flip-phone, text message, radio broadcast... all of it accessible with a few button presses.

Lain rested her back against the central pillar, connected her final set of modems up, and the mechanical shelter began to descend as she commenced her search.

"Which news would you like first?" She spoke aloud, ignoring the cacophony of gears and digital interference.

"The bad news, preferably?" You respond. Peel the whole 'Laughing Apocalypse' plaster off before it begins to rot.

"Oki-dokey!" Lain says, lifting an arm to swing herself around, the platform following suit. The lift slowed to a halt, allowing it to face a particularly unusual set of screens. Numbers and symbols of long-forgotten languages scrolled by endlessly.

"The predictive technology of Sleepwalker, part of which had been involved in my little adventure, managed to hit a particularly juicy vein of intel. Bit weird, bit odd, bit bulky, but certainly juicy." She explains, fingers reaching out to brush against the screens, touching the occasional Witch-rune. Patterns began to be highlighted.

"Where is this all coming from?" You query. She sighs. "Surprisingly easy to access, but rather straining to understand... It's predominantly accessing and reviewing a rather select array of weather and radiostropic reports, including archived sources without digital versions that required extra interference. I combined this with our own Astropathic and Orbital equipment scanning for certain repeating signals, different waves, occasional spots of, to be frank, WEIRDNESS - all while attempting to seperate any possible interruption spreading from the Egg that could disrupt the results of my scans, and while avoiding other Officio suspicions, particularly those with Akashic Gates that I had to access or study." She finishes her arm-waving movements, and brings together a single pile of results onto one of the screens. A mass of migraine-inducing runes, all slowly being auto-translated.

"While this is obviously subject to... interpretation... Your command has born fruit. The analysis seems to indicate that within a year or two, the ancient Stage-Constructing Witch, Walpurgisnacht, the Laughing Apocalypse, is returning from a centuries-long slumber in the Akashic Realm. Where, I cannot say - rather concerningly, I'm getting results as far afield as Australia, the Antarctic, even one or two suggesting a spawn on Mars of all places." She declared with equal measures pride and horror. "If it's any consolation, most of the other searches you requested of me didn't come up with the same results; and most of the ones that DID are either accounted for (Luna), contained (Paris), or eliminated throughout history prior to your promotion."

"Walpurgisnacht..." You sound out to yourself. A terrifying prospect.

To you, even more than most.

However, her change in tone with the last few statements caught your interest. "Most... but not all?" You ask.

Lain nodded from behind her computer. "Yes. That's the other news - good news... maybe. I'm STILL not quite sure I understand your request, but... Well, it's better to show you."

A few taps of buttons, and the shelter-lift was moving once more, rising rapidly, up and up, until it reached another set of screens - these ones more obviously CCTV footage.

"As my little message to you tapped out..." Lain began, as you stared at the screens.

You... stared. There was no mistake.

'The Sleepwalker has Awoken'. The code Lain had tapped to you.

Your left eye quivers, squints a bit. A nervous reaction.

You clench a single metallic fist.

And--

You let go. Just for a millisecond.

That's all you could allow. It rapidly flows, inwards and outwards; the cacophony of electricity briefly went silent in response, the silo going dark for a small moment. Inside Lain's fridge, what sounded like a soda can popped.

You breathe in, and out. Lain manages to unplug herself, and stands to look at you. "Hazu... Hazuki? Warmaster? Are you... alr--"

"I am fine, Lain. Apologies... You've had a lot on your plate, particularly from me." You whisper calmly, delicately. Your words as honey, your actions as sublime gestures of goodwill.

"I... Yes, I have." She responds robotically, frozen like a statue.

"Thank you for your work. Unfortunately, this particular find didn't turn out to be anything significant." You explain slowly.

"No, it didn't. Shall I delete it, since it was so irrelevant?" She answers.

"No need, Lain. There's nothing there anyway - just some boring CCTV footage. No need for alarm." You state.

"Of course. It'll go with the rest, since there's nothing of interest there." She accepts your request, sweeping it aside lethargically.

You return to your regular demeanour. "Thanks for all that, Lain! Your predictions for Walpurgisnacht may well save thousands, if not more, of lives."

"What... Wal- Oh, yes! Thank you, Hazuki. I honestly couldn't have done it without your input, based on your reviews of the historical archives." Lain chatters, back to her usual self.

"I will bring what data you have on Walpurgisnacht back up to Luna with me; be sure to respond if and when I ask over the coming days. We have a lot to discuss." You smile, before turning away from her, putting a single hand through your hair absentmindedly.

"Of course. The First Prevails, always!" Lain cheers you on. "And only in death..."

"...does duty end. I'll be on my way - could you help me find the exit?" You respond.

...

Lain waves at you from behind the elevator's glass doors, as they smoothly close up.

The elevator begins to ascend, and you take a breath for a moment, before moving your--

[SECTION CORRUPTED - CONTINUING FROM NEXT AVAILABLE SEGMENT]

--found yourself in your Earth-bound Government Council Chambers, high above the busy skies of Neo-Kirkukihara. You lie back into your designated "Supreme Leader" chair with a soft and comfortable flop. You were glad you'd found this nice design and had it imported a while back.

It was ever so comfortable on your back, especially when the weight of the world found itself resting on your shoulders.

You suppress a laugh at the absurdity of it all. The mockery.

Fucking fantastic. Just fucking amazing.

As you flick open your battered old flip-phone, the one reserved for a few singular purposes, you find yourself unable to see the humour in the situation. Indeed, you could barely see the phone or the keypad behind the flashes of those single CCTV screens of something, someONE, that you never wished to see again. Thought would never come through. Or... You don't even...

And as you begin to type out a few small texts to an even smaller number of contacts, the only thing you do feel is an utterly horrifying sense of dread. A sense of genuine paranoia.

A feeling of pure, unadulterated rage, hate, and - most of all - malice.

An emotion of unbridled, twisted and cruel vehemence that could only be described accurately in a single word:

'Evil'.

#madoka magica #pmmm #serial experiments lain #girls und panzer #lain #lain iwakura #kiryu coco #akemi homura #walpurgisnacht #walpurgis no kaiten #magical girls #gold #puella magi madoka magica #Syrakhanistan #MGNQ #magical girl noir quest #akiyama yukari #yukari akiyama

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catchyhuh · 1 year ago

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🔥🐵welcome to monkey hell🐵🔥

you’ve entered exactly what it says on the banner, my glorified lupin headcanon diary. there’s not a lot i think i need to say here but i will for clarity’s sake

idc what you call me as long as it’s funny or cute, and any pronouns are game. i love being unknowable heehee. except for my niche opinions and favorite bits of lupin, then i’ll sing like a canary, BUT HEY,

anything that could be upsetting will be under a read more with an appropriate heads up. it feels most effective in terms of minimizing damage. just cuz the series sticks whatever it feels like in your face with no warning doesn’t mean i will lmao

i'm a grown ass man and honestly because of the nature of the source material some shit might end up being moderately risque or violent later down the line but again, it’ll all be tagged.

REQUESTS?? YES damn near anything is fair game. individual characters, ships, hell, i don’t give a shit, x reader. ask me about your hyperspecific favorite character that showed up in one single episode! ask me about a girl of the week! for the love of god, ask me about yata (this is a pro-yata zone i love that mediocre clown so much) everything is fair game. if i haven’t seen the material in question, i Will. you don’t understand how much i adore breaking down this goddamn piece of shit franchise.

NEW! i made a MASTERPOST! you can find it here and look for weirdly specific shit to your heart's content

and i can’t think of anything else! i love you!! thank you for reading :)

#(i highlighted the important parts for you in red)#and uh i guess i'll edit this whenever necessary

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pixelatedsticks · 1 year ago

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I figured out the other characters

Impulse- A human. The boss of the special division clockers unit. Often worries about his teams safety when ever they go out on missions. Usually stays in the office and handles paperwork. Still contacts BigB to check on him.

Etho- A human. Impulses assistant. Handles the surveillance of the city and is in charge of alerting the team when hybrids attack. Is in charge of calming Cleo down when she’s angry.

Skizz- an angel hybrid. Escaped the watchers after dying and being reborn as a hybrid. Found the phantom bandits and works as their servant and informant on what the watchers are up to and relic locations.

Tango- Was originally a blaze rod relic that was given life to by the listeners. He is pure fire magic and helps whichever team he feels like. Is capable of allowing Grian or Cleo to gain a temporary power boost from his magic.

Jimmy- a canary hybrid. The main villain. After being left behind and dying first in a lot of games the watchers gave him the curse of death and his canary form. Now forever stuck in a red haze he oversees the main business and games in the city with his two body guards.

Scott-a siren hybrid. Became a hybrid after winning a death game and was promoted to be the body guard of Jimmy. Likes to flirt with him a lot.

Joel- a wolf hybrid. Was the last human of his death game to be inflicted with the boogey man curse. The watchers quite liked his violent blood lust and decided to keep him around after he died. Was stationed as Jimmy body guard after he requested it.

Why did I just think of the most craziest yet most interesting AU for limited life?

(Ok maybe not but work with me here) the nosey neighbors + Grian vs the clockers - Etho in a lupat style au. With the nosey neighbors as the lupinrangers(Phantom Bandits) and the clockers as the Patrangers(Crafted.Special.Police.Organization-CSPO).

The world, weapons, gimmicks, and monsters would still be in the Minecraft style but the narrative and characters would be closer to lupats.

Phantom red (Grian)- An avian hybrid. use to be apart of the Watchers, a powerful inter-dimensional crime syndicate but left with Pearl because he couldn’t stand how they tortured humans for pleasure. Formed the Phantom Bandits as a way to fight back against the Watchers and save and protect humans. Runs the Neighbors Bakery as a cover up with Pearl and BigB

Phantom black (Pearl)- A moth hybrid. was also part of the Watchers along with Grian but left for the same reasons. She agreed to forming the team to protect humans and suggested the fact they the could steal artifacts that Watchers lend to patrons and allies to make them weaker. Works in the bakery as a waiter. Owns a cat named froggie that works at the bakery with her.

Phantom Blue (BigB) - A human. Originally was part of the CSPO but a huge argument between him and Cleo forced him to quit. Was kidnapped by the watchers along with others to compete in a death game. Was saved by Pearl and Grian and wanted to join their team after getting to know them. Acts as the main baker for the Neighbors Bakery.

Cleo- a zombie. The leader of the special division Clockers unit. A three man team put together to combat the watchers and phantom bandits. Very strict about her job. Secretly a huge softy who just wants to protect people from hybrids. Absolutely despises the fact that Scar and Bdubs keep referring to her as mom. Also secretly feels bad about the fight with BigB. Usually takes the clockers to the Neighbors bakery to eat.

Scar- a human. an old buddy of Cleo’s that got promoted to the same team as her. Although likes to joke around a lot more than her. The unofficial 2nd in command. Wears enchanted Armour for his legs. Despite his personality he takes his job very seriously and wants to protect people smiles. Wants to help BigB and Cleo reconnect.

Bdubs- a human. The third and rookie member of the clockers. Was slotted as BigB replacement. He doesn’t know Scar and Cleo that well but had no trouble fitting in with Scar. He doesn’t like being referred to as a rookie though and is constantly trying to prove himself. Much to the annoyance of Cleo. Joined the CSPO because he wanted to help people and hated the watchers.

Martyn/Phantom gold-???. Part of a government organization called the Listeners. Made for the sole purpose of eliminating the Watchers. Joined both the Clockers and the Phantom bandits. Acts as a double agent and wants the two teams to work together. A very mysterious thing. And seems to know a lot of intel about the watchers and how they work.

I wanted to post this au here since it would be easier to add stuff and I wanted to share it with all of you. Maybe I’ll add more. I am working on rolls for more characters and may add those soon. I can also answer any questions or comments if anyone is interested in this au. Might even make some art for it.

#lupinranger vs patranger #jimmy solidarity #watcher jimmy #impulsesv #skizzleman #tangotek #ethoslab #joel smallishbeans #scott smajor #dangthatsalongname #life smp #limited life #trafficblr

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lumilasi · 4 years ago

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By request from @violently-canary I am doing this writer interview, because why not?

Name: Lumilasi

Fandoms: currently Bnha, but I used to write for Bleach (Grimmichi, still have some fics incomplete OTL) and MCU (stucky, one Tony centric short thingy)

Where you post: AO3, fic illustrations on tumblr

Most popular multi-chapter fic: Family Secrets, Crossroads is close second. I’m still kind of amused how many people I half-accidentally made to adore a version of rotten potato man, namely as a dad figure, not that Hisashi is your classic rotten potato lmao

Favorite story you’ve written so far: Violinist. It was such an interesting Au to make, namely how it still got a lot of the canonical ’grit’ while the boys weren’t villains, and their relationship started differently from my usual writing style, where they were attracted to each other before any emotional bonds formed. It was also funny how canon reveal kind of solved plot issues I had with this by revealing Hana to us haha. I have to say my newest one (The Stringmaster) is also growing on me fast

Fic you were nervous to post: There’s, always a level of apprehension about posting something new, not knowing if people will like it or not. I was quite nervous with my first ever bnha fic (Reanimate) because it was my first dip into the fandom, and it did include ocs in significant roles. Thankfully the feedback was majorly positive with that story, which encouraged me to keep writing more stories.

How you choose your titles: Couple of ways;

First is the ’symbolic’ kind where the title somehow symbolizes the overall story themes. ’Reanimate’ was called that because of the whole ’Izuku enters into the body of his younger self in another world’ thing, essentially ’reanimating’ a body that was in a coma. Family Secrets is called that because it’s a story about a family (and a man) who hold a lot of secrets only the insiders know. Unravel is Unravel because they are unraveling a mystery.

Second is the ’literal’ where I just call the story something that it has, like Violinist, where its called that because Tomura is literally a violinist in the fic. The neighbor has that name because it is about two neighbors.

Sometimes the name if a mix of both like Crossover, where it’s literally a crossover story, but also refers to crossing over into another world haha

Do you outline: Roughly, it tends to be necessary given I make long fics. Things do evolve and change as the story progresses, though often the ending remains largely the same, because I keep it as a sort of destination point the story is building towards. Some details about it might change, but overall the end result tends to remain similar to the original draft

Complete: a lot; Family Secrets, Crossroads, Reanimate, Violinist, Soul Duality, Kitsune Tomura one shots, more one shots, crossovers and sequels, that one story with Izuku and Shoto whose name I forgot, several bleach and mcu fics...

In progress: Unravel (around the middle of the story rn) The neighbor (near complete) The Stringmaster (at the beginning) Diversion (one third left roughly) A Father’s shadow (I’d say halfway there) Depths (also halfway there) a crossover story with Leeontheneon (still at the beginning stages, I should forward it but...I’m so rarely in the mood for such pure fluff OTL) One giant bleach fic I should finish because I put so much effort into it, but I just don’t have the motivation or interest RN.....

Coming soon/not yet started: the final chapter of the Devil’s Doppleganger series, where Tenko and Izuku go to find and bring their dad home. Also to show that even crippled Hisashi is a badass - and such a dad. He will never escape his dadness mwa ha haa.

Do you accept prompts: Mostly no, apart from as contest prizes occasionally. I just prefer coming up with the ideas myself

Upcoming story you’re most excited to write: well, given there is only one, the final part of TDD, that one. From the ongoing ones, Stringmaster is always quite fun to write, and A father’s shadow has gotten into an interesting point too.

Upcoming story you are most excited about: Based on the response on the version I snatched this from (provided by canary) this is about other people’s fics. I don’t read other people’s works much, but there are two I can say I actively read each time they update; first is @theteapotofdoom’s fic Something Good (especially good if in need of fluffy feels) and @nightlilly0110’s No Heroes. It’s such an interesting concept and I get good laughs out of the humor in it!

If there is a fellow writer eager to do this, go right ahead!

#writer interview meme #as requested by violently-canary #fic musings

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sanchoyo · 6 years ago

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Shiggy in 50? 💛

HE!!!! thank u for requesting!

palette requests are still open! Feel free to send one in ~

#these r fun bc they arent colors id assosiate w the charas at all tbh but they look really good imo??#like..watermelon shig??? cute #shigaraki tomura #tomura shigaraki #tenko shimura #bnha #my art #sanchoyoanswersasks #palette meme requests #violently-canary

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spokelseskladden · 6 years ago

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5a for shigaraki and 4b for twice (sorry i keep sending these)

they’re reacting to the same thing.

Also don’t be sorry!!! I’ve had a lot of fun!! Even the spinner one was fun!!

#twice bnha #shigaraki tomura #tomura shigaraki #Jin Bubaigawara #league of villains #ctcfacething #expression meme #i learned a lot about myself drawing these requests. i learned i love twice very much #i already knew i loved him but now i know it even more #violently-canary #ebart

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ikaroux · 3 years ago

Note

I dont see any advice that say if request are closet or Not but if they are please Just ignore me and delate the ask

I've seen a lot of s/o dying and leaving behind Xiao, Venti, Zhongli and Ganyu so what if s/o who died (you don't have to say why) but their soul is always with them in a form of an animal (butterfly, canary, deer, whatever you like) to Not leave them alone never again "together forever, even after death"

Posdata: (this is only if u wanna but its to add a little lore. They can feel s/o like their warm, the good feeling they always and they love also they can talk but only they can hear them)

Hi @milkby11 Thanks for the request! I was very inspired <3 I hope you like it! I added a few characters in addition to the ones requested.

Synopsis: You were dead, he/she had lost you forever. Loneliness and coldness took hold of his/her being, until he/she was visited by a strange animal...

Style: f!reader + m!reader x Ganyu. Death of the reader/reincarnation. Sad. Still, it ends well. I don't describe any violent or bloody scenes. Good luck!

Characters: Diluc, Zhongli, Kaeya, Xiao, Venti, Albedo, Kazuha, Tartaglia/Childe, Ganyu, Razor.

Note: This will give me a little practice for the next death-themed texts! It will be fairly short, so I'm allowing myself two more characters.

Do you have a request?

Masterlist

French version WATTPAD

A little bonus at the end

Diluc

"Master Diluc! This is..."

Charles had come looking for Diluc on the angel's behalf. The expression on his bartender's face left no doubt as to why he was startled. Diluc abandoned whatever he was doing and rushed to the church where you had been taken...

Dead...

You were dead.

You were dead!

Diluc screamed at the bedside, holding your cold hand in his. Never had his tears flowed more than on that day... Never had a man's pain been so poignant to those who tried to save you... All the anger, all the sadness, all the despair of this man was poured out in his cries. Your body was bruised, covered in blood, the sight was unbearable, and yet he could not leave you...

Diluc was devastated. He would never again see your smile. Never again would he feel your warmth. Never again would life have the same flavor.

His heart had died along with yours.

He felt broken, empty. Nothing motivated him to go on. He had once again lost someone dear to him, the woman of his life, the one for whom his heart beat in his chest. How could he go on without you? He who had been unable to protect you. Without you by his side, Diluc shut himself off from the rest of the world.

Diluc lay in bed, staring at the ring on his finger. He remembered your face, your laughter, he remembered your body wrapped around his at night. He remembered your first meeting, your wedding, your plans for the future...

"I miss you..."

Tears stung his eyes and to keep them from flowing, Diluc put his arm over his face, gritting his teeth to contain his emotions, but the sob that clutched his throat didn't care. Despite himself, his grief exploded. You'd been gone for weeks, buried near his father's grave, and Diluc hadn't come to see you since, unable to grieve. He had holed himself up at home, accepting no help, no pity.

His tears did not stop flowing until exhaustion got the better of him.

"Di-.l...Di-..lu.. Di...luc... Diluc..."

Diluc woke up with a violent jolt, drops of sweat on his face. His hands were shaking and his throat was dry. His breathing was ragged and labored, and he tried to compose himself, looking around the dark room with a watchful eye. During his sleep, a strange sensation had enveloped him. He had felt your presence near him, he had even thought he heard your voice...

To calm himself, Diluc got up from the bed and walked to the balcony of his room. The air outside was cool and the wind was blowing lightly. The young man rested his forearms on the balcony railing, staring blankly at the horizon. Despite his moments of absence, Diluc still noticed the beautiful barn owl sitting comfortably beside him, staring at him with its dark eyes. Curiously, she didn't seem frightened by him and Diluc even tried to pet her, the most incredible thing was that she stretched her neck to let herself be tamed.

"You look so tired my love."

Diluc hurriedly stepped back, looking around to see where that voice so similar to yours was coming from.

"(y/n) ? (y/n)!?"

Diluc felt like he was going crazy, he was sure he heard your voice, he also knew that this warmth, this softness he felt was from you. So why couldn't he see you? Then he observed more intensely this strange owl. She was looking straight into his eyes, a familiar glint shining in them. Was it possible? Was it really you? Diluc's tears rolled down his cheeks again as he approached the animal once more.

"Diluc, I'm so sorry I left you alone..." - His beak hadn't moved, yet Diluc was sure your voice was coming from that bird.

"I... That's impossible... (y/n), is that you?" - you had blinked briefly to indicate that it was. Without a word, Diluc approached you, stroking your head with his fingertips. You closed your eyes, savoring the caresses of the man who in another life had been your husband. Before you knew it, his face was pressed against the top of your head, showering you with tears. - How? I... Never mind, I missed you so much..."

"I promised you Diluc, together forever, even after death. I will stay by your side, I don't want to leave you alone, I don't want to part with you. Never." - He pulled you up onto his forearm to hug you gently to him. He kissed the top of your head tenderly, gently caressing your feathery little body.

"Never..." - It was a new promise between you and Diluc. He vowed to protect you, to never let such a tragedy happen again. Never again would fate take you away from him.

Perhaps he would find a way to make you human again.

Diluc's heart seemed to come alive again, beating wildly in his chest. For the first time in weeks, a beautiful smile lit up his face.

ZHONGLI

No.

It couldn't be.

How could this have happened?

An accident. A simple accident.

Zhongli had come quickly to the funeral home to identify your body. He held your lifeless form close to him, rocking his chest back and forth. He couldn't cry... he couldn't. Why had this happened? Zhongli thought it was a punishment for Celestia for abandoning his post as archon.

He asked the people in the room to leave him alone with you.

Now he had to find the strength within him to say goodbye to you...

Zhongli felt devastated. He had already lost so much in the past. He knew that one day you would leave before him. But not like this, not so soon.

He had failed as a man, as a follower... As a husband.

You were no longer by his side and the void you left in him seemed to have broken him more than he could have imagined.

This was not the first time Zhongli had lost someone dear to him, but your death had touched him deeply, bruised him. He loved you so much. You were his world... Losing you had affected him deeply.

Since your death, several weeks ago, Zhongli was silent. His body was still there, but his mind had shut itself off in the depths of his being. Hu Tao and Zhongli were the ones who attended your funeral, and although no tears flowed from his eyes, his heart broke. He looked like an emotionless puppet. A mere fleshy shell... Hu Tao tried to support him, she who had a better view of death than anyone else in Liyue, but no matter what she said, Zhongli did not seem to hear him.

