#being a long-winded bitch is both a blessing and a curse | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

chaozsilhouette · 4 years ago

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Turbulent Beginnings

This forms the opening act to Macaque’s story, showing just how different his and Wukong’s early lives were and why he took Wukong’s disappearance so hard.

The idea Macaque was born from the wind was inspired by @animemoonprincess. And yes, I am a shameless fan of Macaque originally having white fur. The angst is just too perfect.

Brace yourselves, this isn’t going to be pretty. I am essentially shoving our boy through an emotional meat grinder.

§~~~~§~~~~§~~~~§

On a remote island, a day’s travel from China’s eastern shore, a massive hurricane raged as it had since the beginning of this world. The surrounding storms fed into it as its winds carved stone. No life had dared blossom on its soil out of fear of a painful demise. The merciless storm drank deeply of the waters of the sea, draining all aspects of potential and life before casting it aside. Not even curious spirits were spared.

Various deities had wondered why such a storm existed or why the Jade Emperor allowed such a dangerous presence to continue unchecked. Most believed that since the hurricane was stationary and prove no threat to the established order of the world, it was not important.

One day the hurricane vanished. As though it had never existed. Or rather that it had been transformed into something else.

It was the night of a new moon and with the hurricane gone, the island experienced its first cloudless sky. The only one to witness the momentous occasion was a monkie with pure white fur and six ears. Minding his manners, the nameless monkie bowed to the four winds in greeting.

The newborn proceeded to spend his days searching the island for something. Some clue as to the reason behind his birth. He could hear strange voices and words he didn’t understand yet at the same time could. He knew he wasn’t the only creature alive, so why was he alone?

For food, he walked his way through a cave system towards the sea, where he enjoyed the fish that were drawn in through the whirlpools and the mussels that clung to the sharp rocks. He grew to savor the taste of life, even though there was a part of him that craved something different.

Almost forty years passed before he mustered the courage to leave everything he knew to seek out those voices. He gathered all the driftwood and rope that had drifted onshore over the decades, fashioned it into a makeshift raft, and sailed towards the closest source of voices.

His voyage was actually pretty boring once he cleared the whirlpools.

The only exciting part about it was when that strange fish tried to sink his raft. It was bigger than any fish he’d previously seen with a mouth to match. Didn’t mean it survived past the first blow. Taking a bite Macaque wasn’t sure if he liked this fish. The muscles were tough and the flesh was rough on his tongue. He didn’t particularly like the taste. But there was enough to feed him for a full day.

In the end, he chose to eat a third of the fish’s muscles along with its heart before tossing back into the water.

§~~~~§~~~~§~~~~§

Docking on dry land was an experience that would haunt him for years.

At first, he was filled with wonder at the sight of buildings and new creatures riding rafts far bigger than his.

When he stepped onto shore the whispers began.

The creatures, who he later learned were called humans, were pointing out his ears. They acknowledged his obvious intelligence. He heard them grip wooden instruments tightly. It was as if they expected him to do something.

No one made a move against him. No one approached him, but he could tell he wasn’t wanted. Everywhere he turned he saw eyes that cursed his every existence.

He didn’t stay in that village for long. In his mind, satisfying his curiosity wasn’t worth being stared at as though he was the source of all evil.

Demon.

That is what they called him. Was that what he was?

He didn’t know, but he didn’t like it.

§~~~~§~~~~§~~~~§

He aimlessly wandered the countryside for far too long.

The first act of kindness he received was from a couple who could not have children of their own. He stumbled upon them by accident, but instead of the normal fearful expressions he’d come to expect they greeted him with genuine smiles and an offer to join them for dinner.

They took him in and treated him like family. He became the son they always wanted. They taught him how to properly speak and how to walk comfortably on two limbs. They blessed him with a name.

They were kind and nurturing. In another world, they may have been called bodhisattvas. But sadly, due to them being ordinary mortals, his time with them only lasted four decades.

He buried them with love but grew resentful of his weak emotions.

He learned what it was like to have someone welcome him home after a long day. He learned to savor the taste of a mother’s home-cooked meal. He enjoyed having a father figure who was willing to teach him old military tactics. He experienced friendly competitions to see who could paint the most accurate portrait of a flower they saw earlier that day. It was everything he never knew he craved and then it was gone. Leaving him with an empty home and a broken heart.

§~~~~§~~~~§~~~~§

Nearly fifty years later he joined a band of traveling performers.

Their natural oddities allowed them to see who he really was and welcome him into their party. With their compassion, he was granted the opportunity to heal. He learned that despite the group’s large size, very few of them had any direct blood relations. What made them special was how they created their own family and turned what many called strange into something beautiful. Out of respect, he delved into the world of entertainment, found he had a natural talent for it.

When he took the stage people assumed he was in costume, but that didn’t matter. The applause of the audience was a gift he cherished. The sheer passion this family expressed through every second in life warmed his heart beyond words. They were just what he needed to bring him out of his depression.

Alas, it was not meant to stay.

One night their camp was ambushed by a group of demons. They were nothing special, hardly worth mentioning. But for him, back then, it was a fight he never imagined. He could easily handle human bandits, so could his family, but never had he traded blows with a small army of his fellow demons. With the rising of the sun, Macaque stared at the cruelly bright sky covered in blood. All around him bodies lay scattered, life essence soaking into the ground. Despite being tasked with fighting off nearly five dozen demonic opponents he managed to survive with barely a scratch, but he was alone. Again.

§~~~~§~~~~§~~~~§

He tried to change things by sticking to his fellow demons. At least they lived longer.

Somehow that ended up with him becoming the apprentice to a demon healer for almost a century. She was a cold-hearted bitch with a heart of gold. Meticulous in her work, masterful in deduction, and short-tempered with the foolish. She gave everything to her practice and expected the same from him. It was bitter work, but he found it fulfilling. The knowledge that he now possessed the ability to restore others to peak condition settled some unknown part of his soul.

Of course, they would have visitors who wished to take advantage of her skills or steal the medicine. Between the two of them, they protected their clinic, but they weren’t always together. While she may try to hide it, she wasn’t the strongest demon out there. Apparently, the entire reason she got into medicine was to uncover why she was so weak. Centuries of research turned up nothing, but it did make her incredibly skilled at using poisons with her knives to compensate.

One day after he returned from gathering ingredients, he pulled back the door to find the shop in disarray, five unknown bodies slowly dying of extensive blood poisoning, and his master bleeding out from her severed arms. She always said she had no intention of entering Naraka alone.

Guess she kept her word.

§~~~~§~~~~§~~~~§

The cycle repeated itself over centuries. He would experience a brief window of happiness only for it to be savagely stolen from him, leaving him to mourn and curse his weak heart.

The small glimmers of kindness humanity showed him only made him curse their race even harder when he couldn’t walk into a village without being harassed. The humans who had proven stronger were sadly a rare breed. He was rare to encounter one a century and often they perished at the hands of their kind rather than by demons.

There were times when the ignorance had gotten so bad he’d taken to traveling with a constant glamour, disguising himself as an average human. Whenever he was in the presence of other demons, he allowed his true form to manifest, however, he made it look like he only had a single pair of ears. Standing out was the easiest way to wind up in a complicated situation he had no interest in trying to defuse.

That’s not to say his time was wasted.

Quite the contrary, he had learned much during his travels. He could hardly be compared to the happy young monkie, who was ignorant of the dangers and hardships this world held. In a sad attempt to fill the void, Macaque sought out wisdom and strength. He located masters of both the mystic and martial arts. He may have had to lie about his age, he was becoming quite the accomplished liar, but the results were more than worth it. With every stop, he found himself growing more certain of his strength and his identity.

Eventually, he discovered a strange monastery hidden in a cave in the face of a mountain.

He had never seen anything like it during his travels. But what truly drew his attention was the feeling the temple exuded, every stone exuded a strange aurora. Something powerful dwelled within, powerful yet there was an undeniably human quality to it all.

Hiding beneath his usual glamor, Macaque approached the temple with the desire to discover exactly what was being taught. Before he knew what was happening, he was speaking to the immortal sage who was running the joint. Master Subhuti welcomed him to his home and offered some tea. The disguised monkie was bombarded by dozens of questions, all of which he attempted to answer as though he was a normal human.

The master welcomed him as his newest disciple and showed him his new home. Later he learned the master could see through his disguise and sensed his potential. Apparently, the old immortal believed that the monkie would do well to learn his disciplines and he was fascinated by the monkie’s natural talent.Said something about how with proper guidance only the Buddha would be able to peer past his façade.

The monkie even received a new name to celebrate his rebirth. From that day forward he was Liu’Er Mihou, or the Six-Eared Macaque. He liked it. While he cherished the name his first family gifted him, he felt this was a good sign. A tribute to show that he was a changed monkie.

Regardless, he refused to drop his glamor. He had seen too many demons be cast out and attacked for getting sloppy. The other students were not thrilled about the newcomer showing them up and he wasn’t willing to give them a true reason to despise him. He learned quickly, more so than any other human disciple, but that put him at odds with those who were still struggling after years of training.

Macaque distanced himself from the others. They weren’t that interesting anyway. He didn’t care that they talked about him behind his back or were fully aware he could hear them. He couldn’t risk getting close so soon. He was determined to break the cycle. He didn’t care about immortality. He didn’t care about obtaining power. All he wanted was to end the pain. So far things had been working out in his favor.

Then heshowed up…

§~~~~§~~~~§~~~~§

That trice damned monkie with peach-colored fur and markings like a golden mask. He was so naïve about the world. He treated everything as though it was some exciting game. His upbeat energy made Macaque sick. Some twisted part of him wanted to snap his neck just to end it, but a small part was fascinated by it. The other monkie reminded him of a time he had almost forgotten.

The Monkey King, or Sun Wukong, didn’t bother hiding his true appearance. Truthfully, Macaque wasn’t sure he knew how or that he should. He didn’t seem to notice how other students would keep their distance or how they kept their conversations as brief as possible without crossing the threshold into being considered rude.

He was so earnest and happy, it was painful. The new monkie pestered everyone about everything, it was like dealing with a newborn, but it seemed Macaque was his favorite to bother. The worst part was how he stared at Macaque as though he could peer past his glamour. Although Macaque wasn’t sure if that was truly possible. The Master could, but he dedicated centuries to refine his skills. Wait. How old was this annoyance? Perhaps he could smell he wasn’t like the other disciples.

Either way, he knew it was just a matter of time until the truth got out. He just didn’t expect it to be when he was changing.

Each student was offered a meager room for privacy. They were all the same size and offered little to no space for any customization, but the walls were enchanted to cut out sound whenever the doors were closed.

Behind those flimsy walls was the only time Macaque allowed his glamor to drop. While he valued being cautious, even he couldn’t keep up the glamour indefinitely, much less when he was asleep.

It was in that small space of safety that he discovered he wasn’t alone.

He had just allowed himself to relax when a smiling face covered in peach fuzz was shoved into his own.

“I knew it! You’re like me.” Sun Wukong happily exclaimed, stars practically dancing in his eyes.

“Shut up.” Macaque clamped his hand over the other’s mouth. Checking to ensure no one else was present and the door was shut, he faced the intruder. “Have you told anyone?” He hissed, while berating himself for failing to check the ceiling. You always look up when scanning a room, he knew that.

“Nope. Why are you hiding? You’re beautiful.” The cheerful demon spoke as though they were old friends. His golden eyes took in every hair of his fellow monkie’s true appearance.

“I’m a demon. And there is nothing beautiful about me.” Macaque growled.

“Yes, there is.” Wukong insisted. “You didn’t answer my question. Why are you hiding? The Master let me in, I wager he knows about you, so why?”

Sighing, Macaque massaged the bridge of his nose. “I have been hurt enough times to know keeping a low profile is optimal in survival. It is better to keep one’s head down than risk getting called out.” From observation, he knew the newer student wouldn’t leave until he received answers, so the best option was to just give him what he wanted and pray he knew enough to leave.

“That’s no fun.” Wukong stuck his tongue out in distaste. “You shouldn’t have to hide who you are. We were born this way.” He jumped high into the air only to catch himself on his tail with a cheeky grin. “So, they’ll just have to deal with it.”

“Cute speech. But my answer is no. Now leave.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll fix that attitude right up.” Thankfully Wukong left, but not before sending a smile laced with mischief his way. “See you tomorrow.”

Macaque prayed to every deity that would be the end of it. But even he knew it was a futile attempt.

“Do you have a tribe?” Wukong asked, hanging by his tail from Macaque’s favorite tree.

A startled Macaque blinked at the random question. “A what?”

“A tribe. A family. A place to call home?” Wukong asked smoothly even if he wasn’t familiar with the term family until recently he knew it was important.

“Not anymore.” Glaring Macaque returned his focus to his meal.

“Aw.” Wukong knew that look. He had seen plenty of monkeys wear that arura after watching other tribe members die. “Then you should come with me!”

“What?”

“Yeah. You can join my tribe. There are dozens of us back home. Plenty of food and water, you’ll constantly be surrounded by others like us.”

“Other demons?”

“No.” Wukong smiled as though he told a funny joke. “Other monkeys.”

“There is no reason for me to join you.” Macaque stated, wishing he could finish his lunch in peace.

But Wukong wasn’t letting him go that easily. “And there’s no reason for you to refuse.” He stated, ignoring any and all social cues or common sense for respecting personal space.

It went on like that for years. Every day Macaque would awake to find gold eyes staring at him, waiting for his answer to change. Breaks were spent dodging the hyperactive monkie as he tried to eat alone. Training sessions soon found him sparring with the same partner.

The monkie was stubborn no doubt and Macaque feared his actions were slowly breaking down his walls. The pale furred monkie missed having a connection. He adored being able to talk to others, but whenever he opened up he only got hurt.

But maybe, maybe this time could be different…

Wukong was training to obtain immortality. He had already proven to be stronger and more clever than anyone he’d known. The simian showed that he wanted to know him better. He constantly tried to touch his fur, something he called grooming, which felt pretty nice.

Maybe…maybe this time he could truly have a home.

§~~~~§~~~~§~~~~§

A streak of light accompanied by a sharp whistle pierced the night sky. For a brief moment, it vanished before exploding in a beautiful display of color and light.

On the monastery’s rooftop, Wukong backflipped in joy at the sight, his golden eyes wide. “Happy New Year!” The monkie cried. In the village below, he could make out dozens of voices echoing the greeting.

It didn’t matter how many times he saw them, fireworks were a sight he always adored. “This has got to be mankind’s greatest invention!” The flowers of fire were simply too beautiful. So unique. Nothing on Flower Fruit Mountain compared to such beauty, it made him thankful he decided to leave.

From the corner of his eye, Wukong noticed that his companion was clutched his ears wincing with every detonation. “You okay, bud?”

“I’m fine. Just loud.” Macaque said. He was truly questioning his sanity by joining Wukong on the roof. Normally he barricaded himself in his room, but his friend was so thrilled about sharing their first New Year together he couldn’t say no.

“Oh.” Somehow the new set of fireworks didn’t look that attractive. “We can go inside if you want.” They were beautiful, but nothing was worth feeling helpless as his friend curled up in pain.

“I’ll be fine. I’m adjusting to the volume. No different than punches that break the sound barrier, right?” Macaque tried flashing a confident grin to varying success.

Wukong suspected that Macaque was lying, but learned enough to know further prying would just cause the other monkie to simply shut out the world. “I’m glad you’re coming with me.”

“You made a persuasive argument.” Anyone who could harass him for nearly five years straight proved their determination.

Wukong playfully stuck his tongue out. “Hehe…Seriously though, I’m happy you chose to be part of my tribe. No one should be alone.”

“Then why have I been for so long.”

“I doubt even Master knows. But you won’t be able to say that anymore.” Wukong wrapped his arms around his best friend. Pulling him close, Wukong faced the fireworks, unconsciously grooming Macaque as he savored every pop of color.

Beneath those gentle digits, Macaque steadied himself against the soothing heartbeat of the one he slowly learned to trust. As the display continued, the pale monkie learned to appreciate the human’s creations. Turns out they weren’t so bad so long as you have the right company.

§~~~~§~~~~§~~~~§

“I’m sorry. You’re what?!” Macaque’s response was perfectly justified. There was no way he just heard what he thought he heard.

Wukong flashed a blinding grin. “I’m heading to the Celestial realm. I’ve been given a position in Celestial Bureaucracy.” Not seeing any problems whatsoever.

“Why?” Just why? From everything he heard about those stuck-up deities, they would never hand over a position to anyone without requiring the completion of an impossible task, much less to a demon. Least of all a demon who has done nothing but terrorize others and unleash chaos whenever he went.

“Don’t know. But I got to go right now.” Wukong shrugged as he finished packing. The Gold Star of Venus was waiting just outside the waterfall.

“But what about Flower Fruit Mountain? What about your subjects? What am I supposed to do? How long are you going to be gone?” Macaque fired off a rapid stream of questions. Panic was beginning to take hold.

Wukong, however, was as calm and confident as ever. “Stop worrying so much. Look I’ll be back as soon as I can. Until then you’re in charge.” He finished as though it was obvious.

“Me!” A white tail nearly burst into twice its normal size in shock. “But I have no idea how to run a Court!”

“Neither do I. Not in the traditional sense at least. Look just keep an eye on things. Protect the monkeys from hunters and malicious demons. Sometimes one of the allied demon kings will ask for some help. It’s nothing you haven’t helped me with before. I’ll be back before you know it. I’m sure you’ll be able to handle things until I get back.”

Seeing his companion and good friend growing even more lost, Wukong closed the distance and took his face in both hands. “This is a good thing. If I can make this work, none of us will ever have to worry about being hunted or not having enough food ever again.”

In a snap, Macaque grabbed the king’s arms. “What if I don’t care about any of that? What if I just want you to stay?”

For the first time in their conversation, Wukong’s cocky attitude vanished replaced with a loving smile. Gently prying Macaque’s claws off his shirt, Wukong placed his cheek on a palm as he kissed the knuckles of another. “I can’t. This is too good an opportunity to pass up. This isn’t goodbye. I’ll keep in touch. The time will fly. We’ll make this work. Trust me.”

“Alright, Wukong. I trust you.” Macaque said, ignoring every fiber of his being that screamed this would end poorly.

“If things go wrong, remember I’m just a telepathic call away.” Summoning his cloud, Wukong back flipped onto it with his bag. “Monkey King, out!”

One sonic boom later and he was gone, along with a good chunk of the cave walls.

“Hpmh. That’s my idiot.”

§~~~~§~~~~§~~~~§

How did this happen? How did this happen?!

One moment they were fighting for their lives against the army of the Celestial Realm and the next Macaque bore witness to Wukong being carted away in a diamond snare.

Now as he stared at the charred remains of what once was a growing village of monkeys, Macaque felt something within him change.

For almost two months he had burned in celestial fires. The sounds of the dead and dying rang out, making his namesake almost bleed. He choked on the ashes of the mortal monkeys. The air had a strangely sweet and bitter taste to it.

Macaque lost count of all the times he charged back into the fires to save as many heartbeats as he could. He wasn’t sure but he suspected he blacked out more than once. With every heartbeat that stilled before he could reach them, a part of him followed them into Yama’s realm.

Finally, the fires had died down. They didn’t have anything left to burn.

All around him he saw the pitiful leftovers of what was once a thriving community. He had treated the survivors the best he could, but he lost his medical equipment in the blaze. The only ones he didn’t have to worry about were the monkeys Wukong made immortal, but he did what he could to ease the pain.

But still, he wondered why…why were they staring at him as though they were confused?

Maybe he was overthinking everything. He just worked through 49 days without any sleep. Everything was stable for now. The best course of action was to wash off the ash and get some much-deserved rest.

There was nothing the Celestial Realm could do to Wukong that he couldn’t handle. Besides Macaque didn’t even know how to get there even if he was at full strength. Wukong couldn’t die so it was only a matter of time before someone tripped up allowing him to return home.

He just had to be patient.

Stepping into the clear river, Macaque’s jaw almost dropped as the water around him immediately turned gray. He didn’t realize he was that filthy.

He started scrubbing himself, ducking under the water to ensure he didn’t miss a spot. He had to move a few times due to the sheer amount of shoot and ash that clung to him. The entire cleaning process took a full hour before the water ran clear.

Stepping out, Macaque felt more refreshed than he ever remembered. Shaking to remove as much access water as possible, all the towels were soot so he had to make do, he paused by the waterside to see how much fur he lost. But what he saw met none of his expectations.

Instead of fur that invoked images of the moon, he was cloaked in the color of the darkest ink.

“What happened to me?”

§~~~~§~~~~§~~~~§

Five hundred years.

Five hundred years he searched, for any trace of the legendary Five-Fingered Moutain Buddha used to trap Sun Wukong only to find nothing. Macaque scoured far and wide. Neither the winds nor the shadows could lead him towards his friend.

He picked fights with countless demons who claimed to witness the great Monkey King brought low. It barely took two punches before they broke down crying how it had been nothing but a lie, how they only repeated rumors.

He bargained for any information he could find, but all accounts claimed the mountain didn’t exist. Many refused to answer him on principle of not interfering with the Celestial Realm’s issues. Their last mistake. Others took Wukoong’s punishment as a sign to amass as much power as possible out of fear that they would be targeted next.

Macaque had witnessed the formation of more alliances and territory grabs in the past century than had been recorded in the last thousand years. Demons were becoming more power-hungry and suspicious, which meant even more trouble for the humans. Things were becoming so chaotic, Macaque had to wonder if it was planned.

But he couldn’t dwell on that.

He hadn’t visited Flower Fruit Moutain in years. His clones kept guard, but slowly he was losing the drive to keep replenishing them. The only reason he called that mountain home was because of Wukong. It wasn’t home without him.

But he had to keep looking. Had to keep trying. He would find his friend.

Somehow.

§~~~~§~~~~§~~~~§

He tricked himself into thinking this would be different. That he would no longer be alone. That finally he had found a family he could keep.

He was an idiot!

The truth was he was no different than anyone else. The world was Sun Wukong’s toy chest and Macaque was merely a shiny new trinket to bat around until he grew bored. Seeing him with that group, knowing that he chose them over their past, was too much.

He was sick of being left behind. He had been left alone so many times. What made him think he couldn’t be replaced?

He could have attacked, ripped their precious monk to pieces, he could have...should have...but he was tired.

Returning to Flower Fruit Mountain was a chore, but one he swore he would never complete again. The monkeys questioned his return, asking where their king was and if he’d return soon. Macaque ignored them all. He simply walked to the part of the manor he and Wukong had shared for years, where he had been waiting for his return.

Staring at all the knickknacks and souvenirs they had collected from their adventures, Macaque made up his mind. Grabbing a large sturdy bag, he swiftly packed his essentials. In another, he packed non-perishable goods and water containers.

Stepping out, a flash of something peach-colored caught his eye. Spinning around, hope burning a hole in his chest but his dreams once more were proved false. It was just the special peach tree Wukong had planted from the leftover pit he had saved from his time in the Celestial Realm. Apparently, it had reached maturity and was proudly bearing the first fruit Macaque had seen despite having been planted nearly half a millennia ago.

Macaque wasn’t sure why it was so special, Wukong just winked and said it was a surprise for when they could share a fresh one. Feeling something wet on his arm, Macaque looked down to see his hand stretched towards the tree and the memories he held. Feeling his cheeks, he realized he was crying, which was strange as he didn’t think he had any tears left.

Spurred by longing and spite, Macaque plucked six peaches from the tree and stuffed them into his bag. It wasn’t like Wukong was going to miss them. And he needed the food.

#lego monkie kid au #Vanishing Shadow Au #six eared macaque #liu er mihou #sun wukong #abandonment issues #no communication #angst #white macaque

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miizpah · 4 years ago

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cₐₘₑᵣₐ wₒᵣₖ | suna rintarou

anon asks: this is a long one lol... this is a suna thirst!!! send tweet. okay we all know how suna just loves to record things, right??? so this definitely translates over to the bedroom y’know ;) and suna has like hundreds of pictures and videos of the both of you fucking or with cum on various parts of your (and his) body. okay here’s the request tho. you find his album with the vids and shit, and you try to explain to him how it bothers you (even though it doesn’t rlly bother you at all, ur more worried about someone hacking his phone) but suna is not having it ;););) and he thinks ur trying to control him and shit like that and as punishment he fucks you on camera and sends it his friends chat. hahah rip y/n. female reader, thanks!!

!post time skip!

tw. degrading, manipulation, cnc recording.

authors note: ooof, suna makes me go whoosh. anyways, i’m trying out a new theme... idk how to feel about it. make include some pictures or sum, idk idk idk...

Talk Shit Get Hit Bitch! 😎🤏🤬

four people are online...

best twin : ??? suna disappeared fast

bestest twin : where’d sunsun go? 👀

foxbutmakeitsexy : don’t call me that

foxbutmakeitsexy : n who changed my name?

jinbutwithouttheg : if we r talking abt stupid names

best twin : i think tsumu has the worst one

bestest twin : whatdja say?

jinbutwithouttheg : gorls don’t fight!!

jinbutwithouttheg : siriusly tho ... where did suna go?

foxbutmakeitsexy was online one minute ago

bestest twin : HUH?!??!

it was as if you were meant to see it. the album stored amongst the many photo albums that rintarou had, only difference was that this particular album looked like something out of a hentai manga. photos upon photos, some edited into different colors, others blurry but still noticeably you, and videos upon videos of just you, some of both of you, some of him. there hundreds of them, all staring back at you, seemingly mocking you.

you were only trying to take the phone to him, after he practically screamed from the living room that he forgot it and asked if you could take it to him. it was almost as if he wanted you to see the album, his phone’s bright light enchanting your eyes after picking the device up. it was like he knew that your curious nature would cause you to look.

“uh,” your voice was a bit soft, eyes looking everywhere but the questioning expression being sent your way. you hand the phone over, hands immediately coming together to twiddle your thumbs. “rin, those pictures of me are rather... bothersome?”

in actuality, it stroked your ego knowing that rintarou considered you beautiful enough store photos of you in your worse states. but, being the usual worrywart, you couldn’t help but think of possible hackers.

what if they hacked rintarou’s phone?

oh my god, what if they post your pictures and videos?

sell them? that was even worse, possible old perverts would be wacking to them.

you shudder.

“bothersome?” you can’t meet his eyes, knowing what his tone meant. “but you were begging me to take those pictures and videos, baby?”

“i...was not.” your face became flustered, you don’t remember that. but, you are most likely half brain dead whenever he decided to fuck you silly.

“oh?” he’s up then, standing in front you. “you’re not?” the brightness of his phone is a bit blinding, and as your eyes adjust, you can see perfectly as the video plays before you.

the lewd sounds bursting through the speakers, the way your bodies move together is nearly hypnotic, your voice begging for more, for everything.

you look away, but before you did, you see multiple notifications from a group chat coming in. you didn’t register it.

