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yanderenightmare · 4 years ago

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yandere bully ! BAKUGO KATSUKI

goodiebag WARNINGS: yandere, noncon, profanity, abuse, anger issues, anxiety, arson, bullying, child neglect, child abuse, drugs, addiction, anorexia, guilt, pills, unprotected sex, stalking, trauma

TIP-JAR

PART ONE

IN CASE OF FIRE: PUSH ALARM - PART TWO

IN THE TRAILER

She ran away from him in the hallway.

He’d warned her of what would happen if she did.

Knowing it was a matter of when as the next day he was left waiting, grazing the halls of where she’d left him with a kicked ball-sack on the dirty school-floors, all lovesick and frenzied with fire ants raging over his skin and a manic promise that one way or the other he’d get her. Lying in suspenseful spiteful wait to tell everyone what type of slut the little spitball in class 3c General Studies really was.

But, timing was everything, and as the day went by without him spotting her he realized the opportunity to ruin her reputation in school wasn’t going to rear its head.

She was home…

Sick.

Or, that’s what she’d told the school. One quick question at the reception told him so.

She was home.

Home in that run-down trailer-park sorry-excuse for a home she despised, the one she cried about so often, the one with neighbours who didn’t give two shits worth a damn about who she was or that her mother was a crackhead-whore in no position to take care of her.

She was there instead of at school begging him to stop, begging for him to give her a second chance, begging him to kiss her, like she was supposed to do.

Standing outside her trailer, he wondered if whether her mom was home or not. He wondered if either one of her neighbours would care if they saw him break in, if it even was considered breaking in.

He spotted her mother slouched on a beach-chair beside some other trailer with a needle still stuck to her arm, ugly destroyed skin sizzling in the summer-heat, mouldy flip-flops sticking to her feet.

He cringed at the sight of it, but knew then that his pursuit would go on unprovoked, which at the very least brought him some sense of relief.

She’d gotten in through scholarship as she in no form or way could afford a school like UA. That much was clear, unlike how unclear the crystal-meth shards decorating the plastic salon-table placed on the outside of their van was.

She transferred half-way through the first year, all on the account of pure hard work.

He could respect that.

He did respect that. Given she was quirkless and all. It was the reason she’d caught his eye.

It all went sideways when she rejected his invitation to Homecoming.

He’d already gone miles away out of his comfort-zone, out of his element, talked himself into asking her out, only for her to turn him down.

Him.

Best student in Hero-course 1A at the time.

Rejected.

He knew it was petty of him to bully her because of it, but… she didn’t only make a fool out of him, she broke his fucking heart.

He could have listened to Kiri, and tried to forget about her through some other extra, but... he wanted her. He’d decided. She was his. And a quirkless trailer-rat like her was in no position to just say no.

In some sick sense he believed she deserved better. Him being better. But, he would like for her to ask for his help, instead of him just giving it to her. He would like to see her grovel, beg, just a little bit, or a lot. He wanted to see her regret her decision. He wanted to see her sorry. He wanted to see her want him as much as he wanted her. And he wanted it to be her who initiated it.

But… he could see that wasn’t happening. He could see that his unorthodox methods of courting her through continuously trying to bend her until she broke only consisted of her rewinding or snapping back like a rubber-band.

She was distracted, too busy being broken by what life had given her, too busy with juggling different shifts, bills, schoolwork, to be thinking about him and how he pushed her around a bit at school.

He eyed the cracked paint of the faded trailer with much the look of a snob on his face. Fingers brushing over the door-handle, testing how much noise it would make if he were to pick the lock, coming to a complete loss.

He could barely believe it… the door was unlocked, and when he stepped inside he was even more distraught to see there was no existing lock there to be locked in the first place.

Meanwhile her mother was too busy slowly dying to better protect her daughter from depraved humans who could come and do just about anything they wanted with her.

Meaning… just look at him.

Soft snores brought him back to where he was once he closed the door behind him. Making the short way to the source of the groggy sounds, feeling his stomach flutter at the thought of how wrong it was of him to be there, sneaking about like some love-obsessed sick stalker, getting turned on by hearing his prey sleep.

What the fuck was wrong with him?

And why didn’t he care enough to stop?

He stood at the foot of her bed, hands in the pockets of his trousers, head tilted to the side to view her sleeping frame.

Sleeping on top of the covers, not under.

He doubted it was because of the heat, the same way he doubted the mattress beneath was clean.

She was curled onto her side, knees bent and tucked up. Cute with that teddy-bear she used as a pillow, silly and stupid but cute because of it, especially in her uniform despite having left the tie and blazer off.

She was wearing her uniform.

Meaning... she’d either gone to bed with her clothes on and slept through the entire day, or she had planned on going to school this morning, but weaseled her way out like the weakly coward she was.

Well, in that case… what he was about to do would serve her right then...

Ought to teach her lesson.

He lifted his hand out of his pocket, producing a finger to poke her ankle softly, before stroking up a path alongside her socks, all four other digits joining in the stride before the fabric came to an end and his callous fingertips glided onto the doughy flesh of her leg, over the dome of her knee and onto her even softer thigh, coming to the edge of her skirt.

He always liked her in that skirt.

That’s where his mind was at as he started lifting to see what underwear she was wearing, yet never getting that far as something sharp dug into each side of his wrist.

Her nails weren’t of course any close to lethal, yet managed to surprise him as she whipped around to meet him, digging the talons into his roughened skin.

She might not have prioritized figuring out who it was that was currently touching her in her bed, but she had assessed the situation enough to know that someone was in fact in her house and touching her, something of which is not a good omen when you live where she lived, nor in any other situation for that matter.

He tried subduing the splash of struggles that followed her awakening by climbing and crawling some further up on the bed in order to control what myriad of flailing limbs came at him.

Soon, hands that had primly started clawing at him were safely locked in his much larger hands.

“Oi, relax! It’s just me!”

As if it being him would have any other effect than of rising her already racing heartbeats. Yet, even as her lungs heaved for as much air as her tight chest would allow her, he managed to capture her focus, her hands pinned to each side of her head whereas her feet were stopped amidst their kicking, crushed beneath the weight of the much stronger, much more encompassing mass and weight of Katsuki’s legs.

He hunched over her, back arching with his face a mere half-foot away from her own, the only thing supporting his upper-body being his arms, which were stretched out and grasping at her wrists, pushing them into her pillow.

Her eyes were large with craze-ridden fear as they locked with his recognizable carmine ones.

“Bakugo?”

Shocked and scared, with the creeping feeling of anticipation waving over her again, now all for different reasons then when she first understood there was an intruder in her caravan.

Somehow, it being Bakugo gave her an even starker unsettling eerie feeling than if it had been a total stranger. Maybe because oblivion is bliss and knowing what is to come makes the inevitable that much more inescapable.

Still, she demanded he tell her, even though she thought she might already know the answer.

“What are you doing? Why are you here!?”

“You weren’t at school.” He stated, spoken as though it preforming as explanation enough, though serving as far from it to the girl beneath him, the confusion shown in the way she scrunched her brows together.

He noticed, contemplating whether or not he should make his reasons known, but deciding against it and for playing with her for just a little while longer.

“I thought, since you managed to wiggle your way out of your punishment at school, I’d bring the punishment to you.”

He searched her features for any cracks in her composure, but though she looked beyond uncomfortable, she made no moves to push him off.

Her eyes squinted instead, narrowing at him.

“I’m not scared of you, Bakugo. I know you’re not gonna hurt me.”

Her body started twisting under him. The action far from vigorous, mainly meant to show her discomfort as she knew she wouldn’t go anywhere unless Katsuki decided she could.

And though the intention to her wiggling was not to evoke his arousal, it most certainly managed to do just that.

He inhaled sharply and she felt her body freeze up, seize at the feel of his hips making a shift to slot himself against her, grinding down onto her flattened and unmoving body.

“Hurt you?”

He let out a low rumble of a laugh, like building thunder.

“Who said anything about hurting you?”

Her breath strained as his eyes scrunched closed upon her jerking, his own teeth sinking into his bottom-lip to maintain the hiss on his tongue at the pull in his pants, his head descending to nuzzle against her chest, spiky hair poking at her chin.

Mouth breathing hot breaths onto her ear, causing her to whimper.

“Thought you just said you weren't scared?”

She swallowed thickly, improperly giving his rhetorical question an answer, feeling her wrists go numb under his hold and her blood running cold.

“Bakugo…?”

He didn’t answer and she felt herself go even more rigid at the absence of his voice.

It wasn’t often Katsuki didn’t speak back to her when she willingly spoke to him. In fact, it was never. But now, he was quiet, too quiet, making the frightening rugged sound of his heavy breathing overwhelm her ears, dulling her senses in the process before everything being sent into hyperdrive upon the feeling of his hand leaving her one wrist to cup her breast outside her shirt, giving the mound a careful and slow yet full squeeze.

She yelped at the sudden attack, her body jumping up against him, making yet another teasingly harsh contact with his clothed cock.

This time he hissed, both upon her delicious little struggles but also because her newly freed hand had actively made the decision to pull his hair as a desperate means of making him move.

It worked to some extent, at least in freeing her other hand which opened for the opportunity to drag herself out from beneath him.

Yet, the action was stopped in a series of rather clumsy fighting, where Bakugo managed to retract the upper-hand once again, pinning both her wrists with one hand whilst tugging loose his tie with the other.

He’d slotted himself between her legs now, her skirt spreading and hiking up her thighs as she struggled to stop him from tying her wrists together and fasting them to the handicap-bar mounted on the side of the bed, yet failing.

Her body free for him to touch now, to tamper and play with, and she felt her heart catch in her throat, small pleas coming erupting from the place because of it, but he didn’t seem to hear her, and if he did, he was electing to ignore the pitiful sounds.

His hands traveled down her sides, thumbs rubbing over the scratchy material, the fabric of her shirt stiff as a result of using dollar-store laundry detergent.

White shirt; made up of thin fabric to make the fight against the Tokyo-heat easier, yet resulting in it being so temptingly easy to make see-through with just a little spill of water. Water Katsuki was always so eager to pour, either with light teasing spritzes from his water-bottle or in carrying her over his shoulder into the showers and holding her there as the water rained down upon her, drenching both her and himself, then offering ever so mockingly if she would like to borrow a shirt, because unlike her he had a dorm-room with fresh and dry clothes, whereas she only had that one uniform and all other clothes made up of more holes than actual textile.

He chuckled at the memories as his fingers moved up-front and centre to tamper with the buttons.

“I bet you just hate this uniform, don’t yah?” His voice, although maintaining the snicker, was soft. Not loud and abrasive and rushed, but as though he was enjoying himself, thoroughly at that, drinking in the moment.

His movements too, were slow; careful.

Large warm hands stroking down the bare skin of her stomach, feeling the tremors as he did so, with eyes glued to those perfect mounds found beneath what looked like a well-worn sports-bra, making him wonder what she’d look like if he were to dress her up in expensive red lace. She’d be mouthwatering to look at either way, and breasts are just as soft whichever way they’re dressed… it’s not like the bra is staying on for too long anyway.

He swallowed thickly to stop his mouth from dripping.

He tucked her shirt out from her skirt, taking a moment to grip her midriff and squeeze to try and ease her struggling.

It only resulted in her thrashing even more, whirlwinds of panicked get-off-me’s and fuck-you’s and stop’s spilling from her mouth in rapids, but the plead seemed to repel off Bakugo’s ears like water off a ducks back where the desperation only aided in satiating his sick sadism, in the same fashion tears fell from her eyes aided in making his stomach churn or flutter with something he could only describe as bliss, her arms trying to the best of their efforts at tugging at her bonds, to no avail except for making the skin found their chaffed and sore.

He spent a few seconds deciding whether he wanted the skirt on or off as he felt up the fabric between his fingers, more memories flushing his mind with such sweet and potent nostalgia of him lifting up the short excuse for coverage in the school-halls every day to sneak a peak at her underwear, or those times he would bend her over classroom-desks and push his bulge where it would fit so snuggly against her ass.

“Kinda feels like this skirt gets shorter and shorter for each year...” He mused, stroking up the skin of her thighs, lifting the fabric in the process, revealing a pair of black cotton boxers which, despite being lackluster, forced a groan to rumble from his chest.

The fuck-you’s had turned to please’s and the change made a smirk curl onto his lips as he put his lips to the inside of her thigh before pulling away to look down at her, all spread open and quivering for him.

Breasts all perfect, squished together in the comfort of her bra, hair splayed on top of the pillow, her nose turning all red and adorable with her eyes brimming with both panic and tears.

Her skin felt so soft and untouched beneath his fingertips as he stroked up and down her thighs, pulling them towards him, as far as the bonds on her wrists would allow, slightly struggling with how much the panic had taken a hold of her, her legs kicking and flailing.

But he liked it that way.

Messy and desperate.

“Don’t be difficult, Quirkless, you’re not getting out of this.” He spoke so calmly, so collected and controlled and determined. As though he wasn’t doing anything wrong, as though this was his right. “This is the only thing you’re any good for anyways.”

He leveled with her clothed little sex, slung her legs over his shoulders, watched as she squirmed upon his breath, heard her whimper and plead with his name as he stuck his tongue into the fabric, her legs doing a little involuntary kick while her thighs where firmly secured in his hands.

“Worthless quirkless little pussy on legs.”

She sobbed as his fingers latched around the ribbon of her underwear, pulling, tearing the fabric, with no need to pull it down her legs, just a need to pull them off.

A content and knowing smile made its way onto his lips, yet she was unable to see it in her position, something of which she was thankful for, or… as thankful as one can be when being defiled by a friend.

Not that Bakugo was much of a friend anymore, but he had been, at some point before he'd offered more than one concerning opinion about quirkless people and their place in the world.

Of her place in the world.

He didn’t share her nostalgia though, not when the future was smiling at him with the face of her shaven warm pussy right in front of him.

“Did you get yourself all nice and ready for me? Huh? Knew I was coming?” He teased as she shook her head sporadically, unable to form any type of words in her overwhelming embarrassment and fear and panic.

He grinned smugly, despite knowing it was due to her spot on the swimming-team she kept herself clean and hairless, also knowing that the only reason she took swimming-lessons was because she and her mom couldn’t afford the hot-water bill, making her take showers at school instead, and that a spot on the swimming-team gave her a free-ticket to using those showers anytime she wanted.

How many times had he snuck in there to watch her soap up her body?

How many times had he palmed his erection to the sight of her?

How much he’d wanted to waltz in and take her against the cold tiles, make steam roll off the walls, hearing her voice echo his name...

Now he had the real deal though, no more time for fantasies.

She was smart, she was resourceful, but not enough to put a lock on her door.

She was lucky if one thought about it.

Lucky it wasn’t just any random guy who walked in and took her like Bakugo was going to take her.

Lucky it wasn’t just anyone’s tongue jutting out to lick up her spread folds.

Lucky it was Bakugo who was hugging her thighs close to him, using them as soft warm pillows as he nuzzled between them to lick and suck and bite at the little bundle of nerves found right there in front of him.

Lucky it was Bakugo that had her squirming and quaking and whimpering and crying.

Because, taking everything into consideration, she was safe with him.

Safer than she would or even could be with anyone else for that matter.

Who else could really protect her like he could, like he will, like he has?

She should be grateful he still wants her after she rejected him, humiliated him like she did. She was sure going to pay for it tonight. But first, he could at least treat her to what she had been missing, especially when thinking of how much he was going to take from her before the day let up.

It almost made him feel bad.

Almost, being the keyword, because without it he wouldn’t have thought it funny how many noises she could make without alerting anyone from outside, how no one cared whether she blubbered out common sniveling protests and screams of his name, begging him to stop, or those equally loud yet scarce moans that sprung from her despite her not wanting them to, each time he sucked too hard or too harshly on her clit, teeth rubbing over the sensitive skin found there. Her hips dancing a panicked series of shimming from side to side, controlled in his grasp and only aiding in his tongue finding new places to lick and suck at as he laid abusive worship onto the temple between them. Nose bumping and dipping and rubbing onto places too tender as his mouth moved lower.