Until one day Zhongli disappeared from the city completely, leaving behind no letters, no clues.

He wanted to be alone, forever. He wanted to wait patiently for the erosion of the stone to destroy him...

Unconsciously, Zhongli took the path to the stone forest of Guyun.

The path Zhongli took to reach his destination was calm and serene. He didn't stop to admire the scenery of Liyue... it didn't matter to him anymore since you were dead. Yet he couldn't help but notice this family of purple foxes, playing under an apple tree with some fallen fruit. One of them seemed to be watching him, sitting upright with its tail wrapped around him comfortably. Zhongli stopped walking, observing the strange behavior of this animal, known to be fearful. He was even more astonished when it stood up and approached him, rubbing its small body against Zhongli's leg. His heart clenched in his chest and an intense warmth invaded his body, a sensation that reminded him of your presence. For the first time since your death, Zhongli's tears rolled down his cheeks. He repeated your name between sobs, over and over again. He slowly knelt on the ground and took the little fox in his arms to cuddle him. The strange animal rubbed its head against the tear-stained cheek of the former archon, letting out a soft squeak.

"(y/n)... (y/n)... (y/n), I am... sorry... I miss her... So much."

"Don't cry Zhongli..."

Zhongli opened his eyes wide in amazement. Had he really heard your voice? Or was it a figment of his imagination?

"I promised you, we will always be together, even after death..."

Zhongli stared at the fox, who himself was looking at him with a calm expression. The archon's lips trembled with emotion, his gaze shifting to the little creature. The more he looked at the animal's pupils, the more he saw your soul reflected in them... He caressed with a trembling hand under the mouth of the fox who closed his eyes with happiness.

"(y/n)?"

You rubbed your muzzle against his cheek again, wagging your tail happily. Zhongli finally understood, your soul had sought refuge and it was this fox who agreed to give up his body to you. Your will to stay with him had been so strong that not even death could hold you back... He thought, for a very brief moment, that he should not let you live like this, that he should be angry with you, but his heart told him otherwise. Perhaps he would find a way to give you a better body, an immortal body, just like himself?

Zhongli hugged you, letting tears of happiness run down your fur. There was hope in his heart again.

Who could blame him for being a little selfish?

KAEYA

Kaeya didn't believe it. Or rather, he didn't want to believe it.

Dead? Impossible, you had promised him that you would always stay together.

But when he saw your lifeless body lying on one of the beds in the church infirmary, his world was suddenly darkened. Kaeya was screaming at the men and women who were charged with protecting you. How could this have happened?

He tried to get your heart beating again by performing first aid. He begged you to come back, not to abandon him. He yelled at the nurses to do something... but nothing could be changed, you were dead and he had no choice but to accept the harsh reality.

Teyvat had lost his former glow, the pain seemed to drive him mad. The man who was once so smiley, so teasing, had become dark and angry. He couldn't accept it... you were his sunshine, his joy of life. You were his hope for a better tomorrow and he had to leave you alone once for everything to break.

Yes, Kaeya had changed completely. He had turned inward. He blamed the world...

Jean tried to comfort him, as well as Lisa, Amber and Klee who tried to give him back his life, without result. Diluc was also solicited by Jean, but even his brother's words did not seem to bring him back to his senses.

Kaeya was locked up in his office in a slight darkness. He was studying some documents that the order of Favonius had entrusted to him, but he could not concentrate on his reading. Anger was boiling inside him and when he looked up from his documents to calm down, the first thing he saw was a portrait of the two of you that Albedo had given him. Kaeya abruptly got up from his chair, angrily pushing everything off his desk, and when he tried to go after the frame containing the only picture of you he had left, the sound of scratching against the wood of the door stopped him.

Kaeya was breathing heavily, tears welling up in his eyes as he gazed longingly at your portrait. He was so angry at himself for attacking you with that image... He rested his forehead against the glass surface, sobbing silently as he thought of you, your smile, your voice...

"Kaeya..."

The young man gasped, almost dropping the precious object in his hand. He looked around, frantically searching for your presence, even as a ghost. But he was greeted once again by the sound of scratching on his door. Kaeya went to the door, opening it with a jerk. No one was behind it, except for a few knights who were working on their tasks and a... dog?

The animal looked at him intently, wagging its tail at the sight of him.

"Well, are you going to let me in or not?"

Kaeya wasn't dreaming, he had heard your voice clearly through that dog. He looked at the knights around him, but no one seemed to have heard him.

He let the animal into the room, glancing around uncertainly.

"Kaeya, it's okay, it's me, (y/n)."

In shock, Kaeya dropped the frame containing your portrait to the floor. His look was that of a broken, lost man. Squealing slightly, you cautiously approached the young man, your tail beginning to wag once you were near him. You put your two front paws on his thighs. He froze at first, looking at you in horror. Was this a dream? Or a nightmare? He didn't want to believe it because if this was all a dream, then when he woke up the pain would be so unbearable that he wasn't sure he could stay sane.

"I promised you Kaeya. I will always stay with you, even beyond death."

Kaeya moaned, letting his tears flow freely. He fell into his lap, hugging your new body. You let yourself cuddle in his arms while licking his ear. Kaeya laughed. It was a strange feeling, how long had it been since he laughed?

"Why did it have to be a dog? How am I supposed to stay serious when you're in this form? I'm sure you did it on purpose!" - Despite his attempt at humor, Kaeya sobbed again, tightening his arms around you. He would not let go of you again.

He was going to do anything to get you back to him.

XIAO

His world had turned black.

Xiao was speechless. Dead? You were really... dead?

Why did you die? Why? He told you to call his name if you were in danger, so why didn't you!

Anger and despair made him tremble. As soon as he heard about your accident, he rushed to your side. You were exploring ruins that were too old, too unstable. Nothing could have saved you from the fall that had caused you fatal injuries. Why didn't you call him...?

You were lying in bed at the Wangshu Inn. A light white veil covered your face and your clothes were stained with blood. Xiao dropped his spear, letting it fall noisily to the ground. His hands and lips were trembling. He couldn't believe his eyes, he never imagined he would see this, at least not this early in your relationship. Verr tried to console him, but Xiao slapped the hand she was holding out to him hard. His eyes never left your side and every second he was in the same room as you, his soul was breaking a little more.

Humans were so fragile, he knew that and yet... he loved you so much, he couldn't conceive of his life without you by his side. And now? He was alone... Xiao shooed away everyone in the room. Once he was alone, he sat down beside you, gently removing the cloth from your face to take one last look at you. You looked so peaceful, as if you were simply asleep. Xiao clenched his fists, holding back the lump in his throat, and when he saw your wound, the one that had been fatal to you, Xiao screamed, crying like he had never cried before.

This world was so cruel...

Weeks passed, and since your disappearance, the Yaksha had been rare. Nobody had seen him since the tragedy. He continued to do his duty to Liyue, but his soul was falling further and further into madness. Xiao let himself be consumed by corruption, forgetting the pain, forgetting the sorrow. If he couldn't have you near him, then what was the point of fighting?

Xiao rarely returned to the Wangshu Inn, the memory of your death was too deeply engraved in him. But sometimes he would sit on the roof of the inn and watch the sky as he used to do with you. When Xiao looked at the moon, his hand dreamily rubbed the engagement rings he had hung around his neck. He couldn't bear to see it on his hand anymore, knowing that you were no longer of this world, but he couldn't resign himself to parting with it either... He thought of you constantly... And every time he did, regret, resentment and anger would come over him. Sometimes he would catch himself thinking that he should never have been near you, that he should never have become attached to you, let alone loved you... and tears would immediately fall from his eyes. How could he think that? The little time you had spent together had made him so happy, he could never forget you, never deny your existence. He wanted to see you one last time, he wanted to tell you that he loved you... He wanted to ask you never to leave him alone.

Xiao's tears were so beautiful, so sad. The wishes in his heart were so pure that even the gods felt sorry for him. Xiao was inconsolable, in his sorrow, he did not notice the little ball of hair that was snuggled up to him and purring.

"I love you too Xiao, I would never leave you alone..."

Xiao hurriedly turned his head towards the little creature lying in a ball at his side. Had he been dreaming? Or maybe exhaustion was giving him hallucinations? He gently took the kitten in his hands and placed it in front of his face. He looked into its eyes, probing the soul of this strange animal that had the audacity to lie beside him. A small glimmer in his eyes made his being tingle, something about this creature reminded him of... you?

"Xiao." - He opened his eyes wide. It was you! It was really you! - "I'm sorry I left you alone. I'm here now..." - you had given him an affectionate headbutt while purring loudly. Xiao didn't dare to speak for fear of waking up from a wonderful dream, so to express himself, he snuggled you against his face, affectionately kissing the top of your head. His sobs began again. Was it happiness? He didn't care about the tears, he wanted to hold your little body to him, to feel your nostalgic warmth against his heart. He would protect you from the cruelty of this world. And if you could have been reborn in this form then he would find a way to bring you back to life in a humanoid form...

With a trembling voice, Xiao whispered in your ear:

"I love you (y/n), don't leave me alone anymore..."

VENTI

"Venti! It's (y/n)! She is ..."

Passersby heard the sound of a lyre shattering on the ground.

When Venti heard the news, he was playing a ballad in the streets of Mondstadt. The shock made him drop his instrument and it broke on the ground. It was not his usual lyre, but the one you had given him.

It was Kaeya who told him the sad news. Your body had been brought back by the knights of Favonius while the church's healers tried, in vain, to bring you back to life. By the time Venti reached the entrance to the city, where your body lay on the ground, it was too late. Your body was cold, lifeless, colorless.

He knelt beside you, caressing your hair, your face.

"(y/n)... please wake up..." - Your silence forced a sob into the anemo archon's throat.- "Don't leave me alone (y/n), please!" - Venti's tears fell from his eyes to crash into your lifeless face. Venti looked for help in the eyes of the caregivers around him, but they all looked away. Venti burst out, resting his forehead against yours, begging you to come back again and again. His cries and tears left no one indifferent... How could they be when they knew the love between you two?

Days passed and your body was buried in the cemetery of Mondstadt. The streets of the city were strangely quiet, the songs of the famous bard no longer echoed. Venti spent his days sitting by your grave. He no longer laughed, no longer sang. You were his inspiration, his muse, you were the love of his life. Venti no longer had the strength to go on without you. He felt so empty, so alone. How could the world go on without you?

He was holding the broken lyre that you had given him. Kaeya had picked it up for him, thinking that he should at least keep this memory of you.

Venti didn't want a souvenir, he wanted you. Why did you have to leave so soon? He didn't have time to tell you everything that was on his mind. This world was so unfair, so cruel. You didn't deserve to die so soon. You were his source of joy and happiness and now he had nothing left... except a broken memory. Venti closed his eyes for a brief moment, letting the wind lull his soul. Perhaps he should sink back into a deep sleep and forget the pain and sorrow. But he would not be able to think of you again and then you would be gone for good. No, Venti didn't want to forget you, he wanted to keep your image engraved in his heart. He wanted to remember the sound of your voice, its softness and warmth...

Venti felt something jump out at him. But he didn't care, he just wanted to think about you, your image, your mimicry, your laugh. All these memories brought tears to his eyes.

"Venti. Open your eyes. Venti!"

Venti slowly opened his eyelids, he thought he had dreamed of you. Your voice had sounded so real to him... When he looked down at his chest, he saw a ball of fur lying on top of him. He blinked a few times before scrambling to his feet and holding the cat in his arms. Venti was allergic to cats and he couldn't understand why his body didn't react...

When he realized that this cat was not triggering a sneezing fit, he brought it closer to his face to study it. The animal was purring in his arms, staring intently into the bard's eyes.

"Give me a hug Venti! I missed you so much."

He hadn't been dreaming...it really was your voice. Venti's tears flowed from his eyes unintentionally. He slowly pulled you closer to him, gently wrapping his arms around you. He slowly stroked your fur, becoming more and more aware of what was happening.

"I made you a promise Venti. I would never leave you alone... ever."

A form of reincarnation. Your soul had borrowed that cat's body to stay with him... Venti thought about the laws of Celestia, about the exorcists who might come after you. But none of that mattered right now. He would protect you, keep you close to him. No one could take you away from him, not even death.

He would finally be able to tell you everything that was on his mind. He would pour out all the love and passion he felt for you, as long as you stayed by his side.

But first, he had to ask you a question... Why did you have to be a cat?!

ALBEDO

His chair fell to the ground.

No.

No, no, no.

Not you.

Albedo rushed out of his laboratory. His heart had never beaten so fast in his chest. It could only be a mistake. Just this morning he was kissing you goodbye. You were in his arms, smiling and saying "see you tonight" with tenderness.

It could only be... a mistake.

Your body was on one of the beds in the infirmary, covered with a large white sheet. Your hand, the one with your wedding ring on it, was hanging off the bed. Barbara, who was one of the first to come to you to try to save you, gave the young alchemist a tearful look.

"(y/n)..." - Albedo's voice trembled.

Albedo approached cautiously. Once at your side, he slowly lifted the sheet to see your face. He was frozen, pale. He didn't know how he should react. Anger? Sadness? Everything was mixed up... He had never been very good with human emotions, but with you he had learned so much. He felt a hand gently grab his arm. Barbara looked at him with compassion.

"Her last words were for you Master Albedo. She wanted you to know that she loved you and...that she was sorry."

"Get out."

Barbara released her grip on the young man's arm. She gave a questioning look to the other caretakers who were unsure how to react. Barbara didn't want to leave him alone, the pain and sorrow she felt in him was upsetting her.

"Get out!"

It was probably the first time anyone had heard him scream in anger. Everyone in the room left without insisting. Albedo looked at you with glassy eyes. He took your hand in his and placed it on your chest. He sadly caressed your hand...

"You are so cold (y/n)..." - The tears that had gathered in his eyes fell to his feet. "Don't go... stay..." - Albedo had never felt such pain... The sobs that escaped from him were filled with despair. Albedo pressed his hand against his forehead, closing his eyes in silent prayer. "(y/n)...don't go..."

Since your death, Albedo had not returned home. He spent most of his time in his laboratory studying the old formula. Succrose tried to get him to come out a little, but the cold look of the young man always paralyzed her on the spot. Albedo was looking for a way to bring you back. If his master had been able to create a homunculus, why not him? All you had to do was create a body and attach your soul to it...

Some knew what Albedo was up to. Venti was one of those who tried to dissuade him from playing with life, and the alchemist threatened him not to interfere with his research, because after all, no one could understand what he was feeling.

He was physically and mentally exhausted. He allowed himself very few breaks, because every minute spent away from you destroyed him a little more.

Albedo sat in the armchair by the open window, studying some of the documents related to his research.

Fatigue weighed on his body and his eyelids slowly drooped until sleep overcame him.

For the first time in a long time, Albedo dreamed of you. You were sitting in a field of flowers, admiring the Cecilia that grew there. Albedo admired you with love, you were so beautiful, so sweet, that even the butterflies fluttered around you. One of them came to rest on his hand, sharing with him the soft bluish glow it gave off. When he looked up from the butterfly to redirect his protective gaze to you, you had simply... disappeared. Albedo gradually lost his smile, the dream was turning into a nightmare... he remembered... he remembered... you were dead. The angelic landscape of the fields was gradually engulfed by a fog of darkness. Only a fragment of his dream remained, the reassuring glow of the butterfly still emanating from his hand, in the exact spot where it had landed earlier. Albedo gently squeezed his hand over the light before opening it again to give birth to a new life.

Albedo woke up abruptly, his breathing was rapid and difficult. An excruciating headache took him as the memories of his dream came back to him. Tears filled his eyes as he saw your smile and heard your voice. It was so hard, so hard not to have you around anymore. He wished he had never woken up...

Albedo blinked, fighting back the tears that wanted to flow. That's when he noticed it... A butterfly had taken advantage of his sleep to land on the back of his hand. It looked exactly like the one in his dream. Albedo studied it carefully, the blue glow, the softness that the creature gave off, everything was identical... He understood then that this butterfly was not a simple insect, but a wandering soul...

"I promised you" - These were the last words you said to him before he woke up. Everything was clear now.

" (Y/....N) ?

"Albedo, it's okay. I am here now. I'm sorry I left you alone." - Albedo's tears finally flowed. The darkness that he had been running into dissipated. He would finally see your smile again.

KAZUHA

The weather was stormy.

The rain was pouring down.

The sky perfectly expressed the state Kazuha was in.

He had been away for only a few days and when he returned, he found your house completely destroyed. A landslide had swept away your home and you with it. Your lifeless body was found in the rubble by villagers.

At first Kazuha hoped that you were still alive, that it wasn't you who had been found but another young woman, and that you might be somewhere in town. He was afraid, so afraid. He ran as fast as he could to reach the port of Liyue, hoping to find help, information, and above all, your presence. A feeling of anguish twisted his stomach. You weren't dead, you were fine, he kept repeating to himself.

However...

Yet when he arrived at the port of Liyue, he was greeted by guards who were both relieved to see him alive and distressed by the news they had to give him...

Your body had been found lifeless under the rubble. You had been surprised in your sleep by the collapse of the cliff weakened by the recent storms. Kazuha remained silent, he couldn't believe it. He ran to the funeral home, hoping they were wrong. It couldn't have been you.

Why couldn't it be you?

Why didn't he take you with him!

Hu Tao welcomed the young wanderer, offering his condolences before taking him to see you for the last time... Kazuha was livid, he wanted to vomit, scream, break everything he could. Yet he stood there, looking at your deathly pale face. He had just lost another loved one and he couldn't help but think that it was all his fault. If he had been there, this wouldn't have happened, if he had taken you with him, you would still be alive today. Kazuha collapsed to his knees, letting his tears flow freely. He felt like he was drowning in the abyss...

Kazuha had returned to Inazuma, bringing your ashes with him. He would take you absolutely everywhere on his travels, the thought of leaving you in Liyue was unbearable for him.

He sat down at the foot of a maple tree to admire the red leaves that fell from it with you. Kazuha loved their color, especially at this time of the year when the trees were starting to lose their leaves. The young wanderer looked at the landscape silently, clutching the small urn against him. Sometimes he would talk to you, describing what he saw and sometimes he would recite a haiku inspired by nature. He felt so lonely since you left... having that urn with him somehow helped him to overcome his grief. He felt that somehow... you were still with him.

Kazuha grabbed a maple leaf that was being carried by the wind, he looked at it intently, twirling it between his fingers.

"I always thought red looked good on you (y/n)." - He sighed, letting go of the leaf so that it could quietly continue its journey. The colors, once so beautiful, now seemed bland and sad.

Kazuha opened his eyes wide when he noticed that a scarlet finch had taken advantage of his inattention to land fearlessly on his knee, admiring his face with tranquility. He didn't dare move, for fear of scaring the little creature.

"Red suits you better my little heart."

Kazuha almost dropped the urn from his arms. Did he really just hear this bird talking to him with YOUR voice? And that nickname that sparrow had used was the one you used every time for him.

"Did you... just talk?"

"Of course I did, sweetheart."

"That's impossible... that voice... (y/n)?" - The scarlet finch flew up to land on Kazuha's shoulder.

"Do you remember our promise? I will stay with you, no matter what form I take, I will be there."

Kazuha gently placed the urn on the ground and then came to caress your head with his fingertips. He could hardly believe it, but he was not dreaming, everything was real and even nature was telling him the truth. Kazuha could not help but cry with happiness.

The emptiness you had left in him was filling up again.

"Well. How about one last trip Kazu?"

As Kazuha's tears ran gently down his cheeks, he thought that at last the world was slowly returning to the colors of life.

CHILDE

"What did you just say... ? " - The rage and anger could be heard in Childe's voice. The Fatui in front of him recoiled in fear.

"I... There was an attack... (Y/n)... did not survive his injuries." - The thud of a broken table made the trembling man step back further.

"YOU ARE LYING! How could this happen?! I asked you to look after her! To protect her!" - Childe's screams could be heard even in the streets of Liyue. - "Where is she?!"

Childe rushed to the place that Agent Fatui had pointed out to him. Never had he run so fast, never had fear gripped him so tightly.

It couldn't be.

It was impossible.

You couldn't be dead.

He had sworn to protect you.

He had sworn!

But when he saw your body on the ground, livid and lifeless, his howls of grief brought him back to reality. You had died alone, without him by your side. Childe could not hold back his tears or his cries, how could he when his heart was breaking into a thousand pieces? He held you in his arms, covering his clothes with your blood and yours with his tears. When one of his men tried to talk to him, all the rage and anger that was boiling inside him suddenly burst out. He respectfully laid your body on the ground before slaughtering them all, one by one. All that remained of them was a pool of blood.

He would never forgive himself for what had happened to you...

You had not been by his side for a month, day for day. Life without you was... so bland, without flavor. No matter how hard he fought to forget his pain, nothing could make him feel better, not even his precious family.

He often came to visit you at your grave to lay flowers or to talk with you. Sometimes he hoped to hear an answer, but only silence greeted him.

Childe walked through the streets of Liyue with a blank stare and no light. The city seemed so still and silent, Childe felt as if the world had stopped turning. He seemed absent, his empty eyes just staring at the stone floor. Yet his gaze was drawn to one of the large pools decorating the city's heights. Among all the fish swimming there, one in particular caught his attention. It was a magnificent koi carp with brilliant colors. It seemed to be looking at him intensely, moving towards him little by little. Childe, intrigued by the strange animal, stopped and knelt down in front of the pond. He slowly dipped his hand into the water, making slight movements to draw the fish towards him. The carp rubbed against his hand gently, and Childe was surprised to see it close its eyes to enjoy the contact.

"Childe..."

Fatui opened his eyes wide. Had that fish just spoken to him? That voice... it sounded so much like yours. Impossible... Had it sunk so low as to hear you through a common fish? Childe straightened up, preparing to leave this place.

"Childe... don't go..."

Again, the harbinger stopped, frozen by your call. He looked left and right, searching for people around him who would have heard your voice as well, but Childe seemed to be the only one able to hear you.

"Childe... I'm sorry... for leaving you... alone. I promised you... always... together."

You spoke slowly, as if the water prevented you from expressing yourself properly. Tears stung the young man's eyes, why were you apologizing? He was the one who needed to be forgiven! He came back to you, dipping his hand in the water again to see you snuggling back in. He stroked you tenderly, admiring each of your golden scales. He couldn't leave you here, he had to take you home, to the pond in your garden. And above all, he had to find a way to get you out of this body so small, so fragile. He couldn't bear to lose you a second time.

"(Y/n), forgive me. I will bring you home, I promise."

Ganyu felt the emptiness invade her when one of Lady Ningguang's secretaries had come to warn her of the accident that had been fatal. The papers she was carrying at that moment fell out of her hands and scattered on the floor in front of her. Ganyu did not move, her lips trembling as horror overtook her.