“just delete them, or, or, print them out!”

his fingers turn your jaw, causing you to gaze up into his eyes. they’re narrowed, glowering at you. “but, you can’t print out videos, those are the best.”

your teeth grit, forcibly jerking your head away from his grip. “just delete them, suna rintarou! i won’t have my nudes plastering around the internet.” and with that demand, you turn on your heels and walk away.

which was definitely not your smartest idea. you knew how rintarou was, you knew how quick his moods could change, and how quick he could have you bent and choking on his cock.

you could only freeze when you feel his fingers slither around the roots of your hair, a yelp leaving your lips when he yank harshly, sending you trembling back into his embrace. his other hand came up, wrapping around your throat in loose hold.

“watch your tone, whore.” he whispered against your ear, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine. “you wanted those videos, you wanted those pictures.”

“i-i didn’t—”

“hm, you did. you begged for them like the good little slut you are,” his hand tightened around your neck. “you wanted them, yes or no?”

you breath in heavily, eyes watering. “no.”

“wrong answer.”

“rin-rintarou!” you squeal lightly when you’re suddenly thrown over his shoulder, the tall male practically kicking the bedroom door open, dropping you onto the bed and ordering you to stay put.

you could only watch as he closed the door before stalking towards you, something deep within his eyes that you couldn’t began to understand.

you only blinked and found yourself being dragged forward by your neck, forced onto your knees on the edge of the bed, rintarou glares down into your eyes.

shuddering, you open your mouth to say something, but is cut off by rintarou. “shut your fucking mouth, bitch.” your mouth closed immediately, brows furrowing before relaxing just as quick when he slotted his mouth against yours.

the kiss becoming messy quickly, your salvia mixing with his, teeth and tongues clashing. his hand loosen around your neck, both large hands coming down on your ass with a smack, enclosing around the fleshly meat tightly. you groan in appreciation, sticking your bottom further out.

your arms circle around his neck, pulling him closer to your body, your silk clad breast pressing against his bare chest. his teeth clamp onto your bottom lip, pulling softly before his tongue slips between his teeth and entangle with yours.

his hands knead and pull at your ass, smacking them a few times before sliding up your sides, hands latching onto your breasts. you hum, leaning back and giving him room to play around with your erect nipples.

his mouth leaves yours, “fucking slut, you’re enjoying this too much.” his words are warm against your cheek. “i can change that.” you can’t, you wanted to say. he wasn’t the best at giving out punishments, not when he, himself, enjoys fucking you a bit too much.

his lips trail down your cheek and jawline, before instantly attacking your neck with a sharp bite, you gasp and try to push him away, but just as quick as he bit, he was pulling away and giving soft licks to soothe over the harsh imprint.

“r-rintarou...” you whisper brokenly, the pain and pleasure mixing.

the taller pulled back fully, eyeing the teeth mark on your neck, humming in pride at his mark against your smooth skin.

“on your back.” his tone was rough, promising actual pain if you didn’t listen. so, you could only do as told, laying on your back and keeping your legs closed. his hands came down, spreading your legs and landing sharp slaps against both of them. you yelp, trying to close them, but he quickly slotted himself between them.

his phone is presented, his eyes staring deep into yours. “record.”

“n-no,” you deny, shaking your head.

he raised a brow, “now.” he ordered.

you gulp and take the phone, clicking onto the camera icon and sliding over to record.

rintarou smirked at you, leaving you breathless at the sudden heated stare, he’s fingers were pushing your panties away, blowing onto your heated cunt, your thighs tensing.

then, he’s devouring you. and your hands shake as the pleasure crawls from your core, extending through your legs and curling around yours toes, and your thumb accidentally pressed record and the ding sounds around the room.

your whimpers are already filling the room, free hand coming down and tangling through rintarou’s messy locks. his hands are tight around your thighs, squeezing and pushing them closer around his head, locking him in.

“ngh-ah!” your toes are curling, hand gripping tighter at his hair as you could feel yourself growing closer by the second. rintarou eating you out was always a blessing and a curse, he knew which parts of your cunt to fiddle around at to make you quickly.

he pulled back then, the camera catching the glistening of your arousal, coating his mouth and his chin, and the obvious satisfaction in his hooded eyes was daunting.

he wasn’t satisfied because he had you whimpering.

he wasn’t satisfied that he could make you cum almost immediately.

no, he was satisfied because he got you to record. he’s satisfied, and he smirked so devilishly at the camera that you nearly drop the device.

in a swiftness, he has the camera pointing in your direction. and you hide your face, not wishing for the camera to catch your already winded look.

he laughed, unbuckling his belt and his pants fall to the floor, he worked around like a pro, easily moving his briefs down. he steps out of his pants and briefs, and dragging you closer to the edge of the bed.

“look at the camera, [y/n]~” he teased, but you could hear the underlying threat. you shake your head. “don’t be shy, baby.” the tone sounded loving, but you could hear the threat.

look or suffer the consequences.

you move your head, revealing your flustered expression. behind the phone, rintarou grinned almost predatory.

the phone tilted, showing your body, still clad in your silky nightgown. the silk bunched around your waist, and you try to close your legs, but a single glance around the phone and you’re spreading your legs.

he crouched then, showing the camera your wet, dripping cunt. his fingers appearing, spreading your puffy lips. “so pretty.” he muttered, then his eyes are meeting yours. “i’m going to ruin you.” he said the magic words that would always send jolts of pleasure down your spine.

your eyes flutter, and you nodded eagerly. the phone in his hands long forgotten.

the next few moments are hazy, his imposing figure looming over you, legs hiking up around his waist, and you could only snap your eyes wide when he’s fully sheathed inside you.

“hm, b-big!” you sob, a few tears slipping from your eyes. no matter how many times you’ve taken him, he sheer size and girth will always leave you crying. your sob turns into moans of pleasure when rintarou began to move his hips, the pace slow and a bit tantalizing.

“you take me so well, pup.” you keen loudly at the name, eyes rolling. you can practically hear the smirk in his voice. “you’re a good puppy, huh?”

“y-yes, ‘m good,” you whine, hands clutching the sheets beside you.

you could feel the flutters in your stomach each time rintarou slowly dragged his cock out, only to push back in roughly and repeat the process. he was teasing you now, wanting you to turn into a whining, begging mess, and more importantly, he wanted to catch all on camera.

the lewd wet sounds were only growing by the second, the burning feeling surrounding your cunt causing more arousal to gush out.

your eyes flutter open, and for a small moment, you wish you hadn’t. the camera was pointed directly were you two joined together, catching the way his cock plunged into you, the way your cunt stretched around him, and the fucking wet sounds emitting.

you whine loud in the back of your throat, throwing your head back onto the pillow. the humiliation and embarrassment slowly enclosing you in its hands, yet it only burned like fire and your body felt too incredibly hot.

you almost felt delirious, the camera, his cock, the temperature around the room, the fucking silk gown clinging to you.

“rin — ngh, f-fuck!” you could barley get any words out, eyes hooded and mouth dropping open. the pace was too slow, too hot, you wanted to say something, tell him to go faster, but the small ounce of pride you had left kept those words locked up.

you wouldn’t beg.

you look up suddenly, whining when noticing him taking a step back and crouching down. you wanted to close your legs, but his shoulders were already there and his fingers were spreading your puffy lips apart, revealing your sopping cunt.

“looks so good, pretty girl,” rintarou groaned lowly. “who’s cock got you this wet?” looking to your left, you mumbled the answer. a sharp slap sounded, the pain in your thigh sending another gush of arousal and you moan prettily. “speak up, pup.”

“yours did, rin!”

rintarou hummed, rubbing your thigh as to soothe the pain. “my cock is the only one that gets you this wet, right?”

“y-yes!” you shudder.

you can practically feel his smirk as he asked the next question. “you want my cock in you?”

“rin!” you whine, tears of frustration forming.

“answer the question.” he was full on grinning now, watching your reaction over his phone.

“yes, i want your cock in me.”

“beg for it,” you could practically mouth the words with him. he was getting a bit predictable.

you wouldn’t beg, you reminded yourself. no matter how much you wanted his — he stood up, drawing your attention to his erect cock, and suddenly your mouth was opening.

“i... rin, fuck me,” you whine. “i need your cock in me, please.” if there was one thing you hated the most, it was begging.

dumb bitch, you weren’t supposed to beg! you insulted yourself, fucking dick whipped seriously.

the phone lowered from rintarou’s face, revealing the dark look in his eyes. the satisfied smirk. he shut his phone off, grabbing his pants and disappearing into the bathroom.

your eyes widen then, he had gotten what wanted. you stand up immediately, rushing after him into the bathroom.

“rintarou!” you enter the bathroom, seeing the male standing before the glass shower. one look over his shoulder, and you only gasp in horror.

Talk Shit Get Hit Bitch 😎🤏🤬 | 200+ unread messages

foxbutmakeitsexy is online...

bestest twin : suna u little shit!

jinbutwithouttheg : not u suddenly appearing from the dead

best twin : 😎🤏🙄 and where have u been?

foxbutmakeitsexy : 😏

jinbutwithouttheg : i dont like that face

bestest twin : is that suna?

best twin : hol up smth aint right

foxbutmakeitsexy has sent a video...

jinbutwithouttheg : oh...

bestest twin : 😎🤏😌 ive been blessed ✨

best twin : 🤭 not me finna ask for a threesome

jinbutwithouttheg : miss y/n girl... whew

foxbutmakeitsexy : i was busy 🙄

note — i am disgust 😎🤏😭 i rlly left yall without an orgasm. my sincerest apologies, but miss y/n girl, u got a bad boyfriend.

#✨.requests.#🌚.dirty #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu smut #haikyuu #suna rinataro #suna x reader #y/n #tw.degradation #tw.noncon #tw.manipulation

330 notes · View notes

zevlors-tail · 5 years ago

Text

Retail Therapy

A/N: If you work retail like I do and get frustrated with your job on a weekly/daily basis, if you’re just fed up of all the crazy at work, this one’s for you! Covid has made it extra garbagey to work retail so here’s a little vent. Also, me writing soft Bakugou content? Yes.

Characters: Izuku Midoriya, Katsuki Bakugou, Shouto Todoroki

Warnings: Mentions of Covid in Bakugou’s part. Cursing. Customer invading your personal space (also in Bakugou’s part), tiny mention of anxiety in Todoroki’s scenario.

Summary: You’ve had the most infuriating day at work. Lucky for you, he knows just how to fix it.

Izuku Midoriya

Oh my god this gif is so bright i love it

“Hi baby!” Izuku greets you as you haphazardly toss your shoes on the floor, not caring where they land. One ends up under the dining room table and the other ends up somewhere among the chairs, but you could care less.

You’re pissed. More pissed than you’ve ever been, but specifically with work. You constantly feel like you’re babysitting your coworkers, and they never listen to anything you have to say, even when you’re put in charge of your department- if only for the night. Every time you turn your back, they’re pulling some sort of dumb stunt; how are you supposed to get work done like that? You can hardly focus on your own task when you’re trying to clean up after everyone else. Picking up slack is something you’re used to by now (unfortunately), but it shouldn’t have to be. You shouldn’t have to do your work and everyone else’s work too. Not to mention, you were tired of being the middle man whenever there was drama. Why did everyone feel the need to tell you everything?

“Ughhhh!” You just groan in response, half a smile on your face while a wild look enters your eyes. Izuku knows that look. He can tell you’re frustrated after a long day of work, that you’re at your wits end with your job. “I swear, Izu, I came this close to rage quitting. I mean I wouldn’t, because I’ve got bills to pay and stuff, but, just- this close.”

“Oh yeah?” He gives you a trademark smile despite your woes and invites you to follow him to the dining table where he sits down with you, taking your hand in his. “Tell me all about it.”

And you do. He listens diligently, nodding and getting into the gossip playfully, asking about certain coworkers and making silly comments to get you to laugh. Things like, “But they would never!” and “Oh my god, no they didn’t!” along with your personal favorite, a very dramatic “No!” He even makes over the top facial expressions to go with his comedic comments, and he has you laughing with him in no time, the stress of the day melting away under his electric green gaze. Your vent turns into more of a fun story than it does a bad experience. Izuku is a good listener and he’ll always be there for you.

“It was just ridiculous! Man, I can only take so much in one day. Usually I don’t let them get to me, but I couldn’t take both of them coming up to me every five minutes and complaining about each other. You know, as much as they like to talk about each other not doing their jobs, maybe they would get more work done if they just stopped talking and got back to work in the first place!” As you tell him your story, he hums a response, nods, and gets up from the table. He pats your head as he passes by you on the way to the kitchen, and you follow him with your gaze, questioning him silently.

“I’m still listening, love. I can hear you from here, promise! Do go on.”

You continue, not paying much mind to what he’s doing since you’re so engrossed in your tale of idiocy and annoyance turned silly. And he is listening to you, still making eye contact as he moves about the kitchen, still putting his two cents every once in a while. But before you know it, a savory smell hits your nose, and you realize he’s not only started dinner but that he’s practically finished with it by the time you’re done talking. He wastes no time in making two plates and bringing them over, setting one in front of you and the other in front of his usual spot.

You’re extremely grateful to him for taking the initiative to make dinner while you de-stressed after the day’s events, and you make sure to tell him that as you both dig in to his cooking. He learned from the best (bless mama Midoriya). You’re reminded that no matter how bad your day has been, you get to come home to your favorite human being on the whole planet and love him, and be loved by him in return.

“Thanks for making dinner, Izuku. You’re truly the love of my life.” You say it in such a manner that makes your partner laugh, bits of food falling from his mouth as he struggles to swallow properly. “That’s attractive,” you tease, but you’re laughing too. It’s a happy moment for the both of you.

“Good to know you only love me for my cooking!” He jokes. He eyes your plate before not so subtly reaching over and stealing a piece of food. You gasp in mock surprise, but save your revenge for later. There are plenty of ways to get even with him. But for now...

Izuku: 1

Y/N: 0

Katsuki Bakugou

soft bb

“Shit, fuck! God, I hate today!” you exclaim as you slam the car door shut. Bakugou had been kind enough to pick you up from work, and you were glad that it was him driving and not you behind the wheel. You were shaking in your seat, your hands trembling in anger and teeth grinding in frustration as you glared out of the window silently for a moment.

“Bad day?” Bakugou asked gruffly, foot gently pressing against the gas peddle as you took off on the drive home.

“Yeah, you would not fucking believe people. You’d think everyone would listen to directions and stay home since it’s like, oh, I don’t know- the middle of a fucking pandemic?”

“Oh, believe me, I know. People are stupid. Don’t let them get to you, baby.”

Maybe those words were odd coming from him considering he used to be so angry all the time himself, but Bakugou had really mellowed out since his days at UA, and he knew how to hold his tongue. Unbeknownst to him, however, this was more than a bad day for you. Bad days you could let go of, but this- this was something else. Not quite the worst time you’d ever had at work, but much more than a bad day. Today had been somewhere in between the two, and you weren’t sure what to call it. You’d been yelled at, berated, understaffed, and blamed for pretty much all the problems going on in your specific area even though you were trying your best. There was only so much you could do yourself, and even though you knew it was better to just let it go, you couldn’t. Especially not after what that wretched customer had done to you.

“I’m trying not to, but it’s really god damned hard not to fucking smack a bitch when they invade your personal space and tap on your shoulder. In a fucking pandemic. Actually, I don’t even think she was wearing a mask now that I think about it. How considerate of her.” The words are like venom spitting from your mouth, your fists clenching as you vent to your partner in confidence.

“They did what?” Normally he’s good about keeping his anger in check. Normally, he could handle you venting to him about anything. But someone else touching his Y/N? No way in hell. And during a period of time where touching people was especially rude and inconsiderate? Fucking no way in hell.

“Yeah! Tapped me right on the damn shoulder and didn’t even say excuse me. Words exist! Just tell me you need something and I’ll get it for you! I hate people who do that shit, it’s so unnecessary and rude! And it violates my personal space and creeps me out. I feel disgusting. If you touch me at work, then I’m not liable for anything that happens to you! You get slapped? Then that’s on you, bitch! Don’t fucking touch me!” You finish up your speech with a wild hand gesture, your head shaking in disbelief while you try not to think about too much.

It takes Bakugou everything he has not to just slam on the breaks right then and there and put the car in reverse to drive back to the store and find that piece of trash. If he could give them a piece of his mind, he would. But he can’t, so he settles for the next best thing: comforting you and making sure you’re okay. You did just have your personal space violated after all, so it’s understandable you’re pretty shaken up and angry about the whole thing. He would be too, honestly.

The rest of the short drive home is mostly silent, save for the small talk you make with each other and the quiet background noise of the radio station that he let you pick. His general rule of thumb is that the driver picks the music, but he knows you’ve had a hard day, so he doesn’t argue when you change it to your preferred station and start drumming your fingers to the beat. He’d rather you wind down this way than keeping it all bottled up. When the two of you finally arrive to your shared home, you let your shoulders fall a bit and sigh as you trudge to the couch, not even bothering to take your shoes off before plopping down and face planting into the soft cushions. You listen as Bakugou wanders off to the bedroom and returns a moment later with a shirt in his hands.

“You said you felt disgusting earlier, so I brought you a new shirt to change into. Figured you probably didn’t want to stay in your work clothes.” His tone is softer, a little more careful since you’re home now and he knows you don’t like to fall apart in public. Home is where your true heart is, with him. If you’re feeling any sort of negative emotion, it’s more likely to come out here. And he wants to offer his help, but... “Do you want some help with it?”

You shift so that you’re sitting up on the couch and raise your arms slightly for him. “That would be nice, since I’m utterly exhausted and worn out. I’d really appreciate it,” you reply honestly.

He hesitates a bit, unsure of something before he asks you a question. “Is it okay if I touch you?”

Your response is immediate. “Of course it is; I trust you. I never mind your touch.”

He smiles at that.

He helps you get changed into the ultra comfy shirt he brought you, and after that the two of you heat up some leftovers before cuddling up in bed together, the worst of the day washed away by Bakugou’s soft fingers running along your side as you lay your head on his chest.

“Thanks for always taking care of me. You do an amazing job at it.” You yawn into his shirt and snuggle your face against it, the soft cotton making you feel safe and secure.

“I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you too, Katsuki.”

Shouto Todoroki

I’m feeling extra soft for Todoroki recently

“Hi, Y/N. How was your day at-”

Before Shouto can even finish his sentence, you’re flying into a vent about work, passing right by him on your way to the bathroom as you start to pull of your work uniform angrily.

“Oh my god, it was an absolute disaster!” You’re still breathing heavy from all the stress, eyes darting around wildly and face flushed from being mad and under pressure all night.

“What happened, love?” Todoroki coaxes gently. He comes to stand in the door frame of the bathroom and leans against it, his hands in his pockets and hip cocked out to the side. He has a sympathetic look on his face as you explain all your troubles of the day.

“Everything, Shouto. Everything happened. I mean, not everything, but it sure felt like it! Our delivery showed up late, and we didn’t have product all afternoon, so our customers were really angry and I kept getting yelled at! It’s not my fault it showed up late! If I had the product to put out I would! It’s complete and utter bullshit!” You make your way to the bedroom to pick out pajamas, not really caring about the pair you take out of the drawer or anything else for that matter. Your mind was focused on one thing and one thing only: your day at work.

Sometimes you had a hard time winding down from work, especially on days like these, and Shouto knew that. You usually were able to separate work from home fairly well, but occasionally you just needed a little reminder that it didn’t have to follow you home to bed, and he knew how to help with that. He’d seen you like this before, had witnessed your break downs and freak outs over your job and the stress that came with it. Retail was not for everyone. Todoroki always told you that you had the patience of a saint, though everyone had their own limits, and you must have hit yours tonight.

“I don’t appreciate being called names and told that I’m practically useless. Customers can be real fucking snobs all the time. And I was trying so hard too, but even after the delivery showed up, it was busy as hell, and every time I put something up on the shelf they just kept taking it down! I think I sold through at least three boxes of something I normally have to throw away at the end of the week. Seriously! It was a mess, and we didn’t have enough staff because one of us was still suspended, and our normal person who works the backroom doesn’t work weekends, and even our supervisor called off, so it was just me and this other girl. It was awful. I can’t even- ugh! It’s not fair!”

You started to work yourself up, your anxiety skyrocketing as you thought of everything that went wrong earlier. Rationally you knew there wasn’t much you could do about the situation, but that didn’t mean you felt the same way. You should have done more, pushed yourself harder, but you also didn’t want to stay and work overtime on an empty stomach and not a lot of sleep the night before. Shouto must have seen the guilt in your eyes, because the next thing you knew you were being moved to the bed where he wrapped you in the softest blanket he could find, and then he was telling you he’d be right back as he slipped out of the room.

You sat there, a little confused for a while, before you heard a beeping noise from the kitchen and the door to the microwave open and close. Todoroki returned with a steaming mug in one hand and a book in the other, and he said nothing as he set the book and cup down on the nightstand before working around you, positioning a few pillows against the headboard of the bed. He fluffed them up a few times and grabbed the giant comforter, pulling it up over your lap and practically swaddling you. Finally he sat down behind you on the bed and pulled you into his lap, and you rested your head against his chest as he petted your hair softly. Slowly, you felt all the tension from earlier on in the day ebb away into drowsiness and exhaustion.

“Alright, blanket burrito,” he said, referring to your form all wrapped up in soft cotton, “I warmed up a cup of your favorite drink and brought us a book. Do you want me to read to you, or would you prefer to play a video game or movie?” He gazed down at you with a brow raised in question, a look of amusement on his face at the sight of your head just barely peeking out from the blankets.

“If you don’t mind, could you read to me? I like your voice...it’s soothing.” You melted into his touch, work already forgotten about and a wave of calm washing over you.

“Of course, dear.” He gave you a precious smile and kiss on the top of your head.

Todoroki always knew how to fix your bad days, and he always did so without hesitation and without you having to ask. He handed you the warm mug first which you took gratefully, and then picked up the book and began reading to you.

How did you get this lucky?

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svtshine · 4 years ago

Text

— The sun and its petals

pairing: Jeonghan x reader

genre: fluff, Royalty!au

type: imagine

word count: 6.1k

warnings: mentions of abuse and cursing

extras: Hi guys! In about a week, i won’t be posting as much. So if anyone of you guys would still like to request send in the ask by this week. thanku ^^

summary : When a prince meets a commoner.

The sun was high. The wind was a gentle howl, blowing softly through your hair as you stood up from the flowery fields. The basket in your hands were filled with bright coloured flowers.

You raised your hand to feel the sun ray, warm against your palm. You smiled, satisfied and closed your eyes. Taking in the scent of the oak trees and flowers surrounding you.

The wind blew stronger and your dress danced gracefully along with it. The weather was perfect. You sat down on the vast fields and gently braided some of the flowers you had collected. After some time, a mixture of soft blue and white adorned the crown of your head in a flower crown.

You twirled around, following the direction of the wind. As it guided you into a slow rhythmic dance. You imagined a man infront of you, offering you his hand and bringing you so close you could feel the warmth radiating off him.

The sun shifted as the day began to set. You watched the bright blue sky contort into a palette of pink and orange. You picked up your basket and walked the path that led you home. The majestic castle of the Yoons were in clear view, as you turned around. You raised your hand, almost as if you could feel it from where you stood, miles away.

Wishful thinking, you thought

You stared at the castle for a while longer, before turning around and leaving for home.

How you longed to find your prince charming. The one who would rescue you from the wretched hole you called “home”. You wanted someone who would whisk you off to a land far away, where no one would ever bother you again. Someone who could make you smile because you were genuinely happy.

But you smiled crookedly to yourself.

This was the sad truth of the world.

Happy endings truly belonged, only in fairytale books.

One you would never have a role in.

Jeonghan stared into the distance. The night sky resembled an abyss. The stars that twinkled in the distance was the only object that made him smiled.

With his chin atop his hand, he perched on top of the grand castle called his “home”.

Jeonghan knew this place like the back of his hand. He remembered the memories kept deep within him as he was growing up.

This used to be “home”. But now it was a cage, trapping him within.

Jeonghan smiled as a light wind blew his hair softly. He stared at the town below. Streets lighted up by lanterns and candles, there were hardly anyone out at this hour.

He longed to be free. He felt trapped in his own cage like a lonely bird. Jeonghan wanted to sprout his wings and explore, fly freely. He wanted to get to know his citizens, how they lived.

Jeonghan wanted a fantasy that wasn’t his.

Jeonghan raised his hand to feel the wind, trying desperately to reach the stars.

The entrance to the roof opened. Jeonghan didn’t bother to turn around till the newcomers spoke up while panting.

“Yah Jeonghan, we’ve been searching everywhere for you. You changed your hiding place again” Seungcheol panted out while wiping away his sweat.

Jeonghan shrugged his shoulders and stood up to walk to his two closest guards.

“Your Majesty, you really have to stop running around, as much as you hate it here. I’ve lost so much weight running around to find you” Joshua said, playfully joking with Jeonghan.

Joshua and Seungcheol has been assigned to Jeonghan ever since they turned 16. Being the best of their training academy, they were both requested to guard the only prince of the kingdom.

They’ve been through thick and thin together and they were both Jeonghan’s best friends. Jeonghan has never liked being called formally by his two best friends. However, only Seungcheol was comfortable in calling him by his name since he was the oldest.

Jeonghan apologised to them in a joking manner and left for his room, hands in his pocket. They followed slowly behind him, knowing if he found a new place, he wanted to be alone.

Jeonghan stretched his arms as he passed by his father’s room.

“The date for his ball is arriving soon, by then he gets to choose his beloved.” His father spoke.

“But dear, i’ve already found good suitors for him. I’m sure he’ll like them” The voice is his stepmother made him furrow his eyebrow in disgust.

His father sighed heavily and stood up from his seat and walked up and down. “This is our tradition, we can’t take it away from him. i’ve promised him that”

“Sweetie, look at him, he’d sad, lonely. These suitors will be perfect for him, i know it, trust me.” She said slyly.

“Jeonghan would be able to find happiness faster” His stepmother whispered.

Jeonghan rolled his eyes in annoyance.

“Really?” His father said. “Well i guess if that would make him happy—“

Jeonghan’s eyes widened and shook his head.

“Of course, my king” His stepmother replied, smiling maliciously.

Jeonghan clenched his fists tightly. He was not going to be the pawn of her game yet again.

That, he promised himself as he walked away back to his room quietly.

You woke up to the sun rays entering your room and the birds that chirped outside your window. You made the bed and quickly got changed into your daily dress.

You headed downstairs, dodging the empty bottles of alcohol on the floor. Your mother was collapsed on the couch, spread out and snoring loudly.

You cringed as you looked at the mess infront of you. It has become a daily thing, picking up your mother’s mess quickly so that you can make breakfast as fast as possible.

When you accidentally knocked over a bottle, the noise stirred your Mother awake. You didn’t dare look into her eyes as she screamed at you, “Hey! What’s wrong with you bitch. You’re so useless you can’t even clean? This is why your Father left!”

Tears filled your eyes as you bit your lips from crying out when she stood up and smacked you so hard you slipped and fell. Your Mother looked at you viscously. “Get up useless. Go open the damn store. Buy me more beer. Got that?” she said. When you nodded timidly she slapped you and shouted, “Speak you’re not mute”

“Y-yes Mother” She rolled her eyes and tumbled to her bedroom. You picked up the shattered glasses and the rest of the trash that littered your small living room.