Her knees jolting as he kept them spread open, claws digging into the grabbable flesh each time she would pound the ball of her heel into his back, the movement always falling still upon the building simmering threat of explosions in his palms, pain much sharper than that of his nails.

She wanting nothing more but to wrench away, especially upon feeling the shameful treacherous dripping of herself down onto the bedsheets, disgusted with her body, humiliated beyond repair, with the tongue of Katsuki lapping up what mess he had made out of her, teeth from a grin gracing in feather-light motions, yet still managing to shoot electricity up her core.

All she could do was pant and sob through moans and trying her best to force out more protests even though she knew it was to no use, until she felt him pull away, leaving her cold in loss of contact with heat.

She doubted his removal was because she’d begged it from him.

Her doubts being answered as she heard the crisp clatter of a belt-buckle opening.

Her eyes were swimming, gifting her with more panic as she wasn’t even able to see what he was doing, yet knowing, again wishing she didn’t, wishing she was rather deaf as well as blind, wishing all her senses to simply give away, all so that she didn’t have to witness what she was surely soon going to have to be the victim of.

She heard the clothes dropping to the floor, looked up at him through bleary blurry eyes, still recognising the sandy nuance of his skin fully on display before her.

His large hands found her knees again, prying them open. His hips fitting between her thighs.

“Ba- ba- Baku- go, plea- please, don’t- don’t… stop.” She choked on her tears, on her fear, on her panic, on the feeling of the cold breeze making her exposed sex shiver and beg for something warm to fill it up, on her disgust.

“Don’t stop?” He snickered, pinching her clit between his fingers, making her arch with a whine before trying to wrench away, yet stopped by his hands steadying on her knees, spreading her open for him.

His cock-head delved between her folds, and he had to catch a pathetic whimper from escaping his throat, settling for biting his lip instead and ridiculing the reason as to why he was feeling so weak in the first place. Growling at the little girl beneath him, all tied up and defenceless and hopeless and pathetic, but still able to make him feel so small.

“I knew you were just a stupid slut.”

It helped hearing her scream for him.

It helped hearing her choke on her own gasps as he filled her tight little space up with the warm length of his cock.

It helped feeling her squeeze and seize around the girth of him, hugging him close and tight, filling and stretching her out so nicely.

She had resorted to hectic crying, no words, no protests, just sobbing, hiccupping, coughing up her own cries.

And, although he imagined himself growling and groaning he fell short of those guttural rusty sounds and fell prey to whimpering like a lovesick puppy humping a plushie-toy instead.

His hands holding onto her hips as though letting go meant death as he rolled his hips into her, feeling her warm velvety walls welcome him home.

It felt so good he nearly barreled over, his face buried in her chest, hand coming up to enclose over her mouth as so to stop the cries and hear those soft muffled moans she made instead.

Small stifled broken wet mews spurred into his palm, as he kissed a trail up the valley of her chest and onto her neck, whispering with his breath shaky.

“If it makes you feel any better… this is my first time too.”

He didn’t know why he said it. Maybe because he was suddenly regretting his decision of being a monster, or maybe because the fright of being vulnerable disappeared at the feeling of conquering what made him afraid.

“I spread a rumour in second that I fucked Ururaka just to see your reaction.” He let out a breathy laugh, the open smile on his face indicated his nostalgia, as though it were a fond memory. “But you didn’t care at all did you?”

He snapped his hips forward, hitting something painful making her scream beneath his hand, opening it to hear her sob out in whimpers.

“Did you?!” It was accusatory and loud and right next to her ears, as he bared his teeth.

She was sure she was bleeding, feeling as though he was tearing her up, splitting her open, every harsh thrust felt deep within her abdomen, churning her guts.

“I- I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sor- sorry!” She spluttered out, more thick gulps of tears streaking her cheeks with red.

“You know what I think?”

He leaned in closer, his nose poking into her cheek, lips brushing her ear, hands now having moved to cup her knees, pushing them up into the bedsheets beside her shoulders, hiking her up to meet his sharp thrusts.

“I think you wanted this…”

She shook her head as his grin gleamed from seeing her discomfort.

“Leaving your door unlocked like that, you were begging for this to happen.” He laughed, biting her earlobe, heavy balls clapping against her ass.

She sniveled. “You- you know we can’t afford-” She started, but was cut off by her own broken moan as Bakugo yet again made another sharp movement, sending an earth-shattering smack to fill the crammed space of her RV, and then again cut off by Bakugo’s own response.

“Yeah? But you could still afford that dress you wore to Homecoming couldn’t you?” He sounded crazed, upset and angry and obsessed with making her regret it. “When you went with that fucking extra instead of me?”

His forehead pushed against hers, eyes a feral red and large with rage, watching in sadistic glee as she scrunched her eyes together in pain, trying to block his voice out from her head.

“Yeah, I bet you’re sorry now.” He growled, again taking a break from his series of shallow thrusts to push deep into her, making her whine in wet agony. “That was the worst mistake of your life and you’re gonna make it up to me tonight.”

He pushed himself up, looking down at the crying mess he was buried inside, licking his lips.

She couldn’t stop apologising, as he fucked into her, her hands going numb under the bondage of his tie around her wrists.

“I’m sorr- sorry-” She croaked, face burning from her tears.

“Yeah? You better be.”

He gathered her ankles in his hands, holding them up, one hand coming to roll her sock down her leg.

“You’re gonna be.”

His hand caressed her small bare-foot tightly, thumb digging into her sole, his mind drifting to how cute and tiny it was, smaller than his hand, and strangely soft for someone who chooses to walk everywhere to save money.

“I’m sorry-” She blubbered. “I’m- I’m sorry...”

She struggled for breath between her apologies and cries, forgetting how to inhale as Bakugo’s cock crammed into her, stripping her lungs of their air.

He kissed the pad of her foot, before leaning down again, hands once more cupping her knees and pushing them against the mattress.

“Good.”

She quaked beneath his stare, his sharp teeth too close as she cringed at the wet creamy sloshing sound of his cock pounding into her.

She had to look away, wanting to twist to hide her face in her pillow and cry until he was done.

But he wouldn’t have that.

“Hey, look at me when I fuck you.”

Gathering her face between his fingers, he scrunched her lips together as his own face closed in, his teeth coming to bite down on the vulnerable pout.

“You’re nothing without me, you understand that?”

One of his hands seized around her throat, adding slight pressure to accommodate his words.

“Good for nothing.” He spit. “Except for being my little slut, right?”

His claws scratched her throat, making her mewl and suck at her bitten bruised lip, tasting the metal.

“Come on, slut, I asked you a fucking question!”

Again, he angled his cock to jut into her painfully, making her gasp in strained pain at the stretch, followed by a sob.

“I’m just a slut-” She sniffled, eyes spiralling when looking into his unforgiving scarlet ones.

He smiled again, kissing her cheek.

“Who’s?”

The kiss became a lick, as he dragged his tongue up her tear-slicked cheek.

“Who’s slut?”

He felt her tremble and stiffen under his tongue, her eye’s squeezing shut.

“Your slut.” She answered, but it proved not to be good enough as another sharp painful thrust hit her core. “Bakugo’s slut.”

She knew it was wrong the second she said it as a growl rumbled against her neck, his teeth gracing, scraping against her tender flesh.

“Katsuki’s slut!”

The words all broken and wet and beautiful coming from her bloated and reddened lips.

He placed a chaste kiss to her jaw, nibbling his way up to her mouth, whispering upon them. “Yeah, that’s right, you’re nothing without me.”

He kissed roughly, growling for her to kiss back, hand still tightly locked around her neck, begging for her to refuse him only for him to squeeze the life out of her.

His tongue pushed into her mouth as he slobbered and drooled above her, mouth sucking on her lips, trailing down her jaw and down her throat, nibbling and biting and lapping at her skin like some hound drooling over steak.

His hand left her throat to grasp her clothed breasts as he hit a particular spot, calling an unintentional bucking of her hips into him, making him groan in pleasure, his own thrusts gaining speed, hitting that same spot he now knew would make her unravel.

“You’re so lucky to get my cock.”

He worked himself into a taller position again, dragging himself off her chest to admire what artwork he’d made of her collar and chest.

“Say you love it.”

She shook her head, a petty begging-look on her face.

It was a weak protest, almost enough to make him let it go, yet still outweighed by his need to make her pay.

His hips suddenly thrusting into her deeply, sharply, in all the ways he’d found out hurt.

She cried out. “No, no, Bakugo, please!” Panicked sobbing, her chest arching in pain, her legs coming to kick him off, yet were stopped as he pushed her knees into her chest. Jutting into her brutally.

“Say you love it and I’ll go slower.”

He saw her knuckles whiten at how hard she was balling her fists, tugging at her bonds desperately.

“I’ll fuck you good.” He promised, finding himself grow excited upon the thought. “Nice and slow like lovers do.” He had to snicker, even as she sobbed and hiccupped up screams that caught in her throat at his sharp thrusts, her eyes screwed tightly shut, allowing no tears to drop yet leaving them swimming in stinging salt.

His head dropped again to her temple, lips nibbling lightly on her cheek bone, his heavy breaths sounding louder than what snapping noise was made between his hips and the softness of her ass.

“Come on…” He drawled an impatient growl into her ear, a rumble that strung another whimper out from her.

More sobs followed, broken in their execution. “I love it… I love it.”

She hadn’t screamed it the way he wanted, but hearing it hang loosely onto her cries, all trembling and weak, was somehow better than what he thought he’d wanted anyway.

He slowed down, enough to lessen the sound of flesh slapping flesh and for the squishy noise of him filling her up again and again to replace it.

“What do you love?”

He made his way to rip open the seams of her shirt on her shoulder, not caring in the moment that she didn’t have a spare uniform to replace it. The shirt gone before she could even answer his question.

“You’re cock, I love you’re cock.” She sobbed, as her bra met with the same fate her shirt had, leaving her in just her little black skirt and one sock remaining, her tits springing loose, bouncing on both her cries and Bakugo’s movements.

“Fuck, good, such an obedient little pet.”

His head fell into the newly presented bare flesh with a moan, heavy panting as he slobbered up the valley between her breasts, palming the soft mounds before twisting the nipples between his fingertips, pulling at them, playing with them, his mouth sucking and biting, teasing the tender sensitivity.

His hands quitting their torment in favor of holding onto each their knee to keep her spread open for him as he rolled deeply into her spot.

“Feels so fucking-” He groaned, not bothering to finish the thought, before another impulse struck him.

His position in having his face buried in her neck and his body laid tight and snug on top of hers moved, making her feel the wisp of a chill coat her as their warm sweat-slicked bodies parted, feeling almost as though they were glued together as he pulled away, cock still being kept warm inside the comfort of her walls.

His hands came up to fickle with the knot that kept her hands locked above her head, his fingers sloppily tugging to loosen the tie, before gripping her hips tightly in a fashion meant to make sure she understood that despite being loose she was far from actually free.

Lifting her up of the spot she’d sunk into on the mattress and on to straddling his torso, his feet hitting the ground with a dunk with her propped up on his thighs, every little movement of his adjusting making his cock poke and message into other new dangerous places, places too tight to be attacked in whichever reckless unthoughtful way Bakugo saw fit.

Fingers running, or rather digging into her skin and making way to rake up her sides, grabbing and clinging to her midriff to pull her close, with his thighs beginning to impatiently move in a boyish manor to satiate the need for friction his member craved.

One arm wrapped around her waist, the other hand made to grab her chin, allowing him to look over her, again tempted to bite into those lushes red lips, all bloated and made for his teeth to gnaw on. Yet, his mouth made way to her neck instead, licking up her throat, sucking on the thin skin, wanting to make his mark flourish in red explosions all over her.

“Be a good quirkless slut and bounce on my cock, make yourself useful for once.”

His knees jolted upwards making her hop, followed by his cock sinking deeper into her.

Her hands held uncertainly mid-air made to grip his shoulders at the further intrusion, biting back another cry, however unable to keep the sobbing sigh from rupturing her throat.

However, she wasn’t given long to recover as his hand came down to plant a red-hot slap on her ass, making her jump on her own.

“Come on, don’t be shy.”

She started moving, unsure of what or which way to do it, finding the rhythm of rocking her hips forward after a while, earning a disgusting sigh of satisfaction from the blonde holding a bruising grip on her.

“That’s right...”

His arm moving to hold a death-grip on her waist, thumb digging into the underside of her ribs, poking each time she lolled forward and at the same time threatened her to stop.

His other hand came to grip her face again, stiff lips crashing against teary lips. Sucking her face as though stealing her life-source, only breaking between breaths to announce cocky cruel comments and instructions.

“Stay right there, slut.” A thrust from his hips accompanied the nickname, making her wince and lurch forward into him. “Aww that’s cute.”

Both his hands went under her skirt to grab at her ass, lifting her up only to sleeve himself inside her once again.

“Does that feel good? Huh? Right there?”

Another slap and she rested even harder against his chest, trying to find comfort in the pitch black her screwed-shut eyes left her in, yet the overwhelming scent of caramel wasn’t easily ignored, and neither was how perfectly his cock sunk into her.

His hands fingered the fabric of her skirt as he bumped into her from beneath. Tugging on the textile until ripping it off, the action earning her gasp as she was now wearing nothing but her one sock, the skirt having provided as some false sense of coverage.

“Is the slut enjoying herself?” He mocked, a salacious grin constantly spreading on his face between moans and grunts.

She shook her head, the urge to fight herself to freedom awakening yet again as her hands moved to push at his chest.

“No… stop.”

But her back was supported, or rather steadied, with Bakugo’s large palm, little sparking ignitions gaining control of her struggles quickly, the fight leaving her body with a whimper of defeat, just as quickly as it had arrived.

Another sharp thrust ripped a strangled moan from her and he grinned.

“Liar.” He snickered. “You’re gonna cum on my cock like a good little slut 'cause that's the only thing you know how not to fuck up, only thing your whore mom ever taught you.”

Forcing her hips to roll faster, the slick coated their thighs as her tits bounced for him.

“Does she share this bed with both you and her crackhead fuck-friends?”

He couldn’t defend his need to make her cringe in his arms, why he wanted to see her ashamed, why he wanted her crying into him.

“Such a freak. Are you gonna cum on the same sheets your mom sleeps on?”

Sharp fingers dug into her cheeks again, all because he wanted to be entertained by the show of her breaking.

He pulled her hips closer, fighting to hit that spot that had her mewling earlier, wanting to hear her mewl again, wanting to prove his point.

Once he found it she fell flush against him, melting in his hands, soft-spoken moans falling like drool down her chin.

“Like that, right there?” His words fell hot on her lips as his thumb pushed into her mouth and down onto her tongue, holding her chin in place.

Her eyes crossed then upon his cock nudging in just the right way against her cervix, as well as her brows drawing up into a pretty eruption.

“Fuck, that’s hot.” He groaned, clutching tighter onto her hip, rocking her forward to meet his thrusts. “Are you gonna cum on my cock, huh?”

With his thumb still dipped into her mouth, she tried her best to retort.

“No…”

It couldn’t be referred to as defiance as it was too pitiful to be called that.

“Yes, you are.”

He sucked on her collarbone, making his way up by kissing a trail of slobbering kisses and bites to her ear.

With his hips still angled just right, his thumb left her mouth to grip her other hip.

He could feel her tight little pussy start to convulse around his shaft, small flutters that squeezed him tightly, milking him.

She hated that she wanted to spill over so badly. The surging swimming boiling buzz constantly teased by Katsuki’s plush cockhead pushing and poking and jabbing at her cervix again and again.

She felt it coming, the snapping, breaking, splitting, the building coming close to bursting, yet she was reminded of who she was with in her reach for bliss and found herself regretting chasing it.

“No, no, not with him, not with him, not-”

It was too late as she tried holding it back, tried grasping it as hard as she was clamping down on his cock, as hard as she was digging her nails into his shoulders.

The movements of his hips slowed down.

“There you go. Feel good, slut?” He mocked as her body spasmed, skin freezing over under his touch, feeling disgusted, skin-crawlingly disgusted with herself and how she was unable to control the continuous spasms that seemed to ricochet through her spontaneously. “Don’t worry, I’ll help you out.”