Dead?

No... no... she refused to believe it. Just this morning she woke up in your arms, happy and smiling. And now she learned that she would never see you again? That she would never feel the warmth of your arms again? Ganyu couldn't stand the thought, and to be sure, she rushed to see you.

You were lying on one of the beds in the funeral home. Ganyu approached slowly, trembling and hesitating, even now she refused to believe it. Zhongli, who was present in the funeral room with Hu Tao, took her hand affectionately to accompany her to your body. And when she saw your face, Ganyu broke down. Tears could not stop flowing as she caressed your lifeless face.

"Don't go... don't go... don't go!" - That was the only thing she repeated. Ganyu had lost loved ones in the past, but you, you were unique, unparalleled in her life...

She felt Hu Tao's comforting hand rubbing her back, but nothing, absolutely nothing could ease her pain.

Ganyu had left Liyue without saying anything, returning to live in the quiet and solitude of Aozang Mountain. She could not bear to live in Liyue port, so many places reminded her of you. You had been for her an inexhaustible source of happiness. She felt beautiful, desirable and loved under your eyes. But today...

She didn't sleep anymore.

She didn't eat anymore.

She was alone. Lost.

And deeply unhappy.

Her tears flowed every day without you. Cloudbreath tried to comfort her as best she could, to no avail. She spent her days sitting on the rocks looking at the horizon. Life had lost its flavor. Ganyu was so attached to you, so in love, that losing you had made her totally amorphous.

Days and nights passed. The endless cycle of life continued, cruel and merciless. When the sun rose, she observed its course. When night fell, she was content to watch the stars and the Milky Way go by.

But six months after your death, something unexpected happened.

Footsteps approached her, slowly and confidently. The rhythm of the footsteps reminded her of an animal. But...

"Ganyu."

That voice... Ganyu's eyes filled with tears as memories resurfaced within her. Her eyes, once apathetic, came to life. She didn't dare to turn around for fear of finding nothing behind her. Her imagination had already played so many tricks on her... But when your voice called to her for the second time, she let her sobs out, finally looking back to meet the gaze of a great majestic stag, as white as the purity of the snow.

"I've finally found you. I missed you so much my lily."

She couldn't believe her eyes. She slowly got up from her seat and then cautiously approached you.

"(y/n)...? Is it really you? You... have come back... I..."

"Come closer. Unfortunately I can't hold you anymore... but I can feel you. I promised you that. I would stay by your side, no matter what fate has in store for us... I would always come back."

Ganyu stroked the silky fur that lay along your neck before wrapping her arms around it. She stifled her sobs against you.

"I love you (y/n)."

"I love you Ganyu. Forever."

Razor had smelled blood.

Your blood.

He was waiting patiently for you at the wolves' domain. A shiver of fear ran through his body when he heard your voice calling him, along with the strong smell of blood. Alerted by your screams, Razor had run to you. But he was too late, you were dead, lying in your own blood while bandits attacked the travelers you had defended. The wolf man could hardly breathe, he felt his mind wandering and his fury rising. He was not aware that he was now carrying his blade in his hands and bringing it down on your killers.

Once he had disposed of each bandit, Razor knelt beside you. He stroked your face with a trembling hand before straightening you up to embrace you. He had failed to protect you. He had not... succeeded, and now you were dead. Razor held you so tightly to his chest, no one could have pulled you away from him. His screaming and crying had alerted some Mondstadt soldiers who were patrolling the area. The men tried to convince Razor to take you into town so that your body could be delivered to the church. But he growled like a wolf in a rage, threatening with an animalistic stare anyone who dared to approach you. Razor took you in his arms before fleeing into the forest, where your body was supposed to rest...

Months passed.

Razor had isolated himself from the rest of the world, living far from men, far from his pack. Lisa had tried several times to talk to him, to help him grieve, but every time she tried to approach him, Razor pushed her away with the ferocity of an animal.

He had lost all ability to express joy or happiness. He was in a state of lethargy and when night came, he could not stop his tears from flowing. You were his lupus, his family, the love of his life. You were his joy, his smiles, his peace.

He was so deeply sad.

Razor was always honest with his emotions. It was impossible for him to deny the deep hurt your death had caused him.

Alone.

So alone...

The cave where Razor had taken refuge was empty of life. It was here that he waited for you whenever you came to visit him... and he kept waiting. But what was he waiting for? When Razor heard the sound of a twig breaking under foot, his reaction was immediate. He jumped up on his legs, claymore in hand to fend off the unwanted guest. However, the smell that accompanied the stranger was pleasantly familiar to him...

"I knew you would be waiting for me here."

The young man's eyes opened wide. Before him stood a she-wolf with silver fur. Her eyes gave off softness, warmth...your warmth.

"I was able to speak with Andrius. My wolf, forgive me for leaving you alone all this time."

Seeing that Razor, still in shock at your coming, remained frozen where he was, you cautiously approached him. You gently rubbed your head against his trembling hand.

"I'm here, just like I promised you. I will always stand by you Razor."

Slowly, his hand stroked you. He dropped to his knees, now finding himself at your level. His arms held you close as his sobs echoed through the cave. You tenderly placed your mouth on his shoulder, licking the tip of his ear tenderly.

Aaah yes, he remembered now... that feeling so... human. Love was such a precious feeling...

BONUS

Scaramouche remained frozen, looking with a black eye at the flunky who had told him of your death.

After a long silence, a crazy laugh escaped from his lips. The fatui kneeling before him did not understand. He had just given him terrible news and he was... was laughing?

But that was not knowing Scaramouche very well. He suddenly stopped laughing, grabbing the man by the neck and squeezing him with breathtaking force. The hatred in his eyes was such that it could have made any army flee.

"Didn't I ask you to protect her? Your lives mean nothing to me compared to HER. And you're telling me she's... dead?" - His voice was as cold as the blade of a sword. "Unforgivable... Unforgivable... UNFORGIVABLE!"-The dreadful sound of bones cracking filled the room. The lackey fell to the ground, dead as Scaramouche reached the place where your body had been taken.

The Harbinger's fury drove him to slaughter every man and woman who had the misfortune to cross his path. When he entered the room, those inside recoiled in fear.

"GET OUT!" Which they did without question.

Scaramouche slowly approached the bed where your body had been lying. His cold gaze scanned you... He was boiling inside, his rage didn't seem to be able to be extinguished. However, Scaramouche had the most gentle gesture towards you. His hand caressed your cheek, moved your hair, embraced your cold hand in his. He forbade himself to cry, it was not in his nature. He was known as a cruel, cold, angry man, but with you... he had learned to love gentleness, kindness and love. He would have been willing to sacrifice everything for you... Then why did you have to die!? He clenched his jaw, trying, but failing, to stop his tears from flowing.

He hated you.

He loved you.

You had broken your promise. You promised him you would always be by his side.

He hated you.

He loved you.

He needed you by his side. How was he going to get by without you now? He wouldn't see your stupid smile. He wouldn't hear you spouting nonsense about love. He wouldn't feel your arms around him in an embarrassing display of affection.

He didn't want to... live without you by his side. You knew how to bring out his soft, gentle side that was so detestable to him and yet... he loved every moment with you.

He loved you.

More than anyone else in the world...

Months passed and Scaramouche became colder and crueler than ever. His minions ran away from him, afraid of being killed in one of their superior's crazy moments. Without you to guide him, to soften him, Scaramouche was caught in an endless cycle of hatred and killing. He hated the whole world, and the only reason the Tsaritsa kept him around was his ability to eliminate his enemies.

Since your death, the harbinger understood the true meaning of the word "loneliness". You had left a gaping hole in his chest which he filled with cruelty and violence. That was all that was left of him. Now that you were gone, he was a shadow, a killing machine.

Scaramouche looked at his reflection on the surface of the water, hating what he saw. A weak being, consumed by his emotions. He hated imagining your reflection beside him... you were dead, and nothing could change that. He threw a stone into the water, causing ripples on the surface that blurred his reflection. He did not see the little creature sitting quietly on his shoulder, watching his every move. It was only when she made a noise with a hazelnut that she stuffed in her cheeks that Scaramouche noticed her. Instinctively, his dagger quickly found its way into her hands, threatening the little squirrel with its point.

"You're always so nervous, darling."

Scaramouche froze, his round eyes staring at the animal as if he had just seen a ghost. The only person who had the courage to call him "my darling" was you. And then it was just a simple vermin on his shoulder, it could not speak! With your voice to boot!

"Geez, there go the squirrels talking now. I'm really going crazy."

"You're not crazy. I'm really talking. It's me, don't you recognize my voice?"

Scaramouche hesitated. Was his madness making him lose his mind? Or were you really talking to him through this nutcracker?

"(Y/n)?"

You rubbed your swollen cheeks against his.

"Tch! You're always so... sticky."

Scaramouche was finally realizing. You were really there, on his shoulder rubbing against his cheek. He was screaming at you like he used to. Yet, his heart was warming with every tender gesture you had towards him.

"I promised you I would never leave you." - Despite his protests, you continued to rub tenderly against him.

The young man said nothing more. His eyes glistened with tears.

He loved you.

"Why did you have to come back as a squirrel!? I'm going to look ridiculous in front of my soldiers!"

Despite everything he said to you, he wasn't planning to take you away from him for a moment. Ridiculous or not, he would never take you away from him again.

2K notes · View notes

curlynerd · 3 years ago

Text

Just Say It

Happy gift posting day for the @starrynightdeancas gift exchange! I had two assignees, so I'm posting two fics today! My 2nd gift recipient is @deanwinchesteradjacent! She requested canon-adjacent Destiel with fluff, action, and a happy ending. I hope you like it! <3

Word Count: 7.5K Rating: T Summary: A string of violent deaths at an otherwise charming B&B was all the excuse Dean needed to drag Cas down to Florida for some fun in the sun. Things had been awkward since Cas came back from the Empty and they could finally be together, but Dean was sure that a romantic getaway was the perfect thing to help Cas get out of the training wheels stage of Angel's-First-Romance and start acting like a real couple. Just as soon as they took care of a vengeful spirit. What could possibly go wrong? Notes: Post canon, fix-it fic, oneshot, love confessions, Dean is bad at feelings, case fic, beach fic.

Also read it on AO3!

“Alright, I’m heading out.”

“Did you pack deodorant?”

“Dean…”

“Toothpaste? Mouthwash?”

“...”

“Those fancy hair products? Cuz there’s just. So. Many--”

“Dean! I’ve lived my whole life on the road. I know how to pack a damn dufflebag!”

Dean smirked, unperturbed by Sam’s whining. “Yeah but Eileen is a classy lady. She’s not gonna put up with your usual road stank.”

Sam sighed in annoyance as he readjusted the bag on his shoulder. “I’m not the one who wears his underwear three days in a row, jerk.”

“Better leave that attitude at home, bitch,” Dean said cheerfully. “It’s your anniversary, after all.”

Sam’s mouth twitched into a shy grin despite his best efforts. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll be on my best behavior,” he said, letting Dean have one last bit of fun before he left. “You and Cas too. Don’t get into trouble.” He nodded in farewell before he climbed the stairs to the bunker door.

“Oh, and Sammy?”

Sam paused at the top of the stairs and turned around. Almost like he could sense what was coming, his eyebrow twitched in irritation. Dean hucked a box up to the landing, and Sam fumbled to catch it. Dean flashed a shit-eating grin as Sam read the Trojan label and fixed him with a scowl. “Make sure you wrap it before you tap it, Sammy.”

Sam rolled his eyes as he walked out the door.

Dean laughed to himself as he turned back to his laptop, scrolling through news articles looking for a hunt. He was still at it an hour later when Cas came shuffling into the room still in his pajamas, two cups of coffee in hand.

“Mornin’ Sunshine,” Dean crooned cheerfully. Cas’ hair was in wild disarray, and between that and his worn, brown sweatshirt and loose pajama bottoms, he looked more like a bear stumbling out of hibernation than a guy just waking up. “Sam already left.”

Cas set a mug down in front of Dean before slumping down into the chair beside him. “I hope he and Eileen have fun this week,” he mumbled as he hunched over his coffee.

Dean smiled at how adorable Cas looked, all grumpy and sleep-ruffled. He was still an angel...somewhat. He had Grace, if only a little. So close to mortality, Cas often needed mundane human things like sleep and food. He wasn’t particularly thrilled about it. In fact, he was so irritated about the whole thing that Dean hadn’t been able to work up the nerve to invite him to sleep in his room, instead of alone. Dean chewed on his lower lip. Maybe after this case, things would change.

“Are you looking up a case?” Cas asked, tilting toward Dean’s screen.

“Uh...yeah.” With forced casualness, Dean turned the laptop so Cas could read a headline from last year: “Gruesome Death at Bed and Breakfast Leaves Locals Worried.” “Over the past forty years, there’ve been six deaths at this B&B. All either heart attacks or a brain hemorrhage. All without a scratch on ‘em. Always a couple. Always on the same night: this Friday. That sure screams ‘ghost’ to me.”

“Key West?” Cas asked as he scanned the article. “Florida? That’s quite a drive.”

Dean shrugged. His fingers tapped against the tabletop. “It is, but hell, why not? Sam gets the week off with Eileen, why can’t we have a little vacation too?”

Cas narrowed his eyes. Suspicious. He was suspicious. Was a little time off really so bad? “You haven’t taken a vacation the entire time I’ve known you.”

“Yeah, well…” Dean struggled to come up with a good excuse. “That was, ya know. Before.”

“Before,” Cas repeated stiffly.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Before everything.” He gestured around his head. Before Cas told him he loved him and immediately died. Before Dean rescued him from The Empty. Before they wound up in this awkward, stilted Angel’s-First-Romance training wheels relationship Dean found them in.

That seemed to placate Cas. He nodded and took another sip of coffee. “The beach would be nice…”

Dean broke into a grin. “Better than nice! Toes in the sand, drinks with little umbrellas… That’s better than paradise.” He gave Cas’ shoulder a friendly pat. Then--because he could, couldn’t he?--Dean let his hand run along the broad expanse of Cas’ shoulder and gently cup the back of his neck.

This was okay, right? He’d held back on any sort of real PDA because of how uncomfortable Cas would act. And that was okay. He understood. Angels and intimacy...Well, angels just worked differently than humans. And it was all new to Cas! It took him over a decade to say he loved Dean. It would probably take awhile before he was ready to hold hands.

But this wasn’t very much, right? Just a light hand on the back of his neck. This was about as innocent as things got!

Except Cas went stiff under Dean, and Dean took the hint and pulled his hand away as he bit back a sigh. So much for that.

His eyes trailed back to his laptop. Hopefully this getaway would change things, help Cas loosen up and finally see that they could act even a little like a couple now. A romantic beach, warm sunshine, half-naked romps in the water, a cozy and only slightly haunted bed and breakfast…

What could go wrong?

----

Three days and one slightly terrifying highway over the ocean later, Dean and Cas pulled into a parking space for a charming bed and breakfast painted in a lovely pale--

“Lavender?” Dean balked at the decidedly dainty color of the siding. “I know they like their pastels here, but geez…”

“It’s just a paint color,” Cas said as he crossed around to the trunk and started unloading their bags. The duffle full of salt, shotguns, and various iron weapons clanked ominously. He shouldered it carefully so it wouldn’t make so much noise.

“This whole street is like friggin’ Candy Land.” Dean eyeballed the canary yellow house across the street suspiciously as they made their way to the front door.

The inside was clearly the result of a scandalous love affair between a Jimmy Buffet concert and a Hallmark store--All tacky tropical themed furniture and a dizzying array of porcelain figurines.

Dean grinned from ear to ear and elbowed Cas. At Cas’ inquisitive eyebrow, Dean nodded his head to a shelf full of long-haired, sad-eyed blonde angels. Cas rolled his eyes while Dean laughed to himself.

“Hello! Can I help you?” An older woman sat behind a small reception desk, smiling warmly at them in the glow of her ancient computer.

Dean put on his best people-pleasing smile. “Yes you can. Hi, I’m Dean, and this is my, uh…” Dean glanced over to Cas and his eyes crinkled in delight. “Cas. This is my boyfriend, Cas.” Just the word caused a giddy bubble of effervescence to float inside Dean’s chest. After all this time, they were really here. This was real.

Cas offered the receptionist a small, tight smile before turning his studious gaze to the figurines on the wall shelves. The woman furrowed her brow, so Dean charged forward with the conversation before Cas’ awkwardness put her off. If they were going to pry into the case here, they needed her to be friendly with them. “I booked a reservation for this weekend. It--Are you guys still open? It’s kinda quiet in here.” Dean glanced around the empty living space. There weren’t any other cars parked outside either.

The woman waved off his concerns. “Oh yes, it’s just the off season right now. Some weekends are like that.” She spoke a little too quickly as she clicked through her computer. Dean suspected all the news articles about bloody deaths had something to do with it. “Not hard to find your reservation. You’re our only guests tonight.” She grabbed two keys off a hook and held them out for Dean. “You’ll be in room 4, down at the end of the hallway upstairs. It’s the largest one. If you need extra towels or anything, let me know. I’m Susan.”

Sensing they were about to be dismissed, Dean swerved into a distraction. “You know, we’ve been on the road for ages. Do you have any coffee or anything like that? A little wakeup before we hit the beach?”

Susan pushed back from the desk. “Oh of course! I was about to get some for myself, actually. I’ll be right back.”

“Keep an eye out for anything suspicious, Cas,” Dean muttered as Susan disappeared down a hallway. “Anything out of place or really old. You know, haunted stuff.” Cas nodded, and Dean covertly pulled his EMF reader out of his jacket pocket and flicked it on. It was silent. They both made a pass of the room, pretending to look around.

“Here we are!” Susan said brightly, expertly holding three coffee mugs in her hands. Dean jumped a little and hastily put his device away before turning around. “I hope cream and sugar is okay.”

“Any caffeine is fine,” he assured her as he and Cas took their mugs. “So Susan, what is there to do around here? You know, other than what Yelp says. The insider’s scoop.” Dean winked as he took a sip of his coffee.

Susan smiled. “Well, if nightlife is your thing, there are some great spots within walking distance.”

Dean chuckled. “C’mon, Susan. Does this guy look like much of a dancer?” He grinned fondly at Cas as he draped his arm over his shoulders. It was ridiculous how much his stomach fluttered from the small action, but dammit, after all they’d been through to get here, Dean had earned a few butterflies. He squeezed Cas’ shoulder even though Cas didn’t really react. Dean was definitely going to have to clarify that the personal space rule didn’t apply anymore.

“Well, the restaurant down the street also does an excellent brunch,” Susan offered instead.

“Now that’s more our speed.” Maybe if the hunt went well they could actually stay the night, instead of getting the hell out of Dodge before the cops chased them down. Keep their salt and burn quiet and enjoy a nice night in. Dean tried not to get his hopes up for sharing a bed with Cas.

And he did mean sharing a bed. Things were moving so slowly between him and Cas he’d be thrilled just to spoon, nevermind anything else. Dean bit back a sigh as he swept over all of the knick-knacks and decorations, hoping for some sort of clue as to the identity of their ghost. “I’ve gotta say, I love the decor. Is all of this your collection?” Maybe a haunted object? Or a cursed one?

“Most of it.” A faint twinge of wistfulness colored Susan’s words as she looked over the porcelain figurines. “My Marcy liked to collect the angels, but that was years and years ago.”

On a high shelf was a large urn next to an oil painting of a young woman that immediately pinged Dean’s hunter’s instincts. “That’s a lovely painting over there,” he said, catching Cas’ eye meaningfully. Cas turned around to look too.

Susan’s face melted into a quiet, sad smile. “Yes, that’s my Marcy right there. A self-portrait. She was such a talented artist.”

Cas tilted his head. “She was your...wife?” he guessed.

Susan’s face crumpled. “No. No we were never…” She took a deep breath and continued in a steadier tone. “She was my business partner, but I loved her. Very much. And I knew she loved me too. So I suppose you could say we were almost together. Should have been together.” Her lower lip trembled.

“If you don’t mind my asking, what stopped you?” Dean felt bad for pressing her for information that was clearly upsetting, but people’s lives were at stake. Possibly Susan’s own.

Susan curled her hands around her mug, staring into the steaming coffee with a far off look in her eyes. “I was afraid. Of my own feelings. Of opening myself to getting hurt. So I...When Marcy needed me to be honest about how I felt I...I let her down. She got mad...We fought...She ran off. There was an accident, and...Well...” Susan took another deep breath. Her eyes were glassy with tears and heavy with regret. “Today is the anniversary of the day she died.”

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” Dean said, injecting even more sincerity into his words even though he expected as much. Marcy was the best lead so far. Was she attacking people on the anniversary of her death? She was obviously cremated, but perhaps there was something keeping her tied here?

“Not your fault,” she said with the heaviness of one who had heard those words hundreds of times. She shook her head. “You’re not the reason she--” Susan cut herself off and swallowed down her tears. Despite her best efforts, a single tear trailed down her cheek.

“It sounds like you loved her very much,” Cas said, his voice infused with genuine sympathy.

“She was my world. I loved her more than she’ll ever know...” Again Susan fell silent, this time lost in thought.

Then, with a deep, resettling breath, she wiped at her eyes with the edge of her finger and forced a cheerful expression. “But enough of that. You’re my guests. You don’t need to hear all of that! Do you need anything while you get settled in? More towels? Recommendations for restaurants?”

Dean shook his head, “Appreciate it ma’am, but we’ll probably just grab whatever’s convenient around here.”

“Well, would you like to eat here? Usually I don’t serve dinner for guests, but since it’s only the two of you, I can cook up something if you’d like. I honestly wouldn’t mind the company.”

Sensing another opportunity to interview Susan, Dean smiled his very best ‘comforting the bereaved’ smile. “We’d like that very much, Susan. Thank you for offering.” Then, carefully timed almost like an afterthought, he added, “Oh, and what’s the wifi password?”

Upstairs their room was somewhat small but airy. The walls were a crisp, breezy blue, the linens bright white. There was even a gauzy white canopy draped around the four-poster bed. Dean grinned. One bed. Surely that was cause for some optimism about tonight.

“I dunno about you, but I’m gonna sleep like a log tonight,” he said with the most casual tone he could muster as he grabbed the weapons bag off Cas’ shoulder and deposited it on the duvet. “What about you? Think you’ll need a couple z’s?” ‘Please say yes.’

Cas eyed the bed. Something strange flickered across his face. Something heavy, even sad. Dean immediately felt like a jackass for reminding Cas about his weak Grace. “I mean, who knows how you’ll feel tonight,” Dean added hastily. He started digging through his bag for his laptop. “Get some sea air in your lungs, and you might wake right up.”

Cas pursed his lips. “I suppose so,” he said, his voice carefully neutral. He turned away from Dean and started roaming the room, looking over the artwork on the walls and the little beachy decorations on the furniture. He came to a stop.