Tears fell one by one and you hissed when you accidentally cut yourself. The blood dripped from your palm and landed onto the floor. Why, what have you done to deserve this you reflected.

Your Mother was not always a raging alcoholic. She was once a dignified women that brought a smile to everyone. She loved tending to flowers which also influenced you. When you were young, you would help her around the flower shop that was passed down to her by your grandfather.

She would teach all about gardening and taking care of plants gently and would even reward you with candy.

Your father was also a kind soul, he was a knight. When one of the allied countries required help, your father was sent to fight in a terrifying war. He never came back to the both of you, his last words, “I will always love the both of you. Always”

You were ten back then. He taught you how to read, write and play different instruments like the flute. You missed him dearly. After he left and never returned, your mother fell into a dark place of never ending hatred.

Blaming you for his disappearance, degrading your sole existence. Your Mother was never the same.

You made prepared breakfast and covered it so that she could heat it up later on before heading out to open up the shop.

It wasn’t the most fancy, neither were you earning the most. But it did get you food and basic necessities which were enough for you. You loved gardening and plants so it wasn’t a problem.

“Hi Mam, lovely dress as always” You greeted the people you passed by.

Your shop resembled a small greenhouse. You put on your apron and opened up the shop. As you were moving the different pots of plants, you couldn’t help but stare out, into the vast land. Flower fields, and a beautiful forest. You were blessed to have grown up in this kingdom

You just hoped that one day, you would get to enjoy all that, peacefully.

Jeonghan was bored. His Father, The King had made him eat with his Stepmother. A meal he has been avoiding since the last time. He played with his food and glanced out of the window, the city and people on display. How he wanted to live a life like theirs.

“Now Jeonghan” The king said. “In a week, you’ll be turning twenty one. It will be your time to choose your own wife, a queen. i would be stepping down as king. “

Jeonghan continued to stare out of the window

“Your dear stepmother has already picked out a few suitors she thinks will be good for you. But ultimately the choice is yours” His father said. Jeonghan turned his head to look at his stepmother.

Jeonghan knew of her bad intentions. As much he liked to cheat to win or outsmart others to get his way, she was playing a game of pure greed.

She blinked innocently at Jeonghan, and he wanted so much to throw up at her facade.

Jeonghan couldn’t take it anymore, standing up from his seat and bowing to his father. “Father, i will keep in mind your words. Please excuse me, i’m feeling unwell” with that, he rushed out.

Jeonghan rushed to his room and changed into a commoner’s outfit. The walls were suffocating him. The sun was inviting him, it was hard to resist.

He left a note telling Seungcheol and Joshua that he would be visiting town till night falls when they finally figured out that he was missing.

Which turns out, was not long.

Jeonghan smiled as he scaled the walls perfectly and running towards the secret exit he found recently. He heard the commotion as Seungcheol and Joshua rushed to find Jeonghan.

He ran as fast as he could and soon he reached the beautiful town. People were walking from places to different places. Shops were buzzing, people were getting their chores and jobs done.

At once, Jeonghan didn’t feel alone.

He walked around town, while trying to hide from the castle guards that were on high alert for him.

Jeonghan admired the different shops and simple food. He perked up at the voice of Seungcheol, “Jeonghan? Yah, come back here!” Jeonghan took off immediately, trying to find somewhere to hide.

There was a small flower shop near the corner, he immediately entered and shut the door behind him. He looked to find you holding a watering can, eyes widening at the sight of him panting.

Jeonghan was sure that he had never met someone as beautiful as you. However he raised his lips signalling for you to stay quiet. You stayed still, shocked by his abrupt arrival.

Jeonghan immediately went behind the shop when the entrance was opened roughly yet again, and you came face to face with what seems like a palace guard.

He must be hiding from them, you thought. You placed down the watering can ans kindly asked the guard. “Hi sir, how may i help you. A bouquet? Flower arrangement perhaps?”

The guard looked around the shop, “Is anyone else here by any chance? I need to find someone” He rushed out. You shook your head slowly, “i’m sorry, but it’s only me. I think i heard someone rushing towards that direction just now” You said pointing into a random direction.

The guard’s eyes perked up and he quickly thanked you. “Thank you, and i’m sorry for bothering you” You waved him off and watched him run in the direction you pointed.

“It’s safe. The coast is clear” You said. Jeonghan peeked his head from where he was hiding and looked left and right making sure you were correct.

You stared at the man who was dressed normally and he didn’t seem like a crook. Strangely you felt almost comfortable around him like you knew he wasn’t bad. “Who are you?”

Jeonghan stared at you for a little while before replying, “Jeonghan” His name sounded familiar but you just couldn’t remember. You took in his whole form, trying to figure out what could he have possibly done to have the guards chase him. It was like he read your mind, “A game with the guards” It didn’t make sense, but who were you to judge.

“Are you staying?” you asked Jeonghan

He thought for a little while, “Will you make tea?”

You smiled at his adorable request, “I’ll make tea”

As Jeonghan stood at his whole height, the sun shined across his face, making him look like a dream. “Then i’ll stay”

Since then, Jeonghan has been a regular at your flower shop. He left that day filled with warmth and happiness. The two you talked for the whole afternoon and didn’t even notice time has gone by so quickly. Jeonghan assisted you with some labour work as you tended to some customers.

You were a kind, beautiful woman. You listened intently when he talked about his thoughts of being trapped and even about his interests and goals.

“I want to travel, see the world beyond the horizon” Jeonghan mumbled as he stared out of the window. You stood beside him and listened. “I love this country, but sometimes i just want to spread my wings and fly”

He glanced at you for a second, his heart skipping as the array of sunset colours washed onto your face, making you look magical. The smile on your face told him that you agreed with him whole heartedly.

Jeonghan cleared his throat, “I better get going then. See you tommorow?” He asked, his voice filled with hope. You smiled brightly and nodded. After he left, you quickly closed up the shop and left for home.

For the first time, you skipped back home while humming to a song. Going through the event of today as you smiled to yourself. Your time with the man named Jeonghan was short, but it was the most fun you had with someone for a long time.

Your smiled dropped a little as you heard crashes coming from the house. Sighing, you mentally prepared yourself for the blows that were going to come at you next.

“You bitch, you forgot my drinks” Your mother hit you for the tenth time in five minutes. you crawled away from her before she landed another blow on you. “You’re really just a piece of garbage. Why did i even give birth to you?” She screamed at you.

You whimpered as you shield yourself from the shards and glass bottles thrown at you. “Get out now, you better get those drinks if you don’t, don’t even try to come back here. There is no place for you” She boomed.

You quickly grabbed your bag and ran out. The crashes and her screaming were not getting any softer. You cried as you ran down the path, cradling your arm that was cut by the shards. You cried for yourself, for your father that died for your country and the small memories of your kind mother.

You bought the beers she asked for while wrapping your sweater around you tighter in the chilly night. The lights were still on but the house was quiet. You entered hesistantly. Her form was spread out on the couch like before. You left the new bottles on the table and left again. You couldn’t take it anymore, this place you once cold home was now just a horror house you desperately wanted to escape from.

You stayed at the flower shop for the night. Pulling out a hammock and staring through the window as you thought about Jeonghan’s words.

“Sometimes i just want to spread my wings, and fly”

That was your dream too.

Jeonghan got a stern scolding from his friends. Although he had to endure an hour of scolding, he didn’t fight back or disagree anyways. Meeting you was probably the best encounter he had ever had. He learnt about the different townfolks and most importantly about you.

Even thought it was barely two hours since he left, his heart longed to see you again. You caught his eye and he felt at peace with you.

Jeonghan looked out of his balcony and into the city, trying to catch sight of your small little flower shop.

He signed excitedly and let out a smile as he couldn’t help but be excited for the next dawn.

You woke up early the next morning, taking care of the plants and getting breakfast at a nearby coffee house.

“Hey hey hey, did you hear? The prince’s ball is this friday! Everyone maiden is invited we should go!” the girls beside you chattered. You took a sip of your tea and finished up your food.

You’ve always wanted to visit the castle. Watching it from afar has always been a hobby of yours, visiting it? Would’ve been the best.

But you sighed, you didn’t even have the dress for it. You left the table and went up the counter to thank the shop lady.

You were very close to her because she was one of the people who tried helping your mother when she was mourning for your late father. She would talk care of you whenever your mother went out of control but now that the shop was getting busier and you were getting older, you convinced her that your home situation was improving.

Lies

“Y/n darling, i heard about the ball. You should go, you’ve always wanted to visit the castle since young” She told you gently as you stayed to chat with her.

You shook your head and sent her a sad smile, “With all due respect, i don’t even have the dress for it. I can’t show up in this old dress” Lifting it up as evidence.

She shook her head and told you to wait. You rest your hand on the table and thought about Jeonghan yet again. You were beyond excited to see him again.

Without knowing, you smiled.

She returned holding a box. You lifted a brow at it, wondering why on earth did she randomly take it out. She winked at you and shooed you away, “Go back to the flower shop and open this. Have a good day my child. Come back soon!” You waved back at her, holding the slightly heavy box and lifting it to your shop.

You turned on the lights as watered all the plants before opening up the box. Inside was a ballroom dress of your favourite colour. Your eyes widened as you took it out and checked if it fit you. You twirled around, holding it to your chest.

The dress was absolutely gorgeous and it fit you perfectly. There was a note inside of the box as well as a pair of shoes matching to colour of the dress.

“For you, Child. The prince’s ball is a tradition, having three sons, i wouldn’t have the chance to make a dress for any of them. But i have long taken you as my daughter, Y/n. Change it however you like, but i hope you’ll have the fun time at the ball”

You covered your hand with your mouth at the surprise. Now you were able to attend the prince’s ball taking place in three days. You reminded yourself to thank the shop lady soon.

You quickly kept the dress and opened the shop officially.

You exited the shop to take a breath of fresh air. It was crisp and the wind was perfect. The sun ok your skin made you smile.

Everything was perfect.

Everything was not perfect.

“Jeonghan meet Princess (R/n). She was one of the matches we thought would be perfect for you” Jeonghan’s stepmother’s words made his skin crawl.

The princess infront of him was nothing short of a pampered brat. She raised her nails to check them and when she saw Jeonghan she immediately pressed herself onto him. Jeonghan immediately stiffened and he desperately wanted to run away right now.

Seungcheol and Joshua tried not to laugh at the corner while watching Jeonghan’s face contort into a mixture of disgust and cringe.

He knew of her, having taken studies about different royal families. Her family was stacked with good natural resources and connections with other rich families, no doubt making them one of the wealthiest royal families.

The king wrapped his arm around Jeonghan’s stepmother. “Now son, although we said that it would be your decision ultimately, we want you to spend some time with Princess (R/n). We’re positive, the two of you would have lots of things in common” Jeonghan looked steely at his Father and Stepmother, noticing how proud she looked of her scheme.

He clenched his jaw, as much as he hated his situation, hated his stepmother. Jeonghan respected his father and would do anything for him.

“Fine”

Jeonghan wanted to tear his limbs apart, the princess infront of him. The spoilt princess? was making him lose his eardrums.

“Last week, i got my pedicure and new dresses. But they gave me the wrong colour. I got so mad i told daddy and guess what!” She exclaimed

Jeonghan sighed out, “What?”

“Daddy fired her. isn’t he just the greatest?!” she continued wrapping herself tighter around him.

Jeonghan didn’t respond as his thoughts wandered to you. He knew he promised to return but he just couldn’t get out of this situation. Literally.

He remembered your kind voice, your beauty, inside and out. The way you talked about flowers and plants like it was the most exciting in the world. And how your listened to him even when he assumed no one could understand.

Jeonghan desperately wanted to see you. Talk to you, anything just as long as you were there.

He knew who he wanted to be his princess, his wife, his soulmate.

He wanted you.

Jeonghan thought of a quick plan, pulling his arm out of Princess (R/n)’s tight grip and quickly pointing to the castle and saying that he needed to do something else.

Which wasn’t a lie.

Jeonghan ran and ran to the secret exit, without changing out of his royal clothes and only wearing a cape he grabbed along the way.

He smiled as he ran down the familiar street to your flower shop.

It was nearly four when Jeonghan finally arrived. He was dressed smartly and almost royal like but hidden beneath a cape. He held up a bag.

“i brought snacks” On cue, your stomach rumbled.

The two of you munched on the snacks he brought and drank the tea you prepared.

“I’m sorry i’m late” Jeonghan said. “i got caught up with some, burdens”

You chuckled, he looked extremely disgusted with his “burdens”

“What’s with the fancy clothes hannie?” You asked, putting down your mug.

Jeonghan smiled at his given nickname, “I work for the royal family and things have been busy for the ball” His eyes widened, “Y/n, are you coming for the ball?”

You nodded excitedly, “I wasn’t planning to, i didn’t even have a ball gown” you laughed. “But one of the kind ladies made me one. It’ll be fun visiting the castle, even thought it’ll probably be my only time visiting.” you smiled sadly at the last part.

Jeonghan listened to you attentively. You turned to look at him, “Are you going to be there?”

“Of course”

You smiled. “So will you offer me a dance?”

Jeonghan smiled back. “Make that hmm” he said before pausing, furrowing his eyebrows like he always thinking about something hard and tapping on his chin lightly. “five dances”

Your eyes widened in shock before Jeonghan laughed at you. You pouted and slapped his arm

“You should’ve seen your cute face” he said, holding onto his stomach.

You blush heavily at his comment.

Finally the day of the ball came. You’ve been slightly adjusting the dress so that it’ll fit you better. You twirled in the shop with the dress. You haven’t been home since a few days ago, but so that your mother wouldn’t bother finding you, you have been leaving alcohol infront of the house.

You knew if she saw you in that dress, she would’ve never let you go.

You picked went outside the shop, to be met with the shop lady and her son. Her son was like a brother to you and he happened to have a carriage and offered to send you to the castle.

The shop lady shed a few tears as she sent you off. You gazed out of the small window of the carriage. Mountains and clear sparkly water in view.

Your feelings the reflection of that. You felt confident, tall and excited.

Jeonghan smiled and hummed as he got ready, he couldn’t wait to see you. He knew if he had shown how much he cared about you and not about the other princesses or ladies, his father would’ve let him be.

He imagined your ball gown, you and him dancing together just like her promised. Jeonghan stared at the mountains and the clear sea infront of him. Stretching his arms and taking a deep breath, he left the room and headed for the ball room.

You stood amongst the other ladies in the ball room. It was fascinating. Gold spreading almost everywhere in the room giving it a majestic glow and the decorations were top notch.

You walked around the corridors secretly as you couldn’t hold in your curiousity. That was until a hand tapped on your shoulder and you whipped around to find Jeonghan infront of you.

He was dressed handsomely and you could’ve melted into a puddle right there. But you held yourself steady, leaned into his touch as he brought you in his arms.

If he hadn’t told you he worked for the king, you could’ve easily mistaken him for the crown prince.

“You shouldn’t be here y/n” his breath against your forehead and placing a gentle, soft kiss. “The prince is going to enter the ball soon”

You giggled shyly and mumbled, “sorry i was just curious” He smiled at your cuteness but shooed you away.

“Now hurry along, you have to catch the prince” he stared at your figure as you hurried back to the ball room.

“Nice choice. I always thought the florist was one beautiful lady.” Seungcheol said as he smiled.

Joshua on the other hand went up and asked, “Is she the one?”

“Oh boy, she’s definitely the one” Jeonghan mumbled happily, his eyes filled with adoration at the thought of you.

Seungcheol and Joshua smiled, satisfied.

“The Prince will now take his place on the throne before choosing a partner for his dance” One of the royal staff announced.

You realised you haven’t actually seen the prince, the royal family was very secretive about the media. You glanced up at the thrones seated above the floor.

“Please bow to His Majesty, The Crown Prince, Yoon Jeonghan” Your eyes immediately widened. Your mouth dropped and even thought you instinctively bowed you kept your eyes on Jeonghan.

His eyes were already on you, he smirked at you and waved to the rest. There he was, standing proud in the crown and handsome as ever. Your heart started beating faster.

As Jeonghan climbed down the stairs from the platform, his eyes were still on you. Never moving away.

A path was made by everyone as he walked onto the floor. It was completely silent as everyone watched his every move.

Who was he going to pick?

it wasn’t hard for Jeonghan as he made his way slowly to you. Everyone stared as he stopped infront of you. You were frozen for a split second before you remembered to curtesy.

Jeonghan said in the gentlest voice, ringing through the whole room. “Would you do me a pleasure, and dance with me?” Everyone gasped as you nodded and he kissed your palm affectionately.

The music started playing. A soft tune, a gentle melody. Everyone stared at the two of you as you placed your arm around his shoulder and he moved his other arm around your waist.

It was like everyone else beside you disappeared as he spun you around. You were lost in his dark brown orbs and his scent that made you want to hug him as tight as possible. It was hazy yet the only thing you could see clearly was Jeonghan.

“Y/n?” you continued to stare at him.

His arm on your waist tightened slightly as he pulled you in closer to whisper in your ear

“You look absolutely stunning darling” you looked away shyly.

“I also forgot to mention, i’m the prince” He winked. You pouted and shook your head at him.

“To me, you’ll always be Jeonghan. The handsome, gentle yet playful man i’m in love with” You said as he twirled you around.

Other partners started to dance around the two of you. The music changed, a different song but the same soft vibe

“Then would you, Y/n L/n give me the honour, and be my queen?” Your eyes widened at his request. He glanced at you nervously and your eyes started to water. You pulled him in and hugged him tightly as he spun your around.

“Yes! yes! yes! i will” Jeonghan smiled widely as he pulled you away from the ball room to the throne platform to meet his Father.

“Father is going to love you as much as i do Y/n, which is a lot” You giggled at his words.

He presented you with a proud smile, his arm around your waist protectively. “Father, this is Y/n. Y/n, er the king, my father”

you curtsied you His Majesty and the Queen as Jeonghan continued, “I’ve decided and have the permission from her” His eyes on you, “to take her as my wife, the future queen”

“No” His stepmother said harshly. Her eyes were cold and glared daggers at you. “You will not marry this low-life. Bringing dishonour and embarrassment to the royal family? Unacceptable” She said. She then pointed to you, “Especially this one. Her mother is nothing but a raging alcoholic, wasting her life away. She could only be pretending to be kind to you because of your wealth”

Jeonghan glared back at her and his grip on you tightened. “You are in no position to tell me what to do Stepmother. Of all people, you’re the one telling me to be scared of gold diggers like you? Maybe you should be teaching that crash course to father. Who was decieved by you” He said in a serious manner.

You glanced away. Jeonghan’s stepmother’s words reminding you of the way your own mother treated you.

“You’re really just a piece of garbage. Why did i even give birth to you?”

You let go of Jeonghan.

“Hannie” catching Jeonghan’s attention.

“She’s right” you said lowly

Jeonghan whipped his head to you as you smiled sadly at him, “E-even if we do get married, i won’t be able to give you anything. You really deserve someone better” Jeonghan shook his head, his arm reaching to catch hold of yours as you started running to the entrance and back home where you were sure Jeonghan wouldn’t find you.

“Y/n wait-- no please” Jeonghan shouted after you. Joshua and Seungcheol following behind. You immeditately boarded the same carriage you came from. The shop lady’s son looked back ta you for a moment with worried eyes. The tears started to fall as you were sent back home.

Jeonghan tried chasing after you on his horse but his stepmother and Father told the guards to close the gates before he had the chance to leave.

“Jeonghan, you’re better off without her” his stepmother tried convincing him. His father studied Jeonghan’s behaviour. “Let’s go and meet the other suitors--”

“No” his father said

The king went up to Jeonghan, ‘’I’m sorry i didn’t see it before son, now go after her” He then turned to his wife, “I can’t believe i ever saw kindness in you. Your heart is made of greed and believe me, you’ll get what you deserve. In jail”

As the guards took away the screaming ex queen, The king turned to Jeonghan. “I was close to Y/n’s Father, he was one of the best guards we ever trained. After sacrificing himself in the war, his wife, Y/n’s mother, fell into a dark place. They were a kind family and i bellieve Y/n has a heart of gold considering she thought of your needs before hers”

Jeonghan nodded and he realised exactly how strong you were for all these years. He quickly left to find you. You weren’t at the flower shop so he asked around about you.

“Her cottage is near the fields, why? what happened to Y/n” A shop lady asked him. But he took off before he could answer her.

His horse raced through the night as his mind went back to you. Your small acts of kindness, to him, to the townfolks. You went throught so much when you were younger, you’ve been alone and by yourself the whole time. But now, he wanted to be beside you, go through everything with you.

Your sad smile flashed in his mind, he never wanted to see a similar expression from you again.

Even after learning your history and family situation, Jeonghan wanted you more than ever.

He caught you walking towards a lit cottage, rubbing your arms up and down to keep warm.

“Y/n!” you turned behind, recognising his voice. You stopped in your tracks as he dismounted his horse and came up to you.

“You don’t have to give me anything. You’ve already given me enough, more than enough” Jeonghan whispered. You began to shake your head but Jeonghan continued, “I only need one thing from you, your love” You teared up again

“But your stepmothe--”

Jeonghan scoffed at the mention of her, “Darling, i believe you mean that golddigger. Yeah my dad finally saw how greedy she is and now she’s gonna rot in jail” He took hold of your hands, “But forget about her, what will your answer be?” You stared into his eyes, you knew he was going to make you happy.

“Would you take a girl like me” you asked him softly.

“Y/n sweetie, you could wear a potato sack and still look like the most beautiful woman i’ve ever met”

“Then i’ll be your queen” Jeonghan carried you and spun you around. He brought you closer to him, his hand rubbing your cheek and finally sealing the promise with a kiss

“Honey? I need some help with your son” Jeonghan chuckled again and got out of his seat in his office. He wrapped an arm around your pregnant figure and greeted you with a kiss.

“Playing hide and seek again?” You pouted

“The castle is too damn big for me hannie” Jeonghan shook his head and ran around. “Now where is my little prince?”

You smiled as Jeonghan caught your son and twirled him around. Rubbing your tummy, you realised how perfect your life had become. Recently, your mother finally started to limit her drinking and even started to work at the flower shop again with your abscence.

She apologised for the way she has treated you and although the two of you weren’t very close, you were happy with her improvement and even learnt to forgive her.

The previous king started travelling the world and occasionally visiting and bringing presents for his grand kid and children. He had taken a liking with you quickly and saw you as his daughter.

Seungcheol and Joshua has also became very close to you and your son. With Joshua teaching him music and linguistics and Seungcheol training him in various sports.

Your son came up to hug your leg, “Mummy, mummy! Daddy found me..You took too long”

“What are you thinking about?” Jeonghan whispered to you. All of you stared outside the window.

“Nothing, i was just thinking about how much i treasure you guys.” Jeonghan nuzzled into your neck

“I finally feel free”

#seventeen #jeonghanxreader #caratwritersclub #yoon jeonghan #jeonghan #Jeonghan x reader fluff #seventeen royal au #seventeen royal #prince!seventeen #prince!jeonghan

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unmaskedagain · 5 years ago

Text

Marinette: A legacy

I really tried to make this angst but the story had a mind of it’s own by the end. It’s about 6,000 words so... Buckle in.

Broken; that was what Marinette was. Broken was what the gods had deemed her. She was born wrong. She shouldn’t exist. She shouldn’t be alive. She shouldn’t be anything. But she did exist and she was very much alive… technically.

How much could anyone like her ever really be considered alive? She had been born to death. Somehow death had created a life.

It had done it once before with another girl; but that girl had been born right. From the moment she had come crying into the world, it was clear the girl had favored her grandmother’s heritage, and, in time, her mother’s as well. The girl was named Hope.

Marinette favored her father’s; skin a little too pale, heart beat a little too slow, beauty a little too otherworldly. However, when it was clear that her small body craved blood to survive, only then did they fear the worst.

By they, she meant her birthmother. A werewolf who had want power and powerful bloodline; a Hope of her own. Suffice to say, she didn’t get what she wanted. Instead of Mother Nature and moon in one being; they got blood and darkness, the moon would come later.

They feared she’d become her father. A monster in human flesh. A boogieman that all other boogiemen feared. They couldn’t let that happen. They refused to let that happen. So they sent Marinette away. Sent her away before her father could find out; before his family could find out. She was given to a couple with magical knowledge; a man with a wolf’s heritage and a woman who had grown up with vampires; Tom and Sabine.

Her birthmother died not long after.

Marinette’s father had been locked away at the time of her birth. She never met him. Most days, she just wondered if he knew she existed. Last she heard him and his brother Elijah had nearly died defeating some great evil. They were alive and well, still ruling New Orleans. Only reason she knew about him was that she had saved a witch’s life, and in return, and a bit of blood, Marinette knew who her birth parents were; the lines she came from. The sister she had.

Unfortunately the price was stiff. Marinette ten at the time when she came across a vicious looking man attacking a seemingly helpless woman. The man had been a werewolf. To save a life, Marinette accidently ended his in the process; awakening the curse of her mother’s bloodline.

No longer just a child of death and blood but now of the moon as well.

For a long time, Marinette had done everything she could to be normal despite her adopted parents assuring her that Normal was overrated. Never seeking out her own kind(s) out of fear. Fear of rejection as she was neither and yet both; alive and dead; werewolf and vampire. Fear that her father’s countless enemies would find her.

But while she could walk in the sunlight, she could also kill a man in the blink of an eye. While she did her absolute best not to hurt anyone, animals still avoided her. They sensed the predator inside her, lurking just beneath the surface. While Marinette loved designing and all things fashion and normal teen girl things, she still drank blood, howled at the moon, and had murdered someone.

Meeting Tikki when she was twelve had been a blessing and a curse. Tikki help Marinette realize that she could be something; that she didn’t have to be a force of destruction, that she could create, protect. The curse; Tikki told her that her she’d stop aging soon; death would take hold of her. She gave Marinette a four or five year timeframe. At max five years before her ability age would slow decreasing until it stopped altogether. And who knows when exactly that would be.

Maybe feared that she’d wake up at 30 and realized she still looked like nineteen-year-old.

And what would that mean for her biologically? Could she still have kids? A life? Would she have to spend the rest of eternity alone?

Now almost fourteen Marinette, outcasted by her friends over a liar, made guardian now that Fu had sadly passed away, she spent most of her nights with the Kwami. She had just been about to put the box away when… it happened.

Suddenly, wind started to swirl around her room. She felt a slight tugging at her arms; then it was like her entire body was being sucked throw a tube. Finally a tornado like cloud appeared on ceiling and the next thing Marinette knew was she was being pulled into it.

Marinette screamed and clutched the kwami box tightly to her chest. Wind and lightning swirled around her. She closed her eyes, and wondered just what type of kwami Hawkmoth had unleased on Paris now.

Then with a hard thud, she landed on a hard surface. She peaked and saw sunlight peeking through a window; and a forest of trees behind it.