His speed picked up again, humping into her, making her ride through her orgasm, feeling the almost painful ticklish pressure build again upon each time he bottomed-out ruthlessly inside the comfort of her wet walls.

“No, Bakugo stop, stop!” Her pleads weren’t met.

“Is it too much?” He laughed, gathering a fistful of hair at the nape of her neck in order to make her look up at him, making her wince as he spit his words into her face. “Mommy didn't do too good a job at raising her slut, I see. Can't even handle cumming without crying." He jeered, mock pouting at her with his forehead pressed into hers, blood-soaked orbs forcing eye-contact from her wide tear-stained ones as she whimpered. "Aw, is my cock too much for the little whore?”

“Yes, stop!” She couldn't care less if she was answering some cruel nickname , the painful pressure assaulted inside her was something too vehement she needed to make relent, but yet again was her plead answered with a lack of mercy in an eerie whisper and nothing more.

“I’m not finished yet.”

All she could do was beg for him to finish… so that’s what she did.

“Please...”

He gathered her face in his hand again, fingers squishing into her cheeks hurtfully as he made to sneer into her face.

“Please what? Please fuck your whore cunt harder? Please make you cum again?”

Even as he snickered and mocked, his cock twitched at the sight of her.

Eyes all puffy and swimming in her own tears, eyebrows knitted together, begging for mercy.

Completely and literally held in the palm of his hand, yet her gaze still managing to make him feel fuzzy with the flutter of butterflies in his stomach.

“Oh fuck, say you love me.”

Cold dread made up most of her body, what else was the rising crippling shameful feeling of something sweet knotting up somewhere in her lower abdomen again, this time harder than before as her already abused high was continuously pocked by Katsuki’s swollen cockhead kissing her cervix harshly again and again and again, driving her insane. And all of it made his demand impossible to answer, impossible to even comprehend.

Yet, she was in no position to refuse with her face held up between his fingertips and his crimson eyes boring holes straight into her terror-wide heart.

“Say you love me or I’ll cum inside you.” His voice lacking all she considered still human. Not a hint of remorse or guilt or shame or pity.

She gulped on her breaths, yet managed to voice the words. “I love you, Katsuki.”

Her eyes now unable to look away from him. Even as he picked up the painful pace, stabbing at her core, in places she had no former knowledge of, places the length of her fingers could never even as much as dream of reaching.

“Fuck.” A boyish virginal whimper laced the moan that escaped him at her words, satisfaction easing the raging and crazed look on his face. “I love you too.”

His toes curled painfully, cold and numb against the floorboards.

“I love you.”

Hands warm and sliding against dewy and doughy flesh.

"I love you."

Something pulling, straining, building to burst was chasing release, sending spasms to shoot through his shaft.

"I love you."

He knew what was coming. He knew it would be better than ever.

“We’ll get you a pill later, ‘kay?”

The guilt was washed over with the promise of painting her walls.

“It’s fine.” He tried reassuring as he felt her revolt in his arms, all her strength fighting to get off him, yet was no match against the force of his hands holding onto her, and his need to explode inside.

She resulted to begging instead. “No, no, Katsuki stop, don’t, please!”

Feeling her hope being crushed in his palm, picturing his laughing face as she turned her vision to black, his feral smile like supersonic light, dangerous and deadly and made to rip throats out.

And then it was done, she felt the last thrust like the last blow through her gut.

Cream filling her up, smearing between their thighs, Katsuki’s head resting on her shoulder with his hands holding onto her hips, fingers marking their presence into her back yet softening their grip with each of his panting breaths landing on her breasts.

Her blood ran cold through stiff veins, as though she were dead. Her skin crawling, as though rotting with mites.

Sickness.

Sickness in her lungs, in her throat, building, climbing up her pipes.

She slung herself off in a hurry, and with Katsuki coming down from whatever sick high he was riding, he wasn’t alert enough to catch her, which was probably a good thing because after her staggering her way to the bathroom, feeling his cum and her wetness leak out of her and drip along the inside of her thighs, she only barely made it in time to open the toilet compartment, get to her knees in the small space and haul her guts out into the small stained bowl.

Feeling like her mother, each time she came home all sweaty, mascara smeared with tears on her face like a garbage racoon, sticking her fingers down her throat and gagging until she collapsed on the floor, face laid in her own puke.

She heard Katsuki’s heavy footsteps, one and two before his hand met with her neck. Collecting her hair in a ponytail in his grip with the other hand encompassing her naked back.

She was afraid he was going to pull her up, expecting her scalp to soon scream in protest at the feel of her hairs being ripped up from their roots.

Yet, as she awaited the torture… all she felt was the slow stroking of carefully placed paths running up her spine and then down to the small of her back in a manor either meant to be comforting or patronizing, with her hair being kept away from her face as she retched on repeat.

It was mostly just water and acid, and Katsuki made a mental note to make her eat later as he helped her up with his hands under her arms, supporting her when seeing how her shivering rendered her knees too weak to stand on her own, lifting her up on a tiny counter which would have been impossible for him if he were to try and sit on it, yet seemed the perfect size for her.

The ruff base of his thumb brushed the spit from the corner of her mouth, her large eyes meeting his own as he leaned in, soft weak hands only barely pushing against his chest in an act to stop him, but his lips pushed onto her anyway.

Parting with a string of silver connecting them, and he couldn’t help but fall prey to how beautiful she was even in her broken ugliness, how prettily her eyes fluttered with sticky eyelashes clutching together as though hugging for comfort, stray wisps of hair dancing in front of her face. Her wet breaths, sobbing breaths, hiccupping breaths, trembling past those soft pillow-y and blossomed lips, plump and full and bitable, or huffed through her nose, sniveling and sniffing and so very unfairly precious.

His thumb stroked over those lips, watching them quiver.

He took time admiring her, feeling her cold fingertips vibrate against his chest, wondering if she could feel how hard his heart was hammering inside his ribcage with how much she was shaking. Wondering if she knew just how much he’d wanted this, how long he’d wanted this, how despite him ignoring her cries, that she understood how this wasn’t in vain, how he wasn’t just doing this because he could, that he was doing this because he needed to, that he wasn’t doing this because he hated her but because he loved her, loved her too much to let her simply slip from between his fingers again.

His fingers latched onto the band of her sock, pulling it down and off at her toes, finally leaving her completely bare.

“Let’s get you in the shower.”

He moved to pick her up, uncaring of her newly sparked urge to fight him.

“No, Katsuki…”

She tried pushing, she tried making him stop despite everything being slippery and sticky and gross. The want to cry herself to sleep knowing and finding some comfort in the fact that Katsuki was done with her and long gone outweighed the want to get clean.

“The water’s cold, you won’t like it.” She argued in a weak attempt to sway him from the idea, yet knowing full well that he didn’t care.

“Come on…” He drawled as he caught her bothersome fists by the wrists in his massive hands. “We’ll take a shower and then we’ll go get your pill…”

He fought to find eye-contact.

“We both know you don’t have the money for it anyway…”

Typical of him to mention her situation. Typical of him to use it against her. And though it was typical, though it was predictable, it still made her heart clench, her soul twist, her spirit crumble.

He swore he saw something start to break in her eyes, wanting to deliver the final blow to snuff out whatever fight she still had left.

He leaned in more, his nose brushing against hers.

“You need me.”

Her struggles stopped at that, Katsuki wrapping her legs around his back to support her as he carried her to the shower. Her cheek resting on his shoulder, completely deflated.

It wasn’t at all as in the movies. Sweet couples who help wash each other’s hair, warm bodies gliding against one another, soft perfect handprints printed on the dewy glass.

She hadn’t been lying, the water was freezing as the showerhead spritzed the water down on them with a force close to that of aching.

They didn’t both fit in the crammed space either, Katsuki was sure that even him alone wouldn’t fit in the tight space, where he was left to have one foot on the floorboards outside the door, water rushing into the hallway, running down his leg, but he didn't care.

His frame blocked the door completely, allowing her no shape or form of exit as he made her stand there, under the showerhead, hair slicking to her neck and nipples perking into hardness under the freeze, goosebumps strutted and coated her flesh from head to toe, her cheeks and lips blossomed with a purple hue, her eyes closed, head dipped in discomfort or shame or embarrassment or sorrow or a bit of everything and even more.

Her body trembled beneath his warm hands, as they cupped her breasts, palming them and playing and pinching with her back hunching in a weak effort to get her discomfort across, despite knowing how he didn’t care, with the fact having been proven time and time again.

His warm calloused fingertips brushed down her abdomen, eyes stark and loud as they looked at her body, thinking of how unblemished and beautiful her skin was as opposed to him, no roughness or ugly greenish bruises, just milky smooth and rosy suppleness and all his.

His hand traveled further, causing her small ones to reach out and grip around his wrist, both hands giving their best effort at trying to stop him. Though his other hand was quick to wrap around her throat and extract a sweet gasp with the movement.

Her hands removed their pressure yet remained on him as he brushed featherlight touches over the sensitiveness of her sex, fingertips dipping into her folds, slithering in the slick velvet of his cum mixed with her wetness.

A sob ricocheted through her as her toes curled, fingers bending and nailing into his wrist. Still, he continued. Fingers pushing inside, pumped knuckle-deep inside the puffy spongey walls, reaching deep before scissoring, making her knees bend, yet kept from falling by the hand around her neck keeping her up like a noose as he curled the two digits.

Her eyes avoided his, looking down at his limp cock who somehow seemed just as intimidating as before, like a sleeping beast ready to wake at any second.

Yet, as much as he played with her sex, his own remained still.

He picked her up again as he saw more of her skin going purple, not really wanting her to get sick, just refreshed.

Water flooded on the soft-with-mould floorboards in the tight hallway as her feet dragged against the walls when he yet again carried her to the bed. And as much as she wanted to fight as he placed her dripping body down onto the sheets, she couldn’t find the energy. Tears, however, still managed to drip down her face, unhurriedly gliding down her cheeks, warm in stark contrast amidst the freezing shower-water.

“Do you wanna hear something really fucked up?”

It was rhetorical, but he wouldn’t have gotten an answer either way.

“I used to be jealous of your crack-whore mother…”

Her face cringed, confused yet still not desiring to know what he meant.

“Fuck, I’m still jealous when you come to school and I see that there's somebody else who makes you cry harder than me.”

She had to swallow in order not to gulp.

“You’re sick.”

Those were the wrong words, for as quickly as they entered the air, he was once again on top of her, squeezing the breath from out of her lungs.

“I’m sick?” He questioned, fingers plunging inside her, a forced moan ripped from her throat. “You’re the one cumming and creaming and squirting all over my cock while crying.” He bit out while starting to pump into her cruelly, finding it easier now as she was already wet from before. “Telling me you love it, telling me you love me.” He laughed as he sneered. “Who would’ve known what a slut you are. So desperate you let your own bully fuck you like this. You fucking whore.”

His pushed his thumb into her clit cruelly, a sadistic smile on his face as she struggled.

“Stop, shut up, shut up!” Her palms made to push at his hard chest, yet was weakened as she felt the burning sweetness start to pool were his fingers poked.

“You don’t like that nickname? No? Aww, that’s fine.” He hissed, then scoffed. “It’s not true anyway...” He muttered beneath his breath, trying to find what sweet spot his fingers could reach as so to have her unravel beneath him again, wanting to lick the sin from her expression, wanting to bathe in his victory of making her his. “How did it feel to have my cock balls deep inside your precious little virgin innocent cunt, huh? Better yet, how does it feel to know how I am your first? First to kiss you, first to fuck you, first to make you cum.”

“Fuck you.”

Any remnants of strength was now spent on those last words, as the rest was spared to support her oncoming orgasm, the one she could feel clawing, sucking all senses up as though preparing for an implosion.

“That’s right…” He whispered. “Fuck me. Your first and your last.”

His ominous tone had her guts churning, which in some sick sense only added to the pooling dam that was about to snap inside her, but she kept her eyes wide, further digging into what his words meant, wondering if this would be her last day on earth, wondering if Bakugo would be the last person she'd ever see, ever feel, ever touch.

“You look like I’m gonna kill you.” He observed as he curled his fingers once again, making her hips buckle into his hand, which in turn made him grin. “Nah, I’m not gonna hurt you…”

His head dipped so that he could nibble at her neck, lick up the tender flesh with his fingers pumping in and out of her, coated in slick, collecting and drenching in his palm.

“I’m just gonna make sure no one ever touches what’s mine again…”

She couldn’t explain why the growl in his voice had her abdomen doing flips.

“Including that fuckface slut you call a mother.”

His fingers scissored, her back arching as she moaned.

“You’ll be lucky I even let you graduate.”

She couldn’t quite catch what he was saying anymore, just the lilt in his tone which had her falling apart beneath him, the walls of her pussy fluttering in pleasure.

“People go missing all the time.”

Her toes curled and she braced herself.

“That way I can have you all for myself.”

His warm lips pressed against her neck, his growls reverberating on her skin.

“All mine.”

His fingers poked at something that was about to burst and as she wanted to climb further up on the bed to escape it, she also wanted him to follow.

“Where you belong.”

And there it was, body melting into the mattress, all shame obsolete in those seconds.

Unable to see him lick her orgasm off his fingers as her eyes had crossed and traveled way too far into the back of her skull.

Unable to prepare for his kiss as her mouth hung open, soft feeble moans cut loose into the air, captured by Bakugo’s mouth.

She didn’t catch the second he stopped kissing her, nor did she catch the moment he got off the bed.

She must have fallen asleep for a short while because when she opened her eyes again Bakugo was dressed, rummaging through cabinets containing worn out clothes and things like it, seeming displeased with most of what he found.

She looked to her side, where placed on the bed was a towel, fresh underwear and a bra.

She motioned for the towel first, feeling the shameful wet stickiness between her thighs, hurriedly wiping it clean before putting on her garments, looking up to see Bakugo staring at her, having found something suitable to dress her in.

“Put this on.”

She didn’t bother looking at what he’d so graciously offered her of her own clothes.

Her eyes narrowed at him instead.

“I don’t want your help.” She sneered, looking away, crossing her arms over her chest as so to hide herself from his piercing gaze.

His fingertips were quick in clutching her cheeks, raking them into her skin as he turned her head back to look at him.

“Too bad, you need it.”

The fabric was cast at her lap unceremoniously, the soft silky feel cold against her bare thighs.

“Put it on.” The growl was followed by him removing his hand with a push.

She huffed before looking down at the presented article, wondering what Bakugo wanted to dress her up in, her lips forming a disgusted snarl.

“It’s my mother’s.”

The yellow summer-dress, flowy and frilly in texture, something she’d never wear, something Bakugo knew well she would never wear.

“It’d go to waste on her.”

This made her look up, curiosity or maybe even a form of flattery evident in the curl between her brows.

The sudden eye-contact catching Bakugo off guard as he’d shared the uncharacteristically tender opinion of the girl out loud.

He scoffed, crimson eyes darkening in an attempt to hide the building flustered panic, masking it with a growl instead.

“Put it on, I won’t ask again.”

She fingered the fabric for a while longer before treading it on over her head, letting the skirt dress her thighs with a featherlight fall.

Looking like a spring-daydream, not at all as though she’d just lived through a nightmare.

With her drying hair falling in messy curled tousles down her shoulders, Bakugo reached out a hand to fasten the small wispy strands coming to tickle her forehead behind her ear, grabbing her wrists in favor of her hand when he pulled her up.

“Let’s go. I can’t stand this shithole.”

Wondering if he should have said that he couldn’t stand her in that shithole instead.

TIP-JAR

PART ONE

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cyberneticlagomorph · 4 years ago

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>> 🔴 Broadcasting live from Wonderland!

The stream is finally up, crystal clear and high quality.

We see the parade route, a long and straight rode paved in a brilliant red and black mosaic depicting roses and thorns twisting their way along the street.

On either side is a tide of people, dressed in their best, waving homemade flags and signs with Jack's face on them.

Floating screens hang above the road, giving folks in the cheap seats a better view of the goings on.

The energy is palpable.

Electric.

Excited.