“This looks like Susan and Marcy,” he said, letting his fingers trail along the frame of a painting over the dresser.

“Yeah?” Dean looked up from his booting laptop. It was an oil painting like the one downstairs, with a young couple in bright dresses making each other laugh in front of a backdrop of a stormy gray ocean. One was undeniably a much younger Susan. Marcy looked the same as she did in the painting downstairs.

Cas frowned a little and pulled his hand back from the frame. He glanced around the ceiling and only relaxed when he saw an air-conditioning vent gently humming nearby. Dean shrugged it off and turned back to his laptop. He set right to work searching through the local newspaper archives and breaking into the coroner’s office servers. Finding their ghost was only a matter of time.

“Got it. Marcy Daniels. Died forty-three years ago tonight.” Dean flipped his laptop around so Cas could read the news article. “Hit by a car. Right outside this house. Died before she even got to the hospital.”

Cas squinted at the screen. The photo attached to the article looked just like the woman in the paintings. “And you think she’s the ghost?”

Dean shrugged. “Seems as good a guess as any. Violent death. Susan said they were fighting right before. Probably something happened between them that left Marcy pissed off enough to stay in the veil.”

Cas nodded. “We should ask her about it.”

“Nah, she’s not gonna let us grill her about her dead partner like that. We’ll strike up a conversation at dinner. That should give us enough time to figure out what’s keeping Marcy here before she attacks tonight.”

Cas deferred to Dean’s hunting experience. “Well then what should we do until then?”

Dean grinned from ear to ear. “What do you think we should do? To the beach!”

---

Dean shut the trunk of the Impala and straightened his back, lifting his face to the breeze blowing in from the sea. He breathed in deeply. “God, smell that salt air…” he said with a wistful smile. When he turned to Cas, the angel was looking at him with fondness, warmth making his blue eyes brighter. Dean’s smile grew, and he lifted up his sunglasses to flash Cas a playful wink. Cas quickly ducked his head and started walking.

Dean bit back a groan as he followed behind him with their beach bag. What was he doing wrong? He was trying to be gentle, to give Cas enough space to adjust to the idea that they were together now on his own. After all of the crap they’d been through together, after so many things keeping them apart, he understood why Cas was struggling. Hell, he’d been squashing down his feelings for so long, Cas probably didn’t know how to let himself have this happiness.

At least, that was what Dean kept telling himself. Deep down, though, he was afraid that Cas’ feelings were changing.

“There’s a good spot,” Dean said, jogging up behind Cas and forcing down his depressing thoughts before they could meet up with his self-loathing and really cause problems. He grabbed Cas’ arm and tugged him toward an unoccupied part of the sand. The weather was a little too temperamental this time of year to attract huge crowds, but there were still plenty of people out enjoying the sunshine.

Cas let himself be led, his flip-flops flapping awkwardly over the sand. Dean laughed a little, even though his footing wasn’t much better. When they’d walked far enough away from the boardwalk, Dean unceremoniously dropped their bag and dug out a large blanket to lay out.

“Perfect,” he declared as he tipped up his sunglasses to survey his work. He plopped down on the blanket and shucked off his shirt. A quick glance up let him catch the way Cas’ eyes widened for a fraction of a second before his expression smoothed over. Dean wiggled his eyebrows at Cas, but he didn’t see because he turned around like a friggin’ Victorian lady in order to pull off his own shirt before he sat down in front of Dean, facing the ocean. Dean’s gaze swept down the broad, muscular expanse of Cas’ back, and he could barely contain the heat in his eyes and in his grin.

Only then did Cas glance over his shoulder and catch Dean’s eye. Dean bit his lip suggestively, his grin widening, but Cas’ cheeks turned lightly pink and turned his head away. He rubbed at the back of his neck. Nervous, huh? Well that was alright. Dean could lighten the mood.

He held up the bottle of sunscreen. “Alright, let’s spackle your back.”

“I don’t think that’s necessary, Dean,” Cas said, not turning around. His voice sounded even more gruff than usual, which was certainly saying something.

“Nonsense!” Dean was already squirting a healthy dollop of sunscreen in his palm. “You can get sunburned, same as the rest of us.”

Cas sighed heavily. His shoulders twitched, tense, but he didn’t protest when Dean slapped his hand at the middle of his back.

Dean set to work rubbing the cream into Cas’ warm skin. “See? This is nice. It’s like a mini-massage.” He made sure to move slowly, almost caressing him. His stomach fluttered with the faintest whisper of excitement. This was the closest thing he’d gotten to action in months, after all. And Cas’ back was nice. Broad and firm and far more muscular than Dean would have guessed. His heart did a little tapdance at knowing that he was allowed to freely ogle now.

“I like seeing you out of the trenchcoat,” Dean said, now using both hands to stroke up and down Cas’ skin. Cas tensed again. “I mean, you look good under all those layers,” Dean said hastily, afraid that the reminder of his waning Grace was too painful. “When did you get so beefy?” Dean slid his hands up to Cas’ shoulders and then down his thick arms. He squeezed them playfully as he shifted closer, letting his knees bump against him.

He leaned in close so he could almost whisper, “Wish I could see it somewhere other than the beach.”

Cas’ back became hard as marble. He lowered his head. “That’s enough, Dean,” he said softly. His voice trembled with some barely contained emotion Dean didn’t understand.

Disappointment rose up Dean’s throat like bile. “Seriously? I’m almost done!”

Cas twisted around, his face pulled into a scowl. His cheeks were flushed. “Dean! I’m an angel! I don’t need this!”

Dean pulled back. “What? I can’t even put sunscreen on you now?” he demanded.

Cas didn’t have an answer to that. He only glared, his eyes flickering with something Dean couldn’t quite figure out. Pain? Longing? Regret?

Knowing Dean’s penchant for screwing things up all the time, it was almost certainly the latter.

Cas breathed out a long, frustrated breath and rose to his feet. “I’m...going for a walk,” he said. He folded his arms over his bare chest.

“Cas,” Dean pleaded. What had he done wrong? Why was Cas so mad?

Cas shook his head. “Please, Dean.” With one last glance filled with that strange, heartache-inducing emotion, Cas turned and started walking down the beach alone.

Dean stared after him as he left. “What the hell?” he said under his breath. The sting of rejection quietly throbbed in his chest as he turned his gaze to the ocean. What had he done to piss Cas off? Had he really crossed a boundary, or was something else wrong? Cas had been so weird since he’d been back. Shouldn’t he be happy? Hell, telling Dean he loved him was the happiest Cas had ever been, right? That was part of his deal with The Empty!

Did he regret it? Did he change his mind? Maybe Cas really didn’t want to have Dean. Not for real. Maybe that was why Cas never told him how he felt before. He had to have known Dean loved him long before his deal with The Empty came along. Maybe there was a reason Cas hadn’t said anything about it before.

Maybe Cas knew that Dean would screw things up if they got together. Maybe he was trying to pull away from Dean, make it easier to break things off when it all came crashing down.

Dean stewed in his thoughts, his expression dark as he watched the waves. He lost track of time until a pair of children came racing past him, screaming in delight and startling him out of his thoughts. He pulled at his phone to glance at the time. Cas had been gone over half an hour. Way too long. Dean looked down the beach, almost expecting to see Cas trudging back up the beach back to him, but he didn’t see any sign of him. But Cas couldn’t have left left. Dean had the car keys! Quietly cursing, Dean pulled out his phone and dialed Cas’ number.

...And heard a familiar ringtone coming out of their bag.

“Dammit, Cas!” Dean growled as he hung up. He stood up, but he still couldn’t see Cas. Had something happened? What if he’d gone in the water? What if he’d gotten pulled out to sea by a riptide? Despite knowing Cas didn’t even know how to swim, worry dripped ice cold down Dean’s spine, and before he knew it he was walking down the beach along the path Cas had taken.

“Cas!” he called out, but he didn’t see him. Dean started walking faster. He scanned the beach for a familiar dark head of hair and the bright orange swim trunks Dean had picked out for him. “CAS!” He was beginning to fear the worst.

“You lookin’ for someone?” a concerned voice called out. Dean whipped his head around to a small family sitting underneath an umbrella.

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, my buddy Cas.” Dean jogged over to them. “You see him walk by? Kinda beefy, kinda dorky. Dark hair, orange trunks, about yea high.” He held his palm flat about eye level.

The woman who spoke nodded. “Yeah, I think so. I saw him walking back toward town, though.” She pointed over her shoulder.

Dean furrowed his brow. Did Cas walk back on his own? Irritation flared in his chest as he forced a cordial smile and thanked the woman before jogging back the way he came. He didn’t see any sign of Cas back at their blanket either.

Dean scowled. Maybe he had walked back. Running off without a word was infuriatingly in-character for him. Dean cursed under his breath as he hastily packed up their things and started stomping up the beach toward the car.

What was even such a big deal? If Cas supposedly loved him so much, was rubbing his back that bad? Dean was trying to give him space, he really was, but the way Cas was acting, it was like he didn’t even like Dean, nevermind love him!

The thought clenched tight around Dean’s heart as he drove back to the bed and breakfast. Maybe he didn’t anymore. Maybe Cas was getting sick of him. Twelve years in each other’s lives, it was bound to happen eventually.

Maybe what angels considered love and what humans considered love was just different.

Dark thoughts still swirled in Dean’s head as he returned to the bed and breakfast and marched up the stairs.

“Dude, what the hell?!” Dean charged into their room, anger burning hot as his glare zeroed in on the angel sitting in a chair. “You can’t just go running off like that! You left your phone behind!”

Cas carefully closed the book he was reading. He was fully clothed again. “It’s not a long walk back here. I assumed you’d know where I’d gone.”

“I was worried sick about you! What if you went in the ocean and something happened?”

Cas narrowed his eyes. “I wouldn’t do that. You know I can’t swim.”

“You can’t just go stomping off whenever you get mad!”

Cas closed his eyes. “I’m not mad,” he said, though the growl in his voice suggested otherwise.

“Like hell you’re not!” Dean shot back. “So what is it? I can’t touch you now? It’s freakin’ sunscreen, Cas. Is it really that big of a deal?”

Cas’ eyes flew open. “Yes!” he said, deeply pained. “Dean, does it really matter so little to you that you’re okay with just ignoring it?”

Dean was brought up short. “Does what matter?”

“Me!” Cas plastered his hand over his chest. He almost looked like he could cry. “I told you how I felt and you insist on acting like nothing happened!”

Dean blinked. “What? That’s...that’s not true, Cas!”

“Dean! You didn’t say anything! Not once since you brought me back, have you said anything about the fact that I love you! And you may think that by ignoring it and trying to force things back the way they were before that you can lock up that Pandora’s Box again, but you can’t! I can’t. I can’t…”

Dean took a step forward, his expression darkening with confusion. “Cas, what’re you talking about?” He didn’t understand. Why did Cas look so hurt? So heartbroken? Cas loved him. Dean loved Cas. So why wasn’t he happy? What had Dean done wrong? “Cas, I--”

Cold mist curled up from Dean’s mouth.

They both went tense and still as they noticed just how cold the room had gotten. The lamp on the bedside table flickered.

“Shit,” Dean muttered under his breath. His eyes darted to the open dufflebag on their bed with all of their weapons.

He made a move for it, but a figure flickered into being in front of him. She was wearing a torn, bloody sundress. Her long, straw-colored hair was plastered to the half of her gaunt face where it was smashed in, blood staining it crimson. The ghost took a step toward Dean. Thick, dark blood dripped from her head but never reached the floor.

“Marcy,” Dean breathed. Guess she didn’t need to wait for nightfall after all.

“Coward,” the ghost menaced as she took another step closer. Dean carefully backed up. “Can’t even say it. Even when you’re hurting him. Coward!”

Dean’s eyes flickered to Cas, who was edging toward their weapons bag. He tried to make the movement quick, but the ghost noticed. With a vicious growl she flung out her hand and Cas went flying into the far wall.

“Don’t worry,” the ghost said to Cas, and the venom in her voice dropped into twisted sympathy. “I’ll take your pain away soon.”

Cas struggled to his feet as the ghost rounded on Dean again. Her outstretched hand aimed directly at Dean’s head, fingers curled into a wicked claw. But before she could touch him, Cas made another attempt at the duffle. She shrieked in fury and sent it spinning through the air toward the window. A single iron poker tumbled out of the open zipper as it flipped over and smashed against the glass, shattering it. The bag tumbled to the ground below.

Cas lurched for the poker. “Dean!” he called as he tossed it through the air, directly through the ghost. She howled and dissipated into smoke while Dean barely managed to close his fingers around the weapon. Cas and Dean stood back to back as they circled the room, Dean holding the iron poker at the ready.

“Salt,” Dean barked. “We need salt!” Except all of theirs was now two stories below. Dean silently cursed. “The kitchen! Go! I’m right behind you!”

Cas nodded and made for the door. The lights were flickering again. He and Dean narrowly made it into the hallway when their bedroom door slammed shut behind them. They raced for the stairs and nearly collided with Susan.

“Cas, Dean, what’s going on?” Her eyes were panicked, taking in the cut on Cas’ temple and the iron poker in Dean’s grip. Mist followed her words out of her mouth.

“Look out!” Dean reached for Susan, but he was flung backward by an invisible force. Marcy flickered into existence over him again. “Salt, Susan! We need salt!” he cried out before the ghost clamped its cold hand around his throat. Dean scrambled from his poker, but it had fallen just out of reach. His other hand grappled with Marcy’s, trying to pull it away.

He couldn’t see with the ghost pinning him down, but he was pretty sure he heard Susan’s footsteps racing away. Good. Even if she didn’t come back, at least she was somewhere safer. Black dots started to swim in Dean’s vision.

“Hey! Marcy!” A ceramic angel went flying through the air and smashed into a framed photo on the wall next to them, shattering the glass. Marcy snarled and whipped her head around. Her grip on Dean’s neck loosened a little, and Dean sucked in as many painful gasps as he could get.

“This is what you’re about, huh?” Cas goaded. He stood next to an accent table full of figurines, another ceramic angel in his hand, fat load of good that would do against a ghost. “Exacting revenge against shitty lovers?” Dean stretched his arm until his muscles strained. He could barely feel the length of the iron rod brush against his fingertips. If Cas could keep stalling for just a little longer... “I think anger has clouded your judgement.” Cas’ lips twisted into a bitter smirk. “You have no reason to attack Dean. Can’t you tell? He doesn’t love me.”

The statement caught Dean completely off-guard. His hand stilled as he gaped at Cas. “What?” he rasped around the ghostly hand on his throat. Didn’t love him!?

The ghost growled at Cas. She raised her arm as if to psychically toss him toward the stairway, but right at that moment, Susan barreled up the stairs, a blue canister of salt in her hand.

“I have the salt!” she said, and with panic and desperation in her eyes she blindly flung the open canister at Dean and the ghost. Salt flung in a wide arc and rained down on Marcy, who screamed and disappeared instantly.

Dean rolled onto his side, coughing weakly as he grabbed onto the iron poker and clutched it against his chest. Cas ran to him, only stopping to grab the canister of salt. He hastily drew a circle around them, draining the last of the salt on their protection ring. “Susan, get in the circle!” he commanded as he knelt beside Dean.

“You don’t think I love you?” Dean choked out between gasps for air. His head was spinning. Cas’ hand on his shoulder helped a lot, but when Dean asked his question Cas quickly yanked it away. “How could you think that?” he said, genuinely confused.

“What’s going on? Why did that...that thing look like my Marcy?!” Susan nearly flung herself into the circle with them. She clutched at her chest, casting her terrified gaze around the room.

“Her ghost,” Cas said, though he didn’t take his eyes off Dean. His brow furrowed. “Dean, you haven’t--”

“Ghost?!” Susan screeched. “Then what the hell are we doing standing here?!”

“Salt repels ghosts,” Cas replied with way more patience than Dean would have had. “She can’t come into the circle.”

“What’s going on?” Susan’s eyes went huge, her face going pale. “She...She killed those people last year, didn’t she? How do we stop her?”

“Usually burn her remains, if anything is left,” Cas said, “but she was cremated, wasn’t she? So something else is tethering her here. Perhaps a locket? Something she cherishes.”

Susan frowned, panicked eyes darting around in front of her as she mulled it over. “Her painting,” she said with a gasp. “The one in your room. She finished it right before our argument! Right before she ran out into the street and was hit by the car. It was precious to her. She put her everything into it, tried to use it to confess her love for me, and I...I was too much of a coward to say it back. That’s why we fought.”

Cas and Dean’s eyes met, and they both nodded. Dean grunted as he pushed himself to his feet, poker still clutched to his chest. “Susan, stay here. Whatever happens, don’t leave the circle. Cas, I’ll keep her busy. You burn the painting.”

As one unit Cas and Dean left the salt circle.

Immediately the hallway burst into chaos. Doors slammed shut everywhere. The knick-knacks and travel guides on the accent table went flying through the air. The lights flickered until their bulbs burst, leaving only the light of the window at the far end to help them see.

They ran.

“You don’t think I love you?” Dean demanded, because a deadly ghost hunt seemed as good a time as any to have this conversation. Some things were too damn important to wait for downtime.

“Because you don’t!” Cas snapped. He threw himself at the shut door of their room, but it was supernaturally sealed. He grunted and tried again. Marcy appeared at his side, a ghostly hand reaching for his chest, a snarl on her lips.

“Cas, of course I love you, you idiot!” Dean swung at Marcy, forcing her to disappear again. Cas slammed himself against the unmoving door. “How could you think I don’t?”

“Dean, I died--” Cas slammed into the door again. His eyes glowed faintly with his weakened Grace. “Telling you how I felt. And you said--” Another crash; the door cracked ominously. “Nothing about it since I’ve been back!”

Marcy flickered into being next to them again. Dean knocked her away with the poker.

“I thought you knew! I thought you didn’t love me and that’s why you never said anything!”

“I told you!” With one final crash, Cas burst through the door and into the room, Dean hot on his heels. They ran for the dresser. “I told you the one thing I wanted, I couldn’t have! That thing was you, Dean!” Cas yanked the painting off the wall and threw it on the ground, shattering its glass and exposing the paper.

Marcy screamed in fury and appeared in front of him. She flung him at the dresser just as Dean dispersed her with a forceful swing. He flipped the poker in his hand, readying himself to strike again while Cas scrambled to his feet, lighter freed from his pocket and held at the ready.

“Because of the Empty!” Dean insisted. Marcy’s form materialized again, and Dean raised his weapon as she approached. “You couldn’t have me because of the deal with the Empty!”

Cas fumbled with the lighter. “I can’t have you because. You. Don’t. Love me!” It finally lit. Cas threw it onto the painting, sending it up in flames.

Marcy howled in agony as her body sparked and burned. She raised her head skyward as if to escape from the rising flames, but in a flash of heat and bright orange light, she was gone, and Cas and Dean were left standing alone in the room.

They stared at each other in the sudden, violent silence. Cas’ face was a mask of frustration and pain.

“Dean, I’ve been back for months. Months. And you have said nothing about how you feel. Do not lie to me now because you feel sorry for me.” With one last heartbroken glare, Cas stomped out of the room, leaving Dean behind to stamp out the flaming remains of the painting.

Once Dean didn’t need to worry about burning the house down, he went looking for Cas. He found him outside, loading up their scattered weapons into the trunk of the Impala.

He looked shattered. His face was crumpled with pain, his eyes dull, deep furrows in his brow. It brought Dean up short. Guilt welled up so intense that Dean almost couldn’t say anything at all. Except, well, that had gotten him into this situation in the first place.

“I thought you knew,” Dean called across the distance between them. Cas stopped and turned to look at him. The bitterness in his eyes made Dean’s stomach churn. “I thought you knew,” he said again. He took a step toward Cas. “For years I thought you knew. But, you know, you’re an angel. I thought you didn’t...I thought you couldn’t…” He trailed off. Cas’ forehead was furrowed in confusion, but he was at least listening, so Dean swallowed down his discomfort and barreled forward. “I thought angels couldn’t fall in love. Except...then you died telling me you did. Telling me that the reason you couldn’t even tell me how you felt was because being happy would trigger your deal and…” He shrugged.

“You thought I was deliberately keeping us apart?”

“Because if you told me you felt the same, then we’d be together and you’d be happy and you’d die.”

The bitterness had faded from Cas’ eyes, replaced with something that Dean was loath to acknowledge looked a little bit like pity mixed with profound frustration. “So when I came back, you thought there wasn’t anything left to talk about?”

Dean scratched the back of his neck and took another step forward. “Yeah well…What else was there to say? You said you, you know, loved me. And I thought you knew that I, you know…” He trailed off.

“Dean.” Dean had never heard Cas sound so pained just saying his name. “You.” Cas scrubbed at his face. His mouth twitched as he struggled to find words for all the ways Dean had screwed up. Was continuing to screw up.

“The hoops that you jump through to avoid talking about your feelings astound me,” Cas finally said. He dropped his hand with a sigh of defeat, and Dean’s heart sank. This was it. The death rattles of a relationship that hadn’t even really started. Dean never had what he truly wanted, and he never would.

Dean ducked his head, unable to look Cas in the eye. “Right. Yeah. That’s me, alright.” He swallowed around the hard lump in his throat. The long drive back to Kansas was going to be awful.

“Say it,” Cas said softly. His words were a command, but when Dean looked up in surprise, his eyes were pleading. “Please,” he breathed, almost like he didn’t deserve to even ask, and something inside Dean cracked.

“I love you, Cas.” One step, two steps, he crossed the distance between them and threw his arms around Cas’ shoulders, clinging to him the way he wished he could have before the Empty took Cas away. “It’s you, Cas. It can only be you. It’s only been you for years. I promise.”

Cas’ next breath stuttered in his lungs. His arms wound tightly around Dean, desperate. “Dean,” he sighed, this time like a prayer.

“I’m right here, buddy.” Dean held him tightly, the way he should have when he first got Cas back from the Empty. The way Dean wanted to all these months when he thought...Well, when he was an idiot. “You can have me, you know. You already have me.”

Cas pulled back enough to look Dean in the eye. His eyes were glassy. Dean’s didn’t exactly feel dry either. ‘I wonder if I can kiss him,’ Dean thought, milliseconds before Cas did just that.

Cas’ lips were warm against his own, and Dean gasped softly as his hand wound through Cas’ thick hair to cradle the back of his head. His kiss was eager, if not clumsy, and Dean smiled a little as he let Cas take the lead anyway. When they finally pulled apart, Cas’ normally pale lips were flushed pink, and Dean’s soft smile morphed into a huge, affectionate grin.

“Hey,” Dean said, his voice surprisingly husky after a largely innocent kiss.

Cas smiled back. “Hello, Dean,” he said, and Dean couldn’t help it. He laughed. God, how he loved this angel.