Well, she thought, this is definitely not my room.

“Are you alright?”

Marinette looked up and saw a group of people; mostly teenagers and one adult looking down at her. The girl who had spoken had big brown eyes and dark, almost black, hair.

“I’m fine,” Marinette said hesitantly. “What’s going on? I was just in my room and now I’m here.”

“Great!” A blond girl snapped. “The ritual was supposed to summon one of your psycho family members. How’d you manage to blow that, Hope?”

“I didn’t!” A girl with long Auburn hair and light blue eyes. “I can’t have. It’s a simple ritual. It was supposed to summon my closest relative.”

Marinette blinked. Because Crap. “Did you say Hope?” She asked. “As in Hope Mikaelson?” Her sister. Her actual sister. She had always wanted to meet her.

“My name is Alaric,” The adult, a man, said as he stepped forward a curious look on his face. “How do you know Hope?”

Marinette decided to give them man her best scary vampire face, “I don’t. Not really,” She hissed, fangs bared. The she went wolf mode; not a full transformation. Her clothes ripped a little though. “I was born a vampire.” She answered. “And went werewolf later.”

“You’re hybrid,” Hope gasped. “A natural hybrid.”

“Yes,” Marinette nodded. “Now by closest relative; she did you mean proximity or by blood. Because…” She looked around. “Seeing as I am no longer in Paris. I’m guessing by blood.”

There was stunned faces as understanding slowly crept in.

“The ritual worked,” The brunette who spoke first said. “Surprisingly well.”

Marinette smiled, “I’m Marinette,” She introduced herself. “Your sister.”

“Another one!” The blond yelled. She tossed her hands up in the air. “Great. Just great!” And with that she stomped off.

Alaric pinched his nose, “Klaus is not going to be happy about this.”

“Oh he’s gonna lose his shit,” Said Kaleb; he’d met the original once and decided that was enough.

“No one is going to happy about this,” Hope yelled. She knew that none of her family knew about Marinette. They couldn’t have. Her father barely let her come to school. He wouldn’t have let her live in another freaking country. “How? Just how?”

Marinette took a quick step back; a dismayed feeling overtook her.

“Hey,” The brunette said softly, giving the younger girl a kind smile, “That’s not what they mean. They’re just a little shocked right now. I’m Josie; a witch. How about I show you around campus while everyone calms down a bit.” She held out her hand to Marinette.

Marinette clutched the kwami box but nodded and let Josie lead her out of the room.

“We need a plan,” Mg suggested.

“Plan?” Kaleb scoffed. “Bro, we need the Avengers. And Batman. Hell the U.S army and the xmen too. Klaus is going to tear this bitch apart.”

Alaric took a deep breath, “No, he won’t.” He looked to Hope. “Call Rebecca, Freyja, here. Don’t tell them why. They’re the sane ones. They won’t overreact. Then we deal with Elijah, once he’s handled. We go for the big fish.”

“Shark,” Kaleb corrected. “Great white sharks! Except more bloodthirsty.”

Hope nodded, “I’ll call them now, and then,” She winced. “Talk to my sister. Kidnapping and freaking out on her probably wasn’t the best first impression.”

“Nah,” Mj shook his head. “You tanked that.”

Convincing her aunts to visit her, under the guise of girl talk and girls day was easier than she expected. Talking to her little sister, while not harder, was considerably more awkward. She found the girl drinking a smoothie with Josie, giggling about something.

“Hey,” Hope smiled. “Found you!”

“Kidnapped me!” Marinette corrected.

Hope winced, “Yeah. I should apologize, right?” Marinette gave her a look. “I’m really sorry. But hey, I got to find out I have a little sister. That’s awesome.”

“I’m going to leave you two alone,” Jose said and gave them a thumbs up.

After that Hope and Marinette told each other about their lives. Marinette lived in Paris all her life and loved fashion; about the bakery and her parents. She didn’t find out about her birth family until she was ten. Hope told her what their family was like and what it been like growing up in New Orleans; and the best Beignets in the world.

“You’ll dad,” Hope grinned. “He’s artists like you, like me. Uncle Kol’s a bit wild. Uncle Elijah a bit too gentlemanly. Aunt Rebecca and Aunt Freyja are amazing. They’ll be here tomorrow. They will love you. They all will,” she assured.

Marinette called her parents not long after and assured them she was fine. It was a little magical accident. She was with her sister. And asked if she could please, please stay for a bit of the summer break. Reluctantly, after a long conversation with Headmaster Alaric, they agreed, on the condition that Marinette calls them once a day. They send her stuff as soon as they could.

The next morning, Hope greeted her Aunts with the biggest, most charming smile that she could. The each pulled her into a hug.

When Rebecca pulled away, she smirked. “Now what did you do?” Before Hope could protest, her aunt added, “That’s the smile Klaus’ uses whenever he did something wrong.”

“Me?” Hope denied. “No, I didn’t do anything. I merely found out something. Something I should be rewarded for; I should get a raise in my allowance.”

Freyja crossed her arms, “uh huh, so it’s something good?”

“It’s great,” Hope smiled. “But I’m going to need you to stop Dad from murdering everyone here and… in Paris.”

“Paris?” The blonds chimed together.

“Paris.”

Explaining that she accidently summoned her sister, a child no one ever knew about, had been complicated. Rebecca didn’t believe it at first. Neither did Freyja Until Freyja had Hope repeat the ritual and a little darkhaired girl fell from the ceiling.

“Hope, we talked about this,” Marinette complained. She wore some borrowed clothes; a red top and light blue skinny jeans. “You just can’t summon people. I could’ve been in the shower.”

“Sorry,” Hope quickly helped her sister up. “Aunt Freyja made me.”

“Wow,” Said blond tutted. “Sold me out pretty quick there, kiddo.”

Marinette eyed the two beautiful blond women. Her aunts. “Hi,” She squeaked, her face red, and leaned closer to Hope.

“You’re adorable!” Rebecca squealed. Then she turned to Freyja, “Klaus is going to lose it.”

After some insight into Marinette’s life, a shopping trip, some fro-yo, Rebecca sighed when they returned back to the school. “We have to call Elijah.”

Elijah had been curious about why his sisters summoned him to Hope’s school with the clear request of: Do not tell Klaus. He knew it must be serious, and something Klaus would not like.

His sisters and niece greeted him in entry way of the school, and promptly led him back outside to the courtyard.

“What is the meaning of this,” He asked. “What purpose did I need to rush here a moment’s notice?”

His sisters looked at Hope who glared back. It was Freyja who broke first, “Klaus has another child; a girl. Her name’s Marinette, and she’s thirteen-years-old. And before you say; she is most definitely Klaus’ daughter. We checked. Six times. Two times a blood inheritance spell.”

“Yeah,” Hope drawled. “We have got to stop randomly summoning Marinette. She’s getting testy.”

He looked at the three women. Rage soared through him. “Excuse me,” Elijah said before promptly walking into the forest and ripping apart a tree. Multiple trees, in fact. When he returned, he straighten out his tie, and gave them a nod, “Where is she? Where’s Marinette? And while we locate her, you will explain to me how this occurred.”

They found Marinette, sitting on a window seal, sketching; lost in her newest design, as a means to stop her worrying.

“She’s look like him,” Elijah murmured. “The eyes, the nose, the concentration when creating new artwork.” This was his brother’s daughter, of that there was no doubt.

Marinette suddenly looked up at them, her blues eyes examining her newfound family. She chuckled, “At least you didn’t summon me this time.”

“I am your Uncle Elijah,” He prompted introduced himself with a small bow.

Marinette stood up and gave a small curtesy, “Marinette.” She said quietly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Elijah fought urge to coo. His sisters did not. Hope laughed, went to Marinette, and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, and pulled her into a hug causing Mariette to laugh as well.

The resemblance was there for all to see. The blue eyes, the devilish smiles, the same noses, cheekbones; clearly sisters. Clearly Klaus’ daughters; his little girls.

Marinette turned out to be wonderful; a shy thing with impeccable manners and a softness to her that no one else in the family had.

“I can prevent half from being killed,” Elijah told his sisters when they brought up Klaus. “But this place will still be a blood bath.”

Marinette looked confused, “But why. I just got here. Harming anyone wouldn’t be rational.”

“Rational,” Rebecca laughed. “Yes because that’s the first thing that comes to mind when people talk about Niklaus; that he’s rational.”

“Rebecca!” Elijah hissed. He shook his head, “We need Kol.”

“Oh fuck no!” Kol yelled upon meeting Marinette, thus confirming his siblings were pulling some sort of prank. “I shouldn’t be here. I don’t want to be. You shouldn’t be here!” He yelled at his older siblings. “Klaus should’ve been the first one told.” He looked at Marinette. “I’m sure your great, love. I’ll love you in no time. However, right we have to prevent Klaus from committing mass murder… again.”

The plan was supposed to be really simple. They’d all go to New Orleans, where less of Alaric’s students could be harmed. Davina and Marcellus would distract Klaus long enough to lead him into a trap; a room where chains would wrap around the hybrid’s arms securing in place; only then would they tell him the truth.

When the Originals, Hope and Marinette arrived to the house they found Marcellus and Davina waiting.

“What the hell is about,” Marcellus asked. “Klaus is going to rip my head off, you know that right.”

“This had better be good,” Davina nodded. “He’s already threatening to wipe out my entire blood line.”

“Trying to prevent the massacre of Paris,” Freyja nodded, “You two girls,” She looked at her nieces. “Stay here. Davina wait with them please.” She looked at the vampires. “Elijah take lead. Let’s do this.”

Marinette watched in wonder as her aunts and uncles went inside. They didn’t smell afraid. They smelled concerned; like her mom did when she thought she left the iron on when she left the house.

Davina asked the smaller girl with Hope. “Can I ask…?”

Hope quickly shook her head. ‘Not now’, she mouthed and pointed inside.

Davina nodded.

Elijah kept his calm façade as he approached his furious brother.

“Brothers; sisters, my family,” Klaus drawled, fury in his eyes. “I thought we’ve grown past this. May I ask what I could’ve possible done to deserve? And what Paris have to do with anything?”

“You’ve done nothing,” Elijah assured.

“I wouldn’t say nothing,” Kol smirked. “It took two to tangle after all.”

“Release me!” Klaus demanded. “Now!”

Rebecca took a breath, “You need to calm. We have to tell you something; something important. And we need you to listen because we are telling you truth.”

“I’m in chains!” Klaus growled. “And you expect me to listen to you?”

“It is a precaution should you overreact,” Elijah stated. “We are your family. We need you to trust us.”

“Honestly, just don’t go batshit crazy,” Kol shrugged. “And kill half of New Orleans.”

Klaus bared his teeth, “I’ve changed. I’ve grown. I will not go back to that.”

Freyja steeled herself, “It’s about your daughter.”

Klaus’ entire body stiffened, “What?” Fear and anger coursed through him. Was Hope alright? Did someone harm her? Where was she?

“Klaus, you have another child,” Elijah said bluntly. “A girl named Marinette. She’s thirteen and a born vampire; a hybrid since the age of ten. She is yours.”

Klaus froze in shook. His mind processing his brother’s words. He had another child; another daughter.

“Hope called us,” Rebecca said. “All of us to her school. She informed us of Marinette then, brother. And we needed to secure you because we were worried about your reaction when you found out.” Marcellus scoffed. She turned to look at him, “Did we do the right thing?”

The black man shook his head, “No.”

“What did we do wrong?” Rebecca glanced at him and then back at Klaus.

“Well, you used chains,” Marcellus explained.

“What should we have used?”

Marcellus crossed his arms, “Ahh, it wouldn’t matter.”

Klaus roared and with all his strength he ripped the chains from the ground, destroying the hardwood in the process. He calmly removed them from his wrists and walked past his siblings. He could hear Hope’s heartbeat, and Davina’s as well. But there was another with them.

The siblings followed after.

Once Klaus was outside, his eyes went automatically to his beloved Daughter, “Hope,” He greeted slowly. Hope gave him a weary smile. Then to Davina. And then finally to a girl younger than Hope but had the same blue eyes, nose, and cheek bones. All which both girls got from him.

“Marinette,” Klaus whispered.

The girl gave him a shy smile.

Marinette couldn’t believe she was finally meeting her birthfather. It would definitely.

The girl, his daughter, was smaller than he expected; smaller than Hope had been at that age. Her presence wasn’t as confident either. There was a look in her eyes that she tried to hide but he knew well; fear. She didn’t smell afraid, just worried and a little sad. She was afraid of rejection.

“I have been blessed with two beautiful daughters,” Klaus said soothingly. “You live in France, yes. I will started my revenge there.” And there went the good mood.

Everything was chaos after that.

Klaus insisted that his daughter was stolen. Marinette insisted she had been adopted. Her mother had given her up.

“And the father has no rights?” Klaus asked. He tried his best to remain maintain his false calmness. He never liked to get angry in front of his children.

“Well, in her defense, technically you are dead, brother,” Kol smirked when Klaus hissed at him. “It would be rather complicated to prove otherwise.”

“My parents,” Marinette said. Klaus growled. She continued on. “My parents are wonderful. They’re bakers with a successful shop. They love me very much.”

“Bakers!” Klaus grumbled. “My daughter was raised by bakers!”

Marinette was rather surprised just how long it took to convince her father that mass murder wasn’t a suitable response for missing out on his daughter’s formative years. Then again, he was Klaus Mikaelson.

After her father did calm down, it was pleasant. She was formally introduced to Marcellus, Rebecca’s husband, and Davina, Kol’s wife. She learned more about her family’s story and became content. Marinette was given a room next to Hope, and they laughed as they immediately left to decorate; chaperoned by Klaus, who was more than happy to pay for his girls’ shopping spree.

Marinette was able to get paints for her new room, different cloths for makings clothes, more sketchbooks, paintings, and posters. Klaus bought her whatever she wanted, it was a wonder Hope wasn’t spoiled.

First week living with her family she cooked with Freyja, played Poker with Kol, painted with her father (which led to a paint war where Hope and Marinette ganged up on him). Elijah taught her to waltz and told her all the things history forgot. She designed dressed for Rebecca, and tended to follow her free spirited Aunt around whenever she could. The only difficult part was sneaking away whenever there was an Akuma alert. But luckily Freyja magic’d her room to be soundproof so Marinette could privacy. Trixx had no problem pretended to be her, should anyone knock.

Everything was good. Everyone was happy. Except for two times. The first came when Hope mentioned during dinner about returning to school.

“Oh, I’ll go with you,” Marinette said brightly to her sister who sat next to her, not noticing how her words caused the room’s occupants to stiffened. “I can give Lizzie the dress I made her. She’ll love it.”

“I still don’t get why she likes you and not me,” Hope asked incredulously.

Marinette stuck her tongue out, “Josie likes you well enough. And Raphael. And Landon. And…”

“Oh shut up,” Hope blushed.

Klaus sat his cup down slowly, “You will not being anywhere. You will remain here where you are safe.

Hope and Marinette shared a look. Marinette had learned quickly that Klaus was overprotected. Marinette wasn’t allowed to go anywhere without an escort; usually a member of the family. Hope raised an eyebrow ask to ask if Marinette wanted her to handle. Marinette tilted her head the side, with both eyebrows raised; a team up, maybe. Hope smirked; that was a yes.

“No,” Klaus chastised. “No silent conversation at the dinner table. Or at all.” As much as he loved that his daughters got along so well, they tended to unite against him to get what they wanted.

Hope smiled sweetly, “We won’t gone long. School’s letting out. We’ll be gone A day or two at most.”

“I really like Hope’s school,” Marinette said earnestly. “I’ve never met so many kids like me before.”

Elijah decided to aid his brother. “A school full of barely trained vampires, witches, and werewolves. It is dangerous.”

“Oh come on,” Hope crossed hers. “I’m there most of the year.”

“That’s different,” Freyja said. “You’re older; more mature.”

“Well that’s hardly fair,” Kol narrowed his eyes. He used to get told the same thing when he was a child and still human. “Marinette is plenty mature. Age shouldn’t be a factor.”

Klaus glared at his brother, “And yet it is. You will remain here with me. Hope will give Lizzie the dress you designed.”

Hope and Marinette shared another look and then turned to their father with their ultimate weapon in full force; puppy-dog eyes sat to ultimate cuteness. “Please!” They chimed together.

Klaus’ mouth dropped slightly. The adorableness of his daughter was nearly crippling. “No,” he said again. “I will not budge on my decision.”

The girls frowned, and increased their puppy eyes to death level. Their lips wobbled, their eyes glistened with presence of potential tears.

“Stay strong, brother,” Elijah told him.

“Say the man who is doing his best to avoid looking directly at them,” Rebecca giggled.

Klaus’ face softened. No, he told himself, we will not give in. “Never!”

“Pretty, pretty please,” The teenage girls pleaded.

“…Fine.”

The next not so good time came a month later; when Marinette got an Akuma alert late at night. She had been getting a midnight snack when her phone beeped. Marinette had no choice but to rush upstairs, transform, and leave. Unfortunately for her, she hadn’t shut the door all the way, meaning that the silencing spell didn’t go into effect.

It had been multiple Akumas; terrible ones that led to Marinette calling in Kagami, Chloe, and Luka to help her and Chat. It had taken a long time, a lot more than Marinette realized. When Marinette finally asked someone the time, she realized half the day had passed. She hoped Trixx had been able to keep up the illusion.

Marinette portaled back to her room feeling more tired than she ever had before. Only to find Freyja waiting on her bed with the kwami box on her lap.

“Do you have any idea how much your trouble you’re in?” Her aunt asked.

Turned out, her father had come to check on her after he returned home for the night only to find the room empty. However, it was only when his family confirmed they had no idea where his youngest daughter was, that he got angry. They all got angry; fear that someone had taken Marinette. They broke out in different search parties; trying to locate a scent to follow.

Freyja, however, went to Marinette’s room, and to her surprise as soon as she touched the door, Marinette’s voice said she was busy. The blond woman opened the door to find a little fox creature looking frightened.

The kwami had decided to explain a few things about themselves before the angry looking blond decided to try to smite them.

“Oops?” Marinette offered.

Freyja raised an eyebrow, “Oops?” She shook her head. She handed Marinette the box. “Come on, guardian. You have some explaining to do.” Freyja opened the door for Marinette.

Marinette, with the box in her hand, reluctantly followed her aunt to the living room where her family waited.

“Marinette!” Her father yelled, and before she knew it she was in a hug. “Where were you? Do you have any idea how worried I was? Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” She promised, and pulled away. “I’m fine,” She said again to her worried looking family.

“What happened?” Hope asked; beyond emotionally exhausted and physically, from the nights events. “You just disappeared.”

Freyja nodded, “It’s turned out our darling little Marinette is more magical than she led us to believe.”

Marinette nodded and opened the box. The kwami flew out of it; setting everyone on guard. The kwami flew around the room introducing themselves. “So… Did I ever tell you I was a superhero?”

“No,” Marcellus chuckled, reaching out slowly for the floating Ox type creature. “No. You didn’t. I’d remember that conversation.”

“Yeah… well it’s like this…”

The Ladybug, magical guardian of little gods, and fighting a supernatural terrorist didn’t go over well. To close out her story, and to prove it, Marinette transformed into Ladybug, and transformed back.

The room was silent.

“You are a child,” Elijah finally said, rage slowly growing inside him. “Children do not go to war. They are not sent to war!”

Marinette winced, “It’s not really a war. More like a Batman versus the Joker.”

“But people have died,” Rebecca said, petting Pollen. “Sure, they’re brought back but they still died; you’re partner, Chat Noir died a few times.”

“What happens if you die, kiddo,” Davina asked. She played with Ziggy in her lap. “Only Ladybug can reverse what the akuma’s done. What happens if Ladybug dies before that happens? Who brings you back?”

Marinette looked down, and remained silent because they all knew the answer to that. No one. If ladybug died, she died.

“So this dude’s possessing school children,” Marcellus said. “And everyone else is so much as feel a lick negative emotion. The only people trying to stop the psychopath is a thirteen-year-old who can do a magical girl transformation leading a bunch of other teenagers who can do the same trick? Really.”

“We’ve been hunting him,” Marinette sighed. “Hawkmoth is possible to find.”

“I’ll help!” Hope said. Roaar was on her shoulder. “You have other Kwami. I can use Roaar. I’ll fight with you.” Her sister was a superhero. It was the coolest thing ever. Everyone knew who Ladybug was. Her posters covered a lot of her fellow students’ walls.

“No!” Half the room shouted.

Klaus glared, “No more fighting. This ends.” Someone had been trying to kill his little girl since she first adorned her hero name. “I’ll find Hawkmoth. And I’ll rip him to pieces.”

“No, brother,” Kol stated. “We’ll rip him to pieces.”

There were nods.

“How? I can’t find him,” Marinette asked. “I can’t even scent him.”

“Fear not, little one,” Elijah had a dark smile on his face. “No one can hide from The Originals.”

Ziggy flew up and whispered in Davina’s ear. A dark look appeared on her lovely face, the room crackled with her power, “What’s this about you being bullied?”

“Bullied?” Hope shouted. “Who’s bullying you? I swear.”

Klaus closed his eyes. On top of everything Marinette was going through, she was being bullied as well. “Explain.”

And so Marinette did. She told about her Lila came to class; lied, turned everyone against her, and pretty much left her friendless in class apart from Adrien and Chloe. How her things were ripped up, the mean texts she got, all the dirty looks. She missed Alya, or rather she missed the Alya that had been her bestie. She missed hanging out with Kim and Alix. But she knew, even if the truth came out, they’d never be friends again. By the end of her story, Marinette had shed a few tears and looked very much like the thirteen-year-old she was.

“So Lila’s dead, right?” Kol said. “No objections? Good. I get dips.”

“You can’t kill her.” Marinette stated.

“Pretty sure I can,” Kol drawled.

Hope narrowed her eyes, “Not kill her. We’re going to do something worse.” She promised. No one messed with her family and got away with it. “We’re going to make her tell the truth.”

“Compel her,” Rebecca nodded. “Make the little shrew learn a lesson or two.”

“Why haven’t you compelled her?” Freyja asked. “I would’ve had the little bitch take a long walk off a short ledge by now.”

“It’s not nice,” Marinette shrugged.

Kol pinched his nose, “Oh we have so much to teach you.” He smirked. “Mikaelsons’ are not nice.”

“We’re not mean,” Hope added. “But we’re not nice.”

“And most importantly,” Klaus broke in. “If you mess with one us, you mess with all of us. We are family.”

“Always and forever,” Hope said.

Marinette nodded. “Always and forever.”

For the next few days, her family watched her like a hawk. Marinette didn’t know if Hawkmoth had been drained from the multiple akumas or what, but it took a week before another alert appeared.

Luckily for her, Hope was on guard duty while the rest of the family either in town taking care of business or was in the woods, close by, perfecting their hunting skills. Marinette had been sketching with Hope in the living room when her phone chimed. She glanced at it and saw the Akuma Alert.

She glanced at the stairs. Could she do it, she wondered. Could she make it up the stairs to her room and portal out before anyone caught her.

“Don’t even think about,” Hope said putting down her paint brush. She held up her own phone, and gave Marinette a look. “You’re not the only one who gets notified now. If you’re going, I’m going.”

Marinette sighed, “Fine but if you’re going to fight; you’re suiting up.”

“Just one thing…” Hope trailed off. “It’s another multi-akuma alert. I think we’re going to need more help.”

“What are you thinking?”

Hope grinned.

Lizzie, Josie, Raphael, Landon, and MJ stood in front of Marinette and Hope looking stunned. After a few vows of secrecy, Marinette had transformed into Ladybug in front of them.

“You’re Ladybug,” Lizzie grinned. “And you want me, us, to do a superhero team up. I knew I liked you.”

“And you don’t like me,” Hope added. “What the hell?”

“That’s what’s up,” Kaleb said and gave MJ a low-five. “Free trip to Paris and I get to be superman for the day. Let’s do this.”

“This is incredible,” Josie looked like her mind was processing a thousand thoughts a second, “I’ve heard of the Kwami and the guardian. But I just thought they were legends. Or that they’d died out. Dad’s going to flip.

Landon looked concerned, “it’s safe, right. The transformation. Not fighting an evil terrorists. Because that’s obviously not safe.”

Hope looked at Marinette who nodded. The older girl grinned, “Roaar, strips on!” And just like that, Hope was transformed into a tiger-themed hero; her hair was intricately braid back, she had ear and a tail; her custom was mostly black with orange stripes. She had long claws, and staff. “Easy as pie.”

“Oh I’m in,” Raphael said. “Try and stop me. Wait do who I get?”

That started the request and arguments.

In the end, Lizzie got Trixx. Kaleb got Stompp. Josie got Fluff. MJ got Barrk. Raphael got Wayzz. And Landon received Mullo.

Marinette briefly briefed them about their powers and what to expect. She opened a portal.

Hope ran to the window, “Hey, we’re going to fight an evil megalomaniac in Paris be home soon.” And then the kids were gone.

Elijah and Kol who had been in the woods when they heard Hope yell raced back. However, by the time they arrived, the kids were gone.

“Ok, Marinette is just not making this easy on us,” Kol huffed. “She’s not even pretending to.”

Hawkmoth didn’t see the new team of heroes coming. The akumas were quickly dismantled. The older teenagers had the time of their lives running around Paris, using superpowers in public, something they always had to avoid before; and just being their full awesome selves.

When the battle was over, and the kids had transformed and retuned all phone call they’d missed. Alaric wasn’t happy about their spontaneous superhero trip. Klaus wasn’t happy they left without informing him, or taking him with them. He also wasn’t happy about Caroline calling just to yell at him for her daughters running off to Paris to become an Avenger.

The kids promised they’d be home soon; said the kwami to transport had to recharge. Technically that was true. However, the kids took their sweet time roaming around Paris. Marinette introduced Hope to her parents, who easily took a shine to their daughter’s sister.

Lizzie spent most of the time; spamming the online student website with pictures of herself in Paris.

When the kids ran into Lila and Alya on the way out of a boutique. The girls had been nasty as soon as they saw Marinette, causing the older teens to glare. They had heard from Hope about Marinette’s bullying situation, and they were ready to raise hell. However before Marinette or even Hope could get involved, Lizzie Saltzman. She knew a bully when she saw one.

“You bad hair and awful clothes,” Lizzie pointed at Lila. “What’s your name?”

“Lila Rossi,” Alya snapped. Lila pretended to cry. “The Lila Rossi. The Nicest girl on the planet.

“Yeah whatever,” Lizzie pulled out her phone. She showed her phone screen. “Look at the type Lila Rossi in google, and nothing. Google doesn’t care. Don’t see why I should.”

Alya blinked, “That’s not right,” She murmured and pulled out her phone. And sure enough, “Nothing. Just what I put on the Ladyblog.”

“You mean the blog Ladybug herself discredited?” Josie asked, with a raised eyebrow. “Because of lies. Maybe Lila’s why stopped trusting you.”

Mj stepped forward and looked Lila in the eyes, “You are going to tell everyone in your class just how much a liar you really are,” He compelled her. “And for the next month, you are only going to tell the truth. You will not bother Marinette again.” He looked at Alya. “Both of you leave. Now.”