And then... a hush, as if some unseen figure has held a finger to their lips.

Feet stomping rhythmically as music slowly swells

"Ooh-whoa-ooh!"

From the crowd, a girl hurdles the barrier with ease, her long blonde twin tails flowing after her like a flags.

"Ooh-whoa-ooh!"

Her skirt is a giant upturned pink rose, there is mischief in her single blue. She produces a whistle from somewhere in her unremarkable cleavage and blows 3 clear notes.

"Ladies and gents this is the moment you've waited for..."

Dodo birds flock to her from seemingly nowhere, dressed in little waistcoats, dresses and spats. They coo obediently, and trail after the girl in V formation.

"You've been searching in the dark, your sweat soaking through the floor..."

The girl twirls eager cartwheels, her feathered entourage waddling and swaying to the music.

Behind them, marching neatly is an army of skeletons. Their bones painted gold, roses crawling through their ribcages, rubies glittering in their eye sockets.

Two skeletons bring up the rear, leading a great beast but golden chains.

Something like a cheetah with a rabbit's head, and a buck's antlers.

The beast hisses and roars at the crowd, but seems perfectly at ease otherwise. It's long jerboa like tail held high and proud.

The Greatest Showman keeps playing as the biggest hyena you've ever seen lopes along, blue eyes gleaming with pride, her pelt bleach white and spotted with chemical burns. A dryad sits on her back, ivy leaves fluttering in her hair, she waves a hand and two massive thorny vines burst from the soil on either side of the street, coiling together high over the road and blooming into an arch of black roses with eyes rolling in their middles.

The crowd screams in awe and delight as petals rain down on them.

The thump of heavy paws replaced by the clattering of porcelain as dozens of teapots of every shape and size scamper along the route on little porcelain paws, or chicken legs, or insectile limbs.

They honk, whistle and toot like a troupe of clowns, spraying the crowd and each other with showers of confetti from their spouts.

And then... the ground begins the shake as the biggest teapot anyone has ever seen wanders behind it's much tinier brethren.

Easily the size of an elephant, it's ceramic hide painted red and gold, its thick legs taking careful steps.

It pauses for just a moment and produces a geyser of confetti and flower petals from its titanic snoot.

Behind this beast is another monstrosity of metal and machinery chugging along on steel spider legs, music blares from the speakers that make up the majority of its body. At its apex is a certain dancing demon, his usual black and white color palette broken up by his red shutter shades and the rose pinned to his lapel.

Bendy is in charge of spinning the tunes for the entire parade, and is doing a damn good job of it, only pausing to floss and dab much to the elation of the onlookers.

His grin is genuine, happy, and magnificent as he waves at the crowd and blows kisses to the kids.

The smell of smoke, sweet and seductive, follows behind Bendy's DJ float. The music changes from bouncy pop, to old school circus music played on actual instruments by giant bugs with literal fire in their eyes. Smoke leaking from the corners of their grinning jaws like demons dragged up from hell.

An anthropomorphic ant rides on the back of a giant stag beetle, a ladybug with eyes for spots juggles flaming knives.

A pair of centipedes dressed like mimes turn themselves into hurdles and hoops for the others to leap over and through.

Arachnid beasts that defy description and logic chitter and growl as they drag a float behind them on sturdy chains.

The float itself is a flying trapeze! With performers doing death defying stunts without the aid of wings or a net.

Something grub-like and smiling wears a half mask, like the phantom of the opera, and tosses toys at children from her place high on the float.

And now, that hush falls again.

The anticipation so thick you can cut it with a knife.

At the very back of the parade, bringing up the rear, is a giant black rose being pulled along by a team of white unicorns with their hooves and horns painted gold. Each animal is firmly muzzled and wearing a ruby studded golden collar in addition to their tack.

The rose blooms, and there is Jack, standing tall. He waves at the crowd as they cheer for him and call out his name.

He blows kisses to them and the cameras.

He's crying, fat blue tears rolling down his cheeks. And yet his makeup refuses to budge.

The parade continues on it's way towards wonderland castle, hurry now.

The ceremony is about to begin.

#action post #pusillanimxus #littledemoninkdarling #coronation2121 #long post #viewable icly #mamaaauwu

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foragergnome · 4 years ago

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drops my lord fly headcanons on you all at once....... I'm 98% sure I forgot someone, so I'll just add to this list later. meanwhile, enjoy :)

ralph

- when he's angry or excited, his voice gradually speeds up until you can't even understand him anymore

- "wanna see me climb that tree really fast, do a flip off of it, swing from a branch, and land on the ground on my feet? okay then close your eyes."

- talks in his sleep. usually small mumbles, but when its intense, it could be full on yelling.

- adhd

- abandonment issues

- has a dark and self-deprecating sense of humor

- can be very sarcastic

- he's surrounded by idiots

- pyromaniac

- doesn't like to cuss, but does so when he feels it is necessary

- sensitive nose and hearing

- not straight. denies it tho

jack

- perfectionist. has very serious OCD

- the rich kid

- takes his problems out on other people, especially those who seem like a lower class

- also has some family issues. both parents are high-class. his father has very bad anger issues

- sarcastic, but only when in a bad mood

- he is very protective of the choir tho and cares about them immensely

- picky about food

- cusses a lot, but not around his family

- absolute beaut when it comes to singing

- very loud when talking. you could probably hear him on the other end of the hall. "oh, boy, here comes Jack Merridew and his choir."

- acts like he doesn't care. he probably does

- looks like he could kill you. doesn't have the guts to

- biromantic :)

simon

- absolutely loves animals

- also likes plants too

- gets distracted very easily

- loves to share

- a very good listener

- his favorite season is the springtime. he loves the colors and the weather, and the bees that come out during that time.

- has some family issues back at home

- the smartest out of the choir boys

- despite this, he says a lot of things that make no sense whatsoever and then never elaborates on it

- "walking into choir practice and seeing the stupidity there is like waking up to pancakes and orange juice! :)"

- best friends with roger, maurice, and robert

- diagnosed with vasovagal syncope (in which there are periods where his heart rate or blood pressure will suddenly drop. the reason why he faints a lot. usually happens under overwhelming situations)

piggy

- infodumper. usually infodumps about candy and the history and the choice of colors for the wrappers

- sit down with piggy and he'll probably immediately spitball fun facts to you

- gets embarrassed easily

- a boy scout

- mumbles a lot. talks to himself.

- has serious anxiety. this typically triggers his asthma

- smarter than everyone. like ralph, he, too, is surrounded by idiots

- big sweet tooth.

- very clumsy

- lost his father to the war. his mother left after that, afraid she wouldn't be able to take care of him.

- tries to look aggressive. fails immediately.

- short short short short s

roger

- a bully, this one is

- currently going through his emo phase

- you'd think his parents would like morticia and gomez addams from the addams family, but they're actually really happy and bright people

- also has two little sisters (they're twins)

- he never talks about his family

- collects rocks and crystals

- the only living things he can tolerate are snails and simon.

- quiet. only talks when he needs to talk

- very interested in the history of dead people

- looks up to Jack for his confidence. follows him around, usually

- (in a strained voice) "Death makes worms of us all."

- G notes everyone

- joined the choir because his father encouraged it. actually ended up really enjoying it, and he can sing very well

samneric

- very, very close to each other. they can definitely sense when one or the other is in pain or in danger

- argues about who is older and who is taller

- sam is definitely the smarter, gentler of the two, while eric is more on the rebellious side

- they stick together as much as possible

- made nametags on the island because I said so.

- but they like to confuse people and switch their nametags sometimes

- "wow, it's very nice to be in your shoes, sam. but I'm afraid we're going to have to switch our names back because I think ralph is going to throw himself off the mountain if we keep this up."

- they both smile a lot. it can be kinda creepy sometimes.

- definitely finish each other's sentences, but only when they can actually sense that it needs to be done.

- sam is a dog person, eric is a cat person

- sam has more anxiety than eric does, probably because eric is always putting himself in danger and sam doesn't know what he would do without Eric.

maurice

- nonbinary (he/they/xe)

- gnc af

- neurodivergent

- had long hair before the island, and got it cut before the plane ride. it got long again, tho.

- usually follows roger and Jack around

- talks really fast. usually hard to keep up with him, but he'll slow down once you ask him to.

- super clingy

- gets flustered when someone tries to hold his hand, tho

- the class clown. but somedays he's also calmer and quiet

- roger likes the calmer maurice better

- sometimes joins roger in the bullying, but stops when it gets to be too much

- very good at singing, but can sometimes have trouble staying in time

- collects old postage stamps

- has the personality of a puppy.

- "brb guys! I have to go pee with excitement!"

- "CHRIST MAURICE STOP SAYING THAT"

bill

- also gnc. he's just so casual with his outfits that sometimes he'll wear skirts and dresses and things

- more on the calm, collected side. but can be chaotic when in the mood :)

- "blimey, robert! look at that goose over there!"

- mimicks animal noises

- cusses a lot. but does it so calmly and smoothly that it sounds natural

- mama's boy

- he and robert are usually seen sitting in the back, talking with each other.

- claims he's been in the war. he hasn't.

- percival's older brother

- "its days like these when I just don't give a fuck."

- blind in one eye

- because he is blind in one eye, his perception of depth sucks.

- he runs into doors and trees and walls a lot.

robert

- has a very broad knowledge of plants

- also very knowledgeable about ants, for some reason

- mom friend

- born in canada. moved to the UK at a very young age

- bestest friends with bill and simon

- gets queasy very easily

- has some anxiety

- self-conscious about his singing voice. that's why he never takes the solos

- "I joined the choir because Bill joined the choir. I didn't think I would have to actually bloody sing in this godforsaken classroom."

- encourages maurice's and roger's antics

- likes his tea and coffee scorching hot

- has a panic attack when they first landed on the island. bill and simon had to calm him down.

- claims he has a disease that's contagious, which is how he gets away from social interaction

#my headcanons #long post #headcanons #headcanon post #lord of the flies #lotf ralph #lotf jack #lotf piggy #lotf simon #lotf samneric #lotf maurice #lotf bill #lotf robert #lotf #rambling

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theharellan · 4 years ago

Text

To Feel Another’s Woe

Set in early Inquisition, in the heart of the Mage-Templar War. Featuring Thora Cadash from @ourdawncomes. Content warning for gore, descriptions of battle, and mild illness.

Now available to read on AO3!

He counts the battle in heartbeats. Every rush of blood through his veins is another spell from his fingertips, every sixty seconds counted it another sixty seconds survived. Minutes count more in this Veilless world, where the tide may turn in an instant.

Everything is different, even war.

Bowstrings slap the air, signalling a fresh volley of arrows. “Shield yourselves!” the Seeker cries. Solas blinks to Varric, stopping short of his shadow to draw a barrier over them both. His magic resists his dwarven companion, drawing more mana from his fingers before the spell completes, and with little time to spare. Arrows skirt by them, falling harmlessly to the earth, cutting only magic upon their descent. Varric wastes no words thanking him, vanishing in a cloud of smoke to retreat to a safer distance.

Tangled in the midst of half a dozen Templars, their Herald draws every last eye on the battlefield to her. Every blow is preceded by a shout, often followed by another torn from their enemies’ throats. Swords point towards her back, posed to pierce the gaps in her armour. Their wielders hesitate to join the fray, uneven grips a telltale mark of fresh recruits, but they will not wait forever. He seizes upon the moment, hand gripping his staff and grinding it into the dirt, its focus drawing his intent into the world. A thin orange line burns in the grass, smoke heralds flame which bursts to life at Thora’s heel, a harsh curtain drawn between her and half her enemies.

She does not flinch, nor shrink from the flame. Solas watches as her leg hooks around a rogue Templar’s ankle and trips him. He falls headfirst into the fire, inhuman shrieks silenced by a killing blow to the head. As she lifts her hammer from the bloody pulp of a skull, another soldier lunges. Solas slams his staff against the earth, calling winter to a warm August day. Ice crawls up his target’s leg, erupting from the damp grass stamped down by war. In an instant it claims him, sword aimed at their Herald’s heart now suspended harmlessly in ice. Cassandra arrives, blade red with archers’ blood, and slams the tapered end of her shield against a weakness in the ice. It shatters, the boy’s body falling limp in the grass, joining his fellows.

The hairs along the nape of his neck stand on end, an uneasy premonition answered by an unseen force reaching across the Veil. It parts the fire, reducing it to a ribbon of smoke that coils in blue Fereldan skies, and through the ashes steps a Templar, his shield held aloft. Spells glance off him, rolling ineffectively over his armour. Thora’s hammer fares better, shield straining against its face as they come crashing together. Sparks fly from where their edges scrape together, forcing his guard down for an instant. Long enough for the Herald to find her advantage.

She strikes her with the heel of her hammer and he staggers, stumbling forward with the grace of a drunkard on his sixth tankard of ale. “Now, Solas!” she shouts. He stops, stares. There are only seconds to discern her meaning, no wisdom floats to him from across the Fade to deliver her meaning. Visions of a war long since finished return to him, memories of dwarves that cleaved dreams. He decides, then acts. Solas stretches across the Veil to find his own truth, a different reality than the one these Templars seek to reinforce. The air around the Templar expands with dreams, then dissipates.

The effect is instant. Beneath his helmet he heaves, lungs flooded with magic like water in the lungs of a drowned rat. Thora brings down her hammer on his breastplate. Metal made brittle by magic crumbles at the impact, leaving a hollow crater in the center of his chest.

From a distance his eyes meet Thora’s, her head nodding in his direction. Behind her, the remaining Templars gather their strength and prepare their onslaught, but her attention remains divided. Her gaze darts to his left. Brown eyes widen in their sockets, alerting him before she can cry out: “Look out, Solas!”

He catches the greedy glint of steel against sunlight from the corner of his eye, thrusting towards him. In the space of a breath he surges backwards, Fade carrying him from the Templar’s reach. All the air rushes from him, back crashing against the trunk of a tree, stealing the air from his lungs. Skull cracks against the bark, vision blurring as the Templar advances. Dark words seethe from bloodied lips, cursing him in the name of her fallen brothers and sisters.

Solas’ grip tightens around empty air, realising only then that his staff was lost in his retreat. It matters not. Energy pools into his palm as easily as through a focus, but stutters in the presence of the cleansing aura. Sparks fly, grazing the Templar’s breastplate, earning him nothing but seconds. Once the task of dispatching her would be as trivial as crushing an ant beneath his thumb. Now, his magic wanes, flying further from his reach with every step the Templar takes. What a cruel joke his life would be if this is its final note.

But he has been backed into tighter corners than this by worthier foes. Undeterred by the fear which lays claim to his heart, he grasps desperately for more power, summoning every last scrap of ambient magic in the air. A hopeless thought eats at him as he wonders how it came to this, shooting cinders from his fingertips like a child conjuring their first flame. They fly from his hands, aimed at the dull human eyes which blink out at him from behind a helm.

Every muscle in his body tenses, unsure if he had missed. A shout of pain tears from her throat, and he has his answer. Gloved hands yank her visor back to reveal red-rimmed eyes, tears already streaming down her face to fight the ashes suspended in her eyelashes. “You’ll regret that,” she spits. The glow that wreaths her sword bursts, and he braces against the tree. Blinding light tears the colour from the grass and magic flies from the Veil to places beyond his reach. She purges the song from the sky, all the weight of the world seems to fall around his shoulders. He grips the bark at his back with white knuckles, until the grooves bore into his skin. If not for it, he might have collapsed. His lungs ache as though they are new, throat closing around unyielding reality.

The Templar sloughs off the dispel from her blade, now trained to kill. Somewhere beyond his field of view, Solas hears a shout. “You wasted precious time taunting me,” he says, words straining against empty lungs. Amusement flickers in his eyes, lips too tired to form any semblance of a smile. “I would be dead were it not for your pride. Now it is too late.”

He sees the question in the soldier’s eyes. Solas counts the seconds. He hears his rescue upon the wind.