“So whadya say, Cas?” Dean said when his laughter quieted. “Ready to get the hell outta Dodge?”

Cas’ hands slid down Dean’s back until they were resting on his hips. “Actually…” His gaze turned wistfully in the direction of the distant beach. “I had a different idea.”

---

“You sure this is okay, Cas?”

“Dean…”

“Cuz I mean, I want to respect your boundaries.”

“Dean!”

“And I totally understand if I’m crossing a line here.”

Cas twisted around and gave Dean and his closed bottle of sunscreen a baleful look. Dean couldn’t help but laugh. “If I get sunburned, you can get your own room tonight.”

“You’re probably not even going to sleep anyway,” Dean shot back.

“I’ll sleep just to spite you.” Cas scowled, but Dean could see the corners of his lips twitching playfully. With a rush of affection, Dean shifted so that Cas’ bare back was pressed against his chest and Dean could rest his chin on Cas’ shoulder. Cas went stiff against his body, but it only lasted a second before he practically melted into Dean’s hold. Dean wrapped his arms around him as he watched the waves.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Dean said with a sigh.

“Yes,” Cas breathed, but he wasn’t looking at the sea.

Heat rushed to Dean’s cheeks. He cleared his throat and kept his gaze solidly on the ocean. “You’re such a sap,” he grumbled weakly.

“You’ll get used to it.” Dean could see Cas’ smirk in the corner of his eye. Dean tightened his embrace.

“I dunno if I ever will,” he said quietly, a soft smile on his lips as he finally got to hold his angel.

#starrynightdeancas gift exchange #userstarry #deanwinchesteradjacent #destiel #deancas #destiel fanfic #deancas fanfic #destiel fanfiction #deancas fanfiction #supernatural #spn #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester #castiel #katie writes things #long post

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britishassistant · 4 years ago

Note

Supervillain AU! I formally request the special addition of Yuu’s first kidnapping please.

Thank you for the ask, dear anon!

“Yoo-hoo, Reporter-chan? Wakey-wakey, it’ll be bad for you if you don’t get up soon~”

Yuu shakes their head groggily, the sing-songy voice not helping the pounding in their temple.

“Did someone get the number of the truck that hit me?” They mumble, blinking to try and get their eyes to focus.

“Dammit Deuce, you gave them brain damage.” A familiar, much more annoyed sounding voice said. “Their head’s gonna be all screwy and useless now, dumbass.”

“It was just a lovetap though!” A third voice, also familiar, protested.

The floor finally stopped moving in front of their eyes and Yuu realized some very important things.

One, the floor they were staring at was not the floor of the library where they last remembered being.

Two: Their arms and legs seemed to be tied tight to the arms and legs of an iron garden chair.

Three: There are many odd-looking people standing near them, all in clothes that are too coordinated not to be a uniform but too outlandish to represent a government group of some kind.

Oh Great Seven, Yuu thinks with a rising sort of hysteria. It’s finally happened.

Clowns have come to take me away for not brushing my teeth enough like Mom said when I was little.

“...Are ya sure you didn’t break ‘em?”

“...”

“Deuce.”

Yuu wonders if they should feel offended at being talked around like this.

“Enough of this nonsense!” A hand seizes Yuu’s chin and pulls their head up to face the latest speaker. An imperious-looking young man stands and walks towards the reporter, clicking his fingers. “Three of Clovers.”

A tall man in glasses hands the imperious young man what Yuu recognizes as their wallet. The shorter man glances at the contents disdainfully. “You. First and last name and age, now.”

“Y-Yuu Radcliffe, 23 years.” The reporter stutters, their initial hysteria morphing into a sinking feeling in their gut. If not the clowns, then... “Can I ask who I have the pleasure of talking to?”

“No.” The redhead holding their wallet snaps. “Current occupation and birthday?”

“Field reporter at TWST local news.” They force themselves to relax the fists their hands have balled into. “March 18th.”

Remember what Uncle Divvy always says. Stay calm, act cooperative, do or say whatever you need to to avoid injury. Any supervillains on this level trying to curry favor with or blackmail the dumb bird will have to go through Uncle Divvy first to contact him, and he’ll take care of the rest.

All Yuu needs to do is keep themselves alive until then.

They still can’t help but dread what they know is coming next.

The supervillain seems to notice their distress, and smirks cruelly. He takes his time walking forward and leaning down until he’s on the reporter’s eye level, hands resting on the back of the chair and eyes flicking over their face, almost as if he’s savoring the moment before he makes their life that much more painful.

Yuu braces themselves as he opens his mouth–!

“What is the best type of tea?”

Huh?

“Wait, what? I don’t—” Yuu asks, backpedalling as the supervillain’s face grows stormy at their lack of response. “Uuh...green tea? I guess? I mean, it’s the one I like the most, but I’m more of a coffee or hot cocoa person, so I’m not the best one to ask...”

The person holding their chin sucks in through their teeth and the annoyed familiar voice outside their periphary snickers “Oooh, busted~”

The supervillain is beginning to go as red as his hair, and the reporter can hear his teeth grinding. His hands are now gripping the back of the chair so tight Yuu would almost swear they hear the metal by their ears creak.

“Ri–Royal.” The man with glasses says.

The supervillain inhales and exhales almost violently, until what’s visible of his face under that mask is looking less flushed.

“The correct answer,” He says, voice trembling with emotion. “Was all teas at their due times. To drink green tea instead of rosehip at breakfast, or lemon tea at 8pm...the nerve of your arrogance is astounding!”

Yuu...genuinely isn’t sure how they’re supposed to respond to that. Instead they just go with, “I’m sorry, I’ve never had rosehip or lemon tea. Do you like them?”

“Do I—?!” The supervillain’s mouth works soundlessly, gradually going red again. He pushes off the chair sharply. “I—the ro—i-it’s not a matter of liking!! These are the Rules!! And the Rules must be obeyed!! Three of Clovers!”

“Yes, Royal Flush?” The glasses man asks.

“The reporter is forbidden from having any montblanc after dinner, and will take two cups of lemon tea at 8pm tonight and two cups of rosehip tomorrow at breakfast.” Royal Flush flashes them a cruel smirk. “Consider it a light punishment for your impertinence.”

Yuu blinks. Tries to make sense of what they’ve just heard.

Blinks again.

“You know if you just wanted to ask me out to dinner, I’d have taken a nice invitation or a bouquet. You didn’t need to knock me out and tie me up like this, I’m not that picky. I do have Tinder.”

Glasses guy makes a choking noise and erupts into a coughing fit.

The hand that’s been holding Yuu’s chin migrates to their shoulder for support as its owner lets out an undignified snort and gasps out something that sounds vaguely like “why wasn’t I recording, that was Magicam gold!” as he giggles. He’s a redhead too, but much more orange than his boss.

There’s a sputter of hysterical laughter that has Yuu twisting their head to see the two guys and the cat from the hydroelectric plant, both with these odd-looking metal collars around their necks, but otherwise unharmed. The talking cat is trussed up in so many ropes that it looks more like a bobblehead, also wearing a weird collar.

The third redheaded one is bracing his hands on his knees, wheezing out a litany of “holy shit, holy shit” between chortles. The dark haired one is holding the cat a confused expression, cutting off his friend’s laughter when he turns to ask, “Ace, what’s tinder?”

The momentary silence lets an odd squeaking noise be heard.

One that gradually grows in volume until it’s an outright screech coming from the supervillain in front of them. He’s so red Yuu is honestly worried about his blood pressure, pointing a shaking finger at them.

“I—YOU—YOU—OFF WITH YOUR HEAD!!!”

Yuu chokes a little at the feeling of cold metal materializing around their neck, dragging their head down with its weight. The supervillain continues screeching, refusing to even look at the reporter. “YOU—! DUNGEON! RIGHT NOW!! NO DESSERTS!! GO!!”

There’s an awkward moment as Royal Flush turns away from them, as if expecting them to get up and walk out of their own accord while his back is to them.

“...So, does that mean you want them to untie me or something, or...?” Yuu wiggles their firmly bound hands and feet for emphasis.

The supervillian makes a sound like a kettle whistling, before he barks out. “Two of Spades! Ace of Hearts! GET them OUT OF MY SIGHT until they’re WILLING to COOPERATE!!”

The dark haired young man quickly shuffles forward, grabs the back of the chair, and drags it and the poor reporter attached to it out of the room and into the corridor. The metal screeches as it moves from carpet to concrete.

“Wh—Two, no, untie them first.” The man with glasses says, despairing, appearing in the doorway. “You’ll mark up the floor otherwise.”

“Ah! Sorry, senpai!” Two looks between the cat in his arms and the knots on the chair, before shoving the cat into the arms of the redhead who answers to “Ace”. Neither of them look happy with this development.

“Fgnah! Quit squeezing, ya jerk!” The cat protests, wriggling as best it can.

“Oh? What’s that? I’m sorry, I just need to make sure that greatest, lamest supervillain in the city doesn’t escape to go setting random crap in the lair on fire again.” Ace says sweetly, grip tightening.

“Tha’s your fault, an’ you know it!” The cat wheezes out, thrashing harder.

Yuu winces. “Hey, quit hurting him. Whatever he did, he doesn’t deserve this.”

The dark haired minion barks out a laugh as he tugs the ropes away from their right wrist while his redheaded counterpart sneers at them.

“Oh really? Bet you’ll change your tune real quick once you learn it’s thanks to him you’re here in the first place.” Ace of Hearts mocks. “Dumb monster sang like a damn canary when Royal pressured him a tiiiny bit, saying it was all your fault his precious ingredient is now in the sewers.”

“Tha’s a lie!” The monster? cat blurts out too quickly for comfort. “It’s all these two morons, I swear!”

“Why you little—“

“I don’t care.” Yuu cuts in before Two of Spades can hit the animal. “I didn’t destroy that thing, but even if none of you said anything, your boss would’ve found out I was involved anyway from watching my report on it on the news. So I don’t care, just-just quit hurting him.”

There’s a tense moment as the two minions stare down at the reporter. They do their best to meet the gazes without flinching.

Then the Ace of Hearts tosses the cat into their lap as the Two of Spades sinks back down to keep working on their ankle. “Fine. Since you like it so much, you can take care of it. Just don’t expect me to cover for your ass—you still owe me for the power plant.”

“I’m sorry?” Yuu curls their free arm around the bundle of rope, fur, and yowling insults and pulls it closer to them. “Shouldn’t that be the other way round?”

“You locked me in a closet with him!” Ace hisses. “Do you know how hard it was to get out before the cops came with him freaking out and messing stuff up?!”

“Oi.” Two shoots him a dark look from where he’s finished untying the reporter’s left hand. “Like you weren’t whining about us being digested until you knocked a broom over!”

“Sh-shut up!”

“Well excuse me for trying to save your lives.” Yuu bites back, rubbing the rope marks on their wrists. “Next time I’ll just run and let the sludge monster eat your unconscious bodies.”

“It’d save us all the trouble of this shit if you did!” Ace spits, jabbing a finger at his collar. “At least then we wouldn’t be on Royal’s shit list!”

Yuu lets the piece of information they were just given marinate in their brain as they glare at him. Well, now what exactly was that supposed to mean?

“Ngh...this knot won’t come loose.” Two says from by the reporter’s left foot.

“How about now?” Replies an unfamiliar voice, as a disembodied hand pulls deftly at a loop in the rope.

“Ah!” Two of Spades brightens up as the rest of the rope falls away. “Thanks a lot—”

The disembodied hand punches him in the face.

Yuu cries out in alarm at the sight of the minion falling backwards into the Ace of Hearts, knocking him down like a bowling pin.

A pair of clawed hands are then scooping them up, extra cat and all, and the reporter finds themself looking at the unsettlingly wide smile and purple cat ears of one of the city’s top heroes, running at full speed while sharpened playing cards whizz past his face and Ace calls out behind them “Senpai! It’s him again!!”

There’s a percussive boom somewhere in the distance, and screams of how the flamingos are loose as the hero winks down at Yuu. “Seems you’re a popular one today, kitten! But let’s get you back to where you where before you were so rudely catnapped, yes?”

“Not so fast, hero!” The orange haired guy choruses from the entrance to the staircase, and—from behind them as well?

The reporter’s heart sinks as more and more versions of the minion keep popping up around them, to the point where the hero is forced to stand on the bannister of the balcony they’re on.

And based on the fact that the hero hasn’t used his invisibility? Intangibility? powers, it’s likely that he can’t use them while holding Yuu and the cat.

They’re surrounded.

“You really can’t keep your paws out of anything that’s mine, can you?” Royal Flush’s tone is clipped as he glares up at the hero.

“Hey R-kun, Three-kun!” The hero pouts, hugging Yuu closer to his chest. “I come a~ll this way to play, only to find you’ve got a nyew toy you’re already playing with without me! How mean! You guys really are cruel!!”

“We’re sorry about that.” Three of Clovers says, edging closer. “If you just hand the reporter over to Four, they’ll be put away and we can all “play” together, no distractions. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

The hero makes a deliberating noise, holding Yuu out and away from him over the drop, tilting his head this way and that.

His grin grows unsettlingly wider.

“Look, R-kun, Three-kun!” The hero calls out. “Nyo hands!”

Wait, what—

The hero’s body vanishes.

Yuu and the monster cat plummet screaming past the illogically winding staircases of the evil lair.

Yuu tries to angle their body so that the frantically crying cat will be shielded from the brunt of the fall—!

“NO!!”

There’s a sound like glass shattering, and a feeling of being enveloped in something soft, cold and buoyant. The two of them bounce a few times and land back on it more gently each time.

Yuu cracks open their eyes to see that they’re seated on a strange, red, jelly-like mass. The cat in their arms tentatively sniffs, and then lunges to take a bite out of their cushion before the reporter can stop him.

“Shtrawberry?” He says through a full mouth. “Tashtes good!”

The reporter grabs him before he can go for another bite, a little thrown by his speed now that collar isn’t weighing him down. But where did this thing come from–?

Yuu looks up.

Royal Flush is leaning dangerously far over the balcony countless flights of stairs above them, one arm outstretched down towards them.

They stare at each other for a moment.

Then clawed hands fasten around Yuu’s waist again with a cheery “Nyow wasn’t that fun?” and Royal Flush visibly tenses and begins screaming things after the escaping hero that are barely legible through his rage.

The hero deposits them both outside the TWST news station with their wallet and phone back in their pockets. He at least helps them untie the monster cat, who promptly declares he just let them protect him, and scarpers.

Of course the hero is gone too when Yuu turns back around, before they can ask him what the hell he was playing at, dropping them like that, was he insane?! If Royal Flush hadn’t interfered...

The reporter has to fight the urge to lose their lunch.

Their boss rushes out and envelopes them in a surprisingly powerful hug, the woman almost lifting the reporter off their feet as she babbles about whether or not Yuu needs a hospital after getting kidnapped by one of the seven major supervillains.

Yuuken is quick to join the embrace with a bear hug of his own. He pulls back, fingers prodding gently at Yuu’s bruised temple and declaring he’ll drive them to hospital to make sure they don’t have a concussion.

He graciously waits until they’re in the car to ask why Yuu smells so much of strawberries.

The reporter can only give a half answer, partly because they don’t want to worry him, and partly because they have another question of their own buzzing incessantly around their brain.

Why was Yuu kidnapped in the first place?

Royal Flush never even mentioned Crowley, despite all the chances he had to do so. Not even an oblique or confusing metaphor or code. Does that mean he’s ignorant of the connection between Yuu and the League?

But if that’s the case, it circles back around to the first question: why kidnap Yuu to begin with?

Somehow the reporter doubts it was to just ask their tea preferences or invite them to dinner.

Those minions referred to that monster as Royal Flush’s “precious ingredient”. Ingredient for what? Is there something that Royal Flush thinks they witnessed that’s integral to a scheme? Did they witness something and just not realize it’s significance?

Yuu’s reporter senses are screaming that there’s a deeper story to uncover here. Yuu’s common sense is screaming that investigating the dangerous plans of the supervillain they’ve just escaped from is a terrible idea.

Though he could have just...let them fall. But he didn’t. And won’t he just kidnap them again regardless?

...

This is a terrible idea.

But if Yuu’s common sense was stronger than their reporter senses, then they wouldn’t be in this city in the first place, would they?

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dancingazaleas · 4 years ago

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𖨆. 01 / all for us

summary: you wake up in a room that seems to be made specifically for you. as it turns out, it is made for you. you find that out when levi ackerman and erwin smith come in to the room and admit you aren’t allowed to leave. how are the first few days?

word count: +2.0k

warnings/notes: cursing, mentions of drugging, mentions of kidnapping, slight manipulation, abuse, violence, and starvation

YOU never thought that you would end up as a canary. a pretty yellow bird with dark dull eyes as you sat in a cage, a trap.

it all started when you met him. the devil incarnate. erwin smith.

he was charismatic young man, sitting at the age of 35 as he held the title of a prosecutor in court. you find it ironic, he puts vile criminals into jail but overlooks himself, the most vile of them all.

he met you at a café. the coffee beans were grinding in the machine at the counter, you remember how you relished in the smell.

when he first caught sight of you, you were scribbling on notebook paper with a nice black ballpoint pen. the gold framing of the pen shined in the light as you twirled it between your fingers. you looked slightly frazzled, but also at ease; something erwin was not used to seeing. you had white earbuds with the slight appearance of brown on the cords in your ears, hooked up to a laptop that you would occasionally glance at.

erwin thought you were a beauty.

you remember how he sat across from you, smoothly initiating a conversation with you. he was delighted to find out that you were a pianist along with a violinist, he loves classical music. you explained to him that you were struggling to create a song for your performance the next week, that all the music notes were just starting to contort into doodles.

when he helped you, that's when you felt grateful. you remember how he mentioned his partner, levi ackerman, and his own enjoyment of the piano. he asked for your number along with the venue where you would be performing.

you gave him the information easily, seemingly ecstatic about someone coming to your performance.

the next week after your performance, you met levi. he was curt and blunt, his difference from erwin had almost given you whiplash. luckily, you learned to adapt and you even would quip back at him playfully. it managed to make him smile, just a little. you enjoyed his company just as much as you did erwin's, something the two of them were happy about.

it wasn't until weeks later of hanging around them that it all went downhill. you went drinking with the two of them, easily complying to levi's request to drink more and more of your alcoholic beverage. it was the last drink that had you realizing that no other drink you had ever had was salty like this. you collapsed shortly after.

you remember waking up in a room, decorated to accommodate you and your interests. there was a white bookshelf that had gold framing splayed onto it with a vast selection of novels. there were three soft and plush chairs by the bookshelf with a soft rug underneath. a small coffee table sat in the middle of the rug.

there was a large bay window with a gorgeous view of a colorful and bio-diverse garden. cushions and throw pillows were placed onto the windowsill, another place for you to sit. the bed you'd awoken in was a queen, heavy cotton sheets messily spread across the bed. around the the room and even on the ceiling were soft yellow lights disguised as vines. directly across from the bed was a vanity and above that hung a nice flat screen TV. the night stands beside your bed held lamps and small knick knacks that you could entertain yourself with.

there were three doors. one to the left of your bed, one to the right of your bed, and one to the right of your television. you found out later that the one by your television was a small bathroom with nothing but a toilet and sink. the door to your right side of the bed was a walk-in closet that was decorated in clothing you'd never be able to afford.

you remember how after that, levi and erwin barged in as you panicked and started to pace around the room. you remember defying them, cursing them, hitting them, kicking them, and even spitting at them.

with a silent look from levi, erwin's distraught face turned slightly sad. his eyes were misty as he shuffled himself outside of the room. when levi's knee came into contact with your face, you realized why. especially whenever the gushing of blood dripped out of your nose and his voice screamed that none of this was their fault, but your's instead.

but now, levi was once again punishing you. you hadn't meant to do it. you hadn't meant to slap erwin. while you had a panic attack, your muscles thrashed without your command and you ended up slapping erwin across his face. you were secretly satisfied when you saw the pained look he gave you, but it immediately turned to dread whenever levi's rough hands pulled at your hair.

he's kicking you once again, and he occasionally accompanies it with a harsh slap.

"i didn't mean to, i didn't mean to!!!" your sobs sound so broken as you land on your side from levi kicking you.

levi ignores you, forcing you to stare at erwin, who sits at the door of your bed with that same neutral look sprinkled with pain.

"please!!!" you plead as you squeeze your eyes shut, "please, i didn't mean to!! i didn't meant to hit him!!"

levi stops his assaults, staring at your cowering form from above. the collar around your neck connected with chains clang against each other as you wearily raise your head.

erwin and levi are expecting a small whimper of pleas, but instead they watch as you slam your head against the hardwood floor. it has you reeling but even so, you continue. you're slipping into another violent mental breakdown, head banging against the floor as your other hand punches at your hipbone continuously.

your teeth are gritted as you start banging your ankle against the ground.

within seconds, levi and erwin are moving you onto your bed and holding down your thrashing limbs. they're murmuring sweet nothings to you, a hand on your forehead holding your head down against the pillow. you sob out again, entering the stage of hyperventilation and wails. erwin is crying along with you while levi just reminds you to breathe.

levi's hands are pressing your's on his chest and over his heart. his heartbeat guides you into stable breathing. when you've calmed down, you enter the shutdown stage.

"there we go," erwin praises and strokes a thumb against your cheekbone, "back to breathing."

levi stares at his boyfriend, who’s muttering something in your ear, but turns his attention back to you whenever you let out a small grunt.

"she wants to watch a movie," erwin says, pressing kisses to your cheek.

"any movie in particular? if not, i'll put on scooby doo; i remember you saying that it comforted you once," he grumbles while he turns on the television.

you don't answer, unsurprisingly, and levi puts on 'what's new, scooby doo?' for you. levi lays back next to you, cuddling into your warm and unmoving body.

it takes two episodes of watching the show for you to start letting out small, yet forced, giggles at some parts of the show. it takes two more for you to be able to speak again.

"food," that's all you said.

erwin shakes his head and wags a finger, "how do you ask properly?"

"can i have some food, please," you sound so tired.

the two men nod and leave your room to get you a meal. you sit up quietly and look down to your hands. they always left your hands untouched, seemingly trying to protect them from the abuse that levi would put onto you.

"stupid, fucking stupid," you spat, "this is their fault, not mine. their fault, their fault, their fault."

you drill the words into your head, but are soon interrupted whenever erwin enters the room with a tray of food.

"you're even sitting up now," he acknowledges while he puts the tray on the bed in front of you.

you thank him quietly and try to ignore the large hand stroking your hair.

"i love you," he doesn't. you don't do this to those you love. zeke never did this to you.

erwin frowns at your silence, hand now tilting your face to look at him. instead of love, your eyes were filled to the brim with hatred.

"you'll come to love us soon enough," he has no ounce of emotion on his face as his finger softly rubs against your skin.