With blank stares the girls departed.

By the time Marinette got back to New Orleans and to her family, her phone had been flooded messages of apologies. She didn’t respond to a single one. Instead, she helped her family prepare for their trip to Paris.

Hawkmoth wouldn’t know what hit him.

#ml fic #ml salt fic #ml salt #marinette dupen chang #Marinette deserves better #legacies #klaus mikaelson #vampire diaries #hope michaelson #the orignals

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tsukikoayanosuke · 4 years ago

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ueee- Congrats on the milestone!! hehe can request Oc x Canon hsbhsbshbs-- With uh-- Jamil. 🤩 Romantic, angst to fluff pls i would like 🤲 thank uu // Her name is-- Aiennor, Diasomnia 2nd year, long pink hair with faded yellow tips and light pink eyes-- She has braids in her hair, and often wears lolita outfits, shes-- shy? to an extent, but sometimes shes loud, but overall very nice, her magic type is wind. Uee? Thats pretty much it~ You can dm me for more info~ i'll send a pic ueee

Angst to fluff, he~? Well, nothing says 'angst' better than your usual reincarnation au. Well, the angst part was very soft in this. I hope you don't mind. And I think I went a bit to overboard on this. ^^’

Now, I hope I portray Aeinnor well. Sorry if I made some mistake in her personality or characteristic.

Slightly inspired by Ai no Scenario by CHiCO with HoneyWorks. Not gonna lie, I always wanted to write this scenario

(This will be put under the 25000 Hits Celebration)

Heartbeat Scenario

It was a tale as old of time. A tale of forbidden love.

Once upon a time, there lived a boy who worked as the palace gardener named Jamari with hair and eyes as dark as the night sky. A talented young boy who must suppress his talents for a servant should never be better than the royal family they served. He couldn't protest or raise his voice. Which was why when a foreign prince came to court the princess, he didn't say a word to object.

Even knowing she was engaged, it didn't stop Gardener Boy Jamari to visit his best friend, the princess herself. He would climb the tree next to her bedroom window when it was open and the princess was seen doing her paperwork. They would exchange small talks and listen to her sing a small melody. These were the special moments where Jamari could be free to express himself through whispers and he loved every moment with her.

It didn't take long for him to find out about the unfair abuse the princess must suffer because of his daring acts. He would see the bastard prince glared at him through the closed window. It was a silent declaration from Jamari: "You dare to hurt her. I'll make you regret it."

~~~

It was a tale as old of time. A tale of forbidden love.

Once upon a time, there lived a young princess named Aira, with hair as beautiful as the cherry blossom petal and eyes in a light pink rose color. A kind princess maybe the most gentle. She would never hurt a fly or speak up for herself. Which was why when a prince from the land across the sea named Tobias came and offered a hand in marriage, she didn't say no.

Even with her engagement, it didn't stop Princess Aira from hanging out with her best friend, the sweet gardener boy. She would come by the rose garden with a book in hand to chat with the boy while he was working, exchanging small talks and giggling from his jokes. These were the rare moments where Aira could come out from her shell and she loved every moment with him.

It didn't last forever for Prince Tobias soon knew about her meetings with the gardener boy. He didn't take it well and would slap her for being disloyal. Aira could only cry as he ordered, "Don't you dare meet that lowly peasant again!"

~~~

That night was a magical night for both of them.

When Princess Aira woke up from her light sleep, the wind blew into her room, the curtain danced along with the breeze. And crouching on the windowsill with the bright yellow moon shining behind him was Jamari.

"Just take my hand. I promise I'll protect you and never leave your side."

Thus, when Prince Tobias came to check on her, Aira was nowhere to be seen. The pair ran off into the night, laughing at their newfound freedom, never to be seen again.

~~~

"Wait!"

"E-Eh?!" The pink-haired girl's eyes were widened, almost terrified as her eyes glanced to her wrist that was being held by Jamil. "C-Can I help you?"

Jamil wanted to smack himself of how out of character he was acting. What was he thinking, going up to the Diasomnia girl who he had never spoken to before, only noticing her during their first year sorting ceremony?

Jamil gulped. "Sorry." He slowly took off the hand which she pulled her hand almost immediately, caressing her wrist close to her chest. "I think I have mistaken you as someone else."

"O-Oh." She ducked her head, blush dusted his cheeks. She stole glances at him, didn't know how to act. "S-Sorry."

"It's alright. We should start over." He stretched out his hand. "My name is Jamil."

The girl hesitated at first but she slowly reached for him. "I'm Aiennor." Her smile was gentle, her blush was adorable, and her cherry blossom hair brought something that made his heart beat faster for a foreign nostalgic feel.

~~~

"Hey, Aiennor. Did you know?"

"What?"

"I think we're fated to be together."

"What the heck, Toby!" Aiennor giggled. Her boyfriend Toby always says nonsense stuff like this, but Aiennor would always fell to his charm over and over again. They had been dating for a few weeks now, maybe almost a month, and the giddy feeling was still there for Aiennor.

The student in front of them turned toward him, glaring at the pair. "Can you be quiet for a moment?" he hissed, "Some of us here is trying to study."

"Oops~" Toby sheepishly scratched the back of his head. "Sorry, Jamil." Aiennor meanwhile closed her mouth, ducking her red face because of embarrassment.

Jamil's eyes lingered at her a bit longer before he rolled his eyes and turned back to Mr. Trein. Aiennor felt quite bad really, especially when Jamil was the one who complained. That boy had been nothing but nice toward her.

~~~

Jamil always felt that the world had been conspiring to make his life worst.

It wasn't enough that he came from a family or servant, but he also had these cryptic dreams. Of a crying princess with cherry blossom hair, reaching for his hand. He never really took her hand for he didn't understand their meaning.

That was until Aiennor came and the princess' face became clearer. He had heard about soulmates whose soul kept being reincarnated but he never thought that it would happen to him as well.

~~~

Aiennor always felt that the world had been pushing her to a revelation.

She still questioning whether it was a great decision for her to study in Night Raven College or if she would fit in Diasomnia. During those times of doubt, she would dream. Of a gentle farm boy with night sky eyes, offering her a hand. She never really to his hand for she didn't understand their meaning.

That was until Jamil came and the farm boy's face became clearer. The tale of soulmates whose soul reincarnate is true, and she's one of the lucky soul. Is this a blessing or a curse?

~~~

History tends to repeat itself and it happened right now.

Jamil knew that Toby was the same bastard prince that abused the princess in his dreams. He knew his agenda of manipulating Aiennor to be his bitch. Oh, he wouldn't let him get off like that.

"You tricked her! I don't wanna see you anywhere near her, you got me?!"

That bastard just laughed. "Hey, she was the one that was dumb enough to believe me!"

It hurt Jamil when Aiennor came in Toby's defense. She trembling when facing him. "D-Don't hit him! G-Go away, you jerk!"

~~~

History tends to repeat itself and it happened right now.

Aiennor once again fell for the sweet talks of her boyfriends after his confrontation with Jamil. "Great Seven, are you okay?"

Toby smiled gently at her. "Yeah... You're so brave!" She went to a blushing mess and her heart fluttered. But something about Jamil's sad looks made her feel guilty.

It was only a few days later when she accidentally overheard Toby's talks to his friends. "I bet if I told her I loved her, she'd be like 'me too'!" He cackled. "That stupid bitch."

She ran away, crying. She had never felt so stupid in her entire life. Didn't this happen before in her dream/memories of her previous life? How could she fell to the same trick? Why did she accept that jerk proposal?

~~~

That day was a heartwarming afternoon for both of them.

Aiennor crashed into Jamil's chest but quickly recovered and stepped back. She kept sobbing. "You knew all along, didn't you? I'm sorry for calling you a jerk..."

But Jamil had already forgiven her. Thus, he stretched out his hand. "I told you I'd always protect you, didn't I?"

Aiennor let out a tearful, but happy chuckle. "What the heck?"

This time, their hand met.

~~~

The princess and the gardener boy were once again reunited in this life.

And may they always be reunited in this heartbeat scenario.

#twisted wonderland #twst #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland fic #twisted wonderland fanfiction #twisted wonderland fanfic #twst fic #twst fanfic #tw:opt gaiden #jamil viper #twisted wonderland oc #twst oc #jamil x oc #cross posted on ao3 #serving raspberry #25000 hits celebration #the tactician of the scorching sands finale celebration

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missingartist · 5 years ago

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The Witcher’s Mate Chapter 17

Adva woke to the birds singing cheerfully outside. It was far later then she would normally wake, the sun now perched high in the sky and a few rays broke through the chinks in the heavy blue curtains that shielded the room from the offending brightness. She was one her side, but behind her, there was a heavy heat blanketing back and legs with a welcoming warmth. Groggily she turned her head to find the sleeping Witcher contently slumbering behind her. As impossible as it was, he looked even more gorgeous, silver hair fanned out across his pillow as lightly he snored. The events of last night came hurtling back to her, causing to bite her lip and cast her eye over the man beside her. Never did she think the night would end with Geralt confessing his feelings or the dry humping, her face redded as she moved to squeeze together her thighs and felt the sticky wetness that dripped from her core. Turning slightly she gazed at the mans sleeping face, he looks peaceful and happy, the corners of lips tugged slightly upwards, the dark circles under his eyes were nearly gone and the fever mostly absent, just the gentle warmth that cocoons him.

Hissing slightly, she felt the strap of her bodice dig further into the dress. Sliding quietly off the bed, she slipped from Geralt grasp and to the little chamber off from his room. The room was illuminated by a wall rectangle window at the top of the room, just enough light to allow someone to care for their daily ablutions but not big enough that anyone could look in. Adva could barely face her reflection in the mirror without a giggle; her lips were red and slightly bruised, hair a wild nest of bed head which she managed to smooth into something a little more presentable, she was sure her eyes look bluer. Her dress was ruined, totally unsalvageable. The netting of the skirts had been ripped and pulled from the bodice; the bodice has been mauled by Geralt explore hands, but she could bring herself to care that much.

Moving behind the screen, careful hands peeled off the tight bodice, sighing in relief. Pouring the water into the washbasin, she dapped the damp cloth across her skin the best she could. Washing the mess from her thighs was the most laborious task, but it gave her time to contemplate what she should do. Should she quietly return to her room? Or slip back into bed with him? Or breezily announce she was leaving. Having limited experience of this left her at a loss, the whole ettiquict was not something she understood. The woman mind cast back over the confession. Geralt seemed genuine hurt when he thought he disgusted her.

‘I. Adore. You.’ The word repeated again and again in her head. What did they even mean? Did he just want a light and casual thing, or was it serious?

Her head hurt, rolling her eye she slipped on her dress, pulling a face as the bodice refused to do up, she pulled one of the Geralt shirts from on top of the dressing screen and pulled it over the top of the running dress. With a deafening, screech jostled her from her thought to reveal a frowning Witcher.

‘Arghhhh Geralt doesn’t do that you frightened me.’ Adva squealed, pulling her cloth tighter around her.

‘You left the bed.’ Scowled the Witcher

‘Is that a question or a statement? Generally, its what people do at some point in their life.’ Adva laughed awkwardly, franticly attempting to fastener borrowed shirt around her while keeping her eyes trained on the man in front of her

‘I mean you left the bed before I woke up.... that not very becoming for a young lady to leave her lover in bed….’ Geralt pulled away and sniffed the air. ‘have you washed’ he growled stepping forward and encircling his arms around her, burying his face in her neck ‘hmmm I don’t like that you washed the scent of us off.’

‘Well maybe we could do it again….’ Adva shyly offered to pull back to. Geralt smirked and leaned forward. ‘After I have a bath.’

‘Woman, you tease.’

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

God bless Triss. The bath had been already prepared. The fact that Triss knew she would need a bath and did not make it back to her room was not something she wanted to entirely think about, but it was welcome. Tossing a handful of baths salts, she pulled a pile of clean clothes from the closet and set them on a chair. Looking at the marks on her skin, a small blush flushed against her cheek, and her heart swelled, this was the happiest she had felt in a long time, hell the happiest she had ever been. Pulling the various oils onto the counter, she sorted through them. The oils where a collection that Triss had presented her with when she first arrived, along with several dresses and perfumes. Laying out the rest of her provision on the counters, she caught sight of a pair of violet eyes staring murderously at her in the mirror.

‘Well, well well, you are not what I expected. So, you are the Witcher Wife. Aren’t you a pretty thing? But not pretty enough. I don’t have all day; tell me the enchantment you use.’ A bronzed skin woman spat at her.

‘What enchantment? Who are you? Get out!’ Adva span around, eyes are running over the woman in front of her.

The strange woman was dressed elegantly. The finely embroidered dress clung to her slim, willowy figure, a clash of black and white was woven into a stunning dress fit for a queen. Yet for all her beauty, they were a murderous look etched on her face, make her look bird-like, with her gaze unmoving and unwavering.

‘Don’t give me that you little bitch’ The woman snarled, and a blast of energy burst from her sending her crashing through the floor.

The flesh of her back slammed with use force she though he had been split in two. Blood rushed through her ears like the sound of a ranging ocean.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jaskier curses the Witch with all his being. He has awoken with a feeling of great relief that the plan had worked, that Adva and Geralt were together. Jaskier was not proud, but he had slipped into the house a while after Geralt had left to hear the soft moans of pleasure drifting through the house. Now he was having to carefully peel a dazed Adva off a pile of rubble all because of that demented Harpy. Pale blues eyes watched as bruised has started to bloom against her pale skin and cuts wept a crimson that smeared across her skin.

‘What happened? Adva blinked up, ‘If Geralt alright?’

Jaskier stared down her with sadness, with Yennefer around he knew Geralt would not be able to withstand her predatory charms and Adva would be cast out. A bubble of anger gripped down in the pit of his stomach. It honestly he had thought Adva would be different, but it hadn't been, it was the same as it would always be, Yennefer would whistle, and he would come chasing after her, he was a fool for believing it would be different. At that minute he hated Geralt, he should just whisk Adva away and pray their paths never cross again.

‘Yennefer blasted you through two stories of the house.’ Ciri broke in as came to stand in the doorway, looking down as the tattered women laying on a pile of stones and splintered wood.

‘Yennefer?...Why?…Help me up.’ Adva coughed, a trickled of blood escaping from her mouth. Jaskier looked worriedly over at Ciri who hung back, undecided whether to interfere.

The small was not what Ciri was expecting, not at all. She expected some tall slinking femme fatal. Instead, she was presented with the plump curvy figured woman with deep blue eyes. She also thought that she would have Geralt tied in some dungeon in a stupor, but he wasn’t. He was with Triss Merigold, in her home while both of them tried to calm a very aggressive mage down. Ciri’s light blue eyes run over the woman again in curiosity, never had she seen Geralt use any signs on Yennefer. He usually let her rage and rant till she stopped, but now he was throwing every spell he knew to calm the rampant mage from a second attack on the dazed girl.

Limping slowly, she was relied heavily on Jaskier to support her as she moved. Her whole body ached as she moved. The house was messy; walls where broken, furniture shattered and the marble of the tiled floor drug up in giant patches. Had she lost consciousness? Adva brain was foggy, and she could focus on anything for more then a couple of seconds, she would have remembered this happening surely? The noise alone at least.

‘Yennefer stop! Stop your going to kill her. She his soulmate’ Triss screamed at the top of her voice.

Lifting a very heavy head, she glanced the scene in front of her. The violet eyes woman was pinned against the chimney stack, the mage and the Witcher either side, crowding her submission, for the moment at least. The sound of Triss’s voice ricocheted around the inside of her head with such force she thought she might shoot out again through her ears. Wincing, her tentatively touched her head, bright red blood smear across her fingers. Sucking in a breath, she recoiled with sickness as she forced her misty eyes to focus on the conversation ahead of her

‘You can’t be serious! That creature? She has enchanted you!’ Yennefer chortled her beautiful face twisted in disgust.

‘Yennefer. Listen to me she had not enchanted Geralt. They are soulmates; I checked their bond myself. I used the blood trace Yen; there is no way she could create something that powerful to connect them in that way.’ Triss countered.

‘It not possible.’ Yennefer gritted out, a burst of wind crashed through the window sending papers Triss was holding flying across the room. It was such a force that it pushed her and Jaskier back, papers getting struct to their bodies.

‘We don’t know how or why but Cersi brought these two together. We think it about something to do with her book. Adva is important. She has an Arcana to protect her…we know that Adva is not human just don’t know what. We have spent the last Goddess knows how many weeks trying to find that out. We think that it has intensified the bond somehow. I know your hurt but stop; you kill her you kill Geralt.’ Triss pleaded to throw Adva red bound journal to the mage.

Geralt had her book all this time, and she was his soulmate. Soulmates were partnered souls, Adva brain hurt but she could vaguely recall something in a book Triss had made her read. If Geralt was her soulmate if such a thing truly existed, why not be with her a less he didn’t want to be because he wanted to be with Yennefer. Then why keep her around. Was everything just an attempt to sleep with her even though he clearly had feelings for Yennefer. A thousand thoughts passed through her head, and it made her feel weak, her leg slackened at the feeling and Jaskier grunt under the extra weight.

‘Yen I tried but I can’t… you have to understand…. Just stop.’ Geralt grunted.

The pain in his voice was evident. It was broken and tired. A surge of nausea washed over her; she was stupid and foolish; she should have gone with her first instinct. Of course, he didn’t want her. Of course, he couldn’t when he had someone like Yennefer. He was being forced. A pang of raw guilt knarred at her, he had tried to fight it. He probably resented her. Adva both hated and pitied him at the same time. For making her think that he could want her, for lying to her and for wanting to be with someone else. For bring her to Triss to be taught when she was really just being kept amused. Sheer panic rose in the pit of her stomach; bile rose in her throat.

‘You are really picking her over me. Someone you are forced to be with.’ Yennefer sniffed.

‘It’s not like that Yen, and you know it.’ Geralt spoke calmly but clearly.

‘It doesn’t have to be’ the willowy women whipped across the short distance between them and planted her lips on his.

It was short and passionate. For a brief second, Adva thought he would pull away in disgust, but he didn’t. From where she was standing, she could only see the back of Geralt, but it was enough. It was enough that he didn’t move away. It only lasted seconds, but to Adva it said everything that she wanted to know. Yennefer pulled back; her face was pinched and dejected as she backed away her violet eyes coming to focus on Adva.

‘You little bitch.’ Yennefer bite out lowly as she fingered the red book, looking over at the woman in defiance.

‘Adva…’ Geralt grunted out as he pushed his way passed Triss, his face was a swirl of emotion, which seemed so strange against the usual blank expression.

‘Adva wait’ cooed Triss.

But Adva ignored them, pulling her body away from Jaskier and back out the doorway they had been standing in. Tears weald up ran down her face before she turned and limped away, Jaskier shot a scathing look at the trio as he rushed off in chase of her, Ciri gave the three a lingering look before following.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Adva fingering a fading cut on her palm, she knew it had been to clean to be from that night by the fire, but from a knife to draw blood for whatever spell they need to cast. She should have questioned it along with several other things, but she was too caught up in the sheer thrill of learning proper magic that she hadn’t wanted to. Signing, she squared her shoulder and glanced around her room. It was in chaos. The very little she had was destroyed, it broke her heart to see all the clothes she had accumulated in the last couple of month in tatters. Even the leather under corset was ruined. Torn in half by some stray fragment of wood.

‘Are you okay?’ Jaskier asked, cuddling his lute to his chest.

Both Jaskier and Ciri watched as Adva picked through the ruins of her belonging

‘Yeah, I am fine.’

‘Are you sure as I think if I had just found out, I was not human, Geralt was my soulmate, and Yennefer had tried to murder me, I think I would be freaking out. I mean when Yennefer tried to kill me, I think freaking out was an understatement.’ Jaskier pondered.

‘I am just an idiot…foolish girl.’ Adva wavered and gave a watery smile. ‘I will be fine….just a little banged up.’

Ciri shared a look with the bard; it was a knowing look. If she had been Adva walking in at the precise moment, she would have been upset too. She had been there the exact moment Yennefer felt their bond break, she was enraged calling Geralt every name under the sun but as they travelled word of the Witcher Wife spread which fuelled Yennefer to find out what sort of enchantment could break a Jinn’s magic. Love was a very strange thing. But Ciri gave the girl a sorrowful smile as the woman held a ruined bundle of clothes to small cut at the side of her head.

‘I haven’t introduced you to Adva of Brightwater this is Princess Ciri….’ Jaskier merriness died on his lips as Adva blankly blinked at them still pressing the tattered scraps of her material to the side of her head.

‘You're not going to blast me through the wall, are you?’ Adva slowly asked, wincing at the pressure she applied the cut.

‘No…I am sorry about Yennefer; she can be a little bit of a…’ Ciri hesitated, unsure what to say or do, glancing for support at her friend.

‘Harpy? Bitch? Murderous Hag?’ Jaskier offered causing Ciri to laugh, eyeing the other girl in the hope of a reaction but nothing, but return to her searching.

Ciri watched the woman shift through her belonging. She was very pretty, with a very satisfying body, different from Yennefer but she had seen Geralt go through all types. However, in her long relationship with the man, his women always seemed to be…outspoken and forthcoming. The Witcher was not one for teases and disliked the chase. Adva seemed innocent and untouched, very much the virginal type that Geralt didn’t normally go for. Maybe there was something in this whole soulmate thing she pondered.

‘I need to have a bath.’ The curly hair women winced as she bent down to gather the little pile underwear. ‘Could I use you bathroom Jaskier? Mine is a bit…destroyed.’ Adva gestured to the collapsed floor as a door swang clumsily on one hinge.

Jaskier nodded silently, and two pairs of eyes followed her as she scurried away.

‘Right Jaskier explain everything.’ Ciri snapped.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The marks on her skin were still visible, she remembered the tenderness of his touches, and the painstaking sweetest that he lavished on her was excruciating beautiful, but now looking at them made her feel hollow and empty. Slipping off her clothes was harder than anticipated, the dried blood coated her skin and pulled as she attempted to rid herself of the clothing. If the dress hadn’t been ruined by activity last night, it was now. Glancing at the mirror she was reminded of what had happened, the feelings she felt, the way Geralt had felt. The way he acted towards the morning after made her feel wanted, to think it was all fake burnt her. Why didn’t he tell her? Was she really that bad he did not want to tell her? Adva knew the answer, and she refused to dwell on it a moment longer.

Removing the last of her clothes she pulled a stray page that had stuck to her from the pages that the had been in Triss’s hand from the shirt she had borrowed from Geralt, Cersi messy scrawled smeared across the page. It detailed placing her it ‘suitable accommodation’ and how she reacted to her placement in a brothel. Her whole life had been an endly string of manipulation, of being prodded and poked and used. Bitterly she thought she had gotten away from that with Geralt and Jaskier, escaped to a place where she was just Adva, but she was wrong. Her sole purpose was because she was Geralt’s mate or soulmate whatever that meant when he clearly would have preferred Yennefer, the honeyed skin siren. Her mind replayed the scene in front of her, his tone when he talked to the other mage and the kiss. The kiss broke her. She didn’t know who she was the angriest at, Geralt for lying to her or herself for falling for it. Geralt hadn’t really wanted to be with her. They even looked good together, both tall and statuesque; she didn’t fit in with that.

Climbing into the cold water, she was too exhausted to heat it and scrubbed her skin raw till she could no longer smell any of his scent on her skin she wanted to erase any reminder of their night. But the scent still lingered, throwing the cloth against the wall Adva screamed into her hand. It was the kind of silent scream; an angry scream as invisible sobs wracked her body. A sadness waged within her, along with an undercurrent of repulsion. It was quite clear that Geralt preferred Yennefer to her. For a while she allowed herself to wallow in self-pity. The whole revelation that she was not human was a surprise but not something unexpected that was always something different about her something that Tradi took great joy in exploring, her mind went to Cersi notes she most probably knew something about her she was the reason she was placed in the brothel, the reason Geralt took her. A swirl of resentment toward Cersi swelled. Why should she been controlled and manipulated for the whim of mages who didn’t care for her, she was worth more than that. If she could survive Tradi, she could survive anything. Yes, it hurt and would hurt for a long time, but why should she be the one wallowing in self-pity. If Geralt wanted to be with Yennefer he could, she would be okay whatever happened she knew that. That what she thought as she curled up to on the side of the tub and buried her head into her knees.

Sorry this chapter was late! Very busy week with birthdays and work.

So what do we think? I know I am a horrible person but blame Yennefer!

Some interesting chapters coming up so please stay tuned- I promise that Adva will be kicking ass soon.

@ayamenimthiriel @uncoolcloudyhead @multixwolf @shesthelastjedi -Your comments made me so happy

Please let me know what you think!

@sageandberries-png @wastingmypotential @luxyash @whitespring21 @ayamenimthiriel @crazynocturnalkiki @wonderlandfandomkingdom @shesthelastjedi @broco8 @introvertedmouse @threepupsinapuddle

I hope everyone is safe and well. With all the terrible things that are going on the world seem terrifying and uncertain place but please remember. Three things Faith, Hope and Love. But the greatest of these is love.

#the witcher #witcher netflix #thewitcher #netflix the witcher #witcher 3 #geralt x reader #witcher geralt #geralt smut #Geralt #geralt of rivia #geralt oc

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iggy-dearest · 5 years ago

Text

Imagine comforting Vergil

Inhaling quickly you woke from your slumber. What time is it?

And what’s that feeling between your legs?

Quickly throwing off the comforter you went and turned on the lamp. And you look over to your borrowed bed to see a familiar scene.

Blood, so much blood, it was as if someone had gotten murdered and the crime scene was in your bed.

Oh fuck me, you cursed in your mind. Grabbing a new pair of pants, underwear, and a pad you walked to the bathroom. Not giving a single shit who saw you.

Making your way to the bathroom you picked up on some noises coming from Vergil’s room. He had always been prone to night terrors, maybe you should check on him. That seemed like a good idea...actually, maybe I should clean up my coochie so that I don’t look like one of his nightmares, you decided to do that first.

After cleaning up the mess caused by mother nature, fucking bitch. You silently cursed as walked you quietly as you could to your room so you could put your dirties in the hamper and then to your Vergil’s.

His door was shut as it mostly always is, he enjoys his privacy. Which you understand since you are the same way. Using the tip of your finger nail to knock on the door, even though it was more of a tapping sound, since it was so late at night. No answer, he must be in really deep, your worry escalates.

Taking a breath you open the door. Your eyes immediately see the source of the noise and your heart aches knowingly, he may be an ass but he’s your ass and you love him.

Quietly and soundlessly you tip toed all the way around to where Vergil slept. His face contorted in discomfort while his hands clenched the sheets he rested on. “Vergil” you whispered calmly, hoping that you didn’t frighten him. You did that once before in the earlier days of your relationship and it ended up with you being choked, and not in the fun way.

