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corroded-hellfire · 1 year ago

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Just a Spark - Eddie Munson x Reader

A Collaboration with my beloved kindred spirit @munson-blurbs🤍

Summary: Eddie takes his sons to watch fireworks at Lover's Lake for the Fourth of July. But when he notices you there with some friends, including some male friends, he can't help but be jealous.

Note: Thank you to my dearest @joejoequinnquinn for loving jealous!eddie as much as I do and for coming up with this lovely idea! I still find it funny that it's a Fourth of July fic and you do not live in the US, lol. I hope you all enjoy and happy 4th of July to my fellow Americans 💙

Warnings: older!eddie, dad!eddie, babysitter!reader, eddie being jealous hehe

Words: 3.9k

[As You Wish masterlist]

It wasn’t often that Hawkins held activities that appealed to the whole town. The haunted houses around Halloween only appealed to the teenagers, the winter wonderlands at Christmas only mattered to young children, and the Thanksgiving Parade was something that everyone swears they got dragged along to against their will. Fourth of July in Hawkins was the one day a year that could be counted on to bring people of all ages out to Lover’s Lake for sunshine in the afternoon and fireworks at night.

Kids would splash and swim together in the shallow area of the lake while their parents watched from picnic blankets spread out not too far away. Teens and college students would come with their friends, the college kids drinking beer out in the open while the teenagers had to hide sips behind a tree or behind a friend’s back.

It was a tradition in the Munson household to grill up some hamburgers and bring them down to eat at the lake while they watched the fireworks. This particular year things seem to be off-track, though. Brittany had left the house early in the afternoon to run a few errands and pick up some charcoal for the grill so that Eddie could cook the hamburgers. After being gone far too long for just saying she was heading to a few stores, the phone rings and Brittany gives Eddie some sob story about how she ran into her sister who’s having a crisis and she needs to stay with her for a while. Eddie just sighed as he hung up, thinking to himself that at least Brittany wasn’t dumb enough to say it had something to do with work when banks are closed because it’s a national holiday. The only problem—because going out with his boys without his wife was certainly not a problem—he ran into now was that he didn’t have time to run out and get charcoal and make the burgers before they were going to leave for the lake.

Improvising, Eddie swings through a Burger King drive-through on the way, making sure the three of them would still keep their tradition intact as much as possible. The boys don’t seem to mind the differences between this year and last, maybe just glad to have a chance to hang out with their dad while they did something as cool as watch fireworks.

Eddie pulls his truck into the already-crowded parking lot and grabs the bag of fast food. As he and the boys get out, people walk by carrying coolers, picnic baskets, and a few types of inner tubes to use in the water. There are tons of people there—which Eddie expected. He takes Luke’s hand into his own and instructs Ryan to grab onto Luke’s other so they don’t lose anyone.

“Eddie!” A familiar voice calls out and has Eddie whipping around to spot its owner. He quickly sees the Sinclairs; Lucas is waving with his left hand to get Eddie’s attention, with Tiffany on his right hip.

Eddie nudges the boys. “Look who’s here!” Their eyes widen when they notice Uncle Lucas—who Eddie swears is his younger son’s namesake and certainly isn’t Luke Skywalker—along with Aunt Max and their baby. They practically pull Eddie across the lot to them.

Clapping Lucas’s hand and pulling him in for a modified bro-hug so he doesn’t crash into Tiffany, Eddie offers his long-time friend a grin. “How have you guys been?” he asks as he gives Max a hug.

“Good. Tired.” Max says with a laugh. “Tiffany slept through the night for about three days before she started teething.”

“Aww, poor thing,” Eddie coos, chuckling when Tiffany proves her mother’s point by grabbing Eddie’s finger and gnawing on it. “Don’t worry, it doesn’t last as long as it seems,” he reassures the new parents.

“We’re just headed out,” Lucas explains, kissing his daughter’s cheek. “It’s this little lady’s bedtime, and we��ve gotta get home before the fireworks start.”

“We have no idea how she’ll react to them, and we’re not about to conduct that experiment in public,” Max chimes in, making Eddie laugh again. “But we’ll see you at Ryan’s birthday party next week!”

The Munsons and Sinclairs part with goodbyes and more hugs before Eddie and the boys head towards the lake.

“I wanna sit near the water!” Luke insists, and Eddie winces at his high-pitched whine.

“Think we might get a better view of the fireworks if we sit up a little higher.” It’s the truth; plus, he won’t have to worry about Luke flinging himself into the cesspool that Hawkins calls a lake.

They find a shady spot right under a tree, and Eddie lays out three beach towels so they won’t have to sit in the dirt. He passes out the parchment-wrapped burgers and little bags of fries and sits back with a sigh. This is what he’d always wanted—family traditions with his boys. If only…

“Has anyone seen my sunscreen?”

Eddie freezes mid-bite, only remembering that he has a burger in his hand when his arm starts to ache from being in one position too long. He chews and swallows as though nothing happened, but his mind is racing.

It can’t be, he thinks. He’s almost certain that this is all in his imagination—God knows he can’t get you out of his head—until he hears someone say your name.