"i doubt it," you mumble and force your face out of his hand. you just want to eat.

when you look down at the tray, you notice the absence of forks and knives. it has your stomach dropping.

"i'm feeding you," erwin says, fork between his long fingers, "we can't trust you with knives just yet."

erwin stabs the fork into cut up chicken breast on your plate, holding it up to your chapped lips. you stare at the food, had it been drugged?

"i don't want to be fed."

"that's too bad. you're being fed anyway, we can't trust you with forks either just yet," he grabs ahold of your jaw and forces your head to turn towards him.

his thumb and index finger squeeze your cheeks, forcing your mouth open with ease. you jerk away at the food suddenly being forced down your throat, hacking as if you were trying to get it up.

"let me chew first," you cough, handing reaching to touch gently at your adam's apple.

erwin doesn’t respond, opting to put another piece of the food onto the fork. he holds it out towards you, patiently waiting for you to stop choking and to eat again. you clear your throat, the idea of willingly letting erwin feed you makes you sick. you don't want to submit.

"i won't eat anything if you don't let me use the fork myself," you feel a headache coming on, fingers now pressing against your temples.

"then i guess you just won't eat," he says with a hint of sadness, taking the tray back into his hands.

you're so hungry. and the smell of the grilled chicken breast with a side of mashed potatoes isn't helping. you don't want to submit. you can't submit, you won't survive.

"guess that's settled then," you flop back down onto your back.

it wasn't the answer or reaction that erwin was expecting, judging by his widened eyes and stiff posture. he relaxes as he shakes his head in disapproval, walking out of the room and locking the door behind him.

you stare blankly at the ceiling while trying to ignore the growling of your stomach. your head hurts from the lack of food, another thing you're trying to ignore.

you turn on your side, but immediately cry out in pain. levi's earlier assault was starting to form bruises on your body, and the idea that you couldn't even curl into a ball made you want to cry. you hiss when you shuffle back onto your back, ignoring the searing pain that shoots through your ribs and sides.

your eyelids feel heavy after you settle down for a while, finally able to ignore all of the pain you've endured.

————

when you wake up, it's raining. there's not much natural light coming into your room, which you're okay with.

a pang of pain shoots through your head when you sit up, hands immediately grabbing at your hair and nails digging into your scalp. the tugging of your hair made your headache a little more bearable even if it was for a second.

the sound of your stomach growling and chains clinking echos through the quiet room, causing you to look down at your stomach. the chains are cold against your skin, tiny shivers spreading across your stomach.

you sigh and get yourself out of the bed. you walk to your bathroom, peeing with your face buried in your hands on the toilet. you ignore the fluorescent lights, which make your head hurt worse, and wash your hands aggressively.

you look up in the mirror as you do so, but you wish you hadn't. your eyes were puffy from the tears you shed yesterday and there's now a bruise on your swollen cheek from levi's smacking. you hold back the urge to punch the mirror, instead wiping your hands off with a towel and chucking it at the wall. you slam the door behind you and start to walk pass the three chairs meant for you, erwin, and levi. a wave of dizziness has you stopping and holding onto it, eyes instinctively squeezing shut.

when it passes, you grab a book and a throw blanket that's sat on top of one of the chairs. you settle onto the cushions of the bay window, taking a moment to stare at the rain falling.

you open the book, 'perks of being a wallflower', and find yourself lost in the words.

it's when levi comes in with a tray of food that you realize an hour or so has passed. he looks shocked to see you sitting and reading in silence, checking his watch as if he were making sure he didn't wake up late.

"got you food since erwin had to go to work. it's belgium waffles with some fruit and bacon on the side," he sits down next to your, now, curled up legs and puts the tray on the opposite side of him.

you wince at the mention of food and at curling your legs close. it doesn't go unnoticed.

"maybe if you didn't act out you wouldn't be in so much pain now," he says, holding out a piece of the waffle and a hand under to make sure the syrup doesn't drip onto the blanket.

"i'm not going to be fed. i'm not a child," you stare at the food.

"you're going to starve to death if you don't eat. quit being stubborn and fucking eat. i don't feel like cleaning up a body," he snarls and you resist the urge to kick his hand away.

"if you let me feed myself, i'll eat. then, you won't have to worry about digging me a hole."

"you haven't earned that privilege. we feed you for now."

"then i guess i don't eat," your eyebrows are furrowed as you stare at him.

"you're stupid. you'll end up dying."

"rather die than be fed like a child."

"you've got some pride. maybe i can beat it out of you," he drops the fork onto the plate.

"if you beat me anymore then you might actually have to worry about a body," you avert your eyes back to your book.

"if it's what needs to be done," he crosses his arms, "speaking of bodies, your's reeks."

"i don't have a shower in my bathroom, i can't help you with that issue," you shrug and flip the page.

"you can."

"i'm not letting you bathe me either. i'm not stupid. if you're feeding me then you're obviously going to be bathing me."

he chuckles a little at your defiance, but you know it's forced. you can smell the frustration on his body and your ego inflates knowing that you're the one who got him to be like that.

"when you decide you want to live, knock at the door and call for me," he grabs the tray and leaves the room, once again locking the door behind him.

"i can wait eight more days before i die."

#attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #snk #aot fanfiction #snk fanfiction #levi x reader #levi ackerman #shingeki no kyoujin levi #levi attack on titan #snk levi #erwin x levi #erwin smith #snk erwin #erwin x reader #aot erwin #dark content #sorrels.allforus💒

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bleachhaven · 4 years ago

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Hello! Contgrats on 1500 followers!! Can I request NSFW office sex with Shunsui Kyoraku❤️❤️thanks!

Thank you!!!! ♥️

Holy freaking hell. Now that would be hot. I sure do love me some Shunsui 😍

—

Kyouraku Shunsui and Smut in the Office

Showing up at the Soutaicho’s office is not an anomaly for you considering your relationship with him. In fact, the moment you show up, Nanao knows it’s time to call it a day because he would be uselessly distracted after that point. Out of consideration, you try to wait till the very end of the work day to go see him because of that.

But being officially summoned to the Soutaicho’s office is something that’s never happened before. Never.

You walk in, your heart in your throat, stressing yourself out about what could this be about. An official summon like this for a third seat is unusual. Regardless of your personal relationship with the Soutaicho, you were still a shinigami of the Gotei 13 and you did not wanna be in any kind of trouble.

Shunsui looks serious than usual when you enter. Nanao is nowhere to be found. It’s just you, him, and his eye intently focused on you.

“______-chan,” he calls out to you.

If he’s going to address you so sweetly and casually, it can’t be that bad right?

“Do you know why you have been summoned here?”

Now the question makes you tense. He’s way too serious about it. And Shunsui is rarely serious with you. He’s all romance and gentleness where you are concerned so this got you a bit unnerved.

He beckons you closer. When you step up to his desk, he beckons you closer even more. First you’re confused but then he motions for you to come around his desk to stand next to him.

He is tall enough, and you’re short enough for him to reach up and swiftly undo your clothes with deft quick fingers. You’re far too startled to react at all for you did not see that coming.

“Shunsui!” You exclaim trying to bat his hands away. “Are you crazy?”

“Now, now, _____-chan, is that anyway to speak to your Soutaicho? Aren’t you supposed to obey my every command?”

You narrow your eyes at him. “And what is my Soutaicho’s command?” You end up gasping it out because while you were distracted by his words, his hand found his way into your clothes, gently teasing you...

His eyes bear into yours with a predatory gleam. “I want to eat you out on this desk, and you’re going to let me, _____-chan.”

The words already have you wet and begging for it and his roaming hands got you prettily distracted. He followed his intentions perfectly and soon enough, you were lying on the Soutaicho’s desk, with all important papers shoved aside (Nanao would have a field day sorting through it all!), your legs on his shoulders as he made you come over and over again with his mouth.

When he finally entered you, he was less gentle and far more ravenous. Almost violent in his need to be one with you. With one hand grabbing your breasts and tweaking your nipples, pain mixing with intense pleasure, the other hand held tight on your hip as he thrust deep and hard into you.

He had you screaming when you both came apart together and you distantly remembered that someone might come in thinking their Soutaicho was being attacked or something but at this point, you could barely bring yourself to care.

When you looked up at him, he had a satisfied smile on his face as if he was the cat that got into the cream...or ate the canary. Whatever analogy that fit.

“Has the Soutaicho’s command been fulfilled?” You ask cheekily trying to catch your breath.

He grins lazily. “Above and beyond, _____-chan. Above and beyond.”

By the time Nanao returns from her meeting with the SWA, you’re long gone... She finds Shunsui sitting at his desk with an absurd smile on his face and all the paperwork she had meticulously arranged on his desk in complete disarray on the goddamn ground!

“Taicho!” She reprimands him. But Shunsui just continues to smile and say, “I had special Soutaicho commands to execute, sweet Nanao-chan. You should be proud.” If only Nanao knew what transpired in her absence...she’d be sanitizing the whole damn office.

—

Written for the

✨ 1500 Followers Celebration ✨

...and requests are no longer being accepted for this.

—

But my normal Ask Box is still open and you can send in your Bleach fantasies there!

Or check out more of my work through the Masterlist here!

#bleach #bleach anime #bleach headcanons #kyouraku Shunsui #Shunsui Kyouraku #kyouraku shunsui x reader #Shunsui Kyouraku x reader #soutaicho kink #smut in the office #1500 followers celebration

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 4 years ago

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Day 6: Farewell / Dorm Leaders

He should have known better. A caged canary wouldn’t sing for him.

Originally, I wanted to write for the Dorm Leaders, but it got messy trying to write for all seven in a short piece. Instead, we’re going to focus on 🦁 (plus a brief 🐆 appearance)!

There’s some callbacks back to my EBG storyline, for those who recall that. Also there is Jade being a dutiful pretend househusband—

“Jade, I’m heading out!” Raven called from the doorway. “I’ll be back by lunch time.”

“Fufu. Very well, then.” Jade offered a practiced smile. “If, by chance, you are not back by noon, I will come and fetch you myself.”

“There shouldn’t be any need for that,” she insisted, feathers bristling. “It is meant to be a quick meeting—just to see if the dorm has been behaving.”

“Perhaps I would be more inclined to believe in your safety if you hadn’t been held hostage the last time you visited Savanaclaw.” His teeth made themselves known, flashing dangerously despite his calm eyes. “Now, who was it that had to come and pick you up from the lion’s den?”

“Don’t remind me,” Raven sighed. “I’d... I’d like to think that Leona-san has changed since then, that he has learned to be more of a capable leader. Even if it is just a little.”

“... We shall have to see.” There was a touch of shrewdness in Jade’s voice. “Have a safe trip to Savanaclaw, Miss Raven. I eagerly await your return.”

As per usual, the lion was lounging in his bed when she, clipboard in hand, arrived. Raven knocked on his door to announce her arrival—and, as expected, Leona ignored it. She frowned and tried again—louder this time, earning a groan.

He (finally) rolled over, casting a glare her way. His mouth tugged into a smirk when he realized who it was calling for his attention. “Well, well, well... If it isn’t the little canary. Come to do the headmaster’s dirty work, have you?”

“He’s busy. I’m here in his place for weekly inspections.” Raven glanced at her clipboard, then back to Leona. “... You know, to avoid another confrontation where your dorm members gang up on Uncle and demand more funding.”

Leona snorted. “A necessary move, if we were to get him to act.”

“... I would disagree, but that’s not the point of my visit.” Raven ran her eyes down the checklist Crowley had provided for her. “I trust you’ve familiarized yourself with the arrangement by now?”

3 months’ worth of good behavior, and I will grant their request for Magift Stadium renovations, the headmaster had promised, along with an assortment of brand new equipment. That meant limited brawling, maintaining non-failing grades, and definitely no hostage situations. Subject to weekly review by a third party, of course—the very reason for Raven’s presence.

“Yeah, yeah. You don’t need to recite it again. Hurry it up with the questions, I don’t have all day.”

... You were literally just napping when I walked in. She held her tongue on that comment

“How many fights have there been since the start of the probation period?”

“Six.”

“How many instances were these fights so violent that they required medical care or a trip to the infirmary?”

“Zero.”

“Did the parties involved in said fights attend the debriefing session recommended by the headmaster?”

“Some, not all.”

Back and forth they went, questions and answers rocketing between them, like the disc in a game of Magift. Raven’s inquiries were fast, but Leona’s responses were even faster, and pithy. It was times like this when she was reminded that he was far more sharp than he initially let on.

“... We’re done,” Raven declared, marking off the reply to her last question. “Do you have any additional comments to make?”

Leona propped his face up with a hand. His tail swished lazily behind him as he regarded her through emerald eyes. “Hmph. You’re colder than expected, canary. Eager to get the job over with before you fly back to that cage you call an attic?”

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t refer to my home like that,” Raven retorted. So much for Leona-san changing for the better.

“Isn’t it one?” Leona struck, pouncing on her annoyance. “I hear one of the Leeches has invaded your home. It may as well be a cage with an eel breathing down your neck, watching your every move and collecting information for blackmail.”

“That’s...”

“What he’s doing is no different than when I had you in my claws. It’s worse,” Leona scoffed. “But I don’t see Octavinelle having to jump through the same hurdles as Savanaclaw. I don’t see you feeling uneasy to return to him.”

“That’s different. Uncle told Jade to...”

“You’re being played, canary,” the lion interrupted. “Used—both by the headmaster, and by the slimy eel. Just because they smile doesn’t mean they’ve done no wrong.”

“You don’t get to decide that for me.” She pursed her lips, speaking with a clipped tone.

“I’m telling you what you’re too bird-brained to accept.”

Raven fell silent. Her face contorted in various small ways—the twitching of the eyes or the corners of her lips—as she toyed with Leona’s ideas. Turned them over and examined them in her mind’s eye.

She gritted her teeth. “... I’ll let Uncle know that you believe Octavinelle should be closely monitored as well, but that is all I will be able to do for you. Speak rudely of others again, and I’ll dock points from your weekly review.”

“... Hmph.”

Raven scribbled a few more words on her papers, before tucking them under her arm. She curtsied, moreso out of politeness than out of genuine respect. “Enjoy your nap. Until next time, then.”

“Canary—”

The rest of his words caught in a knot on the tip of his tongue.

The bird turned and fled, darting behind his door and out into the world. Leona remained upon his mattress, watching her every step of the way. Not so much as a farewell lingered in the space between them.

Only a brief bitterness remained.

He should have known better. A caged canary wouldn’t sing for him.

“Leona-saaan,” Ruggie called, poking his head into his Dorm Leader’s room. “How’d it go? Didja convince Raven-kun to hang out? The tire swing’s starting to get all dusty without her.”

“... Go away,” Leona snarled through his pillow.

“Nishishi. Guess not, huh?” The hyena chuckled into his hand. “Scared her off instead?”

“Shut up, Ruggie. I’d like to see you do any better.”

“You gotta be more gentle when you’re trying to be friends with a bird! They’re really jittery.” The second year shrugged. “Try offering a trail of free birdseed next time. Maybe then she’d try eating outta your hands.”

Leona scowled deeply. “I’m not snuggling up to anyone.”

“Being gentle’s not exactly the same as that... But tell you what,” Ruggie snickered, touching his index finger and thumb together to form a circle. “I can give you some lessons in Birdspeak if you pay me~”

#twst #twisted wonderland #Leona Kingscholar #Ruggie Bucchi #Jade Leech #twst oc #twst oc week #twisted wonderland oc #Raven Crowley #disney twisted wonderland #my art

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gallickingun · 5 years ago

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remember me || t.a.

SUMMARY: Tamaki Amajiki saves a civilian. He doesn’t expect her to buy him coffee and teach him about the wiles of floral culture.

PAIRING: Tamaki Amajiki x Fem!Reader RATINGS: T+ WARNINGS: mild violence and language, etc. WORD COUNT: 6.9k+

LINKS: ao3 | masterlist | mobile | writing tag

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* TAG LIST *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ is at the end of this post!

AUTHOR’S NOTE: this is my first submission for the @bnhabookclub provisional license event! if you want to participate, here is the post! and if you want to apply for the server, here is the application!!

i have to get sappy here for a second. i had 2 panic attacks while writing this because i was so self-conscious, so riddled with doubts about a. was i getting tama’s character right b. was i even on par with the great and wonderful writers of this fandom and c. am i proud of this? eventually, after talking it through, i realized that it doesn’t matter how i measure up to everyone else. i should be writing this because i want to, and because i’m enjoying myself. so, special thanks to @freckledoriya and @k-atsukidayo who have once again been my lifeline. i love you guys ♡

if you like this, feel free to request more HERE!

Tamaki Amajiki had never given flowers much thought.

He usually passes by the windows of a floral shop and notices the blossoms just enough to smell the variance of air – from stale to sweet – and then he moves on, not much effort spent towards the colorful display of petals in the open windows.

But now, after finding you, he cannot stop thinking about the way they bloom.

“Columbine,” your eyes light up, thumbs pressed to the dark red petals, “they are used to symbolize anxiety.”

Tamaki’s eyes graze over the flower, wondering how you could know so instantly that he might connect with this specific budding plant. The tether he feels to it is strange, something particular but also aloof – as if he could not place it if he tried.

Anxiety is something very relevant to Tamaki’s life, a demon he has struggled with every day since he could comprehend the reason his stomach tied into knots, the worry he keeps pent up in his chest burning ulcers into his belly. He wraps his arms around his waist at the memory of meeting you, the way his entire body was wrought with anxious thoughts, mind unable to comprehend the extent of your impact on him at the time.

You tilt your head as if able to realize that his mind has begun to spiral, “We don’t usually add these into bouquets, but something about them is just so beautifully broken, I can’t help but fall in love.”

It is a typical day on patrol when he first stumbles upon you, nothing special or out of the ordinary, not really.

Tamaki has been working under Fatgum’s agency for a few years to date, and he’s comfortable with the route that he’s been assigned, a routine he has held since the beginning of his deployment. The elder hero understood from the very start that Tamaki tends to try and avoid social interaction. In response, Fatgum made sure to create a patrol route so Tamaki could walk the least populated paths while also providing an effective amount of protection to the community. It’s the least he could do for the young Suneater, a new hero steadily climbing the charts despite his difficulty in speaking with the press outlets.

Some days Tamaki will try to stop by various vendors’ carts, eating foods that will create good manifestations for his quirk or just to support the local economy. It also allows him to try and force himself to have a discussion, even if there isn’t much substance to it, trying to grow more familiar with the ideology of small talk. He’s decided that he is going to stop by his favorite sushi bodega today, already thinking up his lengthy sashimi order as he starts towards the food stand.

And then he hears someone cry out.

Tamaki races in the direction of the distressed sound, channeling his quirk as he rounds the corner. The tentacles that are thanks to the octopus he regularly incorporates into his diet are extended from his fingertips, ready for action as soon as he skids to a stop in the street.

Your body is pressed against the wall of the alleyway, face cut by the brick beneath your cheek. You connect your gaze to his, your brilliantly shining irises seeking him out like a moth to a flame. Tamaki can’t help the way his chest constricts at the sight of such a helpless person, and then his heart lights on fire when he sees the burly man currently trying to take advantage of you. He snarls, digging his heels into the concrete, tentacles growing straight from his fingertips.

Before you can part your lips to try and beg for help or mercy, Tamaki is landing a swift blow to the thug’s head, successfully knocking him unconscious to the ground. You clasp your freed hands around your neck, coughing violently as you bend over at the waist, stars in your eyes and shards in your throat. A thin river of tears streams freely from your lids, and when you’re able to look back up at him, you’re far from embarrassed.

“Th-Thank you,” you manage, voice hoarse. You lick your lips and swipe your hands at your face to rid your skin of tears and snot, “Seriously. That guy-he came outta nowhere!”

Tamaki finds the adrenaline of the short-lived skirmish to have fled from his system, leaving behind only the crippling anxiety that makes him blush from head to toe. He swallows the growing lump in his throat when he realizes he’s been staring at you without responding for at least a full minute now. Your hands are shaking and your shoulders quiver, but Tamaki is frozen in place, feet unable to start towards you.

Fatgum taught him how to comfort civilians, but he’s never been good at it, and the way that you look at him like he hung the moon in the sky does not make the encumbrance of his task any less intense. He knows that the objectification and idolization of heroes is inevitable, no matter how poorly he projects himself onto the public. The reality of it all only does more to constrict his throat, the familiar shroud of apprehension blanketing his body and curling around his spine like a snake. It slithers its way up into his throat until he can’t breathe, tongue deadweight in his mouth.

“Black-eyed Susan,” you muse, plucking a set of three yellow flowers from a vase not too far from him. You turn the buds between your thumb and index finger, the canary-colored blossom blurring in midair as Tamaki tries to stay focused on it. He’s not so close with you that he can smell your perfume, a distinct scent even when you are hidden amongst the blossoms in the greenhouse, but near enough that your presence is dizzying.

It is hard to focus anyway, what with the way your eyes are sparkling under the lowlights of the greenhouse.

You bring the bright flower toward your face and scrunch your nose as you sniff it, eyelids fluttering closed in bliss, “They’re used to express a fierce sense of justice. Usually, we use these in our arrangements for hero galas and festivals.”

Your eyes turn to him, connecting with his violet irises as a smile tugs the corners of your mouth upward, “Don’t you think they’re stunning, Tama?”

For some reason, when he answers, you can’t help but feel there’s a duality to his words, as if he is saying one thing but meaning something else entirely. Tamaki’s eyes are trained in on your face, not the flower, and his lips move in slow motion, like syrup dripping from his tongue, “Oh yes,” Tamaki is close to smiling, “quite stunning.”

You return to your arrangement and begin to hum a gentle melody between heavy breaths as you meticulously place the flowers in their perfect order. The way your brow furrows, creases ever-present on your forehead, draws Tamaki’s attention.

For a fleeting second, he wonders if he were to press his mouth to your worried skin, would you find yourself able to relax? To allow your body to melt into his touch?

“U-Uh, yeah,” he forces the words out, a hand brushing the back of his neck to try and relieve some of the tension he’s feeling. Tamaki adjusts his cape, taking a step forward, just like Fatgum taught him in his earliest days of training. He reaches out his hand for you to shake, but you’re fumbling towards him to capture his frame in a hug before he can make sense of what is going on.

You cup his face in your hands as you pull back to look him in the eyes, completely oblivious, it would seem, to his current state of panic, “Thank you so much! You’re Suneater, right?”

Tamaki gulps down what is left of his dignity and nods in silent confirmation, eyes a little glossy as he gazes over your face. He takes in your features, noting the slope of your nose and the bow of your lips, and he wonders if he’s ever seen anyone as pretty as you before. Normally his body would turn him to mush at the mere sight of a person such as you coming so close to him, but there is something different about your aura, the way you carry yourself. Your hands pull from his face, and he can’t help the manner that his body follows you, desperate for more.