Bones crack with a sickening crunch as the Templar’s knees snap backwards, crumbling from the force of Thora’s hammer. She falls like lead weight at Solas’ feet, legs bent at an unnatural angle. A feral cry chokes her, whimpering like a wounded animal which has not yet accepted its end. “Mercy,” she moans, the plated hand which moments ago reached out with violence now stretches imploringly towards his feet, desperate for the healing touch of magic. “Please.”

It isn’t Solas’ mercy, but Varric’s, which ends her life. The bolt pierces her helmet, puncturing it like paper, killing her instantly. “Poor bastard,” he hears the dwarf say, but in the heat of the moment Solas cannot find his pity. His heart hardens as the Templar’s life oozes onto the grass, and he thinks to himself that her blood and bones will do the world more good than her deeds ever had. The bitter thought goes unspoken, Varric’s remark remains unacknowledged.

In an instant, the chaos of battle is over. As he recovers his breath, he looks out over the field to see it riddled with fresh corpses, all of their making. Cassandra stoops in the dirt, wiping her blade in the grass as Varric retrieves his ammo from the bodies of their enemies. Thora’s hammer stands alone by the Templar’s body, its face crusted with a thick layer of blood, its handler nowhere in sight. In the grass beside it lies his discarded staff, its crystal focus shining dully, unaware the danger has passed. Solas bends to claim it, magic coaxing it the rest of the way to his fingers. The exertion proves more taxing than he envisions, the back of his head throbbing with the memory of his collision with the tree. He winces, nursing the back of his head, capping his fingertips with ice to soothe the growing ache.

“You alright there, Chuckles?” Varric asks, concern overshadowed by the hint of amusement which laces his question. “You hit that tree pretty hard.”

“I will manage, thank you,” he says. “Were it not for our Herald’s intervention, however…” He looks for her again, eyes darting around the area. This time he sights her in the shadow of a tree, one arm supporting her against its trunk. “Excuse me a moment.”

Solas steps out of the reach of his would-be killer’s corpse, winding towards the battlefield’s outskirts where their intrepid Herald lingers. “You fare better with a hammer than a sword,” he remarks as he nears her. Thora’s shoulders tense at the sound of his voice so close, and he stops short, uncertainty tinges his words. “After Haven I was unsure what experience you had in battle. I see now I was too quick to judge.” She had been clumsy in the snow, swinging at demons as though she had never held a sword in her life, and maybe that was the case. What she’d lacked in skill she more than made up with strength. The demons fell, though she made quicker work of the Templars today.

Thora doesn’t answer, and for an instant he wonders if she’d taken offense. Dwarves of old were proud warriors, it may be that not everything he remembers of them has been bled from them by the Blight. She turns her face an inch towards him, the rest cast in the shadow of the tree. “I—” One hand flies to her face, fingers pressing against her mouth in anticipation. He watches, uneasy, as she swallows thickly and fights back whatever had threatened to escape. “Sorry.”

Before he has a chance to reassure her, Cassandra’s voice rings out behind them: “We should press on if we want to reach Redcliffe Farm by nightfall.” She stands where he last saw her, sword sheathed and shield shining, bearing no mark of the battle that came before. He does not linger on her, eyes returning to Thora whose attention has shifted as his had, allowing him a glimpse of her face. An ill look haunts her, grey tinges her usual warm complexion with dark lines drawn beneath her eyes.

A sharp intake of breath pierces the air as Thora readies her answer. He reaches out, hand brushing her shoulder before he interjects. “Another moment, Seeker,” he says. “I believe it best I examine the Anchor first. There is no telling what influence a Templar’s abilities have on it.”

The Seeker looks at him, her mood impossible to discern from beneath a dark, drawn brow. A small sigh that sounds like frustration escapes her lips. “Very well. Do what you must.”

“Thank you,” he says, inclining his head towards her. As he turns to the Herald, he sees emotion shining in her eyes as she looks up at him, perhaps trying to decide what to make of his diversion. Solas is not certain what to make of it himself. The easy answer is that it is in his best interest to protect her image, even if only from their companions, but it would be a lie to insist it’s the only answer. In her discomfort he saw a glimpse of the familiar, recognition of a feeling he had once grappled with himself— or so it seemed. He did not know. The Veil mutes all emotion, from the most fervent passions to the most tender sentiments. It may be a reflection he sees in her eyes, his own hopes and fears echoed back to him.

Whatever he sees in her he pushes aside for the sake of their present problem. Cassandra could not be held off forever. Lowering himself to one knee to accommodate her height, Solas extends one hand towards hers. “Give me your hand, please.”

She peels the glove from her left hand, offering it forward to Solas as she did on the day they first met. This time it lands in his waiting reach, rather than being yanked forcibly towards a Rift. He’d studied it well while she lay motionless in her cell, and then again in bed, but conscious it is a different creature. Her fingers flex and bend, clearly unaccustomed to the careful attention afforded to them. He strokes his thumb across her palm, smoothing them back to allow him an unobstructed view of the Anchor. It runs like a fissure in the earth across her skin, an otherworldly green occasionally flashes in the center, and through it he catches a glimpse of the infinite. “Does it pain you?” he asks. This examination is a façade to buy them a moment’s respite, but there is no telling what effect the Mark will have on her in the coming weeks. Already he fears there will come a day where his knowledge of it will fail him, powerless as he is now.

“No. At least not since you last looked at it. I... don’t think the Templars could touch it if they’d tried.”

“Curious.” Although he ought not be surprised, the Anchor and the Templars share more than a few similarities, tied together by a Titan’s heart and blood. “Regardless, I would advise caution. This may have been an anomaly.”

“I’ll be careful. I’ve had it described to me by mages before, doesn’t sound like something I’d want to invite on myself.”

Her comment sparks a question, one which has plagued him since she called out to him in the midst of battle. “You’ve fought alongside mages before, have you not?”

“Yeah,” her response is strained, and punctuated by a second heavy swallow, “how’d you guess?”

“You signalled for my intervention when handling the marksman. The uninitiated would not have thought to ask.”

The observation catches her off-guard, eyes darting from his face to her hand before she remembers who she’s addressing. “The Carta’s been known to hire apostates. Some jobs just needed that magic touch, you know?” A small smile turns her lips, weary eyes shining with a hint of mischief. “I’ve, uh, been known to smuggle a mage or two out of the Circle, too. Back in Kirkwall. Don’t... don’t tell Cassandra.”

He blinks, surprise registers upon his face as no more than a mild arch of his brow. “You believe she would be displeased?” Solas asks, working a barrier into the surface of her skin. It accepts the magic more readily than Varric, the Anchor glittering like an uncut peridot, recognising the spellcaster.

Thora shrugs. “They’ve got enough to deal with from me being Carta.”

“True, but there is more than the Chantry to consider,” he says. From his perspective (and in his experience) there will be little pleasing them, presenting an obstacle to be worked around rather than through. Even Cassandra seems to realise that. “The rebel mages may look favourably upon someone who has helped them in the past.”

“Maybe.”

A frown tugs at his lips, her dismissal rankles despite telling himself she is not at her best. “If I may ask, how did you find yourself in their employ?” He imagines the children of families blessed with the fortune to be born into money and magic, with coin enough to make the Carta think it was worth the Templar’s scrutiny. “I cannot imagine it is work you find yourself in by chance.”

“It’s not. I volunteered. I ran the same tunnels as the Mage Underground, and it— well, it seemed like the right thing to do.” She pauses. “It was the right thing to do.”

“I see.” He doesn’t see, at least not entirely. Like the many lies he has told since walking into the Inquisition’s midst, it is woven with truth. Solas knows well the impulse to do good, or try to, whatever the cost to oneself may be, and he’d seen it in Thora before. Thanks to her, the people of the Crossroads will sleep with full bellies and warm blankets, but the world will thank her for helping them. The same cannot be said of the mages. Suddenly the promise made to him in Haven does not seem so empty. Her oath to guard his freedom from those who sought to take it no longer rings as a hollow platitude. “Whatever Seeker Pentaghast may think, I believe your conviction is admirable.”

She shifts self-consciously, the hand in his grasp straining against his gentle grip. “I’m glad you think so.” The simple effort it takes her to accept his praise seems a laborious undertaking, he wonders to himself if the sweat on her brow now shines fresh from the endeavour. Her acceptance is punctuated by a sharp inhale. “Listen. I… I wanted to thank you, you know, for this.” She looks pointedly at their joined hands. “I didn’t want anyone to see me like this. It’s…”

“A natural reaction.” Their eyes meet, but it’s her gaze which falters first. “They were our enemies, but where we saw a threat to be eliminated others would have seen friends, family.” He does not look back, but his mind returns to the felled Templar behind him. No pity nor guilt moves his heart at the thought of her passing, she laid in a pool of her own violent choices. Still, he spares a thought for the woman her family will mourn. A woman who undoubtedly bore little resemblance to the one Solas briefly knew. “Our duty to ourselves and Redcliffe’s people demanded we face them, but it is not weakness to be affected by their deaths.”

A weak smile spreads over Thora’s lips, thin and touched by lingering unease, but it shines true in her eyes. “Thanks,” she says for the second time. “For understanding, I mean.”

He acknowledges it with a mild bow of his head. “Does it bother you, knowing that I have seen how this affected you?”

“A little,” she admits. “Better you than—” Her head nods towards the others, brow arched in their direction.

Solas looks towards them, catching sight of Cassandra as she paces aimlessly around the field, throwing glances towards their destination, always mindful of their journey’s end. Varric shows no such concern, reclining upon a rock, an unfamiliar tune whistling from his lips. He turns back to Thora with a question upon his. “And what have I done to earn the distinction?”

“Nothing.” The confession is quick, as though speaking it without hesitation will spare her his offense. “Cassandra’s put such faith in me, I’m just counting the breaths until I let her down somehow, and Varric…” She pulls a face, nose wrinkling. “I’ve read one or two of his books. I’m not sure I like the thought of making into one of them.” Thora at last looks up at him again, searching for something in his face. What quality she seeks, he’s unsure, though he is reluctant to grant it. Every piece he surrenders is a piece he cannot get back. “You? You’re just… odd.”

A surprised laugh chokes him. He does not need to look behind them to feel the Seeker’s head whip in their direction, discerning eyes measuring their progress. “An honest assessment, and perhaps well-deserved,” he says, amusement wrinkling the corners of his eyes. “Should I take offense?”

She fixes him with a challenging stare and smiles, though this time the gesture spreads her lips wide, revealing two rows of white teeth. “I suppose that depends on if you think being normal is something to be proud of.”

To his surprise, he feels himself smiling back, her playful grin reflecting in his own. “I suppose it does.” He looks down at her hand, ears angling back as he realises any pretence of examination had since been forgotten. Seconds counted for more in this world, true, yet it remains remarkably easy to become lost in conversation. “Do you feel ready to move on?” Solas tries to discern the answer for himself from her expression. The long, drawn-out look has faded, forgotten as the excuse which kept them here a moment more. Recognising that settles uneasy in his stomach, raising questions better left for dreams.

“I think so.” She takes her hand back from him, flexing her fingers before she fits them into her glove. “I don’t know how much longer Cassandra will buy that excuse of yours, anyway.”

“You underestimate me.” There is a humour in his remark that surprises him, a wry twist to his words which he did not expect to find in the company he keeps. “Were I less adept at wasting the Seeker’s time, I would not be stood before you now. Still—” He rises, mindful of the wet patches of mud which now darken his knees. “We would not want to keep her waiting.”

She gives him a knowing look, the faint smile creasing the corners of her eyes fades as she turns back to the rest of their party. Varric is the first to notice their business concluded, or the first to acknowledge it, behind him he hears his voice call out, “Hand treating you any better?”

“Never better, actually,” she replies in a chipper tone, a friendly veneer which masks the unpleasantness of a moment ago, but Solas notes how she averts her gaze from the carnage they left in their wake. The shadows of war still seem to haunt her steps. She tilts her head towards Cassandra, deference clear even from behind. “Sorry for the hold up. I’m ready to go now.” Deference aside, it is at Thora’s word that their party picks up and moves, mere moments passing between her signal and the resumption of their journey. Solas alone trails behind, forgetting his feet beneath him. Only his eyes follow her, mind wandering, wondering, doubting if the Mark upon her hand is the most remarkable thing about her. She senses his absence, looking over her shoulder with a question upon her brow, saying nothing, but somehow he hears. Questions pile like snowflakes on a rooftop, building around him with no easy remedy to relieve their mounting pressure, but he picks up his feet and follows the answer into Ferelden’s hills.

Surrounded by the voices of his companions in the thick of conversation, the seconds lose their urgency, the minutes slip by without notice. As a joke in the air draws a new smile to his face, sixty seconds starts to resemble not another minute survived, but rather another minute lived.

#gore cw #solas #dragon age #dragon age fanfic #inquisitor cadash #( my writing )#show that mercy to me ( thora )#[ ok the title stays... for now. ]

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howrv · 4 years ago

Text

Going For Five

Four years ago we began our journey, our journey to happiness, freedom, amazment and unbounded adventure. It took us about a year to realize that while National Parks, State Parks and tourist stops are full of splendor, they offer the traveler only a minute fraction of what lies on the blue highways, down dirt roads and up winding switchbacks. We discovered treasures lay cradled in narrow canyons cut by rapid waters, and magnificent mountains serve up stunning panoramic vistas of colorful textures. Streams cascade out of hills and form lakes fed by glaciers and crystal springs where native fish spawn and eagles perch on nests above. Microcosms of plants and ants feed foxes and bear, bees and elk.

Americans have developed for themselves less than 5% of this country and not a single person, not one, lives on 47% of US land. So it's no accident that we find solitude and substance in the remaining 53% left to us by inhabitants. 83% of the population live in urban areas, so again, little wonder we can easily avoid contact with all but a few people (a 2020 imperative.)

Nature has beckoned us to don our boots and backpacks and walk deeper and deeper into its magnetic beauty, while keeping us fit and healthy. Our 4-wheel-ability lets us begin those hikes where few have gone, giving us near exclusive access to what God has for us to see and explore.

In some ways we feel like modern day explorers... the Lewis and Clarks of the twenty-first century. We weren't taught this stuff in school, so it is new and fresh and ever so amazing to our eyes. John Lubbock, the father of archaeology said, “Earth and sky, woods and fields, lakes and rivers, the mountain and the sea, are excellent schoolmasters, and teach some of us more that what we could learn from books.”

Even before the pandemic, we found our isolation in nature. After our initial quarantine in the Arizona desert we headed for higher elevation leaving behind dear acquaintences with whom we resorted during the short winter months.

We replaced friendship with exploration. We have traded conversation with communion with nature. We opted to skirt national parks and tourist stops in favor of remote public lands. Isolated spots along rivers and lakes accessed by Forestry Service roads or Burea of Land Management areas. We have replaced hot tubs, margaritas and throw-back bands, with campfires, and the sounds of coyotes, and calls from moose and elk.

Our biggest gift is the freedom of time. Our clock, for the past four years, has been set to “discretionary” and our compass points in every direction. We can stay a week or day. We can, because as long as our health holds, we have adventure to propel us and a Home on Wheels to rest our head.

Jon and Becky Davis are full time adventurers traveling this magnificent country in a 40-foot Home On Wheels, (HOW.) Blue highways and back-roads are our roads most traveled. Our passion is Jeeping and hiking in places away from tourists and crowds and to enjoy what God made for us to explore.

#homeonwheels #jonandbecky #homeiswhereyouparkit #howrv #retireontheroad #hikingadventures #goingonfiveyears

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threadofdestiny · 5 years ago

Text

The opportunities we may take

(The Picture was a comission I odered from a friend. Check her out -> Fantasiamind_art)

Part 2

Sinbad x OC

Soukmate AU

Reaching out to him

---- Sacred Island of Dalmasca----

Calmly, Salome listened as the waves continued to hit the stony cliffs underneath her. There she sat bathing in the warm sunlight, her legs tucked next to her body. She looked aimlessly across the sea, waiting for a sign that told her what to do next. The Rukh flew in circles around her body, never to drift too far away from her. They were silent at the moment, just like the girl they were constantly following. Her hands rested in her lap as she clutched a small round object. After playing carefully with the small ball for a few moments, she lifted it towards the sun and let the rays break on the smooth, glassy surface. It's turquoise color shone softly in the light, while the breaking rays made rainbow-colored spots dancing on her soft rose colored skin.