Just one look, Eddie convinces himself. A quick peek so I can see that it’s not actually her; just someone who sounds like her and has the same name…

His stomach flip-flops when he glances over and sees you in a low-cut red tank top and cutoff denim shorts. Oh, shit, it’s her. And she looks really, really good. He takes a deep breath, trying to gather his scrambled thoughts. He wishes he had a six-pack; a cold beer can always calm his jangled nerves. Okay, I can’t let the boys see. Once that happens, she’ll come over here and—

Eddie’s anxious thought is disrupted by the sight of one of the three guys you’re with applying sunscreen to the back of your neck. He’s got long, light brown hair—though not as long or luscious as his own, Eddie notes wryly.

Long Hair spends far too much time massaging the lotion into your skin. Calm down, Buffalo Bill. She doesn’t need that much sun protection.

The only other girl there plucks the lotion bottle from Long Hair’s hands, much to Eddie’s relief, and Eddie turns his attention back to his boys. “You guys ready for the fireworks?” He tries to keep the enthusiasm in his voice. “Sun’s setting, so they’ll be starting soon.”

Ryan nods, chewing on a fry. “I wonder what colors they’ll have,” he muses.

“Well, I wonder what would happen if I sat on a firework!” Luke pipes up with a mouthful of burger. “Like, would I fly into the sky? Or would it blow up in my butt?”

Eddie laughs loudly. “My money’s on the second one, little man.”

Your laughter floats over to Eddie on the breeze blowing off of the lake. He mentally berates himself, thinking of how he should be enjoying this family tradition with his boys and not be wondering if any of those guys you’re with are your boyfriend or if you’re sleeping with any of them or if…

“Daddy, what’s wrong?”

“Hmm?” Eddie looks up at Ryan’s worried face and frowns. “What do you mean?”

“Your lip,” Ryan says, pointing at the bottom half of his father’s face. “You were chewing on it, and it started bleeding.”

“Silly me,” Eddie says with a forced chuckle. He grabs one of the napkins from the Burger King bag and dabs at his lower lip. Luke has shifted to watch a game of volleyball happening on a court that someone set up and it gives Eddie the opportunity to scoot closer between his boys, so his back is to you and your friends. Maybe now he’ll be able to focus.

It works for a while. The three of them finish their burgers and Luke is immediately complaining that he’s still hungry. Eddie tells the five-year-old he has to wait and tries to play a game with them to distract his youngest son from his rumbling tummy before the fireworks start.

“Simon says put your hands on your head. Simon says give your brother a high five,” Eddie instructs as the boys eagerly await the next command. “Simon says stand up. Sit back down. Ah! I didn’t say ‘Simon says!’”

“I win!” Ryan cheers as Luke sprawls out on his beach towel with a groan. The familiar twinkling tune of an ice cream truck approaching has him bolting up, though.

“Ice cream?” Luke stands up and balances on his tippy toes to get a better view at the parking lot. When his suspicions are confirmed, he hops up and down. “Ice cream! Daddy, can we get some? Pleeeeease?”

“Okay, okay,” Eddie says as if it’s a hardship for him to indulge his boys when in reality he’d already planned on getting ice cream for them at some point tonight. “Get me some too, okay?”

“Cookies and cream?” Ryan asks, citing his dad’s favorite flavor.

“Atta boy,” Eddie says, handing him a ten-dollar bill. Luke starts to walk away and towards the truck, but Eddie stops him with an, “ah-ah-ah. It’s crowded here. I don’t want you to lose each other so hold your brother’s hand.” When Luke opens his mouth to respond, a frown creasing his forehead and his nose wrinkling up, Eddie halts the whining before it even happens. “Hold your brother’s hand.”

“Fine,” Luke huffs and offers his hand to Ryan in the most limp, unenthusiastic manner possible.

The two walk off and Eddie adjusts his position so he can keep an eye on his sons as they snake their way through the crowd and over to the ice cream truck that already has a line of a few kids in front of it. But from this new angle, Eddie can also see you out of the corner of his eye. A breath rushes out of him as if he’d been holding it since his eyes were last on you. Seeing you makes Eddie calmer and more tense at the same time. As always, your presence brings him comfort and happiness. But you’re with a bunch of guys your own age and the jealousy monster is rearing its ugly head like nobody’s business. Eddie looks down at his lap and his eye catches on his wedding ring, glinting in the fading sun.

“You’re a fucking hypocrite, Munson,” Eddie mumbles to himself.

Unable to not look in your direction—I swear to God she’s got something magnetic about her, he thinks—Eddie sees you gazing out over the lake. You raise your hand above your eyes to shield them from the bright, falling sun and look around the whole area where people have settled in to have fun. Eddie’s just about to look away, not wanting to risk being caught staring at you if you spot him, when he sees one of your guy friends walking over to you. It’s not Long Hair from before. This guy is shorter and as muscly as the other guy was scrawny. Eddie can hear him calling your name, but you must be too caught up in your thoughts to hear him. Muscles reaches out and touches your arm to get your attention. As if seeing him just touching you isn’t bad enough, Eddie watches as you turn around to face Muscles, but the guy still doesn’t take his hand off of you. The tanned, muscular hand is slowly moving down your arm and a knot grows in Eddie’s stomach. If this asshole takes your hand, Eddie feels like he might throw up the burger he’s barely started digesting.