Just as he’s coming to his conclusion about your beauty and grace, he realizes that you’re talking again, lips moving animatedly. Only this time, you aren’t speaking directly to him. You’re on the phone with the local police, letting them know that there’s been a low-level thief apprehended in the streets.

Tamaki is in awe of you – absolutely shocked at your ability to take charge of the situation, to hold onto it with an iron grip and make it your own. He should be the one alerting the cops, giving them an address and a rundown of what’s happened – that’s his job. And yet, here you are, phone to your ear and authority in your voice, detailing the scene down to the hair and eye color of the perpetrator currently propped up in the alleyway. He’s still unconscious, with his head lolled to the side with tongue protruding from his mouth.

Amajiki’s jaw is hanging just slightly, you notice, so when you step forward, crowding his space all over again, you nudge his chin with the crook of your thumb. A gentle giggle parts your lips, your head tilted in such a way that reminds him of a curious young animal, “Do you want to stop in at my shop? The police said they should be here any minute.”

“Y-Your shop?” he stutters, eyes flitting around to the different curbside stores on the strip of the road in an attempt to pinpoint the building you might be speaking of. He sees a few food stands and a bodega selling travel brochures, but nothing that screams you.

Although, does Tamaki really know enough about you to determine what kind of shop you might own or manage? He chastises himself for jumping too far ahead, his intense and sudden feelings forcing his heart to tumble over his inhibitions.

The habit of his emotions leaping into his throat is one he has struggled to curb for years now – he’s fully aware of his naturally forward-thinking spirit. He can take one action, one string of words, and force it into a new, paradoxical reality which he has fashioned all on his own in a matter of moments. The fabric of this new world is woven so intricately that it’s difficult for him to pull himself out of it, the alternate universe sucking him in and creating a vortex in which his mind can play.

You nod, grabbing your phone out of your pocket and unlocking it quickly, heading to your pictures folder for something specific. The split seconds in which you are distracted give him time to pull himself out of the recesses of his mind, to mend the fabric of time to bring him back to the present. You proudly hold the device up in his face, and he blinks harshly so he can focus.

The photograph on your screen shows him a rather familiar front display stand, dozens of budding flowers framing a beautifully crafted window sign that he’s seen every day since the start of his time at Fatgum’s agency. Tamaki tilts his head, trying to take in the store fully before he admits that he patrols by your flower shop consistently.

His head spins – he can’t believe he never stopped into your store before. Could he have met you a long time ago? Could he have seen you every day for the past few months, getting to learn your favorite flowers and flavors and the specific perfume you wear to smell so enticing? Another question plagues his mind – would you have stopped to give him the time of day had he not met you by saving your life?

“Oh,” he forces himself to speak, to dislodge himself from his tumultuous thoughts, “I-I’ve seen that shop before. You own it?”

You’re looking at the photo now, marveling at it with proud, shining irises. The picture distracts you from his enlarged pupils and blushing cheeks, and he’s thankful for the reprieve of your daunting gaze. Tamaki takes advantage of the seconds of your distracted scrutiny to map out your frame again, attempting to commit as much of you to memory as possible, given the short amount of time he has with you. He swallows the lump in his throat, licking his dry lips when you shove your phone back into your pocket, and he must refocus his eyes on some facet of your face other than your lips.

“There’s an adjoined coffee shop just to the left of it.” You’re smiling at him, and Amajiki thinks his heart is going to beat right out of his chest, flesh bruised from the intensity of its ministrations underneath the skin of his pectoral. The beginnings of a bashful tinge of pink warm your cheeks and ears, and Tamaki speculates whether your body is reacting to him or the heat of the afternoon. You lick your lips, “We can grab a scone and a cup of coffee if you like? My treat since you saved me.”

Tamaki is immediately refusing, holding his hands up as he shakes his head, ducking away from you entirely. “No, n-no, I couldn’t.”

“Why not?”

Your lips are pulled downward in a pouted frown, eyes losing a little of their luster. Tamaki regrets instantly that his mind is so tied down to the rules, the reality that: “Heroes aren’t supposed to accept bribes, gifts, or rewards in any form.”

You are twirling a different yellow flower between your fingers – this one is much more fragile in nature. Tamaki eyes the papery blossom and ponders the antiqueness of its appearance, as if it were meant to be made into outdated floral prints on fine china.

Your eyes are focused in on the center of the bud, narrowing just enough that he can tell you’re trying to concentrate, “These are yellow carnations. Carnations can mean so many different things – red for heartache, white for innocence, pink for the reality of being unable to forget someone – but yellow, wow yellow is something much more draining, exhausting.”

Tamaki is scooting closer to you, his body drawn in by the tone of your voice, “If the other flowers mean something so kind, h-how can this one have such the opposite effect?”

Your eyes are sparkling, but there is something hidden in the back of them, an emotion he can’t quite pluck out. Perhaps you have a familiarity with this type of flower? Does it hold a different power for you than the others? Are there memories tucked away in the recesses of your subconscious that wreck your spirit when you see this type of blossom?

“That’s the beauty in the buds,” you laugh at your attempt at a jesting remark, eyes hooded now as you glance downward, “if you choose the wrong one, you’re sending a different message entirely.”

Tamaki’s knee bumps into yours, and usually, he would pull away, but this time something feels different, weightier than before. His eyes cannot stray from you; he finds it difficult even when he tries. And so, he succumbs to the desire and leans closer. Near enough to you now that your body heat is intoxicating once mixed with the headiness of your perfume. He tries to keep his eyes from crossing and his hands in his lap, body uncharacteristically wanton for your skin.

You take a breath, your chest expanding, “Yellow carnations mean rejection, disappointment. Usually, they’re used as a revenge flower, given to someone who has harmed you, or taken advantage of you. We don’t do many yellow carnation bouquets.”

The phrase only seems to make you more determined – your brows pull together so tightly that your forehead creases, “Well,” you pause, brushing your hand over your face, “I guess it just won’t have to be any of those things then.”

Tamaki’s head tilts just enough to remind you of a confused animal. His inky irises are zeroed in on you, raven locks of hair falling in his eyes, “Wh-“

“It’s a date!”

His eyes practically bug out of his head, sweat starting to bead down his temples. He shakes his head and steps back from you, holding his hands up in the space currently separating your bodies. Tamaki attempts at conversation, trying to tell you in as few syllables as possible that no, that’s not okay, we can’t, I don’t think that’s allowed…

You shrug, “Listen, call it whatever you want - it’s just coffee.”

The police arrive with sirens blaring a few minutes later, taking down a statement and emailing Tamaki a new set of paperwork he’s going to have to fill out later regarding how and why he used his quirk. He secretly is praying that you will flee the scene once you realize how mundane this part of the hero job can be – interviews and paperwork and confessions on the street.

Maybe you’ll find him and the whole process tedious enough that you’ll run away, back to your flower shop where you can live on in peace, pretending as if you never met him. It’s not always fun and games being a hero, and typically, once a civilian realizes it, they walk away from the scene at hand and find something much more interesting to take up their time. Tamaki is sure you must have a thousand other things you would prefer to be doing than waiting for him to wrap up a discussion with a police officer, or so he’d like to believe.

For some reason, it does not surprise him to find that you are still waiting on him, patiently sipping a bottle of water given to you by another officer while you chat, feet twisting back and forth to pass the time. Tamaki’s mind begins to wander again to how he always passed your shop and never found you outside, watering the arrangements or even in passing in the window. He would have waved – that’s what Fatgum taught him to do. He has been trained to interact with civilians, to remind them that he is there for their protection and safety, as a beam of light in the darkness of their daily lives. There are other shop owners who he knows by name, their faces somewhat cataloged in the recesses of his mind, so he knows he would recall meeting you.

You’re remarkable; Tamaki would have remembered you.

And yet, he knows that now, every time he passes your shop, he’ll think of you, regardless of whether or not you’re outside watering the plants or inside working on an arrangement. Tamaki will be distracted with thoughts of your pretty smile, the way your eyes lit up when you spoke about your shop. Surely he’ll never be able to walk the beat of this street again without remembering you, his heart hammering in his ribs as he plucks up the courage to pass your shop each day. He’d bank on the hope that you’d see him, that you’d turn to wave, and he might be able to catch a glimpse of you, maybe even hold a full conversation more than a few sentences long.

It’s like his eyes are magnets for you now, drawn to find your essence like a northern pole. He turns his head so he can look over the officer’s shoulder, trying to find your frame again amidst the police and pedestrians alike.

Tamaki is more than surprised to find you staring directly back at him.

“What are these?” Amajiki points to a white flower he realizes he should have memorized based on its simplicity, and yet the hero knows that he’d sooner hear your bell-like voice rattling off the meanings to him, “I feel like I’ve seen them before…”

“Daisies,” you giggle, plucking a plume from your wall on display.

You twirl the flower around, taking an inhale of it before returning your attention to the hero stood in front of you. Your body moves without thinking - inhibitions tucked away in a box in your heart as you step forward, so your body is almost flush with his own. You press one palm flat against his chest, eyes connected with his inky orbs as you grin.

Tamaki is frozen in place, his feet cemented into the ground. He couldn’t escape you even if he wanted to, what with the way his anxious heart stutters underneath the cage of his ribs. Amajiki is somewhat thankful for the bone structure around the organ, acting like a prison so his heart can’t flutter out into the open. His body blushes from head to toe, painting his skin pink, when he feels your fingertips brush against his cheek.

“You look so pretty, Tama,” you murmur as you tuck the bright white blossom behind his ear.

You cannot pull your gaze away from the fragile petals held in place by the thickness of his violet hair and the curve of his ear. The blossom looks so lovely and light in contrast to his inky hair, tucked away like a secret between the strands and his skin. You are practically whispering when you speak next, afraid you might shatter some unspoken moment, “A daisy symbolizes innocence and hope. They’re typically used to symbolize the potential of new beginnings, a promise of faith despite a certainly somber situation.”

Tamaki’s face is bright red, but he manages to speak, “O-Oh, so a get-well type of flower?”

“Something like that.” Your hand ghosts over his cheek, pushing the bud deeper against his temple so the petals are flayed outward, a hauntingly beautiful smile painted on your lips. “It looks purely providential in your hair, Amajiki. Like a light in the dark.”

When you catch him staring, your left eye drops in a wink. Tamaki knows that he has never felt his entire body blush before, but now he is privy to what the sensation is like, an intense heat traveling from his ears to his toes. It’s hot and stimulating in all the strangest of ways, pinpricks of heat underneath his skin, making it seem like he may balloon up and fly away at any given time. He coughs to try and conceal the way his throat is bobbing, covering his mouth with his gloved hand. Even his palms are bright pink beneath the white leather of his suit, turned darker in shade by the overwhelming heat of your gaze but thankfully hidden by his gloves.

The eye contact between the two of you must make you bolder, because you are walking towards him now with purposeful strides. Tamaki knows that no matter how hard he tries, he can’t make his body combust instantaneously to avoid talking with you, and he can’t quite run away when you’re striding towards him. None of those options would prove very heroic.

And, at the end of the day, despite his personal inhibitions and self-restrictions, his job is to be a good hero, to strive to provide the public with safety and comfort, and maybe today the word heroism just means coffee.

You step over to him, your body closer now than before, “You think you’re ready for that coffee now?”

“I-It’s three in the afternoon, what if the caffeine-“

“There is this cool, new invention called decaffeinated coffee,” you deadpan, raising a patronizing brow at him, smirk lilting your lips, “or you can always try tea.”

Tamaki runs his fingers over his jaw in trepidation, the pads of his digits soothing his sweating skin. He licks his lips and chews on the inner corner of his mouth, diverting his eye contact from you to the ground, focus now steadily on the toes of his boots.

The first thought in his mind is that he could be reported for this – he’s still on duty, and he’s decked out in his full hero costume. If he were to be spotted by one of the head heroes or a news outlet for being too friendly with a civilian after saving their life, it could end poorly for him in terms of his reputation. Not only would Fatgum be disappointed, the Suneater’s ranking would dip into the undesirable zone, and he’d probably lose a few of his current brand endorsement deals.

And yet, when you grab him by the elbow and loop your arm through his, Tamaki is frozen just long enough for you to begin dragging him down the street with little opposition.

“Hollyhock,” your eyes roll back in your head as you smell the pink flower in front of your face, a whimper caught in your throat at the dizzying scent. You groan, slumping down in your chair, “One of my favorites.”

Tamaki’s ears perk at the statement, eyes widening just enough so he can memorize the shape of the floral arrangement, stashing away the memory in hopes that he might pull it forward if he were to need it in the future.

“This flower is usually an accent piece, something to show that the recipient is ambitions, outgoing,” you place the stem back into the arrangement, neatly tucking it away to ensure the set is not disturbed. “They’re so stunning, such a phenomenal meaning. So often we don’t reward ambition, instead trying to stifle it.”

The hero turns toward the arrangement, eyeing it carefully. He tilts his head, careful of what he says next, “They a-are pretty flowers.”

“Yes,” your voice has quietened when you admire the blossoms, eyes glazing over as if you were under a spell. You sound far away when you speak, like you might be somewhere between here and there, feet planted on the ground beneath you but mind and soul much further away. “I think so.”

The scent of floral buds and coffee beans makes his head spin – or maybe it’s just the closeness of your body and the gentle breeze that blows your perfume towards him. Your smile mixed with the sunlight of the day makes Tamaki’s breath hitch, eyes averted from your gaze so he won’t turn every shade of red in the book.

“Bean There, Done That,” you rattle off the name of the shop, “they give me free coffee because I put together the floral arrangements for their shop.”

Tamaki is overwhelmed by the menu alone – his eyes roll back and forth over each flavor of roast and style of drink that they offer. Eventually, he feels terrible for holding up the line and he starts to stutter, attempting to spit out some flavor of some type of some kind of drink. His surprise only grows into silence when you half-step in front of him, palm jutting out to wrap around his bicep as you start ordering something that sounds like he might actually like it.

“I-I’m sorry,” he apologizes as you wait off to the side, his toes overlapping as he turns his feet inward. Your hand has since released him, but that does not stop his body from blazing beneath his costume from your touch. Tamaki coughs to hide the trepidation, “I-uh, I don’t really…I don’t really drink coffee? I-It doesn’t do much to help my quirk, so I tend to stay away from it.”

You shrug, folding your hands together at the knuckles in front of your waist, “It’s okay! I figured.” You’re turning to look at him, softness held in your irises as you behold his face, “Plus this place has a lot of options, so it can get kind of easy to feel bogged down, especially when you’re in a line, and other people are waiting impatiently.”

Wow, he thinks to himself, it’s like she’s in my head.

You’re pressing your palm to his arm now, warm touch once again like an anchor to his befuddled mind. When he looks down, you’re smiling, and some small part of him wishes your expression would never fade away into anything less miraculous than your grin coupled with dimpled cheeks and shining irises.

The crumpled petals look like sheets of tissue paper all bundled together, but somehow your magic touch makes them look appealing, beautiful even. Tamaki watches as your delicate hands swirl around the arrangement, tucking different colored flowers into various sections of the vase, transforming it from something that was one dull on its own to a symphony of color and meaning. He tilts his head and smiles, a gesture he’s discovered to be much easier now that he’s found you, “A-And, what are these?”

You glance up from your work, hands caught beneath a blossom, “Hydrangeas.”

He nods, as if he might know exactly what that word entails, lying through his teeth. When you see his unsure expression, you can’t help the grin that tugs upward on the corner of your mouth, “Do you know what these symbolize?”

Tamaki curls in on himself, shoes overlapping as his knees knock, “Uh, n-no?”

“Hydrangea flowers are beautiful because they are used to communicate gratitude for being understood,” you pluck a blooming flower from the stand, turning to hand it to him. When his knuckles brush yours, it’s like a dozen electric shockwaves tumbling through his veins, blistering his blood beneath the skin, turning him to ash inside. Tamaki gasps at the contact, but he’s thankful that you don’t laugh at his unexpected outburst, or rather you continue as if nothing happened, allowing him to shrink back in on himself with less shame than he may have been burdened with otherwise.

You lick your lips and take a short breath, eyes returned to the arrangement at hand, “Hydrangeas are beautiful and easy to manage, most people have them in their yards or gardens for decoration. I haven’t met many gardeners who know what the true meaning is, however, it seems that people always choose them for their bouquets.”

“When would you give someone a hydrangea?” Tamaki asks, eyes tracking your motions no matter which side of the arranging table you’re on. He cannot get enough of you, body drawn to your presence as he sits in wait of another story, another tale to tumble from your lips.

You are tilting your head, considering the question like it held the weight of a court behind it, as if Tamaki were your judge and jury. You sigh, the weight of the world seemingly settled on your shoulders, almost like you’d thought about this question far too much before, “I think if I were going through a hard time, and I had a friend who just was there for me, I would give them a bouquet of hydrangeas.”

“Why?”

He wishes he hadn’t blurted it out – how rude of him – but your answer makes it worth the accidental insensitivity.

“It’s easy to try and instruct someone on what you think they’re to do next,” you answer carefully, eyes following invisible directions as you stalk around the arrangement as if it were your prey. You grind your teeth together; Tamaki can tell based on the way your jaw quivers under the strain. “It’s difficult just to sit and listen. Even when it’s meant to be kind and helpful, it can sometimes be overwhelming to constantly be told how to react or what to say or how to handle a situation. Almost like they aren’t considering you at all, instead preaching to you of their prowess, how they might have done better if they were in your shoes.”

Your voice is almost chilling, hollow like a needle or a feather, “To find a friend who could listen to me without interjecting their opinion, without telling me what to do, now that is worthy of a hydrangea.”

He allows his subconscious thoughts to wander for a moment, thinking on the implications of you possibly having a mind-controlling quirk. Is that the reason he was okay with coming here? Was it all because you manifested a quirk that allows you to influence the minds of men? Or did your quirk work on women too? Did you-

“Hey,” your voice is gentle, subtle despite the loud volume of everyone else in the shop. Your palm is on his bicep, and for some reason, it anchors him instead of making him want to float away at the sudden contact. Your eyes are genuine as you whisper, “Breathe.”

Tamaki listens to you, taking a short breath in and exhaling soon after, eyes never losing direct contact with yours. His shoulders roll with tension, Tamaki’s lower lip tugged between the bite of his teeth. He swallows, realizing what a fool he must appear to be. How can a hero need assistance from a civilian just for breathing?

“I know what anxiety looks like.” You brush your thumb against his bulky costume, and Tamaki wishes a very secret thing then – something he would never admit aloud. He is curious about how intense your touch would be if he weren’t in his full hero outfit.

Would the pads of your fingertips be soft? Would he be able to feel the heat from your skin leeching onto his own? How much more calming might your skin be if it was direct on his own?

You tilt your head, a considerate grin tugging on the corners of your lips. He’s pleasantly surprised to note the dimples that dip inward, making you all the more appealing, as if you needed any additional help. Tamaki tries to say something, but it gets lost in his throat, so you speak instead, “I hope you don’t mind me ordering for you at the counter. I just wanted you to be a little more comfortable. I felt bad since I was the one who asked you to come.”

“N-No, it’s fine,” he forces the words out, turning to look you in the eyes. Tamaki grits his teeth together and muscles through the anxiety gripping his bones like a vice. He questions when the day will finally come when he might break. “I just feel bad for the people waiting on me.”

“This flower is pretty,” Tamaki licks his lips and leans forward, inspecting the blossom rather intently.

You laugh, and he’s reminded of how delicate you are when you giggle. His eyes are momentarily redirected toward you, taking in every curvature of your face, the dimples created by your smile, the way the gesture reaches your eyes, and it’s like little stars shine from your irises. Tamaki can’t help the way he grins, your laugh and your smile are infectious, much like your love for flowers.

“Have you seen one before?” you ask him, stepping towards the wall of blooms, “They’re a beautiful choice, a lot of meaning behind them. Most people have never seen one, though.”

Tamaki turns to face the flowers again, compelling himself to detract from your silhouette, “Are they rare?”

“Not necessarily,” you respond. You push yourself up on your toes to grab a bright red bud from the wall, twirling your choice blossom between your fingerprints. The scent wafts from the center of the flower, a small dusting of pollen coating Tamaki’s nose.

You giggle as you reach across to brush his skin free from the yellow powder, hand lingering just slightly too long for him to ignore your possible intent. You lick your lips, irises swallowed by your pupils for a moment, allowing him a direct line of sight into your soul. He reads you for a split second, and he swears that the look in your eyes mirrors his own when he thinks too hard about the way you move and the distinct notes of your smell. You’ve taken over every inch of his mind, every last curve of cerebrum and cerebellum.

For the first time, Tamaki is somewhat confident that you might be under the same spell.

“These are anemones,” you break him from his stupor, pulling his line of sight towards the budding flower in your grasp, “they signify anticipation – the build-up before the burst. Kind of like when you’re going to have your first kiss!”

Tamaki stutters, “T-That’s why you’d g-give someone this flower? Wh-When you want to kiss them?”

“No, silly,” you swat at him, smacking the back of your palm against his bicep. However, before you can turn away from him entirely, he notes the beautiful blush turning your cheeks to a rouge. You sigh dramatically with your hip leaned against the table, “I just mean that’s what the flower symbolizes – the tantalizing next step into the unknown.”

“Sounds scary.”

Your eyes light up as you turn to look at him again, irises gleaming under the bright lights of the flower shop, “Oh, but doesn’t it feel riveting?”

You are too close now, your pose intoxicating as he remembers every time you’ve come so near to him and he hasn’t had the strength to reach out and grasp you by the waist. Is this his time? Is this the day that he finally hands you a blossom and tells you the truth about the war raging inside of his chest? He has little soldiers prodding at his heart, stomping all over his bones, making them ache when he is adjacent to you.

Something within him wanders into the tumultuous thoughts of how you might respond, what his body would do in reaction to you. Would he finally find some relief from the plague of himself when he finally passes the threshold into adoring you on a physical level? Mentally, he’s been infatuated with you for some time now, but his throat can’t force the words out when he’s within ten feet of your frame.

Tamaki reaches out, his hand weighted down with reserve and implications. And yet, it’s almost like you lean into his touch before he can think on it too harshly, before he can make the rash decision to retract it and flee. He gasps audibly, eyes flashing to find your face, irises connecting like some sort of lighthouse out at sea, giving one another hope despite the disparity of every other moment leading up to this one.

“Anemones,” Tamaki whispers, voice curling from his throat, projecting onto you like a prayer. His hand is hot with hesitation as it rests on your rib cage, “I’ll have to remember that one.”

“Well, the people waiting on you can get over themselves. Everyone needs to learn a little patience, anyways.” You brush a hand through your hair, blowing away stray locks as they float back into your line of sight. You sigh, voice sounding dejected until your topic turns to blossoms, “I-I’m sorry if this wasn’t the place to bring you. I just figured it would be easy since it’s right next to my shop. I’d love to show you some flowers if you have time?”