“Vergil, you’re safe,”you paused letting your words sink in “I’m here” you lifted a hand after securing yourself in a stable kneeling position. “I’m not letting anything happen to you” finishing your sentence you let your hand drift closer to his clenched one. “Vergil, I’m going to hold your hand now”. Carefully and cautiously letting your middle and pointer finger touch just the tip of his own. Taking it just a smidge of a step further you pried your fingers between his and the sheets. Your thumb rubbed the top of his pale sweaty hand. And then you started to hum, it was old tune, old and simple. Yet it still brought you both comfort in your times of need.

Unexpectedly Vergil jolted up with an uncharacteristic look of..surprise? Fear? Pain? It was hard to tell.

“Vergil you’re safe,” you tried to reassure him by rubbing his hand with your thumb, you hope it worked.

He took a little while to collect his bearings. Quite frankly, you don’t blame him. He opened his eyes at record speed the same way you do when you have night terrors.

You jumped a bit, as expected.

“Hello” the tone of your voice was...welcomed.

“What”... he rasped out “where...” he looked around his voice frantic for him. Even though it was more or less pitch black, only the light from the street lights outside marked your silhouette. “Devil May Cry” you answered “nightmares” you finished. How else were you supposed to describe what had just happened when you barely know yourself. He got his breathing under control enough to form sentences, “what are you...” he trailed off.

What the hell were you doing there? He just had a night terror, he hates it when he has those! They always make him look weak, Vergil says inwardly. The only reason they were bearable was because you were there, wait, why were you there? He would ask but he doesn’t want you to leave. He wants you to stay, he feels...safe.

Vergil decides, he likes this feeling when he’s with you. The fear..goes away. It hasn’t done that. Not in so long.

Bless the night and her darkness for sheilding your cheeks and the blush that rested on them. “May I” you trapped the rest of your words on the back of your tongue. Why was talking to him so hard. It hadn’t been before, though ypu never really have trouble speaking when you’re angry.

Perhaps just this once, it wpuld be alright. His gaurd has been up for so long, it needs to rest.

He wants you.

He wants to be held by you.

Yes, that seems comforting.

“Would you mind...laying” there he said it and he basically threw his pride out the window when doing so.

As if the clouds passing in the sky above had moved just for you. He saw a silhouette you, the love of his life, nodding to answer his question. With an expression of indescribable beauty. He truly does still love you. Even after all he’s put you through, but now is not the time to be thinking of that.

You nodded with a tight lipped smile that had mounds of joy within it. You slowly get up from where your shins are placed on the ground and almost lose your balance. Vergil helped you regain your balance of course and had moved over.

It was a rather small bed for the two of you, but you don’t mind. You hope you don’t bleed on Vergil’s bed, that would be horrible.