"Tell me, Alexander, what should I do?", Salome asked softly, her gaze briefly scurrying to her wrist. The golden bangle shimmered in the midday sun, but there was no reaction from the djinn inside said object. Salome frowned as she turned her gaze back to the small ball in her fingers.

"A few days ago the rukh said, that he had decided against it again, that he is on his way to build a kingdom. I wish I could just take a boat, sail to him and ask him why he is such a coward. Or why he doesn't care as much about this link as I do", she continued, speaking to the bracelet.Slowly she lowered the round shiny object in her hands to her lips, placing them softly on the smooth glass. "I'm sure he feels it too", She murmured, eyes closed, while she let her arms sink into her lap again. Her heart, which was heavy in her chest, pulled painfully together. "I- I know, I know... Maybe I should just accept it. He had the opportunity to come. Maybe it shouldn't have been. But maybe...", she broke off the sentence in order to let her gaze wander over the sea again thoughtfully.

Maybe she could take the chance once to reach out for him.

Absent, Salome raised her free hand and reluctantly stretched it out in front of her, as if she were trying to reach for something invisible that was there on the vastness of the sea. The golden little birds made motivating noises as they danced wildly around her outstretched fingers, making the girl smile.

"I finally came to a decision, Alexander! The waiting has come to an end. I will send it to him. Perhaps this is how I can at least tell him those few sentences, which I would like to give him on his way", She explained to herself, throwing the little round crystal up in the air and catching it contentedly with both hands. Motivated, Salome got up and turned around herself once. The wide white skirt of her simple dress was playfully fanning out as she moved.

"And then, you and I will try to save as many as we can. I'm counting on you, Alexander, I'll need your help soon", she declared in a determined tone. "You are going to help as well, right?", she asked the rukh, which flew undeterred around her. With a searching view, she turned her back to the sea and sadly looked at the small town that was located down in the valley of the island. "The priests and blessed ones have already begun to evacuate the citizens. But some do not want to leave their country. We need to protect them at all costs, do you here me?", she muttered as her gaze glided over the ships, which were carefully loaded. From her high position, the people looked like little bustling ants as they went about their day's work. To her left, the holy temple of Solomon towered over the small land like a dormant watchman. Its walls integrated into the white stone of the sleeping volcano that makes up the middle of the small island. In the distance, she could see some people moving in her direction leaving the temple, but she did not pay them any further attention because they were still too far away.

Yes, she decided, she will do her best

Determined, she nodded to herself, turned to the cliffs again and approached the edge carefully. Deeply inhaling, she raised her arms to fold her fingers in front of her chest, the small glass ball tightly enclosed within both hands. "Please, make sure that my last words reach him", she whispered quietly while she kept her eyes closed in concentration. As if acting on command, Solomons rukh danced around her in an euphoric rhythm, confirming that they would comply to her wish. Happy with their answer, she stretched her hands over the edge of the cliff and slowly opened her fingers. With shiny turquoise-green eyes, she watched as the round crystal slowly slipped out of her fingers, only to witness how it plummet and then sink into the deep blue sea.

"Fare well!"

A strong gust of wind shot around Salome and tugged at her dress as she stepped back to eventually turn away, when suddenly the sky darkened over her. The rukh now in panic, warning her to get away, she heart screaming from behind her.

"Salome, watch out"

Before she could react, two magical projectiles hit each other. The pressure that came from it caused her to lose her balance and make her fall to the ground. As she raised her gaze, she stared into a cloud of black-colored Rukh, swirling around a person wrapped in equally black fabrics.

They were far too early. How had he been able to overcome the barriers?

Looking to the sky, it confirmed that the protection had not been breached. So how could that be? She struggled to stand up while keeping her eyes firmly on the dark figure. Her thoughts raced for miles per second as she pondered what to do. She had to protect the people in the valley, so much was clear to her, but how? Carefully Salome got up as her friend's steps behind her grew louder and louder, signaling her, that they were getting closer. Determined, she firmed her stand as her trembling fingers snaked around the metal vessel on her wrist.

"You are not welcome here! Go away!"

----Heliohapt----

"You are strong. You have courage, intelligence and power more than anyone else!"

"You can never truly become a king"

"Marry me"

Like a mantra, the rose haired princess's words echoed in his head, tortured him hours later, after the day slowly tilted to its end. For an eternity he had been lying in bed and licking his wounds like an injured animal. Uneasy, Sinbad rolled from one side to the other until he finally lay on his back, an arm placed over his throbbing eyes. The pillow, actually pleasantly soft, felt like a brick against his neck, while the soft hotel bed didn't provide him any rest. Despite the fact that it wasn't very late, the room was already shrouded in complete darkness. He hadn't bothered to turn on a lamp when he entered the room some time ago. Even the tray of food that Ja'far had brought him before, he had left untouched on the table in the corner of the room. Sinbad didn't want to eat anything. He just wanted to sleep, but he seemed to be unable to find some rest.

He had failed. This little pampered princess had twisted his words in his mouth and made him look stupid in the end. She actually snatched the djinn away from him right under his nose.

"Marry me!", she said.

Angry, he snorted as the words reverberated again in his memory. No! Definitely not! Unnerved, Sinbad groaned as he abruptly sat up and let his face sink into his callused hands. Hot, with every passing second he got hotter as the frustration within him rose. As if he were marrying someone just to get his Kingdom. No, he didn't need a princess from any scarred country to achieve his goals. It felt wrong just to think about marrying someone to get power. He was a free man. He wouldn't give it up, not if he could see that he didn't need it.

At that very moment, another person's silhouette appeared before his inner eye. Her brown hair pulled in a long braid resting gently on her back. Her face was hidden by some loose strands that fell into her face, while her folded fingers touched the contouring of her lips. Slowly she shook her head and muttered something he couldn't hear.

The heat formed beads of sweat on his neck, which became so unpleasant that he began to pull at his collar. He opened his eyes and stared uneasily into the empty room as he tried to scare away the images in his head. He needed fresh air, it was far too stuffy in his room. Hastily, he got out of bed while quickly opening the buttons of his tunic to free himself from it. Taking a deep breath, he dropped the garment to the ground when he finally pulled it off his body. With quick steps, he approached the only window in the room and ripped it open. His airways filled with cooled desert air as he rested his hands on the window sill, while he let the pleasant air glide over his sweaty torso.

"Damn it!", he growled, as his fingers cramped over the wood. "I'm not the right man for a romantic relationship. Leave me alone", as if he wanted to convince not only himself, but also the two women who haunted his consciousness. Serendine's voice fell silent and left him at peace, but it was as if the girl unknown to him was shrugging before his inner eye as if he had beaten her. It was as if these words had actually reached her. He directly regretted them, but why? It wasn't real! She wasn't here. Exhausted, he raised his eyes to the dark sky as he wiped his arm over his damp forehead. A bitter taste spread to his taste buds as he pondered why his thoughts kept wandering over to that one particular girl. Was it because it would be an inaccurate variable in his life? Was he intrigued by that fact? Or was it something else? Not wanting to pursue those thoughts, fearing what these feelings might trigger in him, he concentrated, looking out into the night without registering his actual surroundings. No, he had to be sure that he was still on his right track. Serendine was not the way to reach his goals, he could see that. She would accompany him for some time, cross his paths occasionally, but at some point she would no longer play a role in his life. He stared crampedly at the lines that emerged before his eyes. Everything was as it should be. Today was an unpleasant failure, but it did not distract him from his actual path. Everything was in good order.

So why did he catch himself looking for the path that leads him to that brown haired girl, then?

But, wait! Where was she? Sharply, he breathed in the cool night air, his wild gaze drove over the individual lines, while he searched for that specific one. "W-What?", he breathed, panic spreading in his chest. It wasn't there. Where was she? Why could he not discover her path. Breathing heavily, he leaned further out of the window, as if he could catch a closer look at the waves in front of him. Nothing. Gone. Shocked, he felt his heart beating heavily, when he realized what this would have mean. He felt the blood in his veins froze as a suffocated sound escaped his lips. What was that? Why did he feel like he had lost something important? Trembling, he closed his eyes and tried to imagine the girl figuratively. But when he did, he could only observe how she dissolved right in front of him into thousands of small golden birds. "No...don't leave. I come and get you. I swear", he whispered hoarsely, When he realized that he couldn't reach her anymore. His hands shot forward and grabbing into the void, catching nothing but cold air. He had not taken his opportunity and now he is going to pay the price for it.

That was the night he vowed that he would never going to marry someone else

#adventuresofsinbad #adventures of sinbad #sinbad #sinbadxoc #ocxsinbad #Sindbad x oc #Magi #magilabyrinthofmagic #magithekingdomofmagic #sinbad no bouken #magi labyrinth of magic #magi kingdom of magic #fanfic #Sinbad magi

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jiangui · 4 years ago

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tagged by: me. I MADE THIS BOOYA

tagging: @erleidn @astutior @partloss

lines from poems by Tina Chang

bold the ones that apply to your muse, italicize the ones that your muse directs at someone else, strike out the ones that your muse disavows.

Character: SEVERINA COLONNA

Creation Myth

I’m without body but forming in the latticework of blood cell and fret. Each threat pulls me upward tempting and building me until my spine lifts up into a column, a kingdom. I can imagine life shaped as God-self, a fortress grows beyond me. Seeing into that distance, I glow. The heart begins first in sound like footsteps up a staircase, the curled fist knocks for entrance, the heart courses into garnet-being heavier than matter, lighter than flame. I find shape, I shift from spirit and my lungs heave with gravity, float into the presence of air. I wonder if my mother is summoning me. Isn’t that her song parting the curtains, isn’t that the cry that opens the shutters? She says changeling, become a boy. Once I was a dream animal running. I knew there was something larger than me calling and I ran after it like prey, as if I knew it had to be mine. I salivated, seized by a charge, I wondered. My mind rose into a volcano, molten heat surged like the ire of my future. I am now searching for my mother to find completion slick as sound, rough as water, I am scaling, sniffing for utterance, a timber, a lost call, howling at the stars, and my eyes, bright diamonds with which to see by, my mouth, these rough shores I invite you to walk. When I’m large enough will you recognize me? I am your son. I never found any form to be truer. I am fighting to be alive, fighting to be one.

Origin & Ash

Powder rises from a compact, platters full of peppermints, a bowl of sour pudding. A cup of milk before me tastes like melted almonds. It is the story of the eve of my beginning. Gifts for me: boxes of poppies, pocket knife, an elaborate necklace made of ladybugs. My skirt rushing north There is something round and toothless about my dolls. They have no faith. Their mouths, young muscle to cut me down. Their pupils, miniature bruises. I hear the cries of horses, long faces famished, the night the barn burned. God and ashes everywhere, Burnt pennies My mother’s cigarette burns amber in a crystal glass. I am in bed imagining great infernos. Ashes skimming my deep lake. The night the animals burned, I kissed the servant with the salty lips. There was a spectacular explosion, a sound that severed the nerves, I was kind to that shaking. The horses, the smell of them, like wet leaves, broken skin. Laughing against a wall, my hair sweeps the windowsill, thighs show themselves. First came my body, my statue’s back, then hair electric, matches falling everywhere. Tucked in my pink canopy, I am plastic, worn cheeks grinning. I found my little ones hiding from me, crying into their sleeves. They are really from a breeze, momentarily, white. When we unburied the dolls, red ants were a fantasy feeding on them, nest of veins, shrunken salted corpses. There is mythology planted in my mouth which is like sin. Keep fires inside yourself. My mother once said, When you were a baby, I let you swim in a basin of water until your lungs stopped. Since then, my eyes were open windows, the year everything fell into them. Cicadas hissing. Ashes on my open book. Ashes in mother’s hair. Ashes on my baby brother. The streets are arid, driven toward fire. If I hurry, I will dance with my father before the sun sets, my slippers clicking on a thin layer of rain.

#|| hesione memes #|| tag meme #|| severina #wow i never stop do i

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niallsstainedcoffeecup · 6 years ago

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The Boss Part 2

Y/N is Harry’s personal assistant and girlfriend. Can Y/N and Harry hide their relationship, or will the New York office discover their secret? Hope you all enjoy. The lovely @shegotthesalt requested this second part. Feedback and Requests are welcomed. Lots of Love!

WARNINGS: CONTAINS SMUT - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

White, wispy clouds swam around the blue sky. Over the years, rain and heat feasted on the bakery’s faded white lettering. The red ‘open’ sign died five years ago, but everyone lined up down the sidewalk because the bakery always opened. Foodies ventured across the world to taste Dream Cakes,’ traditional sweets. Harry’s black Gucci slippers clicked with each step. His fingertips brushed the cold, red brick building. Memories flooded past his crystal green eyes. His toe nicked the sidewalk crack where the clumsy sixteen-year-old Harry tripped and broke his wrist. The cold metal handle reminded him of the winter night when his ex-girlfriend, Emily, kissed a seventeen-year-old Harry breathless while the handle dug into his back. The burnt orange sweater hugged his knuckles to comfort his weak heart. He dreamt about visiting the first job he ever loved, but fear cemented his feet. He worried Beth and Meredith might view him as the cold CEO his father became. Anne ordered him to visit the bakery while she explored the town with Y/N. His eyes spotted the rickety table near the windows where his chubby toddler hands gripped Anne’s arm while they munched on Beth’s Victorian sponge cake. “Harry? What are you doing here?” His ears perked up at the sound of Beth’s honey-sweet voice. Beth’s peppered hair sparkled under the warm sunlight. Her beaming grin cracked her thin lips. The squeaky counter door swung open, releasing the toddling older woman. Harry smiled, blinking back joy-filled tears. “I’m sorry,” He mumbled, opening his arms. The older woman tutted, dusting the flour from her apron, “I don’t want to ruin your fancy suit.” He rolled his eyes, embracing the fragile woman. He recalled difficult days when the pressure collected inside his body like a shaken soda ready to explode. Once he dropped a fresh loaf or ruined a customer’s order, Beth calmed his sobbing figure with free cake and hugs. “Why are you sorry?” She asked, cupping his cheeks. He frowned, “I haven’t visited in nine years.” “We forgive you. We understood the importance of your career. Your mother informed us about the raises and promotions,” She smiled, returning to the stool behind the counter. He eyed the displays filled with familiar treats. He wondered which cake represented the shop but fit Y/N’s liking. “I’ll buy three Victorian sponge cakes. I want to surprise my assistant,” He flipped through his wallet, missing the knowing-smile on Beth’s face. The shop owner secured the yellow sponge cakes inside the white box with a knotted beige string. Harry’s left arm clutched the box against his chest while his right arm squeezed Beth. “I promise to visit more,” He smiled, exiting the small bakery. Yellow sunshine cascaded onto his giddy figure. A permanent smile warmed his heart. He couldn’t wait until Y/N tasted the bakery’s sweets.