“I-I’m on patrol,” he manages to push the words out from between his teeth, his throat grating like sandpaper, “I’m not sure…”

“Maybe another time, then?”

Dare he say you sound hopeful? And maybe even a little nervous?

How is it that each time his mind snaps him from you like a rubber band, you are right there, ready to stretch his limits yet again?

“I have seen this one…in Mother’s Day bouquets, I think?” Tamaki asks, unsure of himself this time as he circles the table. There are so many different types of blossoms, so many different meanings to decipher based on genus and color alone.

Your nod makes the pit in his stomach settle for some reason, and Amajiki releases a breath he didn’t realize that he was holding captive in his lungs. He’s not sure he understands why just the small reassurance of your head bobbing or your voice lilting on the right side of kind can calm the raging sea in his mind and stomach.

Tamaki is nearly tucked into your side, hands itching to find purchase against your body, his frame devoid of his typical uniform. The long sleeve shirt may cover the majority of his palms, but that does not mean he would refrain from baring his skin if it meant he could dip his toes into the edge of the ecstasy he might feel at your touch.

His fingertips are on the cusp of you, the calloused pads extended, beckoning you to come closer in a silent, desperate plea. Like your hearts are tied together in some other realm, as if you’ve done this a thousand times before, in a dozen other lives, you turn subconsciously to allow the collision of his fingerprints to impact the curve of your waist.

“Gladiolus means remembrance,” your voice is breathless as you point towards a set of buds that are seated proudly on the wall of flowers. You tilt your head upward, eyes shining as you press the heel of your palm into the column of his throat, thumb grazing his Adam’s apple to soothe it.

The weight of your words does not fall on deaf ears, Tamaki’s every sense on high alert as you speak next, “They can mean remembrance of someone past, or of someone you’re currently trying to honor. Or they can just mean a simple remember me.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* TAG LIST *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

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writingithink · 4 years ago

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If the Doctor Dances Rated: T Word Count: 4402 Summary: After Canary Wharf, the Doctor has a lot of regrets. Notes: This is a fic for @sunniebelle ‘s prompt at @doctorroseprompts. The prompt has tons of spoilers so I'm just leaving it as a link :P. sunnibelle, I hope you like the fic! All of the gratitude to @hey-there-juliet for being the best beta ever! All mistakes are mine, as per usual.

READ IT ON AO3 [copy/paste link] -> https://archiveofourown.org/works/27631036

The moment the TARDIS had safely entered the Vortex, the Doctor wasn’t sure it had been a good idea to refuse Donna’s offer of Christmas dinner. It would have hurt, spending the holiday without Rose, trying to keep up the facade that everything was okay, that he was fine . Then again, he wasn’t sure that it would have hurt more than this.

Alone on his ship, the TARDIS’ hum was the only thing keeping the silence from becoming truly oppressive. Even so, he felt like he was being bombarded with her absence.

The Doctor glanced down at the controls. At any given moment he usually had countless ideas for where to go next, an unending list of places and times and historical figures it would be interesting to see. He still did.

It was just …

What was the point?

What was the point, if he couldn’t show it all to her ? Experience it with her? View the wonders of the Universe through Rose Tyler’s eyes, their hands clasped together as they ran through time and space?

None of it felt like it mattered anymore.

Over nine hundred years, and he had lost so much, been through so much. He didn’t know how he was possibly expected to get through this.

His anguished cry echoed through the room as he pushed himself violently away from the console and forced himself to march down the corridor before he did something that he would likely regret later - like destroy the last TARDIS in existence. Right now he wouldn’t put it past him. He couldn’t trust himself.

The Doctor paused outside of the galley. Maybe a nice cuppa would help him begin to sort through the pain that was threatening to rip him into pieces. He opened the door, took a step inside, and then froze.

Rose’s favorite mug sat on the counter next to a plate of half eaten toast. Three open jars of jam were near it - they had been taste testing.

Throat tight, he turned around, fleeing the room.

Without too much thought, mind forcing him to relive memories of Rose bringing him cups of tea while he worked on repairs, the Doctor entered the library. Before he could collapse onto the sofa, his eyes locked on her favorite throw balled up near the armrest. On the coffee table sat a complete collection of Shakespeare’s work. They had been reading Much Ado About Nothing - she enjoyed the plays more when he read them aloud, said that the strange words made more sense that way.

With each breath he took it felt as though shards of glass were piercing his lungs.

He ran out, not paying attention to where his feet were taking him, vision blurred with tears that he foolishly tried to hold in. Was there nowhere on the ship that didn’t ring out with her absence? The Doctor blindly opened a door, eyes closed as he gave in.

I love you, she’d told him.

He would never see her again.

It had been his last chance to say it. His last chance, and he’d run out of time. Now she would never know that he loved her, too.

The Doctor dropped to the floor, legs messily criss crossing as he covered his tear streaked face. He didn’t want to know where he’d ended up, certain that wherever it was would only echo sharply with it’s lack of Rose Tyler. It certainly smelled like her, and that was bad enough.

I love you, she’d told him, and why couldn’t he have just said it back?!

Then at least she would have known. Because he’d known how she felt even without the words - Rose had shown him constantly. Unfortunately, he couldn’t say the same for himself.

Sure, more recently he’d begun to try, but his attempts were laughable. Any chance to really show her, and he would deflect, make a poorly timed joke, or run away. Always running.

They should have had more time.

He’d been so afraid of the mere decades she’d had left to live, certain that they would ‘only’ have years together before Rose would be too old to want to run around the Universe with him - that even though she’d promised him her forever, she would need more than he was able to offer her.

Now the Doctor wished that he’d given in to every human-y impulse he’d had, because holding back obviously hadn’t lessened the pain of losing her. They could have had so much more.

With a sharp breath, he opened his eyes only to immediately scrunch them closed, hands curling into fists, nails painfully digging into his palms.

Her room.

He was in her room.

His insides felt hollow as he stood, fully intending to run out, but instead found himself clumsily crawling onto Rose’s bed, wrapping himself in her duvet, and burrowing his face into her pillow. If nowhere on his ship was safe, then why shouldn’t he stay here?

Gripping the blanket tighter, the Doctor couldn’t help but let out a few choked sobs as he rolled to the side and took in the mess she’d left.

He’d never get to tease her again about making so much clutter.

They should have had more time.

Not just more time, even. He should have used the time they’d already had better , instead of being scared of what it would do to him when this day came.

His eyes landed on a dress strewn haphazardly over the chair in front of her vanity. She’d worn it out the last time they’d landed on a peaceful planet for an evening. Had actually convinced him to go back to the TARDIS to change when they’d happened upon a restaurant with dancing. Rose had, of course, asked him to dance that night.

She always did, despite the fact that he refused her every time.

He’d thought it would be too hard to pretend they were nothing more than the best of friends, that he didn’t want anything more than that, if he were to hold her close like that.

So he always refused her, and she always let him. He had spent that evening leaning against the bar, pretending not to be scowling everytime she looked his way as she’d danced the night away, a line of pretty boys always seeming to be vying for her attention. He used to slip away, telling her there was maintenance to be done on the ship (usually there wasn’t).

It had been awhile since he’d been able to do that. To leave her. The Doctor had been certain that soon he would break - they would dance together, and she would just know. It hadn’t stopped him from trying to hold out for as long as he could.

He should have never tried to begin with.

They had danced together once … but only once.

It was - and would likely always be - one of his favourite memories. Everyone had lived, and he had danced. And spinning around the console room with Rose Tyler in his arms, he had finally admitted to himself that his hearts were no longer his own.

But it hadn’t changed the fact that she was human, and he was a Time Lord. The last of the Time Lords.

And as he sat in the console room that night after Rose and Harkness had gone to sleep, he had been terrified . Certain that if he gave in, it would break him.

So; no more dancing.

No giving in.

Yet here he was - broken.

It hadn’t mattered in the slightest. He loved her, and just because she didn’t know hadn’t stopped her from consuming him.

They should have had so much more time.

His brain was a broken record, stuck on the thought. How many changes he would make if he’d known how short their ‘forever’ would be.

The Doctor hadn’t thought he’d be able to stop crying now that he’d started, but his next sob cut off with a gasp.

He was a Time Lord. The last of the Time Lords. So what was stopping him from changing it?

Sure, he couldn’t actually go back and do it all over again - it didn’t work like that. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t make one teeny tiny paradox, now did it?

His ship screeched in his head as he raced into the console room, lights flashing in distress. The Doctor ignored her, inputting coordinates. She was just kicking up a fuss - there was no harm in planting a teeny tiny suggestion into his past self.

“Stop being so dramatic,” he said aloud, voice rough.

He was a Time Lord - he knew what he was doing, and he had perfect recall - knew the first time Rose Tyler had asked him to dance after the Blitz, and knew just when he would be able to get himself alone.

Harkness had suggested it and he’d, of course, refused. Unfortunately, Rose had managed to flutter her eyes and he’d ended up caving. So here they were, at the Moulin Rouge of all places.

The Doctor crossed his arms, doing his level best at projecting an air of unapproachability. It wasn’t as effective as usual, with how intoxicated most of the patrons already were. Jack had already gotten himself a bottle of absinthe, and he was just thankful that Rose had refused to join him, content to drink only non-hallucinogenic alcohol. On that end, she was currently walking towards him with what appeared to be a glass of champagne.

“So, are any famous people here?” she asked as she sidled up to him and took a small sip of her drink.

He made a show of looking around, and while he did think he recognized a few patrons, the Doctor couldn’t be sure and also was aware that Rose was unlikely to know their names.

“Naah,” he said. “It’s early days, May of 1890. They only got their first review a month ago, and it won’t be until the fall that the Prince of Wales visits. By next year, Toulouse-Lautrec will release his first poster. Got us in before the crowds, me.”

“And before that show Jack wanted to see. I’m pretty sure I recall him specifically requesting 1893,” Rose smirked. “Mentioned something about Cleopatra and naked ladies. Think he knows the date?”

The Doctor shrugged, looking around again to locate their companion. It wasn’t hard to find him, and while they hadn’t even hit the half hour mark yet, it seemed as though his drinks were kicking in.

“I don’t know,” he told her, “but I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t care if you told him.”

She followed his gaze, giggling as they caught Harkness lean towards an attractive French bloke and nearly trip over his own feet.

“Think this is the start of another one of his stories where he ends up starkers somewhere?” Rose asked before quickly finishing her drink and sitting the glass on the tray of a passing waiter.

“Fancy making a bet?” he laughed.

“Mmm no. I think we both know how it’s going to end. Now c’mon, let’s dance,” she grinned, taking his hand.

The Doctor frowned, looking down at their clasped fingers. The music was fun and bouncy, and Rose looked beautiful, as always. But …

“No,” he forced himself to say, “think I’ll pass. You go on, though. Have fun.”

His smile felt wrong on his face, like baring teeth. He doubted he was fooling her.

“Why not?” she asked, frowning.

He wished she wouldn’t frown. That just made it harder.

“You know me, not much for dancing. Best save it for a special occasion,” the Doctor lied, because he couldn’t tell her the truth: that he was afraid to ever dance with her again. Afraid of what would happen if he continued to let his guard down.

Rose didn’t look like she believed him, but shrugged her shoulders anyway, letting him off the hook.

“Suit yourself,” she said, before walking up to the dance floor.

It was mere moments before one of the pretty boys that she seemed to draw in like a moth to a flame walked up to her, and then they were dancing. And of course she would choose him, why wouldn’t she? It’s not like she’d needed him to dance with her. She’d just been being nice. The Doctor was sure that Rose was much happier with her current dance partner than she would have been with him.

Scowling, he turned away from the dance floor and tried to relocate Jack.

It took a little longer this time, but he eventually found him sitting at a booth in between two dancers, seemingly telling them a story. The Doctor rolled his eyes, and seeing as he didn’t fancy getting dragged into a can-can once all of that started, and he hadn’t wanted to go to the cabaret to begin with, he quietly left the building. It wouldn’t be the first time they’d gotten separated, and everyone knew to meet at the TARDIS - though he hated to think of how long he’d end up waiting on Harkness.

It was a warm night, summer quickly approaching, and he strolled leisurely in the direction of his ship. No matter what he tried to think of to distract himself, he couldn’t manage to get the grimace off his face. Really, Rose Tyler made it awfully difficult for him to ignore how he felt about her. Lines of potential suitors seemed to follow her around, none of them good enough for her in the slightest.

Not that he was. He would be the worst for her of all of them.

The Doctor turned a corner and then slowed - someone was leaning against the building right in front of the alley where he’d parked the TARDIS. Probably harmless, but best to act inconspicuous.

“Beautiful night,” the bloke commented as the Doctor walked past.

“Yup,” he agreed with a noncommittal shrug.

“You’re wasting it,” the man snarled before he could turn the corner.

“Excuse me?” The Doctor paused and turned, looking him up and down. Their eyes met and he realized exactly who he was speaking to. “What are you doing here?!”

The future him didn’t deign to respond, instead turning his head to stare in the direction the Doctor had just come from.

“C’mon, then! There must be a reason you’re risking a paradox. Get on with it!”

“I’m sorry,” the future him - another bloody pretty boy out to ruin his night, of course - sighed before refocusing. He hadn’t seen such a melancholy look on his face since the first time he’d looked in the mirror after-

After.

“It’s fine, just tell me what you’re doing here.”

“I’m sorry,” the other him repeated, scuffing his trainers against the wall before standing up straighter.

“Yeah, I got that, b- wait. Are you trying to tell me that you traveled back in your personal timeline to apologize?! For what?!!”

“I don’t know. It’s … complicated.”

His eyes were black holes, but … they really didn’t seem to carry the years any more than his own did.

“Complicated. Right. Just how far into my future are you?” the Doctor asked.

“I can’t tell you that,” his future claimed, shaking his head of ridiculous hair.

“We both know I’m going to have to forget this, so if you could stop trying to act all mysterious, that’d be great, ta,” he huffed, crossing his arms.

“You know what, fine ,” the pretty boy wearing plimsolls with a suit snarled. “Not long. Maybe about, ohhh, two, two and a half years? Turns out we’re quite jeopardy friendly ourselves. Happy? Good.”

His future self spun around and began walking away, toward the cabaret.

For a moment, the Doctor stood there, stunned. While the other him hadn’t said when it was that he regenerated, it was a very small window. This body should last him hundreds of years! Really, he’d barely used it.

Thankfully, he snapped out of it and quickly caught up with the next Doctor, who was walking stiffly, hands shoved into the pocket of the coat Janis Joplin had given them. It was the only part of his ensemble that the Doctor didn’t necessarily hate.

“Just where is it you think you’re going?” he asked, letting his tone communicate the implied accusation.

There was something … dangerous … about this version of himself. He just couldn’t put his finger on what it was. At least, not yet.

“Earth, Paris, 1890 - I’m taking in the sights. Get a croissant, catch a show, maybe even check out the Eiffel Tower. It’s brand new, you know. The possibilities are endless.”

“You’re heading toward the Moulin Rouge, I’m not an idiot - though I don’t look forward to becoming one. All looks and no brains, the Universe is going to fall to pieces. What’s going on? Is Rose in danger?”

His future self stumbled, an audible gasp escaping before he corrected himself.

A sinking feeling washed over the Doctor as he asked his next question.

“Where is Rose? Your Rose.”

This time the other him stopped completely. They were both silent for far too long as the Doctor waited for his answer.

“I lost her,” he finally choked out. “She’s trapped in a parallel world. We- we can never see her again.”

The pretty boy in pinstripes offered no resistance when the Doctor immediately gave into the urge to punch the tosser he was about to regenerate into right in the face.

“You lost her ?!” he found himself shouting. “ How?!”

The future him covered his cheek, an unsettling look of determination in his eyes replacing the former hopelessness. He didn’t answer the question.

“I have so many regrets,” he said instead. “We wasted so much time.” His future self looked around him as if really seeing his surroundings for the first time, a manic gleam in his otherwise dead eyes. The Doctor took an involuntary step backwards, a natural reaction to seeing a Time Lord that seemed to have gone insane. “We’re in France?!”

“Yeah, France. That is where the most famous Paris on Earth is, and the original Moulin Rouge,” the Doctor said slowly, if not more than a bit cockily.

“But Rose hates France. Ah, wait. No. Will hate France. My bad. My fault, actually, if we’re being honest. So many regrets,” the other him groaned, ruffling his hair before whirling back around and picking up the pace as he continued toward the cabaret.

The Doctor clenched his fists. He had a general idea of what his future self had in mind, of what he was capable of if there was no one around to stop him. If there was no Rose Tyler.

“You can’t take her,” he all but shouted, grabbing the next him’s arm in an attempt to stop him only to get shaken off. His whole being tingled in a bad way as the temporal disturbance worsened.

“I’m not going to take her. She isn’t even going to know that I’m me. You. Eh, you know what I mean,” the pretty boy said with an absent wave of his hand as the Moulin Rouge came into view.

The Doctor was running out of time.

“So what exactly are you doing, then?”

“I’m going to dance with her,” he stated, matter-of-fact.

“You’re going to put the entire Universe at risk for dancing ?!” the Doctor exclaimed. Of all the stupid, ridiculous, idiotic things!

The other him simply shrugged, and the Doctor could tell that he really didn’t care. None of it mattered to this broken version of himself, shattered in a way that he didn’t believe he’d ever been, even right after he’d ended the Time War.

“Alright, tell me this,” he said, shoving his hands in his pockets. “All pretty as you are, were you and Rose- ?”

“No,” the future him breathed. “You know us. Cowards, every time. I just wish-”

The Doctor didn’t find out how that sentence would have ended, as he’d finally found the stun gun he’d confiscated from Harkness the day before, and now the other Doctor was a crumpled heap of pinstripes on the dirty cobblestones.

“I’d say I was sorry, but I’m really not,” he grunted as he struggled to get his future self into a fireman’s carry. “More trouble than you’re worth.”

It didn’t take him terribly long to find the future version of his ship, where he left the next him leaning against the door after carefully entering his own mind and forcing him into a regenerative coma in the hopes that when he came to he’d be sane.

Finally, after all of that, the Doctor reached his TARDIS. Exhausted, and quite ready to forget that he’d ever run into a future him, he slid his key into the lock, and … nothing.

He pushed at the door. Nothing.

He pulled on the door. Nothing.

“What are you playing at?” he scowled at his ship.

In response, he received a hum that managed to be both smug and irritated. The Doctor jiggled the key, trying to get it to turn - it didn’t. He scanned her with his sonic screwdriver - all of the readings were normal.

“He’s fine ,” he assured the TARDIS, taking a guess about what had her so upset and rolling his eyes. “Well, maybe not fine . Off his rocker, but I don’t know what more you expect me to do about it. I’ve maintained the timeline, that’s all I can do.”

Another frustrated hum, and then a vision of him and Rose dancing together.

“What, you think I should have let him?!”

The hand he had still pressed against the door was zapped, and the Doctor quickly removed it as the vision played again, this time with a focus on him . This him.

“You want me to dance with her? Why ?!” he asked, boldly trying the door again. “Of all the- if I wasn’t going to before, I certainly can’t now. I’ve got future knowledge that says I never-”

His eyes slid shut and the Doctor slumped against the TARDIS as she helped him initiate a memory lock. A minute later he jolted back up, furiously pushing at the door of his time ship.

“Of all the meddling-”

Zap!

“Since when do you care if I-”

Zap!

“Bloody hell! Fine! One dance. And it’s not going to be the can-can!”

The Doctor walked back to the Moulin Rouge, muttering unflattering things about his interfering ship the whole way. When he re-entered the cabaret, Jack was nowhere to be seen - not surprising. He quickly spotted Rose, still on the dance floor, smiling at a different pretty boy.

He frowned and crossed his arms, wishing for once that the alcohol on Earth affected him the way it did humans. Unfortunately, there was nothing for it. One dance, just to make the TARDIS happy (and what was that even about, anyway?) and then he’d leave again. The Doctor dropped his arms, straightened his shoulders, and marched into the fray.

“Oi! Mind if I cut in?” he asked once he reached Rose and her overly friendly dance partner, though ‘ask’ was a strong word - he pushed the bloke to the side and took Rose’s hands before either of them had time to respond. “Didn’t think so. Go on then,” he told the man, gesturing with his head toward the bar before managing to spin himself and Rose away.

“Hey!” she complained, “What the hell was that about?! I thought you didn’t even want to dance?”

“Changed me mind,” was all the Doctor said in response, as he didn’t really have an answer for her first question.

Well, he did. It just wasn’t something he wanted to admit to.

For a moment he was absolutely positive that Rose was about to start shouting at him, but then she sighed, cast her eyes skyward, and then … smiled.

“Fine. Not that I want you makin’ a habit of this, but alright. Let’s dance.”

The Doctor came out of his healing coma slowly, disoriented as his brain sluggishly came back online. He panicked for a moment, not knowing where he was or how he got there, calming only when he realized that he was leaning against the TARDIS.

Streets seemed Earth-like. European, late 19th century.

Paris. He was in Paris.

Why was he in Paris?

The last time he was in late 19th century, Paris was-

His eyes widened and his respiratory bypass kicked in as the Doctor as it all came back to him. He remembered, and was horrified .

How could he have done that?! Why had the TARDIS let him?!

Well, maybe because it had already happened. Circular paradox. Thank Rassilon his past self had been able to stop him.

The Doctor still couldn’t remember what exactly had been going through his mind when he’d decided to cross his own timeline. All he knew was that it had something to do with Rose.

He braced himself for the crushing pain that filled him everytime he thought of her … but it didn’t come. Before he could properly wonder why that was, new memories began to unlock in his mind, running parallel to his original memories. To his original timeline.

While he’d thought he’d been disoriented before, it was nothing compared to this. Still, he slowly rose from where he’d remained leaning against his ship, only stumbling once as a wave of vertigo hit him.

What was true? What was reality now that he’d managed to alter it, despite knowing for a fact that his past self had repressed the memory? Was the Universe even safe? Or was time about to unravel around him?

The TARDIS hummed soothingly as he slowly pushed open the door.

“Doctor?”

His respiratory bypass system kicked in, and for a moment he stared at the grating, afraid to look up.

“I’ve been lookin’ for you all over. Where’d we land?”

It was the voice of a ghost. But not. The Doctor closed his eyes and forced himself to breathe.

“Nowhere,” he answered, finally raising his head. “Got the date wrong. Have to try again.”

Rose Tyler looked stunning, dressed in a denim jacket, a floral dress, tights and some boots. She always looked stunning, no matter what she was wearing. And now he was going to make sure he told her. That he always told her.

“Alright then,” she laughed. Such a brilliant laugh. “And where are we supposed to be going?”

“How do you feel about dancing?”

#doctorroseprompts #sunniebelle #ficandchips #ten x rose #tenrose #timepetals #dw fanfiction #fandom: doctor who #pairing: rose x doctor #fic: if the doctor dances #my fic

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