Your breaths even out together and you both fall asleep within the arms of you beloved.

~~~

Dante walks out of his room yawning like he was a bear who just woke up from hibernation.

Lazily taking steps past your room, he should check on you, he remembers that you had a stomach ache yesterday or something like that.

He walks up to your door and sighs while knocking with his middle and index fingers.

The door slothfuly opens “sis, you alright” he furrows his eyebrows. Your mattress sheets weren’t there. He looks peeks his head in and sees them in the hamper. Lathered in enough blood to make anyone uncomfortable. He invites himself in and looks around to see if your there, you’re not.

He bolts to his brothers room. Throwing caution to the wind he hastily throws open the door amd sees the most mind boggling thing never could’ve imagined.

There you are. Sleeping peacefully with Vergil resting his head on your bosom. To his wonder neither of you awoke, he’s sure he made a lot of noise.

Also, where’s his camera. He needs to show this to Nero and Nico. They’ll definitely get a kick out of this.

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thehuggamugcafe · 5 years ago

Text

Day 3: Crows

Is it any surprise that once a sadistic gremlin, always a sadistic gremlin?

No? Then you, dear reader, should be well aware of what you’re getting into.

Blessings be to the marvellous Rae, for giggling with yours truly and sparking the muse to get this bad boy served.

Do enjoy, my dears!

“Are you trying to escape me?” The voice is calling to you, beckoning you closer, despite you trying your damn best to wrestle free of the hold it has on you. You struggle, you kick, you scream bloody murder, you plead for release, you beg for this presence to let you go; all your fruitless efforts earn you is a laugh, a mocking laugh but a laugh all the same, and the feeling of ghost-like hands wrapping around you. “You know I’d never allow that to happen. We’re bound, you and I.” You think you holler “no!” but, honestly, you can no longer distinguish the difference between the waking world and the land of slumber. You think you’re dreaming, but are you really? You can’t tell. Even with the feeling of the earth beneath you, the mud that is wet and heavy, staining the front of your nightclothes, and besmirching the gentle colour with a hue of brown that’s almost black, you aren’t sure. Even when your fingers, your nails claw at the damp grass, prying loose rock and bits of dirt cake to your hands, you aren’t sure. Even when sweat breaks out across your forehead and your skin crawls with the chilling sensation of gooseflesh, you aren’t sure. Even when you scream to be released and the hands, as if they find your misery to be comedy gold, simply hold onto your shaking form a bit tighter, you aren’t sure. It’s with a sting of bitterness, you note, that while they’re treating you like you’re a glass figurine, the hands—nor their owner—clearly have no intentions to let you go. “Don’t you want to spend an eternity with me?” That gets you to stop struggling, albeit momentarily. You freeze, remaining where you are; you’re as still as a statue. It’s as though roots have burst from the earth and wrapped around your wrists, your ankles, holding you prisoner. You feel no warmth radiating off of this being, a fact that doesn’t surprise you at all. Assuming he was even human once upon a time, whatever humanity he formerly possessed has surely rotted away to nothing but dust to be blown about in the wind, long before you and he crossed paths. “I wish to spend forever with you. Doesn’t that sound nice, mon amour?” You don’t—can’t—answer him. You keep your mouth shut. Your recollection of your French classes from high school is vague, but you’re positive that this presence just called you “my love”. Why is it—no, he—calling you its love? There is no sound rhyme nor reason for it to address you with faux affection; you don’t know what it is! Aside from your unwavering attention, you don’t even know what this spirit wants from you! You quietly convince yourself that if you figure out its motives, what it’s after, perhaps you’ll be granted some shred of clemency. It’s a fool’s errand to wish for something like that, you know that to be a cold and brutal fact. One you must accept, like it or not. You know there is no bigger fool at present than you. But when you’re staring into the abyss, can you help yourself for wishing for the best, even though it may be a sweet lie you tell yourself? Eventually, you stop struggling; what point is there in delaying the inevitable, after all? You’re tired, too exhausted to put up with this spirit’s head games. So you lay where you are, breathing icy air into your lungs, awaiting the end. “Aren’t you going to kill me? Get it over with already; enough of these stupid mind games!” Your heated words must surely take it—him—aback, you know they have. You aren’t sure how you know, but with how chatty it’s been, you find it hard to believe that it—he—has fallen silent, but he has. Finally, finally, he breathes a drawling hum in your ear; you shiver out of disgust, of fear. Perhaps it’s both. You don’t know; you don’t want to know. “Kill you? Why would I do that to a beautiful treasure like you?” Damn him, he sounds almost amused. Almost. But there is something else, something other than dark pleasure in his words: curiosity. Is he curious of your logic? Or is he merely playing with you once again? You wouldn’t be surprised if that is the case, as he seems to love toying with you like you’re his doll. As if to prove you right for once, and make fun of you while doing so, he chuckles. And as though he means to rub salt in a wound, your wounded ego that is, he slowly drags a finger along the curve of your jaw. “I cherish you far too much to treat you in such a brutish way. A gentleman is supposed to show proper manners to a lady, is he not?” “As if you’re a gentleman! If you were a gentleman, you’d let me go!” Is what you want to say; it’s what you should say. Fear, however, may as well have formed a fist and punched you in the gut, robbing the ability to speak from you. For now, at the very least. The poison that’s being injected into your veins, terror, is what stops you from speaking aloud; the venom running its languid course through you, fear, is what keeps your lips sealed shut. You don’t know what this spirit is capable of doing to you, even in a dream. And far be it from you to be unfortunate enough to find out what, exactly, he is able to do while you’re dreaming. At least you think you’re dreaming; rather, you hope that this is all just a horrid dream. You’ll wake up soon, you know this. You’re praying that you’ll slip from the land of slumber and wake up in reality, returning to some semblance of normalcy. You have to wake up soon, you have to! You don’t know how much longer you can take being here, in this nightmare any longer! And just like that dread begins to take over, washing over your cold logic like acid, setting your nerves on fire. What if… What if you don’t—can’t—wake up from this terrible dream? It is possible, of course, you know that. It isn’t outside the realm of likelihood that you’re stuck, trapped here forever with this… This spirit or whatever he is. The thought alone is enough to get you to start your struggling anew. It starts as barely a wiggle, shifting your legs. You feel the bits of rock digging into the skin of your thighs, digging into your knees as you kick your feet. Then your arms begin moving, attempting to wriggle them free from the masculine embrace keeping them where they are. “Let me go!” It’s a useless demand; a pointless order. You know he won’t listen to you, but even so, your words slide off of your tongue that feels as dry as desert air. Your suspicions are confirmed when instead of doing as you ask, he simply breathes a laugh. You feel it, the laugh, as a whisper of a breeze tickles the shell of your ear. “We’ve been over this already, haven’t we? I have no intentions of letting you go; not now, not ever.” Bastard. The audacity of this entity! You are not anyone’s property, certainly not his. “You’re mine, after all.” Hearing those words, in a clear and stark contradiction to your own, only makes you struggle harder. You’re acting like a feral animal, desperately seeking freedom from the cage keeping you locked away. However, for all the good your thrashing does, or for a proper lack of blessings, it only seems to amuse him. “Now, now… Where do you think you’re going?” You say nothing. Your jaw stays clamped shut, one set of teeth grinding down on the lower half; you won’t give him the satisfaction of an answer. You still struggle, of course you do. Anything to get as far away from this… This thing will be a blessing, as laughable as that sounds to you in the here and now. But, evidently, small miracles do seem to exist. That, or he’s curious to see what you will do. This son of a bitch is intrusive enough to let you escape, temporarily, all for his own entertainment! Regardless, you feel a wrist slipping free; half of your body is quick to follow suit. A shaky hope burns in your heart, pumping true and strong in your breast. You take in air, greedily, as you jerk away from this awful mockery of a man— Only to feel a strong hand grip your wrist in a grip that, while it is gentle to an extent, it is also iron-clad, threatening to leave bruises in their wake. A gasp slips from you even as you twist and turn, frantically trying to free yourself from this spirit’s grasp. But of course you can’t have that, not even in a dream. A laugh slithers into the cavern of your ear, mocking your escape attempt with every fibre of his being. As if that isn’t bad enough, he pulls you into a slow, gentle embrace, though you still cannot feel any temperature radiating off of this being, hot or cold. He is just simply… here. What you can feel, however, is the way the damp earth cushions your back as you’re pinned in place, hands held in place on either side of your head. Again, a second chortle hits your frightened scowl as he leans in close, so close that a few inches are all that separates his lips from yours. “You truly are a poor, wistful little fool, aren’t you? How cute.” Slowly, oh so slowly, his hold on one of your wrists loosens, much to your surprise. You watch as he holds it daintily, carefully raising it to his mouth. A phantom kiss is applied to the top of the ring you’re wearing. The ring that you bought purely on a whim, laughing off the concerns of the elderly shopkepper about it being cursed. If only you had listened… If only you had heeded the warning… The golden band shimmers gently underneath the moon’s cold glare as it peeks out from behind a veil of dark cloud, but the little blood-red ruby is what’s earned the right to have the honour, the privilege of knowing the invisible press of his lips. In hindsight, so has your second knuckle. It is naught but a whisper of nonexistent air, a tender kiss of a breeze, but you feel it even though there’s no conceivable way that you should be able to. You watch, absolutely petrified, as a smile pulls at the spirit’s face, raising his eyes to leer at you. His eyes are as black as coal. “My name is Arsène… May I have the pleasure of knowing your name, chérie?”

You awake with a jolt. More specifically, you awake with a scream dying on your lips that’s followed by a squeak of pain as you quickly, gracelessly tumble out of bed. You hit the floor of your room, hitting your hand off of the end table as your descent to the bare tiles is polished off with a low, weary groan. It takes you a few moments to realize that you’re not dreaming. It takes you twice as long, almost a full minute, before it dawns on you that you’re sitting on the floor of your room, your small and shaded sanctuary, with a throbbing hand and a mind that matches the racing of your heart. Still, the fact that you’re safe doesn’t stop you from letting your eyes dart around your bedroom, wide-eyed and wild. You leer at everything: the dark outlines of furniture and random knick-knacks; the pale glare of the moon shining in through the window, giving a silver-y gleam to the wall on your right; the clock tick-toking on your dresser, showing the time as 3 in the morning in red numbers; the small vanity shoved against the left-hand side of your room, reflecting the ghostly image of the full moon lurking in the gloomy sky. Is he here? The thought alone is enough to get your heart to flutter anew, pounding in your breast like a songbird in flight. You swallow; the gulp is thick. You feel it, the gulp, sticking at the back of your throat as it slithers down your esophagus, down to your belly and once there, it flip-flops in silent anxiety. You twist and turn in the sheets that have cocooned your legs. Your cold palms, your clammy fingers reach for the covers, pulling at them until your legs and feet have been freed of the cotton restraints. No, you think, shaking your head as you do. There’s no way he can be here; that was just a dream, wasn’t it? A bittersweet comfort, but you’ll take what you can get right now. You take in air slowly, exhaling it as carefully as you can. You aren’t in the mood to acknowledge how shaky the breath is; you don’t care enough to take note of how much you’re trembling. To calm yourself, you begin to practice your deep breathing. Slowly, as though not to disturb some godforsaken force that’s taken up residence in your home, you step away from the mangled pile of covers and quilts. You raise a hand, wiping away the icy sweat that’s gathered on your brow as you do. A breath leaves you in a winded whoosh, and you feel as though you’ve just participated in the world’s longest marathon. I’m safe here… That’s what you think as you draw closer to your bedroom door, reaching for the round knob. You grip it in your palm, in your fingers, turning it as a wave of relief washes over you. The low, droning creak of the door’s hinges goes largely ignored by you as you step out into the hallway. It has never occurred to you just how sorely welcomed light is, until right this very moment. The ghostly illumination from the light on the stairs, just outside your bathroom door that’s been left open, pours into the small restroom as you take a sharp right, stepping inside and shutting the door. I’m safe here… You take a few moments to fumble for the light switch and a fresh, stronger wave of relaxation washes over you. You blink, allowing your eyes to adjust as the light above the mirror blinks a few times before it stays on, burning brightly like lights in a dark forest. I’m safe here… The sound of the running faucet grates on your hearing like nails dragging over a chalkboard, slowly, but you ignore it as you cup cold water in your hands. The hit of icy liquid as it splashes on your face is just what you needed to wake you up, make you more alert. Your fingers, dripping with brisk water, grips the cold faucet; it squeaks as it’s shut off, the water slowing to a steady drip. I’m safe here… You reach for the small towel hanging off of the rack on your right, drying your hands before you reach for another, smaller towel. The cotton fabric is soft as you press it to your face, gently wiping away the chilled droplets that trail down your face. You lower the towel, peering into the mirror out of habit than, say, out of curiosity about how dishevelled you must look. I’m safe here— And just like that, time crawls to a full-on stop. There, as though to taunt you for fooling yourself into thinking you’re safe, he is staring back at you. You blink slowly, stupidly, eyes meeting his black leer over the edge of the fluffy cotton towel you’re holding in two, trembling fists. How is he—? You watch as his lips curl to a devilish smile as slowly, oh so slowly, lines of a hue that’s as dark as ink leak from his eyes. Perched on his left shoulder is a crow and you watch, equal parts stunned and horrified, as the small, feathered creature opens its beak, releasing a caw that goes unheard. You watch as the spirit, the being—whatever he is—raises a hand, hovering a finger close to his lips, purses them, and his mouth curves to a silent o. The gesture is silent, a laughable contrast to the static buzzing in your brain and the ringing in your ears, but the meaning behind his actions are as clear as day. “Shh.” You blink, shutting your eyes so tight that it hurts. You wait, vomit threatening to rise up from your flip-flopping belly and heart almost daring to burst out of your chest, for what seems like forever before you finally summon the courage to open your eyes. Slowly, the mirror comes into focus, and you exhale sharply as you see nothing. There is no crow silently cawing, as if it’s mourning how unfortunate you are to have caught a spirit’s attention. There is no one with eyes that are solid black; there is no malevolent being leaking inky tears staring back at you. You shake your head, dismissing the thought as you pat your face with the towel before putting it back where it belongs: on the towel rack. You breathe a hiss, raising your wrist to eye-level. Your face pales in shock when you spot light bruising, exactly where the spirit had grabbed you in the dream. In fact, you can even spot faint markings where its nails dug into your skin, gently but painfully. But that had been just a dream, a nightmare. Right? Right? The ghostly pain on your wrist, the tiny marks that mar your skin, beg to differ.

#Persona 5 #Cursed!Arsène #Reader-insert #AU #Screamtober 2020 #Collaboration

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monchikyun · 5 years ago

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28. in the light of day

It’s been snowing a great deal lately, the weather has prepared a very cruel gift in the form of endless northern winds and icy pavements that have the potential of ruining someone’s day. And the someone has to be none other than Gavin, because the universe recognises that he deserves it the most. The days in December are shorter than his attention span, and the darkness that surrounds him when he’s returning from work is subconsciously making him quicken his pace. There is plenty on his mind, things that he wishes he never did and the little miracles he wishes went of forever, and perhaps that’s why his feet don’t get the most attention and when he steps on a particularly slippy block of ice that once was a muddy puddle, nothing stops him from falling straight on his backside. It hurts like bitch, so much so his eyes water and he’s overwhelmed by dizziness. But it also might be that cold that he’s already waiting to shake by doing absolutely nothing in order for that to happen. He lugs his heavy body up and is immediately greeted by a coughing fit suggesting that he should really not be outside in this condition, especially so when the low temperature is unforgiving enough to freeze rivers.

“Phck.” He tries to curse his affliction away, but like every time he does so, it only manages to piss him off even more.

Gavin is already angry as is, even more so than he’s by default. It’s all his fault, he begrudgingly admits, because doing otherwise would imply that him shouting at Connor is someone else’s responsibility. He was doing okay for such a long time, tried his absolute best to make the android like him, and not only because he wanted to get rid of the guilt that has been gnawing on his mind since the end of the revolution, but because he let himself catch feelings for the ridiculously beautiful robot. It worked, at first, they were getting along pretty well, despite Gavin being his ever-so-charming self. It was probably thanks to his heartfelt apology, at which he still physically cringes each time its memory crosses his mind. But then something snapped inside of him - maybe it was the jealousy that acted up when he saw Connor becoming friends with other, more attractive people, or he just tried to self-sabotage himself, since he had been dangerously close to kissing that stupid android. Because he’s well aware that he has zero rights to go anywhere near there, even thinking about it triggers an alarm that signals his unworthiness.

But it’s oh so cold here and all he wants is a warm hug from the person he likes the most. His nose is leaking and his throat his being cut with a thousand knives, and he doesn’t know how he’s going to get home when his every move is soaked in pain. He should probably lie down right here and wait for the end to come. He’ll either get better or the blessed oblivion takes him, both options are equally desirable to him. But he has to do one important thing first.

He fumbles for his phone and forces his freezing hand to type in the security code so he can open the texting app. His fingers are numb and his vision blurry, but he succeeds in writing the three overused words that have been floating around his mind since this afternoon when he returned Connor’s worry with a harsh dismissal. If he could take it back, he’d never allow himself to yell at the only person who cares.

“I’m sorry.”

Like that will repair their relationship which he so selfishly damaged.

He’s pretty sure he sends it, but then again it’s hard to see anything when there are tears flooding his vision. He slides down against the wall of some empty building that stands half a mile from his apartment building, ready to accept his fate. His eyelids must be made out of lead for he can’t keep them up, and with every passing minute, his breathing gets slower, since his lungs are on fire and he’d be happier not having to inhale oxygen at all. This could be it, his final night. He’s thought that he wouldn’t struggle against his departure when it finally came, but as he’s now, dying alone in some abandoned back alley, he wishes nothing more than to see the light of day once more.

If only his car didn’t break down, if only Connor liked him enough to brush off his unfair behaviour. He thinks he hears his phone vibrate, but he’s too weak to even open his eyes. This is it then, his final stop.

He must have fallen asleep at some point, because there is a familiar voice calling his name, and he can feel those soft hands on his face. It’s fitting that his last dream would be about Connor, his biggest regret would mock him till the bitter end after all.

“Gavin, please open your eyes.” He can sense the urgency in the android’s voice, the worry that has been there earlier today, and he automatically looks up at the sight he’s longed to see since leaving the office, still believing that it’s just an illusion.

“Con…” He wonders how he’s able to speak when he barely has the strength to focus his vision.

“You stupid motherfucker.”

Yeah, he deserves that.

When he gets lifted up, his head hanging down from the android’s shoulder, he contemplates on this being real and not his farewell fantasy. It gets confirmed through the sharp pain that assaults him when he gets thrown to a backseat of some car.

“I’m so fucking mad at you,” Connor mumbles as the car drives them god knows where. He’s sitting next to him, possibly his thighs being the cushion on which Gavin’s sore head rests. A soothing cold hand is threading through his damp hair and he’s sure they’re on their way to heaven because there is no way this moment belongs into his fucked up reality. The other hand lands on his forehead, acting as the ice-pack he craves so much since despite how cold his body is, he’s three seconds short of self-combustion.

“103.1 degrees. Maybe I should call an ambulance.”

“No!” Gavin manages to croak out because he really can’t afford a hospital stay with his lack of savings and shitty health-insurance.

“Okay.” Connor’s voice is the thing that keeps him from passing out. Because as long as hears it, his ache is limited to his physical body. And that’s much easier to bear.

“You have to stop pushing me away whenever I show a hint of worry, if you want to live that is.” He can discern the threat that comes with the demand, and he’s tempted to smirk in Connor’s face, though he doesn’t, and not only because he doesn’t have the strength to do it.

He wants to thank Connor, needs him to keep talking to him, but he has already depleted his words for the day, and so he’s left to the mercy of chance. If he’s lucky, his gratitude is being transmitted through the relief he’s drowning in, and with each second Connor speaks at him, he’s being more and more convinced that maybe the android likes him back.

“I’m taking you to my place, but we have to stop for some medical supplies first.”

The silent hum of the car is lulling him to sleep, and Connor’s proximity is not helping much. He feels safe, cared for even. And he doesn’t want to wake up and find out that it was just a part of his wishful thinking, that he hallucinated this whole thing.

Fortunately, the car comes to a sudden stop and that enhances his alertness by a smidge.

“I’ll be right back.”

He’s about to beg him not to go when he’s reminded that he lost the gift of speech, and so he exhales sharply and lets Connor leave his space.

As soon as he’s alone again, he can’t fight his exhaustion anymore and lets the darkness envelop him whole.

He feels himself tug at his lifeline, watching the world as it distorts before his eyes in the most painful way possible, never sure whether the waking world would be the lesser evil.

When he finally does open his eyes again, he finds himself tucked under a heavy comforter, head rested on an actual fluffy pillow this time.

But the only person he’d like to see right now is nowhere to be found, and as he realises that, his lungs decide to act out and he’s yet again nothing but a coughing machine.

It must be the middle of the night since it’s still pitch black outside the window, and he doesn’t notice the approaching silhouette until it’s standing right beside him.

“Drink this.” He notices the yellow light coming from Connor’s temple, which is almost the same colour as the liquid he’s being offered. It doesn’t look appetising whatsoever, not even if he could trust his stomach. But he obeys and does is best to swallow as much of it as his insides can handle.

When he’s done with it, he hands the half-full mug back to the android and panics when he sets to leave from his bed-side.

“Don’t go.” The nap must have restored some of his energy, for he’s able to grip Connor’s arm. Gavin is burning on the inside while being trapped in a snowstorm, and he’s afraid to be swept away by the pain if there’s no one to around to save him.

“I won’t.”

He doesn’t know if Connor keeps his promise since he drifts off before he has a chance to struggle against the pull of sleep.

The next thing that brings him back from his slideshow of nightmares is fingers tickling one of his cheeks. The breath that he takes as he regains his consciousness already tells him that he’s on his way to recovery.

“Good morning, sleepyhead.” Gavin finds out that there is something more he wishes to see than the light of day, although it’s great to know that he successfully survived the night.

It’s the soft smile on Connor’s face, the two bottomless eyes, and the LED ring shining bright blue.

And maybe now, when it’s so bright and his demons are taking a break, Gavin can allow himself to be utterly, completely honest about his feelings.

Because when they managed to get through the unforgiving darkness of night, there’s no reason why the blissful daylight should break what they were able to build together.

@convinseptember I have only a vague idea of where I was going with this xD

#convinseptember #convin #sick-fic #my longest yet #I'm tempted to expand on this story #people being ill or injured is my weakness xD #also quite poorly written but I'm also not feeling very peachy so blame it on that :D

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victoodles · 6 years ago

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Cruel World I’m Gone

A series of snapshots following life for you and Arthur after fall of the Van der Linde Gang. If you have any suggestions for future chapters (domestic fluff, meetups with the old gang, s m u t, hit a bitch up)

Find on AO3!

“I gave you all I had.”

It was his last testament to a mentor - a father - long since departed from this world.

Arthur clutches the heel of Dutch’s boot, desperately trying to hold onto the last tangible evidence that the man he remembered was still with him. Before the Devil on his shoulder known as Micah plagued them with false promises of glory.

Even that is stripped from him as the shell of a leader pulls away and retreats into the darkness, leaving a battered and broken Arthur behind in the dirt.

Alone.

Arthur hurts. Hurts in ways he’s never felt before. He is no stranger to physical pain: having being beat, shot, even tortured. But this was a newfound suffering that leaves the heart he rediscovered shattered. Everything he’s ever known is dead and turning to ash as the last remnants of the Van der Linde’s burn away with Beaver Hollow.

There’s nothing left to salvage. But at least he managed to save those who still had a chance at life, away from the depravity. John, Abigail, Jack, Tilly, Sadie.

You.

It was unbearable to part ways with such a heavy air of finality surrounding the two of you. As he lifted you onto the back of Sadie’s horse with Abigail, your anguish was palpable. To hear you plead with him so desperately, begging to let you go along with him? It was worse than any bullet to the chest.

Regardless, he wouldn’t hear any of it, caressing your hands with bruised fingers as your tears continued to fall. You then tried to reason with him, bless your heart, knowing his stubbornness all too well. Whispering such sweet things, pretty dreams of leaving it all behind and starting over together far away.

Revenge was a fool's game, he was keenly aware, but it was well beyond that at this point. Now it was about making things right, and it was something only Arthur could do. Ever the dutiful guardian - even to a fault.

He finds the inner strength to let you go and swears he’ll see you again soon, to live out those pretty dreams.

Arthur never liked lying to you.

As he drags himself over to the cliff side, inch by agonizing inch, he supposes there’s some truth to his words. Perhaps all those prayers Swanson said on Arthur’s behalf put him in God’s good graces after decades of depravity. If He’s as forgiving as the Reverend foretold, maybe he’ll allow Arthur to watch over you from wherever he winds up. He never thought himself a devout man, but in light of recent events he decides there’s no time like the present.

Redemption had been a tumultuous climb for Arthur. But as he lays at the top of the mountains overlooking Roanoke Ridge, the effort was worth the outcome. He feels lighter, no longer burdened by crosses Dutch forced upon his shoulders. A veil has been lifted, and the colors of the dawn seem so much more vibrant than before. Shades of orange and pink blend together seamlessly and cast an ethereal glow over him and the country he loves.

He almost forgets about the excruciating aches that plague his body as the cool kiss of morning mist hits his cheeks. As the gang’s - ex-gang’s - primary enforcer he never could afford submitting to fatigue. But he feels tired, so tired, and he allows himself the luxury. Just this once. There is nothing left for him to do anymore.

Oh, he muses, the sun’s coming up.

You had been riding with Abigail on one horse with Sadie taking point on the other, rifle at the ready, for what felt like hours. Arthur’s last order of business was entrusting Sadie with escorting the two of you to safety - as far the hell away from this mess as possible.

Everything felt numb, the only sensation registering in your mind was Abigail’s trembling hands against your waist as you all rode onward in silence. Tears still fresh on your face as you brought yourself further and further away from what was now a past life. And what could have potentially held a future.

Arthur.

Yet another pang in your chest as guilt wracks the very foundation of your soul. You had been compliant in sending the man you love into the wolves den. Into the company of men who would spill his blood with smiles on their faces.

You could’ve stopped him.

You could’ve gone with him.

If he dies it’s your fault.

Without a word, you pull tightly on your horse’s reins and bring it to an abrupt stop. Abigail gasps lightly in surprise, peering over your shoulder to see what was the matter. Sadie notices the interruption.

“Sugar, we have to keep moving,” Sadie urged gently, trotting her own horse up next to yours. She was right, they did have to keep moving.

But not you.

You looked at her, gaze firm. “I have to go back.” Sadie opens her mouth to interject. Arthur was a proud man, but on the verge of tears he had implored her to keep you safe - alive. She empathised with your plight, truly she did. But this was her last promise to a man she practically owed her own life to. You stop her before she can protest your obstinance.

“I need to do this, Sadie. You know that.” Your eyes soften and she bites her lip, “You would for Jake.” Sadie’s eyes widen at your mention of her departed husband, knuckles whitening around the stock of her rifle. Her impassioned devotion to Jake began to put cracks in her usually hardened resolve and now it was her turn to shed a tear. She’s quick to wipe it away and takes a moment to compose herself.

Abigail looks between the two of you, disbelief apparent on her face. “You can’t be serious, Dutch has finally lost it! You heard what happened to,” she tries to hold back a sob, “to J-John...” Abigail grips your wrist tightly, “If you go back, there's no doubt he’ll kill you too!”

You smile at her wistfully; all of you had been carrying this heavy burden of grief in one way or another. The heartbreak was insurmountable. An entire way of life, a home - a family - was nothing more than dust in the wind now. Dutch’s swansong of one more score - of a better world for the Van der Linde’s - had enchanted the lot of you. It effectively distracted you from the treacherously thin ice he was willingly leading you on.

But now the honied melody had turned rotten.

“Arthur needs me,” was all you could say. Abigail looks to Sadie for a voice of reason in all of this but she is already dismounting her horse, offering its reins up to you.

“My horse is faster," She says, looking at you expectantly. Suddenly words elude you as you struggle to express your gratitude.

Now it’s Sadie’s turn to interrupt you. “It’s okay. Now get a move on.” She promptly helps you down, holding onto your hand for a beat longer before pulling you into a tight embrace. Her arms are so warm, and it adds to your pain knowing you have to pull yourself from them soon.

“Be safe. And,” she squeezes your shoulders, “bring him home.” The gravity of her request is filled with hope. You find yourself crying again and you nod in affirmation. Sadie had done her best to follow through on her oaths, and now it’s your turn to do the same.

You look back up to Abigail who is clearly devastated with your decision but she tries to make peace with it - for your sake. Another smile tinged with sadness tugs at your lips and you offer her your hand.

“You’re just as bullheaded as that man of yours!” Despite her hard tone, her words are laced with admiration and affection. You laugh genuinely for the first time in what feels like weeks.

“I guess we were just meant to be.”

Abigail brushes her fingers softly across your own. “That you are,” she all but whispers. She finds the strength to let you go and you mount up once more. As you settle into your saddle, you regard your friends for what could possibly be the last time. You turn your horse and prepare to head back into uncertainty, but Abigail calls your name a final time.

“You,” she pauses to mull over her farewell before deciding on, “you both gotta see lil’ Jack grow up. He’s gonna be somethin’ great one day!” Her words are bittersweet but they hold so much promise. You swipe the last of your tears away; there was no room for weakness anymore.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Your heart beats wildly against your ribs but you disregard it as you urge your horse onward through the forest surrounding Beaver Hollow. Determination boils your blood, refusing to sit idly by and let Arthur walk willingly into his own grave. You curse yourself for not fighting harder with him earlier. But this was Arthur Morgan, and persuading him to take you willingly into what would be a bloodbath was always going to be a losing battle.

Arthur wasn’t the only one who could be stubborn.

You cut through every available shortcut on the trails you know; stray branches scratch at your face but you can’t bring yourself to notice or care. The sun is just beginning to peek over the tree-line as you find yourself back at what was once the Van der Linde’s final campsite.

All that remains now is a charred husk as the blaze that consumed it dwindles down to a few meager cinders. Ashes cascade down like snowfall with the morning breeze around all the ruin. What once teemed with so much life had been desecrated beyond recognition. Despite the emptiness, you leave your horse behind a tree near the precipice of Beaver Hollow, away from any lingering eyes that could still be amidst.

At your hip, the pearl-inlaid revolver gifted to you by Arthur suddenly feels heavier. You’re no stranger to a gun, but aiming it at another human in contrast to an animal is still a foreign concept. Arthur had tried to keep your hands clean of blood, but he couldn’t always protect you from the dangers of the world you both resided in. He could at least provide you with the necessary tools.

Embedded in the dirt are multiple footprints - both human and equine - and you decide that’s as good a trail to follow as any. Tentatively you approach the camp, hand hovering just over your holster as you mentally prepare yourself for the worst. You hadn’t been witness to the carnage that transpired here, but the aftermath doesn’t paint a pretty picture.

A single body lays in a crumpled heap at the center of camp. The recognition of its dress wrenches the dread you feel deeper into the pit of your stomach. Before you can begin to parse what’s in front of you, your feet are carrying you to Miss Grimshaw. You drop to your knees beside her, eyes glazed over and hands still clutching at the fatal gunshot wound that claimed her life. A thin layer of soot covers her face and you take care to brush it away with shaking hands as you close the eyes that once held so much fire.

The camp’s matriarch may not have always been the gentlest of women, but she cared for all the girls with a passion you never saw even in your own mother. It was a tough form of love she dished out, but it had emboldened you into a fierce woman much like herself during your years with the gang. For all the grief you girls gave her, all the time spent complaining about her strictness, you are forever indebted to her for teaching you how to be a woman in this harsh world.

You told yourself you wouldn’t shed another tear, but as you gather Miss Grimshaw up into your arms you can’t hold back the onslaught of anguish. Fresh tears fall onto her cheeks as you bring her closer, resting your forehead against her own. You only cry harder when you feel just how cold she is.

As much as it hurts, you have to press forward. You brush the hair off her face and place a single kiss on her forehead before laying her gently back down. You cross her hands over her chest - she looks more at peace, as if she was only sleeping. With a hand to her cheek, you promise her you’ll return for her and continue on.

You turn your attention back to the trail of footprints, following them into the cave’s mouth behind the camp. It had always exuded an ominous aura that left the hairs on the back of your neck raised, but now was not the time for petty superstitions. You have your revolver at the ready as you walk into the cave as silently as possible. Whatever shadows could be lurking within would not get the jump on you.

It’s just like a hunting trip, you tell yourself in an attempt to assuage your fear. It’s a piss poor comparison; you wished it was a simple as keeping yourself hidden from ravenous beasts on four legs. But this was a different kind of animal, one with a human face and no qualms about taking a life.

Every echo that reverberates through the extensive tunnel system has your heart lurching into your throat. But you remain tenacious, continuing onward with two sets of muddy footprints as your guide through the caves.

The trail runs cold at the start of a rusty ladder and you breathe a sigh of relief that you’ll be moving onward and upwards out of the darkness. That solace gets caught in your throat at the sound of rushed steps heading in your direction. Panic singes your nerves and you quickly find shelter behind a large boulder near the ladder’s base.

You clasp a hand over your mouth to contain your shuddering breaths, hoping you don’t give your location away from the faceless cave-dwellers. The acoustics of the tunnels distort most of what they’re saying, but you can make out two distinct voices hurriedly passing by you.

“Dutch I think we should-”

“I believe you’ve done enough ‘thinking’ for the time being, Micah.”

Distress evolves into white-hot ire at the realization of who exactly you were alone with. The betrayal you experienced was nothing in comparison to Arthur’s twenty years of loyalty being discarded, you could admit that. But it still left a hole within you that was just as deep.

You stumbled into the Van der Linde’s just a trepid young woman trying to escape the shackles of an abusive home. As a man who dreamed of fame and fortune, it would’ve all to easy for him to turn you into the numerous bounty hunters your father sent after you. Weave together some extravagant tale of the big bad outlaws holding the wealthy socialite’s runaway daughter for ransom to turn a higher profit.

But Dutch had cast that all aside without a second thought and taken you in as another one of his ragtag children. Who your family was before did not define you. He had given you the chance to change the path life had predetermined for you.

That man was gone. Perhaps he was never really there to begin with - a mere facade. The inability to adapt to a rapidly changing world had broken his spirit and instead left something warped - unrecognizable. Leaving him susceptible to the temptations of a snake’s hiss that lurked just beyond in the underbrush.

The casualties - his casualties. Everyone’s faith he continually prattled on about that smothered with his own two hands.

Arthur.

The fingers clutching your gun feel restless all of a sudden.

You peer from behind your cover as they unknowingly pass you by, an imposing chest being carried between the two of them.

Our money.

The culmination of the gang’s hard work after the mess the two of them created in Blackwater. Plans, schemes, and money that people had bled for - died for. What gives them the right to run off into the night while the remainder of them would suffer from the aftermath of their reign of destruction? You practically draw blood from how hard you bite your lip, holding back your rage.

The barrel of your revolver is quickly pointed at Dutch’s back with quivering hands. It’s a shot as clear as day. You can end everything here and now, make up for countless years of false hope. Avenge those who fell in hopes of earning their keep and Dutch’s eternal admiration.

It was all horseshit, you think bitterly with gritted teeth.

You go to pull back the gun’s hammer when all too familiar voice comes to mind.

Revenge is a fool’s game.

It causes you to hesitate, the shaking of your hands intensifying. Your eyes dart between Dutch and Micah’s silhouettes and the morning light bleeding in at the cave’s summit.

Bring him home…

The finger resting just over the trigger retreats and you lower the gun to pursue someone much more significant.

You leave them with a final sentiment.

“Your time will come,” you whisper and hope that the wind carries that declaration up as far as it can travel. You’ll let the “when” and “where” be decided by a higher authority, whoever that might be.

With haste, you grab a rung and begin to climb up the ladder as fast as your arms can carry you.

Onwards and upwards.

As you continue to push yourself to every limit possible, your body screams from exhaustion. You feel as if your legs could give out at any moment but you can’t bring yourself to care as the steep hills transition into the cliffs of Roanoke Ridge.

You’ve tracked a series of hoof prints as far as you can before they end with the body of Arthur’s precious Appaloosa, Moonstone. Yet another innocent soul taken by this path of indiscriminate bloodshed.

There’s still no sign of Arthur, and you’re too frantic to decide if that's a good sign or not. Your breathing is labored, lungs burning and heavy in your chest. But you can’t give up now, not with so much at stake.

Bring him home.

Again Sadie’s words resonate in your mind; regardless of the outcome you will find him. You have to - he deserves that.

Face me to the west so I can see the setting sun…

A sunbreak slips through the morning clouds over the horizon, saturating them in varying hues of blue and yellow. It’s captivating, drawing you to the cliff’s edge despite the exhaustion in your muscles. A gentle wind that rolls over the treetops of varying oaks and cedars envelops you. You follow its direction in a daze and it leads you around the corner of a mountainside trail.

You briefly entertain the idea that your weariness has finally dissolved into delusion. For there amongst the wild poppies, you find a figure in the shape of Arthur laying under a stone alcove facing the still rising sun. It might be the work of a cruel God, but be it reality or mirage you’re just overjoyed he’s here. You don’t even realize you’re crying again.

And you’re running. Again. Your body is wailing but you don’t feel it, and even if you could you don’t care. You just don’t fucking care.

“Arthur…” Your voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper but as you get closer,

“Arthur!” You cry out this time, desperate to get his attention. To get any sort of reaction.

Please. Please. PLEASE!

You collapse beside him and sob in relief when you see his eyelids flutter open weakly. He’s looks a wreck, covered in bruises and blood - a mixture of his own and god knows who else’s. Ugly splotches of red and purple are scattered across his face and his left eye is practically swollen shut. You realize he was going to lay here until he succumbed to the severity of his injuries and your heart breaks all over again. Your hands find purchase on both his cheeks as you move him carefully to look at you. Somehow he finds the energy to smile.

“An angel,” he manages to wheeze, bringing a hand up to card through your tousled hair. You let out a choked laugh and you place your own hand atop his. Keeping his touch on you to reaffirm he wasn’t just a clever hallucination.

“I...it’s me, my love. I’m here,” you bury your face in his chest. His heartbeat is faint but it’s there. By God it's there. It’s the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard. Your tears keep coming with no end in sight and they mix in with the blood on his jacket.