* * * * * * The orange broccoli cheddar soup bubbled inside the turquoise bowl. Fresh sourdough bread greeted Y/N’s nose and rumbling stomach. Anne’s words blurred together while she scanned the vibrant yellow and olive green paintings hung around the gray walls. “Are you dating my son?” Her boss’s mother asked, startling the assistant’s eyes away from the sunflowers located near the register. She gulped, gripping the perspiring glass of lemon water, “No, why would Harry and I be dating?” Anne smiled, nudging the blackened tomatoes across the turquoise plate, “My son brings you everywhere with him, but this time feels different. He looks at you as if you hung the moon.” She snorted, shoveling soup into her mouth. Her fluttering heart threatened to expose the secret relationship. She never imagined developing strong emotions for her boss, but here she sat missing his presence while she ate lunch with his mother. “I’m glad he visited the bakery. He loved that job,” Anne mumbled between mouthfuls. Y/N pictured a sixteen-year-old Harry selling bread. Had she known him back then, she would have spent a majority of her time visiting the bakery. “I thought he’d start his own business. During the weekend, he’d bake treats for Gemma and me,” The mother smiled, reminiscing on those sweet moments. Y/N frowned, cracking the thick bread in half, “Why didn’t he?” Anne rolled her eyes, “His father believed that Harry would never succeed in opening his bakery. My husband ran the London office. He’d return home late at night, and it took a toll on our relationship. I couldn’t live with a man who returned home to his family one night a week. Once we divorced, Harry’s father pressured him into joining the business. He applied, and in two years he took over the business.” Harry rarely discussed his father aside from business matters. She didn’t question his reasoning because she suspected some underlying problem. Did her boyfriend enjoy working at the London office? Did he blame his father for getting him stuck in the business? Anne’s warm hand cupped her hands, breaking Y/N’s train of thought. “You are good for him. You woke up the part of Harry I thought disappeared,” The older woman grinned, patting Y/N’s hands once more before slipping out from the black booth. She ripped her thighs from the sticky, black leather. She decided against arguing with Anne and took the compliments. A giggly grin spread across her face because her boyfriend’s mother approved of her for her son. She sent a quick message to her boyfriend. I miss you. I’ll see you at the house-xoxo

* * * * * * Photographs and knick-knacks lined Harry’s childhood dresser. The red cologne bottles he purchased one year to smell nice for his ex-girlfriends gathered around the mirror. The Beatles, Fleetwood Mac, and Elton John posters decorated the pastel blue walls. He cursed the squeaky metal bed-railing. Y/N proposed lodging pillows between the wall and the railing, but the pillows slipped after a hard thrust. Luckily, Anne left the couple alone for dinner, but he worried the bed would indent the thin walls. However, Y/N’s swollen lips distracted his concerns. His desperate cries echoed throughout the empty house. After the final cry, he landed beside her sweaty body. Her trembling fingers gripped her racing heart while she focused on inhaling and exhaling. As the couple laid there in comfortable silence, he began thinking about his life with her, he never imagined dating his beautiful assistant. During the first interview, her resume exceeded the men and women outside his office. Her new accounting degree and her confidence reassured his churning stomach. Before Y/N, he worried about disappointing his father, but now, he couldn’t care less about the company, just as long as she was in his life. “What are you thinking about?” She asked, pecking his jawline. He glanced down, “I’m thinking about you. You’re amazing.” “I know,” She giggled, closing her drooping eyes. He chuckled, running his fingers down her warm back, “Do you think my mom knows about us?” “She knows, but I don’t care. I don’t think she’ll tell the office.” He smiled, shutting his exhausted eyes. Her slow breathing calmed his fluttering heartbeat. He hoped the office would never discover their relationship. What would his life be without her? Harry shoved the terrifying thought away, and instead focused on their synced heartbeats.

* * * * * *

The orange morning sun rose above the tall, glass buildings. Co-workers exited the crowded elevator with drooping smiles and furrowed brows. The roasting coffee beans filled empty mugs and masked the scent of printed paper. Y/N’s red heels clicked against the gray tile. She paced back and forth, eyeing the glowing elevator buttons. Her twitching hands wrung her wrists. This morning, she arrived before the sun peeked above the tall buildings. She prepared a small buffet of donuts, bagels, and fruit inside the breakroom. During their last night with Anne, the New York office contacted Harry, three representatives from the New York branch planned on visiting and reviewing the London office’s production levels. He reassured the office that their jobs would be safe, but her stomach twisted into knots. She attempted to file his reports, but her nervous heart refused to relax. Instead, she decided to wait until he arrived with the New York business partners. Her black business phone buzzed inside her pocket. We’re on our way.-H She straightened her black pencil skirt. She inhaled, scowling at the printed paper scent that intruded her nose. The elevator ding rang out above the clicking keyboards. The metal doors slid open, revealing Harry, two women, and one man. “Good morning. I’m Mr. Styles’s assistant, and this is our workroom. We set up a breakfast buffet inside the breakroom for you,” She chirped, plastering the widest grin on her face. The stone-faced group strutted around her figure. Harry noticed her smile falter for a second before she reminded herself to stay strong. His heart begged him to scoop her up, but the New York group waited inside the boardroom for him, so instead, he busied his hands by fixing his gray suit. He shot her a half-smile before he hurried into the dull room. She sighed, dragging her fingers through her neat hair. She trudged toward the breakroom to clean up the breakfast buffet before ants invaded the office. She searched through cardboard boxes for plastic bags. “I hate to bother you, but is the buffet still open?” The thick New-York accent startled her away from the squeaky cabinets. The tall, thin red-head man leaned against the doorframe. His gray eyes sent unsettling chills down her spine. His thin lips twisted upwards into a permanently smug grin. She offered her friendliest grin, “Of course. How was the flight?” The man huffed, stabbing the dewy cantaloupe with the plastic fork, “I’m exhausted. I need three more coffees to stay awake.” She giggled, “I understand. I visited California last summer, and I spent the first two days asleep.” “I wish I could sleep. I’m Darren Gibson by the way,” Darren offered his available hand for her. She shook his hand, wondering how the man kept his hands soft, “It’s lovely to meet you. I better head back to Harry’s office. I need to call a few people.” “Harry?” Darren asked, quirking his eyebrow at Y/N. Her stomach dropped the instant Harry’s name escaped her mouth. Her smile remained, but her eyes widened as if she’d seen a ghost. Her sweaty palms pressed into her thighs. She cleared her throat, searching for a reason why she’d call her boss by his first name. “Did I say Harry? I meant Mr. Styles. I’ll see you around,” She rushed past his confused figure. The New Yorker admired her beautiful body as she dashed across the room. His lower stomach fluttered at the thoughts racing through his mind. He wondered how Mr. Styles managed to keep things work related between him and Y/N. Would Harry hook her up with him?

* * * * * * Can you bring us the files on my desk?- H. The crisp manila folders towered on Harry’s mahogany desk. She huffed, massaging her aching shoulder blades. How could she carry twenty folders into the boardroom? The cold paper slid across her warm arms until they bumped into her chest. She bumped the glass door open with her hips. Co-workers watched her shuffle toward the boardroom with twenty files stacked on her arms. The New York women ignored her kicks to the door. The women continued presenting on new hiring methods. Harry attempted to focus on the presenters, but his heart ordered him to save his girlfriend. He gripped the spongey chair handles, rolling backward to stand up, but Darren jumped up before he could. The red-head opened the door with the widest grin Harry ever saw. “Here, let me help you with that,” Darren mumbled, stealing the files from her trembling arms. She smiled at the relief, “Thank you. Nobody offered to help.” “Well, I’d always help you. Are you staying for the meeting?” Darren asked, offering his chair to her. She shook her head, “No sir, Mr. Styles sent me a list of duties to complete before the day is over. I’m sorry to interrupt the meeting.” His smile fell once she exited the room. Harry quirked an eyebrow at the New Yorker’s behavior. Last year, he visited the New York office where Darren greeted him with the strongest scowl. Now, Darren tripped over his small feet for Y/N and sighed once she left. The pieces connected within his mind. Darren fancied her. He glared, gripping the brown pen in his fist. His blood boiled at the thought of Darren flirting with his girlfriend. He imagined rubbing their relationship in Darren’s stupid face. “Mr. Styles, what do you think?” The brunette asked, furrowing her brows. He coughed, examining the slideshow filled with complicated text, “I agree.” “Great, you will visit the New York office once a month to help with the hiring process,” The gray-haired woman grinned. He nodded eagerly despite the frown spreading across his face. He despised the New York office. The workers seemed like emotionless robots who fired one another at the drop of a hat. His heart recalled his father’s trips to New York, which ruined his parent’s marriage. Could he leave Y/N every month? Would she stay by his side? His mind flittered back to his father’s advice. The office will sustain your life forever. The bakery dream will never work, and I refuse to help you fulfill a failed dream. He rolled his eyes, joining the conversation about worker income. He blocked the inner sorrow festering within his heart. He repeated his father’s words until his dreams faded away.

* * * * * * “Is Y/N single?” Harry sputtered red wine across his creamy, garlic pasta. Darren’s gray eyes bored into his green eyes, “Are you okay?” He nodded, dabbing the white napkin across his mouth. Jenny, the gray-haired woman, patted his back, while Susan smirked, stabbing the bleeding steak with the shiny fork. Blood rushed toward his cheeks, sending a nervous sweat down his back. Did Darren know about his secret relationship? Did Darren plan on asking his girlfriend out? Could he tell that Harry was stalling? He cleared his throat and straightened his jacket. “No, she’s in a relationship. I did not ask her out, nor did I inquire about her personal life. She told me one afternoon while we discussed work,” He mumbled. Darren sucked his teeth before returning to his grilled salmon, “That’s too bad. She’s gorgeous.” He nervously smiled, twirling noodles around his fork and spoon. The two women discussed Susan’s recent wedding while he continued to panic. He gulped the buttery noodles down his closing throat. His rapid heartbeat threatened to expose his inner turmoil. “Hey, are you okay?” Jenny asked, patting his arm. He nodded, “I think the lights made me a bit warm. I’ll be fine.” The table nodded, continuing their conversation. Harry laughed when everyone laughed, but his mind refused to focus on Susan’s wedding stories. His eyes admired the sparkling stars that recently awoke to take their place among the dark sky. He recalled a starry night when he and Y/N cuddled on his outdoor couch, and he swore he spotted the galaxy within her eyes. He wished she had attended the dinner with him. She could calm him down faster than his mother used to. She had planned a date night tonight, but he canceled after Darren suggested a night out. He swallowed the guilt, ignoring the images of his sobbing mother arguing with his stern father. The red wine numbed the memories and his guilt. “Harry, are you listening?” Susan asked, drying the grease from her thin lips. He nodded, “You told a story about your drunk aunt?” Jenny frowned, “We moved on from that story. We were discussing the details about tomorrow. Will it be okay if we watch how the office runs on a day to day schedule?” “Of course. I’m sorry, I must be tired. Will you walk around, or will you stay in my office?” Darren shook his head, “Don’t worry about your office. We want to watch the workers.” “Great, we will show you how everything works. Should we grab the check? I bet you are all exhausted,” He smiled, biting back a yawn. Jenny and Susan nodded while Darren checked the time on his gold watch. Harry wondered how Darren entered the business. Did his father also work for the company? Did he fuck his way to the top? He despised Darren’s permanent smug grin. Why did he make a move on his girlfriend?

* * * * * * Boxes, tables, and worn sneakers created a dangerous maze toward the dim light. The white linen curtains blocked the starlight from entering the tiny apartment. Harry toed off his suffocating leather shoes while his eyes adjusted to the darkness. He searched for sound, the turning of a page, a snore, or the tiny whistle that escaped her nose at this time of night. Silence. He frowned, embracing the sorrowful heartbeat that echoed throughout his slumped body. He imagined her arms wrapped around his body while she whispered sweet nothings into his ears. He hoped she could rescue his panicked heart and reassure him that their jobs would be okay. The bedroom door squeaked open. He spotted her matted ponytail first before he found her face snug against the pillow. Drool soaked the dark blue sheets, creating a darker pool near her pouting lips. He smiled, removing stray hairs from her warm cheeks. After releasing his tense body from the starchy suit, he slipped inside her warm bed. A soft groan escaped her mouth after he cuddled up to her warm body. He imagined going to bed every night with her. He never believed in love after his father ended his marriage for work, but Y/N restored those lost emotions. He could never picture himself dating another woman. “I know I haven’t told you this, hell, you must be waiting for me to say this, but I’m terrified. I’m in love with you,” He whispered, pressing his lips to her forehead, “I’m sorry about the garlic breath.” The moonlight lulled his restless mind to sleep. His arms never moved from her waist, and she never tossed away from his chest. The couple’s heartbeats synced up while he dreamt about his true love. Everything would be okay.

* * * * * * Cigarette smoke swam above the crowded bar. Dim white lights and neon alcohol signs illuminated the dark room. Twenty people shouted different drink orders at the young bartender. The rest of the crowd circled the black stage where a tall, thin brunette man performed his original songs. Harry wrapped his sturdy arm around Y/N’s waist while they watched their friend, Mitch, perform with his drummer girlfriend, Sarah. “Mitch sounds great tonight,” Y/N shouted over Mitch’s guitar solo. Harry nodded, smiling at his girlfriend’s beautiful eyes, “You look beautiful under those neon signs.” She snorted, slapping his chest, “Shut up. You look good with all that cigarette smoke swarming around your head.” He chuckled, squeezing his girlfriend’s hips, “Thank you. You saved everyone’s jobs today.” Susan, Jenny, and Darren mentioned firing ten people, but Y/N argued everyone’s importance. The New York office returned to their hotel rooms without firing anyone. “I couldn’t ruin anyone’s life today,” She mumbled, eyeing the nearby stranger’s heels. He cupped her cheeks, pressing his lips delicately against her smooth lips. The music evaporated into silence while her lips soothed his worries. He broke away, opening his mouth to profess his love for his beautiful assistant. “Y/N, I need to tell you something,” He softly mumbled. She nodded, locking her eyes with those starry green eyes, “What is it?” He cleared his throat, relaxing once her hands covered his hands, “I—” “Y/N, Harry, what are you two doing here?” That dreaded accent sent chills down his spine. Y/N gasped, removing her hands from Harry’s face while greeting Darren’s smug smirk with her nervous one, “Darren.” The New Yorker’s smile dropped the instant he realized Harry’s hands were on Y/N’s face, “Are you two dating?” Harry snorted, stepping further away from his girlfriend’s warm body, “No, we wouldn’t break company policy. What are you doing here?” “You mentioned something about a friend performing, so I thought I’d check it out. Y/N, are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Darren smirked, patting her shoulder. “I’m okay,” She promised, rubbing her elbows. Darren nodded, tossing back the last droplets of beer, “Good because I thought you might be worried about being fired.” Harry glared, “Hey, what are you talking about?” “You two are dating, and it is against company policy,” Darren smirked, refusing to remove his eyes from her crumbling figure. “We aren’t dating. We are two friends hanging out,” Harry argued. Darren nodded, “Sure, and I didn’t spot you two kissing earlier, Harry, your father will protect your job, but you should learn not to fuck your assistants.” Harry growled, clenching his fists. He prepared to knock Darren’s stupid smirk off that hideous face, but Y/N’s heart-wrenching sobs silenced the two men. She shook her head, shoving past Darren and Harry and toward the exit. His heart reacted before his fist could connect with Darren’s face. His feet raced after his sobbing girlfriend while Darren dialed Jenny and Susan’s number. The London office would never be the same.

* * * * * * “Y/N, will you stop walking?” Harry begged, chasing after his girlfriend’s slumped shadow. She rolled her eyes, dragging her sleeve across her nose, “Harry, I ruined your future.” “You couldn’t ruin my future,” He shouted, avoiding the deep sidewalk cracks. Her heels spun around on the damp sidewalk. The full moon reflected on her crocodile tears. His feet skidded to a stop while his heart cracked at the sight of his girlfriend. “I know about your parents. I know that your father never approved of your dreams and that your mother divorced him because of his job. I don’t want to be like your parents. I don’t want to lose you because of this job,” She cried out, flinging her arms through the air. He nodded, “I understand. You don’t think I’m terrified? I watched my father throw his wedding ring on my mother’s sobbing figure. I watched him fuck a million women while my mother lived a life of solitude? I don’t want to be my father. I’ve spent my entire life trying to impress him, but the man could care less about his son. I’ve thrown away my dreams for him, and I won’t do it this time. I’m in love with you.” Her eyes popped open the instant those words enter her ringing ears, “You love me?” He nodded, biting back his dopey grin, “I love you, and I will follow you wherever.” She giggled, wiping away tears of joy, “I love you.” He smiled, striding across the sidewalk to scoop the love of his life into his arms. His lips attacked her face with tiny pecks. She tossed her head back, erupting into a fit of giggles. His lips captured her soft lips, silencing the giggles. The world slowed around the couple as they celebrated their professed love.

* * * * * * The steaming coffee squirted into the gray mug, droplets escaped the mug, staining the glossy exterior. Chatter echoed down the long, white halls. Co-workers discussed the recently discovered office romance between their boss and his assistant. The clipboard hugged Y/N’s chest while her yellow nails gripped the worn sides. Her black work phone dinged with warning messages from Harry. Susan, Jenny, and Darren would arrive any minute and end her career in the London office. She sighed, ripping open two yellow sugar packets above the dark liquid. She carried the two mugs toward the glass office she’d miss. “Good morning,” She smiled, setting the cups onto the desk. Harry glanced up from her desk where he placed her frames inside a cardboard box, “Morning, how are you?” “I’m ready,” She smiled, pecking his rosy lips. He chuckled, “I love you. Can you finish this? I need to pack up my office.” She nodded, swatting at his bum, “I love you.” He entered his dark office where he lived for the past nine years. A relieved sigh escaped his rosy lips. He slipped delicate metal picture frames inside his cardboard box while his mind centered around his new job. A soft knock distracted his thoughts as he spotted his girlfriend and the New York group near his door. “Come in,” He called out. Susan, Jenny, and Darren entered, followed by Y/N’s confident figure. Darren stole his comfy office chair, unlike Susan and Jenny who stood near the glass door. “Mr. Styles, your father emailed us about the issue at hand. He reassured us that this was a mistake and that you would be continuing your position at this firm,” Jenny stated. “Would I have to break up with Y/N?” He asked, ignoring Darren’s noticeable eye-roll. “Yes, you would have to dump the assistant you fucked,” Darren grumbled, jumping to his feet. Y/N huffed, “Mr. Gibson, I do not appreciate your statements about me. I’d love to complain to your office that you harassed me all week.” Darren shot daggers toward her, “Go ahead. No one will believe a girl who slept with her boss.” “Mr. Gibson, I suggest you stop talking. Mr. Styles, will you take the offer?” Susan asked. He shook his head, glancing in his girlfriend’s direction, “I’m in love with Y/N. I cannot work here if I cannot be with her.” “You both will be fired,” Jenny reminded him of the consequences once more. He nodded, “I understand. I’ll pack up my items.” Susan, Jenny, and Darren exited the office with permanent scowls. Y/N giggled, leaping into Harry’s sturdy arms. He chuckled, pressing his lips against her coffee-flavored lips. They lost their jobs, but their future never looked brighter.

* * * * * * Warm sunlight filtered through the large windows surrounded by green vines. Floral paintings decorated the white walls. Black metals tables sat evenly along the red Spanish tile. Fresh bread and cakes greeted every grinning customer’s noses. Harry danced around his fellow bakers to take orders and bake new recipes. Customers ventured across the world to taste his delicious cakes. Anne, Beth, and Meredith visited his bakery last week to celebrate his success. His dimpled grin never left his face. “Harry, you have a customer,” Tom shouted from the register. Harry huffed, dropping the cream cheese frosting bag onto the table. His red velvet cupcakes sat unfinished while he washed the sticky icing from his fingers. He shuffled into the main bakery where his beautiful girlfriend stood behind the counter. “Hey, what are you doing off early? I thought your boss needed you to go over those tax reports?” He asked, squeezing his girlfriend’s body. She giggled, pressing her lips onto his sweet ones, “I finished my work early. I missed you.” He smiled, “I missed you too.” “Do you need help back there?” She asked, smirking at Tom’s eager nods. He rolled his eyes, swatting at Tom’s arm, “We’re fine. I’ll be home in an hour. Do you feel like going out tonight?” “Sure, where are we going?” She wondered. He shrugged, “I figured we could grab dinner and watch a movie.” “Sounds great. I’ll see you later. I love you,” She called out, waving goodbye as she exited the bakery. “I love you more,” He promised, clutching his chest. He returned to his red velvet cupcakes while Tom started cleaning around the bakery. After Tom headed home, Harry flicked the bakery lights off. He looked forward to his date night with Y/N.

* * * * * * Soft jazz flowed throughout their bathroom. Pink bubbles tickled Y/N and Harry’s hot skin. Red wine stained his rosy lips. “Okay, would you rather have feet for hands or hands for feet?” She asked through giggles. He snorted, “That’s easy. I’d rather have hands for feet. Imagine my sex life with four sets of hands.” She scoffed, splashing his chest, “You are the worst.” “I know I am,” He poked out his tongue, “Would you rather never smell again or never taste again?” “Isn’t taste related to smell?” She asked, leaning against the cold tub. He rolled his eyes, “Why are you a nerd? Hey, do you have work tomorrow?” She shook her head, sipping the bitter red wine, “No.” “I’m glad you found that accounting job,” He mumbled, popping bubbles near his chest. She frowned, cupping his flushed cheeks, “I don’t blame you for losing my job as your assistant. We loved each other, and fate brought us here. I’ve never been happier.” He nodded, “I’m lucky to have you in my life.” “Me too. Should we change into our pajamas and watch a romantic comedy?” She asked, reaching for the drain. “Yes, I’ll grab our pajamas.” Red flannel pajamas warmed her body after she exited the tub. Pink bath water and roses circled the drain. Hugh Grant’s voice replaced the smooth jazz. Harry tugged Y/N toward the large bed where his silky sheets awaited the couple. She snuggled her nose against his neck while his arm wrapped around her shoulders. A dreamy sigh parted his lips. He owned his bakery, fell in love with his assistant, and found happiness again. Harry couldn’t imagine life getting any better.

#mine #writing #story #fanfic #fanfiction #1d #1d imagine #1d imagines #one direction #one direction imagine #one direction imagines #harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #lovers #boss! harry #ceo! harry

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tabletibbletobobble · 5 years ago

Text

Throwing Shade

“Wait so you’ve never even read a comic book?” Snow pressed her interrogation more intensely than she mean to.

Erica shook her head. “No,” she said softly, her eyes darting around at the trees around them. Snow didn’t know what to make of her. She seemed nice and responsible at school, but never interested in most subjects. And never with any friends.

“Well,” Snow paused, trying to find some middle ground with the girl she had met earlier this year, and was now somehow mystically destined to save the world with. “Movies! You like movies, right?”

“I guess,” Erica said with the least enthusiasm Snow had ever heard. “There was a really great documentary on The Amazon Rainforest I found online.” Erica uncomfortably rubbed her neck. “That was pretty great.” Erica’s gaze wandered away once more, before she shook her head and looked back at Snow, who was sitting on a stump near the creek. She was swirling the water with a long narrow stick, watching the wake of the current as it was broken by her movement of the branch. “What about you?” Erica finally asked.

“What about me what?” Snow looked back at Erica, who at this point had maybe twelve leaves in her hand.

“What’s your favorite movie? Or comic book? Or flower?”

Snow didn’t think she had ever been asked her favorite flower before. Sure, she liked flowers and aromatics, but a favorite? Snow thought long about it. But her mind quickly wandered to the last three weeks. That fox with the missing leg and eyes like an eclipse. The beautiful woman made of starlight and shadow. The magic stone that sat waiting in her backpack. The cool energy that she could feel on her fingertips. It was like she was a superhero, and this was her origin story. Except she’s spent most of it waiting for something to happen. Snow’s eyes met Erica’s for a brief moment, as if they were both just thinking about the same thing. About how things had changed, what had happened over the last few weeks, and what was about to. “Chrysanthemums,” Snow finally said. “My moms have them all over the house, and they’re really neat looking.”

Erica smiled wide. “I have a ton of Chrysanthemums, but I’m running out of space in my room, and the kitchen, and the dining room.”

“You really have a lot of flowers, huh?” Snow chuckled.

“Not just flowers,” Erica interjected. Her eyes lit up as she went on. “Tons of herbs, like rosemary and dill, a few cacti, a spider plant, some small palms, an aloe vera, and even a venus flytrap!”

“Wait, really?” Snow’s eyebrow cocked.

“Yeah!” Erica put her handful of leaves in her backpack and zipped it up. “My dad went to South Carolina on a business trip and came back with it. They’re supposed to be in warmer climates than this, but I have a heat lamp, so it doesn’t get cold.” Snow smiled, it was nice to see this girl come out of her shell, even if it’s only about plants. “Did you know that flytraps are actually a misnomer. They actually eat more ants than anything, but they’ll eat whatever they can. Even frogs!”

“Are you serious?” Snow had only seen them on tv, but apparently left out a pretty awesome fact.

“Well, small frogs, but still.” Erica laughed. It might’ve been the first time Snow had seen Erica laugh. She was always so distant. Even when meeting Sahiress, the Guardian of Earth, she was skeptical of her intentions. Maybe she saw something Snow didn’t. But for now, Snow was content with fighting bad guys and saving the world, so how sinister could this Guardian be?

“Do you think I could watch you feed it sometime?” Snow said, both curious and excited at the thought.

Erica nodded. “Yeah, definitely! But it ate like a week ago, and it hasn’t opened back up yet. It takes a while for them to digest fully.”

Snow looked at her phone, was it already six o clock? “Well let me know when it gets hungry. I should probably be getting home for dinner. Don’t you?”

Erica shrugged. “Dad’s in meetings all day and Mom’s working on a case late, so they won’t be home for a while.”

“Do you want to come over for dinner?” Snow asked.

“Oh,” Erica paused. “You sure your family wouldn’t mind?”

“My moms are cool, and they always make way too much,” Snow smiled, as she pulled her backpack on. “Besides-“

Her thought was interrupted by a fox sitting on the grass staring at them, maybe twenty feet away. The creature’s coat was a pale pink, from a distance it might be mistaken for a soft orange or red dirt. She was missing her front left paw, but there wasn’t an obvious wound. Almost like it has been surgically amputated. The fox’s eyes were a shimmering black, with white, glowing irises that spiked on the outside like a solar eclipse.

“Hi!” the fox greeted excitably without moving it’s mouth. “Is this a bad time?”

“Is something wrong, Mera?” Erica asked, her face curled into a frown of concern.

“Sahiress sent me. One of the shards showed up!” Mera jumped up and paced as she explained, seemingly through some sort of telepathy. “Are you guys ready to go?”

Erica nodded.

“Ready as we’ll ever be,” said Snow, as soft features formed a wall of determination.

“Alright,” Mera said with relief. “Right this way!” As the sound of her voice entered Snow’s mind, a blue flash of light reflected on Mera’s eyes and a column of blue energy formed from the direction Mera was looking. Not an unfamiliar sight for Snow and Erica.

The two ran into the portal.

The other side was quiet. It looked like they were on the outskirts of a city and surrounded by construction equipment, unoccupied trucks and cranes, and the metal beam skeleton of a large building. The air around them felt filthy, like dirt had been kicked up around the site all day, and everything had just been put to rest. The early stages of sunset were becoming visible, and the smell of the polluted air contrasted heavily with the fresh breeze of the small town they had just come from.

But where was that shard? The two glanced around hurriedly when they both heard the footsteps coming from above them. A dark figure walked across the constructed steel beams, silhouetted against the blue and orange sky. Her long black boots echoing against the steel with each step. Her dark eyes looked down at Snow and Erica as she scoffed in disgust.

“I was wondering how long it would take you to come,” she said, her voice sounded tired and emotionless.

“Dris!” Snow exclaimed, as she and Erica pulled their Essence Crystals from their backpacks.

“I grow tired of these childish games we play,” Dris explained, sighing. “My king wants the rest of the shards.” Dris jumped forward, her slender form doing a forward flip before landing on one knee.

Superhero landing, Snow thought to herself.

“I’ll find out where you’re hiding the others, even if I have to beat it out of you.” Dris stared at them with expressionless gray eyes. A white bellowing cape flowed from her shoulders, held by a golden clasp at her chest. Her top was as black with a white belt above a black skirt. Her white gloves nearly reached her elbows, and a rusty metal bracelet hung loose on her left wrist. The symbol of the King of Rust.

Snow gripped her pale blue Essence Crystal tightly, as she felt the familiar cold breeze swirl around her. A layer of frost began to grip itself to her, covering her legs, arms, then her torso. It grew thicker and more opaque, before finally shattering. The dust of crystalline ice suspended in air, shimmering like starlight around her. Snow’s outfit was no longer the skinny jeans and blue denim jacket she was wearing, but a long blue cloak covering a frost patterned dress and matching boots. Wisps of frosty mist licked her shoulders and hands as she took a defensive stance against this enemy. From where her crystal was in her hand, a long staff appeared, with a blue stone weaved into the design of the head.

She looked over to see a shower of pink and green petals burst off Erica as her outfit also transformed. Where there was once a pair of yellow overalls, there was a forest green blouse and skirt with matching gloves. The collar was a waterfall of pink and yellow petals, with a pink lace seemingly holding it all together. The bottom of her skirt looked like a garden in bloom, with pink and yellow petals lining the skirt. She was holding a large wooden club, artfully crafted with a mossy handle.

The two looked at Dris with a heart full of vigor. But Dris simply looked up at them and smirked.

“What are you smiling at?” Demanded Erica, as she readied her weapon for battle.

“Yeah, we kicked your butt last time we met,” Snow added.

“Perhaps,” Dris said flatly. “But last time, I was outnumbered.” Before Snow could think what that meant, she felt a blast of force take her off her feet. She looked up to see what looked like a bear, but made of a featureless black, shadow-like material. It roared at Snow, only to see it joined by a slightly smaller, wolf-like shadow monster. She looked over to see Erica, also surrounded. To her left was a squatter animal, more reptilian with a massive jaw. Either a crocodile or alligator. Behind her was what looked like a gorilla. The reptile snapped at Erica as she dodged a blow from gorilla.

Snow looked over at Dris. She had a jet-black hawk on her arm. With two heavy flaps of its wings, the bird took off. Snow could only guess it was looking for the shard. She dodged the bear as it took another swing with its massive claws. Instinctually, a burst of freezing air shot from her staff. The bear recoiled in pain, as the wolf tried to bite at her feet. Snow jumped back, tripping on her own feet. She landed bottom first with a painful thud. From between the monsters, she could see Erica having troubles of her own. The crocodile was wrapped in a thick layer of vines, growling in pain as the plants grew thorns, but the gorilla was too big and too fast. As Erica swung her weapon, the creature batted it away like a fly, putting Erica too on the defensive.

“This isn’t working!” Erica shouted over the roars and shrieks of the shadow creatures.

“No kidding,” Snow answered back. “We need a plan. Form up!” Without a word, Erica sidestepped the gorilla and joined Snow’s side. The three remaining creatures closed in on the two of them; the crocodile continued to gnash and growl as the vines barely held together.

A large wingspan spread above them as the hawk returned, clenched in its talons was a large silver-gray rock, shimmering in the remains of daylight. Its shape was similar to the other hedron shards they had recovered so far, this one slightly thinner. “We can’t let it get to Dris!” Snow yelled. “After it, I’ll keep these guys busy.” As the words left her lips, the crocodile broke free, snapping its massive jaws in their direction. Snow instantly regretted her plan. She concentrated hard, her eyes closed and blue light emanated from her palms. Five crystals of white ice appeared between her and the beasts. She could feel the brisk air coming from them as intense as a heat from a flame. Mist surrounded Snow as the crystals began spinning around Snow. She felt like an atom, as electrons circled her, gaining speed. She gripped her staff tight and took a step forward. The bear was the first to swipe, but spinning ice slammed into its claw. The bear recoiled. In turn each monster attacked and was rebuffed by the crystals and cold.

She could hear Dris’s cries above the whirling and roars. She could see the bird had fallen to the ground between Erica and Dris, the shard still in its claws. Erica and Dris’s eyes met for a brief moment before they both took off running, Erica gripping her weapon tight. Snow noticed a green light coming from the spaces between Erica’s hand and the club as Dris suddenly fell forward. She looked behind herself to see a small vine wrapped around her ankle. Dris yelled in frustration as a shiny black sword materialized in her hand, as she cut the vine in a single motion.

But it was too late. Erica held the shard triumphantly as Snow ran to cover her with her icy shield. “We’ve got it,” Erica whispered into her Essence Crystal. The shadow creatures and their master all charged at them as they were engulfed in a brilliant blue light.

“Next time you won’t be so-“ Dris’s threat was cut off by their transportation. When the light faded, they found themselves in front of a familiar cave, as a creature made entirely out of the night sky smiled at them warmly.

“Welcome back,” she said quietly.

#my writing #magical girl #short story #fantasy

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