He tries to shush you, his split lip kissing your temple tenderly. “Why are crying darlin’?” It’s asked so sweetly it practically hurts your teeth and again you let out a huff of laughter. Your amusement quickly shifts to frustration - you can’t help it.

“You stupid fool!" The words are harsh but they have no edge to them. Now it’s his turn to laugh, albeit feebly. He places another languid kiss to the crown of your head this time. “You silly man,” you pound your fists softly on his chest.

“You were just going to-“ the words get stuck painfully in your throat. “Going to d-die here?” The thought of losing him weighed heavy on you and now you’re finally free. The both of you are.

Arthur doesn’t know what to say except, “I’m sorry.” It’s enough. He’s enough. He always is.

You’re weeping openly now against him, and he finds himself starting to succumb to his own emotions. With everything said and done, his grief hits him in one tremendous wave. The both of you are sobbing as the sun rises in the East. As it has done, and will continue to do for the two of you.

And so you cry.

For the past.

For the lost.

And now for the future.

#vic's fics!#arthur morgan x reader #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #writing this made me sad :)))#but now it's time for FUN

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deedee-writes · 5 years ago

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BIG NEWS! Interviewing the Straw Hat Pirates - Zoro I

Prologue for this

The day was hot. As hot as every single one of the other nine days, Zoro had been tied to that post. His arms were stiff from being in the same position too long, and the rope burn was sure to be a bitch by the time he was freed. And he would be released; he just had to wait a little longer.

His stomach grumbled, the riceballs he'd eaten not thirty minutes before doing a better job on reminding him of his hunger rather than appeasing it, however momentarily. A part of him was glad for his bandana, despite how suffocating it felt like. Otherwise, the sunburn would've been a bigger problem. As it was, any part of his skin not covered by either cloth or rope was already peeling.

The wind was both a blessing and a curse. On the one hand, it was the only source of coolness Zoro has, but on the other, it was sea breeze made up of salt and brisker, straddling the line with pain. It had left him coated in a layer of salt that itched and stung. It blew away flecks of dead skin whenever it went by.

He thought of the little girl he'd saved. Why did he feel inclined to risk his life, his dream, for a complete stranger? Zoro didn't think of himself as a moral, ethical man. He was called a devil if the word was to be believed, the fearsome Pirate Hunter. It was an epithet he took no pride or accomplishment in.

What was it to him to be the best bounty hunter in East Blue? He was aiming for a goal much harder to achieve. Not every man openly said he wanted to fight Dracule Mihawk. In fact, from what Zoro has gathered, people went out of their way to avoid him, but for Kuina, for his dream, Zoro would stare into the death god's eyes, and he would not falter.

A presence distracted him, and Zoro opened his eyes. Three sword handles greeted him. The green-haired swordsman followed the hand, holding the swords to the grinning face of one Monkey D. Luffy… His swords (Impossible).

"I didn't know which sword was yours, so I brought all three." The kid in the red vest said.

"They're all mine. I use three swords." Zoro had answered mechanically; he'd explained their number uncountable times. He refused to acknowledge that he was slightly impressed at the kid keeping his end of the bargain. Though maybe bargain wasn't the word; after all, Zoro had yet to agree to anything. Scratch that, Zoro wouldn't agree to anything with this kid pirate.

"You'll take them, right?" He asked, but his eyes betrayed he wasn't really asking, they held a glint Zoro would eventually learn to recognize as an immediate warning for trouble. "If I give you these, you'll owe me. Becoming a pirate? Or being killed by the marines? Which one is it?"

For a moment, Zoro was speechless. The knucklehead he had discarded as naïve was making the pirate name proud and extorting him to join his crew. A part of him couldn't believe it, but it only took a flash of Kuina's face to know his answer. For someone with a promise like him, dying just wasn't an option.

"You're the son of the devil." He answered, smirk showing unexpected amusement at the whole situation. Zoro knew he was dismissing the extortion with too much ease, but he wasn't apprehensive about following this man. "But I'd rather be a pirate than die here."

The smile that greeted him was full toothed and honest, but also positively feral.

Moments later he'd be freed and would hold 11 marines at bay with his three swords (oh, how he had missed them the past days), and tell his new captain with all the conviction he possessed:

"I promised to be a pirate, but that doesn't change that I will always chase after my own ambitions!"

"Ambitions?" Luffy questioned. Paying more attention to his words that the fact that a single shiver could cost him his neck. The pink-haired kid behind him wasn't capable of his calmness, though, and Zoro didn't miss the way his eyes were jumping from every blade pointed at Zoro.

"To become the greatest swordsman in the world," and dammit, despite how sure he was he'd do it, Zoro always felt slightly silly when speaking about his dream aloud. It was an ingrained reaction from having been laughed at one too many times. He convinced himself that his worry was more about having to travel civilly with someone who had laughed at his goal than anything else.

Not for the first time and certainly not for the last, Zoro was surprised by his captain's reaction. His grin widened even more (how was that even possible?), and his eyes didn't waver when he said:

"Well, seeing as I am to be the King of Pirates, I can't expect anything less from my first mate, now, can I?"

And something between the two boys that couldn't quite be called men clicked.

____________

The observatory is quite comfortable for an interview, well lit, and home to a well-organized desk. They've just started, but Thelma's already fascinated.

"He extorted you?!" The other man shrugs.

"I could've said no, I guess, but what for? I only cared about reaching my goal, Luffy was offering a way to do that." She hums at the use of the past tense in care and writes it down to ask a little later.

"I see, I have more questions about this instance, but I want to clarify some rumors before those." Thelma had been unsure about interviewing the Pirate Hunter first. After the Straw Hats infamous captain, the highest bounty in the Straw Hat's crew is held by Roronoa Zoro, a man whose origins can be traced back -curiously enough- to being a bounty hunter in the East Blue. Less comically, even on that side of the law, he'd been known as a demon.

"Hn." He acknowledges, seemingly saving up words to keep telling her stories. So far, the man had proven unflappable, neither friendly nor belligerent, and surprisingly mild-mannered. He was blunt and honest, or at least, he appeared so to Thelma -who'd joined the ranks of journalist specifically for an uncanny ability to read people well.

"When you reemerged at Sabaondy, a galleon belonging to the Fox Fire pirates was sliced in half. Witnesses describe the wreckage as a perfect diagonal cut, impossible to be the result of the coating failing. Many claim you were at the scene. Did you have a personal grudge against these pirates? Does your crew?"

The green-haired man looks absolutely confused, and then he seems to remember, eyes widening in an "aha!" moment. Without the frown, expression open, he's quite a looker, Thelma notes.

"Ah, that time..."

______________

Zoro awoke as he always did, lazily but never slowly. It was practical, having his mind on full alert, but knowing nothing around him was dangerous or threatening. (At least on this occasion.) Observation Haki definitely had certain perks to it that the swordsman took no trouble in exploiting.

Distantly, the swordsman noted he was far more rested than he should be, the fishermen had said to wait a couple minutes at most, Zoro felt like he had been asleep for more than half an hour. A quick glimpse into his surroundings proved that he had made a mistake.

The deep blue of the bottom of the sea surrounded him, and Zoro assimilated the situation in microseconds. The pirate crew under him was happily celebrating on deck. Had they not sensed him or seen him? Were all pirates so oblivious these days? Zoro's mind drifted to his captain and decided that that was a question better left unanswered.

Many a solution crossed his mind, but Zoro went with the one he liked and knew best, pulling out one of his swords and bring it into position. Zoro slashed the sea right open. The ship rose alarmingly fast, the screams of the crew were annoying, but Zoro waited patiently.

In the minute that it took the ship to resurface he was drenched.

The sun and the docks greeted their arrival. Zoro clearly saw what mustn't have the small fisherman's ship. It was harder to see it between the crowds of people that his actions had attracted.

"Look! That ship is split in half!"

"Did the coating malfunctioned?"

"It's cut perfectly! It almost seemed as if it was… sliced with a sword."

Zoro looked around again.

"I got on the wrong ship." He stated to himself, but his words attracted the attention of some crewmembers who, finally, spotted him. He put away his sword just as they called out to him.

"Someone is standing!"

"Bastard! How dare you ruin our dreams to reach the New World?!" One of them screamed.

"What did we ever do to you?"

"It's a quirk of fate," Zoro said. Thinking back to the many things he'd seen since a gangly teen freed him from injustice and took him out to sea. "You should blame fate for placing a plague onto your ship."

"But it was you…!" Zoro never got to listen whatever else the man had said. He spotted Wiggly Eyebrows on the docks, and with a jump returned to land.

_______________

She’s not sure what to say.

“You...” She repeats. “You fell asleep on the wrong ship?”

“Yeah,” he says, “it happens.”

Thelma wants to shake him by the shoulders, hard.

NO IT DOESN’T!

#one piece fanfiction #one piece #one piece fic #one piece fanfic #tumblr fiction #tumblr fanfic #zoro #roronoa zoro #zoro roronoa #pirate hunter zoro

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irwinkitten · 6 years ago

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knockout round | a.i

(gif credit to @asht0ns-world )

pairing: reader x boxer!ashton notes: so the who do you love video lowkey inspired this. even tho the majority of the video is lowkey pointless, the looks that ashton was giving the camera gave me such a boxer!ash vibe and lets be real i’m a hoe for possessive and jealous ash. thank u to @asht0ns-world @singledadharrington, @gorgeouslygrace, @sugarcoated-pain and @5sosnsfw for letting me throw out my ideas of this and killing you all with the potential plot ideas. also thank u christa for being the best cheerleader, i love u angel. and massive thank u to lena for finding the gif bc my laptop has issues warnings: violence, smut word count: 3.1k!!

---

Boxing had always been apart of Ashton’s life. He’d never really known a part of his life without it.

As a child, his temperament was always short. Teachers called him the problem child and people never wanted to be his friend. But he still managed to find three friends and forge a tight bond with them that people often called them brothers without even realising there was no familial resemblance to the quartet.

When his mother had enrolled him into boxing classes, after expressing an interest in the programs that he watched with his parents, they soon realised that with the lessons that he went to, his anger simmered down and his fuse seemed to get longer with each passing year.

By the time that Ashton had reached his late teens, he was the lightweight champion of the area. As he continued to grow, put on the muscle, and move up in the divisions, he was making a name for himself. He was one that wasn’t to be messed with.

As his name gained traction with the media, so did stories of his childhood, his anger. And he was a lot more honest about his childhood than most boxers.

“I had a good environment. But I have anger issues and I know that I have them. It’s taken years of hard work to get to where I am today, but I know that the driving force has always been my anger. It’s both a blessing and a curse.”

His competitors could never find his achilles heel. His love life was never a subject that he talked or posted about, and despite a few competitors going below the belt and making remarks about his mother that would’ve angered any man, he’d held his cool and then thoroughly beaten them the next day.

When she came into his life, it was steady. She’d just come from a bad relationship, her heart in tatters and the two of them shopping late night. He’d been running for last minute prep and she’d decided to drown her sorrows in alcohol and ice cream. She knew his name, knew his title that he held in the boxing world.

But she didn’t care. All she cared about was he’d picked up the last tub of her favourite ice cream and just at her absolutely defeated look, it prompted him to offer her a deal.

“Let me at least take you out somewhere for the day where we can be kids again. I’ve got some days off coming up anyway.”

His words had prompted the smallest of smiles as she accepted his offer as he handed her the ice cream and she gave him her number, under the stipulation that he wouldn’t be creepy about it.

And despite giving her a mock offended look, he understood her wariness of giving her number to someone who was essentially a complete stranger.

From then on, she became a rock in his life who seemed to have his back regardless. His three friends from childhood who’d all become apart of his management team as he gained status with his boxing, noticed how he was always in better moods, he stuck to the plans before fights and before long the friendship blossomed into a relationship that he was protective of.

But of course, whilst in the media spotlight, he knew that keeping such a relationship quiet was always going to be impossible.

But the day that it’d been announced that he was against her ex, the very one who left her a broken woman in the ice cream aisle, he knew that this fight was going to be important, whether she acknowledged it or not, this was payback for hurting the beautiful woman he was resolutely in love with.

He’d never been so revved for a match before.

Ashton knew that she was worried, that her bottom lip would be shredded beyond belief from her teeth. But he wasn’t.

Dean Martin has gone the wrong way to rile him up, to use his girl as verbal bait. And hearing the derogatory terms, Ashton wasn’t too sure if he was grateful that Calum’s hand on his bicep reminded him where he was, or if he was still annoyed over it.

He was certainly annoyed that the hand turned into a restraining arm when Martin had made a comment of bedding his girl, with or without her permission. He’d seen red and as rage flooded his body, his muscles locked up, ready to pound the fucker down.

Calum had hastily pulled Ashton away from his opponent, opting to keep the distance between them so that Ashton wouldn’t be tempted to knock Martin out before the match.

The headlines went wild with those shots and the look of undiluted rage on Ashton’s features. People were very quickly realising that even he has his limits and Dean Martin had managed to break those limits clean.

Being with her before the match, his hands were firmly around her waist as she stood between his legs. Despite his trainer telling him no distractions, she was never a distraction. Only an anchor. And right now he needed to ground himself because the last thing he wanted to do was lose this fight to someone like Dean Martin.

“Baby, you’ve got this fight in the bag.” She hummed softly, her lips ghosting across his cheek. Ashton sighed.

“I hate the fact that it’s your ex I’m fighting.” He finally admitted and she sighed, her fingers running through his hair. His eyes fell shut of their own accord, her touch soothing the rage that was bubbling under the surface. Martin’s comments still rang in his ears.

“He wasn’t a good man. You’re the better man, better partner.” The words were soft, almost caressing his soul and he felt reassured.

“Only because of you, sweet girl. I’m better because of you.” Her lips curved up into a wry grin as she leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead.

“I’m proud of you Ash. You’ve got this fight in the bag, and if that boy tries what he did for the weigh in, I won’t be angry or upset. Lord knows you’ve told me time and again that anyone disrespecting me within earshot of you will earn them either a verbal lashing or a physical one depending on their words.” Her tone was teasing, reminding him that she wouldn’t be angry with him.

It’d been an issue at first, his verbal and physical responses to people being either disrespectful or derogatory about his girl. But only when he told her his reasons, how he was raised to respect a woman, regardless of any kinds of relationship, she understood that it was something that he could tone down but not necessarily control.

And they compromised on it. He tried to keep it to verbal smackdowns, and only if someone threw the first punch, did he defend himself. His reputation grew within months and soon when they’d been together for two years, he was at the top of his career.

“Irwin, ten minutes. Your girl needs to go.” Calum had re-entered the locker room, giving her a brief smile. “Seats for you are close to ringside. He’s on the blue corner.” She nodded, pressing another gentle kiss to his forehead before making her way, ruffling Calum’s hair as she did.

Ashton laughed at the disgruntled look on Calum’s face and he could feel his body begin to gear as he did the last minute stretches.

“Martin’s going to hit hard and fast. You need to be swift. Don’t use everything you have until he starts to wear down.” Ashton nodded, focusing on the aspect of the fight, rather than who he was fighting. He couldn’t let his anger cloud his judgement or moves, not so early on into the match.

Calum was soon hustling him to the entrance corner, both of them knocking fists together before he rushed ahead to prep his area. As the music began playing, he pulled the silk robe on, the hood falling just over his eyes as he made his way out, loud screams causing a smirk to slip on his features as he began the walk through, Luke and Michael following behind at this point and keeping people on the floor seats from mobbing him.

Martin was stood scowling, doing a last minute stretch as his gloves were being put on. Once Ashton was in the ring, Calum was there, pulling the robe off and getting the gloves onto his wrapped up hands.

“Remember, you might be fucking angry with him, but I swear to god Irwin, if you let this fucker beat you, I’ll kick your ass myself.” This caused Ashton to crack a smile before Calum put the mouth guard in and Ashton went and met the ref in the middle. He and Martin touched gloves before the bell went and the first swing came from Martin, aiming for the jaw, causing Ashton to bend backwards to avoid getting clocked.

The noise was deafening and Ashton knew his focus was slipping as Martin landed in some good punches. It was getting close and he could feel himself dropping as he lost the round, his lip bloody and a cut on his cheek, half staggering back to Calum who seemed to be trying his best not to berate him.

But then she was there beside Calum, her hands on his cheeks once he’d been checked over.

“Do me proud, Ashton Fletcher. I know you can beat him.” And his second wind came as the next round got ready.

“Gonna let your bitch lean over for me later when I win? It’s all she ever really was good for.” The comment was crass, but the fuse was lit.

“Irwin, don’t let anger cloud your judgement here.” Calum snapped harshly. The last thing they needed was his focus to be lost, but if anything, his focus was sharpening. And he could feel the anger bubble under his skin.

“C’mon Irwin. Make sure to share the spoils. I mean, she’s second hand goods, surely you’re not still with her?” Ashton’s eyes caught hers and he could see she’d heard his calls. His fuse seemingly got shorter as he gave her a reassuring smile, taking the offered water and taking a few seconds to calm his racing heart.

“How about this, I share her with some buddies and drop her back to you. She might be in reasonable condition if she doesn’t fight like she used to. Always feisty until I got her to see sense, if you catch my drift.” The smirk on Martin’s lips as the words left his mouth snapped something inside of Ashton and the anger that had been bubbling, flooded.

And he was furious.

The bell went and Ashton immediately had Martin on his back foot, unable to even get close for a hit as Ashton’s fists repeatedly went for him, reminding himself to not murder his opponent.

It didn’t take long before there became a real look of fear in Martin’s eyes and Ashton felt no ounce of sympathy as he landed a knockout and the crowd roared in approval. It didn’t take long before the last round was won and his arm was being raised, a bruised rib protesting as he was handed the belt and his lips curved into the widest smirk.

Martin was lucky to get away with the injuries that he got. Two visible black eyes, a few cuts and Ashton was almost certain he managed to at least fracture a rib with the force of his hit at one point. Part of him wished that he broke something clean but he’d take what he could get in this fight. Knowing that he’d gotten what he deserved, settled the anger to a simmer, the adrenaline still flooding his body.

As he exited the ring, he couldn’t stop himself from pulling his girl into his side, his lips meeting hers in a soft, sweet kiss, ignoring the disappointed noises. Once he pulled away, his gaze moved to Martin, staring at him out, his grip only getting marginally tighter until he left the opposite side.

Ashton retreated back to his side, his arms still firmly around her as the medic double checked the rib to make sure it was only bruised and not broken, before clearing him to go and get cleaned up.

She didn’t protest as he pulled her with, her back pressed against the cold tiles as his lips met her neck, the hot water beating down on his back.

“All mine to care for, to love on.” He murmured against her skin, lips and teeth gently pulling at the skin. Her fingers lifted up to run through his hair, gripping the damp strands gently.

“All yours.” She whispered in return, a sharp gasp escaping as his lips had moved to her breasts, his teeth pulling on one nipple carefully as his hand worked the other. She was whining softly, his name escaping occasionally.

His lips moved from her breasts, trailing down as he got to his knees, a whine escaping her lips.

“Shouldn’t it be me rewarding you, handsome?” He shook his head at her words, moving her fingers back to his hair.

“All about you tonight, doll.” She was about to argue, but his tongue licked a stripe up her folds, a startled noise escaping her instead as she gripped his hair, his lips attaching to her clit. He worked two fingers inside of her as he nipped and sucked on her clit, the noises were somewhat beautiful sounds to his ears as she got closer to her orgasm.

Her fingers got tighter around his hair as she called out his name, his lips immediately beginning a journey back up her body slowly sliding his fingers out as he stood up, lifting his fingers to her lips, tapping them gently.

They parted under his touch and her tongue swirled around his digits, a groan escaping his lips as she cleaned them. He wasted no time as he pulled them free, his lips meeting hers as he lined up against her entrance.

“You’re far too good to me, princess.” He groaned as he slid in, her legs lifting off the ground to wrap around his waist. His hands immediately moved to cup her ass as his hips began to move against hers, moans escaping the both of them.

He knew that he wasn’t going to last too long, not with the protesting rib, so one hand slid from her ass, moving to her clit as he picked up his pace. Her words were half begging, incoherent as he brought her closer and closer to the edge.

As she came, her eyes falling shut, his head dropped to her shoulder as he reached his own orgasm, her name tumbling from his lips like a prayer, her fingers still working through his hair, their breathing heavy as he pressed gentle kisses on the marks he’d left on her skin.

“I love it when you mark me like that. I know I’m always yours, but seeing them, just sets my insides on fire.” She murmured as he pulled out from her, finally allowing her under the stream of hot water. She kept her hair from the stream of the water as she allowed it to hit her skin.

“Just as I’m yours, sweet girl. I’m sorry if I hurt you though.” His fingers ghosted across the red marks left by his fingers, and she shook her head at him.

“You of all people know that I love seeing them.” She murmured as she reached over, taking the shampoo and working it into his hair. His eyes fell shut at her ministrations and didn’t argue with her. She always told him she loved seeing the marks, but sometimes it didn’t stop the guilt flooding him.

He worked the shower gel along her body as she conditioned his hair. They worked in silence until she’d gotten the suds of the shower gel off his body. His hands switched the water off as her lips slowly moved across from his shoulder, along his collarbone before finding the junction of his neck and shoulder, trailing her lips along the column of his throat.

A soft noise escaped his lips as she reached his jaw, before her lips reached his once more, her hands taking a hold of his head, her palms firmly planted against his cheeks. He knew better than to look away from her when she was this determined.

“I love you, Ashton Irwin, and that won’t ever change. We have words for a reason, and you know I use them. Please don’t beat yourself up, sweetheart.” His lips met hers briefly before a sigh escaped.

“Sorry angel.”

“Your forgiven. Now, we need to get ready and head back home. I know that the boys will want to at least spend a quiet night in celebrating with you.” Her voice held amusement, knowing that despite her want for the two of them to continue their own celebrations, the other three would deliberately ruin that.

Ashton laughed.

“They’re too frightened to cross you, y’know. If you said that you were taking me home, they wouldn’t argue.” He commented as the two stepped from the shower and dried off. She lifted her shoulders into a shrug as she got re-dressed.

“I know, but I don't want them bitching at me, because I want days with you, not just a few hours. So they get the few hours and then I get days. And they know better than to show up unannounced after a match.” The grin that she wore made him laugh as he got dressed.

Once they were ready, his hand slid into hers, fingers interlacing as they headed out back to the waiting cars to get the two of them home. Michael was the first to throw his arm across Ashton’s shoulders as they trio caught up with the two.

“So, we’re drinking at yours then?” She raised an eyebrow pointedly at Ashton, Michael’s words simply proving her point. He rolled his eyes before grinning.

“Of course. M’lookin’ forward to the headlines that are gonna come out from this fight.” Calum laughed as he threw his own arm around her shoulders.

“They’re gonna point out how no one can seemingly knock you down. You’re like a rock.” Luke teased and Ashton rolled his eye as Michael moved his arm from his friends shoulders.

Once they reached his place, the other three didn’t protest as she helped check him over before all but ordering him to put his feet up. The others were about to make a comment, but one look stopped the thoughts dead in their tracks and she received sheepish smiles in return as she finally settled into his good side.

It was worth it all in her eyes.

---

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torendheavenandearth · 5 years ago

Text

1.6

“Verily, verily, unto this day, seek out peace in thine own heart, and God shall grant you peace. Seek out compassion, and God shall grant you compassion. Seek out violence, and God shall grant you violence. Ahom!” - From Ang Aklat, Holy Book of the Trinity, interpreted by Engkanto Sandobal.

▼

Not a lot of things are scarier to Angela than being chased down by a weird animal hodgepodge monster and being unable to do anything about it. Her entire body has become frozen again, and she curses it with all her soul. Why can’t she move? Why is this happening?

The kimera is quick and unending. Her heart thumps, and it’s just a few feet away now. Its strange, dog snout crocodile maw open and ready to end her life, to eat her alive, to make sure she feels and suffers every blossoming pain that the crunching of bones and tearing of ligaments would bring.

Another heartbeat. The kimera is closer now. Almost in front of her. She can do nothing, and in a few more moments, she will be nothing.

Another heartbeat. The kimera is in front of her. The kimera’s maws readies to clamp down. And then something sends it flying and crashing against the wall of one of the houses. It destroys a pillar. The people within scramble out of it just as it crumbles down to the dirt.

Ang Nilapastangan is there, before Angela, with her hand out. “Come the fuck on!” she hears her say, although her voice is accompanied by that high-pitched ringing one gets when a loud explosion deafens them.

Angela is pushed back into reality by Ang Nilapastangan’s touch. The demon lady grabs Angela’s shoulder and pushes her to her feet. “Run into that alleyway, keep running left and look for the kalesa!”

There is nothing else she can think to do but do exactly what Ang Nilapastangan has told her to do. Angela turns, rushes forward, stumbles, but then picks up the pace as her footing comes across more even ground. Eventually, she arrives at the alleyway, where the floor is made of hard stone, easier to run across.

“Shit,” she hears Ang Nilapastangan curse loudly from behind her. “Angela, run!”

Angela, being the wild gambler that she apparently is, tosses a look behind her. There she sees, chasing after her by scuttling like a spider on the walls of the bahay-na-bato, is the same kimera. A chill surges through Angela’s body and-- “Shit!”-- she loses her footing and stumbles. She manages to catch herself before she falls, and dashes out of the alleyway.

Her heart is caught up in her throat, beating rapidly, making it very hard to breathe. Her entire body is shaking, her hands are vibrating uncontrollably.

The area outside of the ground is mostly level ground, and there are a few kalesas lying around with the horses tied to nearby lamp posts. A few of the morning workers have begun walking to where they’re told to work, while there are others tending to the horses of the kalesas. Some are going around with rattan bags filled with groceries or things bought from the market. Angela notices that not all of them are human-looking either: a good chunk of them are tall ogre creatures, small goblin imps like Makabintang, horse-headed tikbalang, strange goat legged ogima… the variety is dizzying, and not important right now for Angela, who is running for her life.

All of those going about their normal morning routine suddenly turn to Angela as she stumbles out of the alleyway and into their road. She then turns left and runs down it, following Ang Nilapastangan’s commands. Now she doesn’t quite have long legs, and she’s never been any good at track, but she manages to keep her feet moving despite burning anxiety and dread.

Angela dodges a few of those tall ogre creatures and then accidentally bumps into a tall--almost ten feet tall--man wearing a formal barong tagalog and trousers and leather shoes. The man glances at her with disdain before moving on and putting her to the wayside.

For a moment she wonders why the people aren’t running from the kimera that’s clearly chasing after her. She looks behind her and sees the kimera leap into the crowd from the alleyway. The screams follow soon after. Some blood gets sprayed into the air as the kimera chomps down onto any being that stands in its way.

She turns away and sprints, as fast as she can, avoiding more and more people, slamming onto others that have decided to come out of their houses at just the wrong time, just to see what all the commotion is about. Angela feels a pang of guilt all of a sudden: maybe she could’ve prevented this. She could’ve maybe warned them about the incoming danger as well.

However, when one is being chased by a weird man-eating supernatural creature, there’s a tendency for guilty feelings like that to wither away.

It isn’t long before Angela finally comes across a simple wooden box wagon with two agitated looking brown horses tied to it. There is a boy standing by the door, craning his neck trying to find out what’s the fuss down the street.

“Hey boy,” says Angela as she stops in front of him. It’s hard to conjure up the words when your neck is trying to catch up with your heart, but Angela swallows and manages to force a few words out anyway: “Ang Nilapastangan?” The next thing she thinks is how out of shape she is as she heaves with every breath.

The boy blinks for a bit, staring up at Angela. A moment passes before he nods, and then opens the door of the kalesa for her. “Thank you,” she manages to blurt, as she pulls herself up into the wagon.

Unfortunately for her, an all too human hand grabs her by the belly and slams her back down to the dirt ground. The wind vanishes from her lungs, and bright spots dot her vision.

The kimera’s dog snout sends drool dripping onto her face and leans in close. The kimera then sniffs. The kimera then barks, and it opens its mouth, revealing at least six more roses of teeth lining its maw.

Angela winces away, bracing herself for pain and death, and if death here in this universe would be different from death on earth.

A second passes, and Angela wonders if she is blessed with a painless death. But suddenly, the kimera begins thrashing about, moving away from Angela. Angela scrambles to her feet and sees that Makabintang, with his bolo embedded straight into human-dog’s skull. Right exactly where the brain should be.

The kimera flails about and throws Makabintang off of it. The duwende twists in the air and lands feet first on to the ground.

“Angela, gimme the bolo I gave you!”

Angela follows without another word and she surprises herself with her relative unhesitating movement. She chucks the bolo at Makabintang and the duwende catches it right as he begins to sprint forward. The kimera runs to meet Makabintang, and then lunges. Makabintang sinks into the floor, sending the kimera skidding across the dirt, biting nothing. Then the earth underneath the kimera vomits Makabintang out, sending the bolo held with his outstretched arm straight into the kimera’s neck.

The kimera spasms in pain. With one hand, it grabs Makabintang and slams him against the floor. Angela winces, and Makabintang groans in pain. But, as the kimera gets up onto its feet to presumably finish the job, Makabintang bangs his head against the earth, and it swallows him up again, allowing him to slip from the kimera’s grasp.

It turns to Angela then, looking for its victim. Before anything else, Angela turns to the boy, who has been frozen there this entire time, watching the both of them grapple with the kimera. “Bata, you should go. Hide!”

“But what if it gets me?!” the boy stammers and his voice breaks.

“It won’t. It wants me.” Angela gulps and closes her eyes. “Go go!” And she runs left, dashing away from the boy. She opens her eyes just enough to see if the boy has gotten away, and she sees the boy’s shadow disappear.

Unfortunately, Angela is correct about the kimera wanting her.. The kimera breaks into a dash, accelerating at an absurd speed, and is right in front of Angela. She presses her lips together.

Is that the last thing she wants to do before she dies? Be the savior to one inconsequential kid after she inadvertently killed all those other ones by leading the kimera straight into them? Those morning people simply going about their normal lives?

I mean, what can I do about it, right?

Ñ͌ͩO̠̰͓͓̗̞̩Ť̺̯͙̇̌ͭ̎ͣH̰̣̺̲͎̬Ḭ̝̜͓͕͑̐͆ͫ̽̚N͖̟̟͙̠̪̱͌̓ͨͩG̝̞͎ ̟Ỹ̙͎̠̭͕ͩ͒̈́ͤͬͨE̎̊T̠̲͙͓͉̈́͋̌̑ͬ͋ͅ.̬͙͓̫͍̜̇͂͆͂

She opens her eyes, and a shockwave sends her baro hair flailing in the wind. When she turns to the kimera, it’s firmly embedded onto the floor. Ang Nilapastangan’s foot pins the kimera’s snout to the ground.

She skids the kimera’s head a few feet like that as if she’s riding a skateboard, and then she flips away from the kimera, grabs its head, and then she twists around right as her feet meet the ground again. With her feet firmly on the ground, she flings the kimera at Angela. Angela shrieks and ducks.

Behind her, she hears the surprised shouts of two people: a man and a woman. Angela looks behind her.

The kimera has slammed against the two guwardya sibil, sending all three of them to the floor. The Guardian anghel manages to fly gracefully over the flying halimaw, moving like one of those synchronized swimming competitors. The other anghel, the Soldado, rushes toward Ang Nilapastangan.

“Oh, blasphemed Demon Empress!” sings the Soldado as he comes closer, materializing a spear out of thin air. “Come and finally meet your destiny!”

“Fucking bitch.” Ang Nilapastangan rushes up right beside Angela. “Makabintang!”

Makabintang pops up from the earth. “What’s the next move?”

“Drive the kalesa and leave with Angela. Get to San Justo as quickly as possible!”

“What? Dumbass, I can’t just leave you here!”

“No. You’re going. Please, Makabintang, don’t debate with me on this. You have to get to San Justo safe.”

“But Nila,” says Angela, this time. That surprises Ang Nilapastangan, apparently, because she turns to Angela. “What if you die? Can you take these on?”

Ang Nilapastangan shakes her head. “Don’t worry about me. The only reason I’m holding back on these guys is because of you. Once you’re gone, I can go all out. Trust me, I’ll be fine.”

Angela bites her lip, and then looks at the incoming Soldado. She realizes she does not have the privilege of time nor choice. So eventually she simply nods and says, “Stay safe.” She rushes into the open kalesa door and Makabintang leaps up into the driver’s seat. The horses have been surprisingly manage to get their wits together as Makabintang calms them. As Angela is closing the door, she hears Makabintang say, “Ah, ninuno, that kid is smart, easing the horses with some herbs.”

Angela slams the door shut to signal to Makabintang that she’s good to go. Makabintang doesn’t even ask. The horses are neighing, and Makabintang is prodding the horses. The kalesa bursts forward in a quick fit of speed.

▼

Ang Nilapastangan cracks her knuckles. “Here, you’re going to have to face five percent more of me. You should feel honored.”

The Soldado’s wings beat once, and that carries him through spacetime. The next moment, his spear is about to pierce Ang Nilapastangan’s face.

That doesn’t faze Ang Nilapastangan, however. Her is hand is up, deflecting the spear before it even appears. A perfect parry, one that even the entire fabric of reality agrees with. Her hand sizzles crimson.

The next few movements are a kinetic blurry of motion. Ang Nilapastangan sends the spear spinning in the air, she kicks the Soldado once, punches twice, and then kicks the spear straight back at the Soldado. The spear goes through the Soldado’s shoulder and sends him flying a good twenty feet back.

The two guwardya sibil fire their guns. Ang Nilapastangan is a flash, a few inky markings upon the air. The next instant, she is beside one of them. In the second instant, her fist is through the man’s chest. No movement wasted: she ducks, sweeps the other guwardya sibil with her foot, and then sends her flying straight into a house with a final kick.

Ang Nilapastangan straightens. “Good warm-up,” she says, stretching. Her hands are bloody, but the blood is not hers.

The Guardian anghel screams, but the melody that erupts from their opened mouth is not a bloodcurdling screech, but rather, a sonorous tone. Like a siren out in the sea. As she sings, Ang Nilapastangan’s hair stands on end. An alarm. She’s trying to signal every single anghel that can hear her in the area.

Ang Nilapastangan steps. The earth underneath her bare feet cracks, spiderwebbing from her foot, as if she had planted a spear upon the soil. She lifts her other foot, and she is in front of the anghel, hand moving, blurring, and then: her hand is through the anghel’s throat.

She pulls her hand back, ripping the anghel’s throat out with it. This she then uses to throw at the incoming Soldado anghel, who is rushing toward her in a mad dash. The throat slams against their face, and Ang Nilapastangan moves toward them, ignoring the now gurgling form of the Guardian, who crumples to the earth. As they die, their Divine Light escapes through the orifices of their humanoid form, seeping into the air, and then returning to whatever infested hive they came from.

Ang Nilapastangan meets the Soldado mid-rush. The Soldado is prepared, raising their spear and thrusting. Ang Nilapastangan--who is now burning with a bright crimson, and her hair the color of bleached paper--takes the spear hit, and the shaft of that spear shatters. She grabs the Soldado by the head. Punches their gut with her other fist. Slams his head into the soil. Once. Twice. Thrice.

Rocks and earth fly up around her, like a corona, like an assembly of angels singing her glory. Luwalhati.

She raises the Soldado’s head to see if it’s thoroughly bashed in. Before she can, however, a blue streak of lightning punctures her side, sending her into a black and white state of pain. She drops the Soldado’s head--which has been torn off from their neck--and falls to the side.

When Ang Nilapastangan raises her head, she sees that red anghel once again. The one that wielded the large sword. The one that came in to attack her and Makabintang and Angela the other day.

This time, he is without shield. In its place he wields the sabre of the blue anghel, streaking with azure lightning. His own sword burns with burning crimson flame. His body is… strange now. He has two different wings: the blue wing of the blue anghel and his own crimson wing. His eyes are burning blue now, his hair as white as the lightning that strikes from the heavens, his face in that strange approximation of a humanoid face. Two pairs of eyes, a mouth full of serrated teeth, a single upside-down triangle on his forehead.

“You…” he speaks, and when he does, his voice is two. “You killed my brother.” He steps on Ang Nilapastangan’s chest, pressing down and pinning her to the earth.

“Brother?” asks Ang Nilapastangan as she strains against the anghel’s foot. “Don’t fool yourself. You’re not mortal. You don’t get brothers. You don’t have a mother.”

“Our mother is Birheng Maria, the Flower of Heaven,” he spits out. “And she has told me to finish what we started.” He crosses both swords across her neck, like an angelic scissor, and then swings.

Ang Nilapastangan is swift. Her hands shoot up and catch both swords. And then, with her strength, she hurls the Red-Blue anghel to the side, sending him skidding across the earth.

Ang Nilapastangan rises to her feet. “Your mother is a bitch. Send my regards when I send you to Pugad Langit.”

The blue-red anghel doesn’t continue with any more preamble. He opens both pairs of his wings--he has four now, apparently--and he surges forward, flying straight across the distance between them. He hurls the azure sabre and it turns into the lightning that struck Ang Nilapastangan just moments before.

This time, however, she is ready. “Bathala Inaginid, guide me!” She shouts out, and she spreads her hand on both sides as if to welcome the attack. Four more hands sprout out from both sides of her body. One hand reaches out and catches the lightning.

That hand fizzles violently. Ang Nilapastangan takes a single step forward, and then hurls the lightning back at the blue-red anghel. The lightning is true lightning--it strikes in a flash, so quick that it is in two points in a single moment. The lightning scorches one of the blue-red anghel’s wings, and that causes his flight to falter.

But that doesn’t stop him. He reaches Ang Nilapastangan and swings his sword. Ang Nilapastangan runs into his swing and slides underneath his attack. She turns and kicks him. The anghel parries with his blade. He sends a fist down upon Ang Nilapastangan. Ang Nilapastangan is in the air, avoiding it, and then kicks.

The blue-red anghel ducks under the kick and swings up. Ang Nilapastangan impossibly shifts in the air, changing the course of her fall, to avoid the swing, but the flaming sword nicks her cheek.

Ang Nilapastangan flips in mid-air, moving into position right above the blue-red anghel, pulls three fists back, and yells, “YAWA UPENDS HEAVEN STYLE: 「KAPTAN JUDGMENT」! “ She punches, three fists at a time. Three fists slam upon the blue-red anghel’s face. The clouds directly above them part, as a crimson line pierces the heavens.

The blue-red anghel screams. The three fists continue to drill down upon the anghel, and Ang Nilapastangan uses that same impossible technique to force herself down, driving the fist home, even without anything to push back against but the air.

The technique sends the blue-red anghel straight into the earth. Then Ang Nilapastangan lets go of the attack, and the blue-red anghel bounces up, body wracked and bent in an unnatural angle. Ang Nilapastangan shifts away to let the blue-red anghel’s body bounce to her height. Then she punches twice, kicks once, and then punches down. The blue-red anghel’s body slams against the earth again and bounces once more.

Ang Nilapastangan lands on the ground grabs the airborne blue-red anghel by the waist, and then suplexes the blue-red anghel straight into the earth, head-first. Her crimson biceps and legs burn brighter, sending streaks of Gahum streaming out of her, like a kettle boiling over. She yells out once again, the words streaking themselves into the air: “YAWA UPENDS HEAVEN STYLE: 「KALIBUTAN DRIVER」!”

And the blue-red anghel’s body slams into the soil, burying it into the land. The impact causes a crater to crack upon the earth. Gahum erupts from the cracks that begin to rush through the anghel’s corpus.

Ang Nilapastangan straightens herself. The blue-red anghel’s body is bent. From the waist down, he is cracked into a right angle.

Far behind her, people watch. Afraid? Scared? Ang Nilapastangan doesn’t know, and neither does she care. She breathes, forcing her Gahum to settle, save for the burning crimson of her feet.

She doesn’t look back. She runs forward, down the path that the kalesa took. Her feet burn like pumping bellows. As she runs, however, she notices something strange. Where is the kimera?

Next Chapter.

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