Luckily, you move to walk back towards your group of friends before Muscles’s hand could reach yours. Eddie feels twenty pounds lighter. He turns back to look towards the parking lot and sees his sons approaching, Ryan holding an ice cream in each hand, and Luke holding one and holding onto the back of Ryan’s red t-shirt with the other hand. By the way his youngest son is rolling his eyes as they approach, Eddie realizes it was Ryan’s idea that Luke holds on to him.

Ryan hands Eddie his scoop of cookies and cream, plopping back down to enjoy the mint chip cone he’d bought for himself.

“DAD! OH MY GOD, DAD!!” Luke shouts, and Eddie nearly drops his cone.

“What? What’s wrong?”

Luke points down towards the left. “Look at that doggy! He’s so cute!” Sure enough, a middle-aged couple is walking a golden retriever along the lake. Both boys sit up a bit straighter and watch as the owners toss a tennis ball into the water and the dog eagerly paddles after it.

As Eddie’s heart rate steadies to a normal pace—seriously, he’s going to have to talk with Luke about using his “emergency voice” when it is not an emergency—he finds his gaze drifting back to you. He’s just in time to see Long Hair take the baseball cap from his own head and put it on top of yours. Eddie silently wills you to take it off, chuck it into the lake, set it on fire…but he’s utterly disappointed when you adjust it to your head and wear it proudly.

Would she wear something of mine if I gave it to her? He silently wonders. He’s so engrossed in whatever flirtatious games you’re playing that he barely hears his older son trying to get his attention.

“Daddy, your ice cream is leaking over the cone. Daddy! It’s getting runny and gonna drip! Daddy?”

“And whaddya keep looking that way for? The lake is that way!” Luke chimes in, face covered in cotton candy ice cream.

“Y-Yeah, sorry, guys,” Eddie mumbles, but he keeps his gaze locked on you. A blonde guy wearing a puka shell necklace like he’s on Hawaii Five-0 points to a beach volleyball net that’s just been vacated, and you and your friends follow him.

It’s two versus two; Muscles is serving as a referee for this game. You and Puka Shell are on a team, and Long Hair and the only other girl in your group stand on the other side of the net. You serve, the girl returns it, Puka Shell lobbies it to you, and you spike it back, surprising yourself.

Eddie clenches his fist until he feels the ice cream cone begin to break when your teammate wraps his arms around you in a hug. Jesus H. Christ, whatever happened to high-fives? But he knows that he’d envy any little touch these guys got from you.

He tries to distract himself, asking Ryan if he’s excited for his birthday, but he’s only half-listening.

“What do you want for a gift?” he asks, raising his eyebrows when his sons look at him curiously. “What?”

“I just said I wanted a new Lego set,” Ryan says. He’s not annoyed, just confused. “Are you feeling okay, Daddy?”

“Maybe he has scurvy,” Luke suggests, “like the pirates in that movie we watched.”

“‘M fine,” Eddie reassures them. It takes a second for him to register what Luke’s suggested. “Did you just say I had scurvy?”

There’s no time for Luke to elaborate—not that Eddie necessarily wants him to—before your joyous squeal filters through the air. It seems as though you and Puka Shell won the game, because he’s twirling you around triumphantly.

Does she want him picking her up? Touching her? Eddie’s inner monologue runs wild. Okay, she’s laughing and smiling, so that’s good. She’s fine with it; yeah, so that’s fine. Everything’s fine. We’re all fine here. She’s with her friends, I’m a married man here with my kids, and that’s all there is to it.

The whistle and boom of the first firework lighting the sky is a welcome distraction. Ryan lets out a gasp as he stares in awe of the red shooting through the dark sky. Luke scoots backwards and plops himself in Eddie’s lap. He leans against Eddie’s chest and lays his head back on his shoulder as he becomes engrossed in the spectacle. It’s been a while since Luke’s sat in his lap like this, so it brings a smile to Eddie’s face.

Mixtures of red, white, and blue fireworks crackle through the air, occasionally making shapes other than the usual spherical pattern that shimmies down. Eddie looks over at Ryan, who has a bright grin on his face. The red firework currently popping off leaves a scarlet shadow behind on his older son’s face. Beyond Ryan, Eddie glimpses a view of you watching the fireworks. You’re still with your friends, but you’re sitting a little bit in front of them with your legs crossed and your elbows resting on your knees. There’s a peaceful joy on your face and it makes Eddie’s heart give a few thumps harder than usual. Your friends behind you are talking but you couldn’t seem to care less about what they’re saying. You’re solely focused on the show in the sky. Eddie looks back at his kids and sees them just as mesmerized by the bursting colors. Luke snuggles back against his chest and Eddie is filled with warmth. He wraps his arms loosely around Luke and rests his head against his son’s smaller one as he looks up and joins in watching the celebration.

By the time the fireworks are done, Eddie’s pretty sure his hearing is damaged. Didn’t I used to play in a metal band? Jesus, I’m getting old. Luke springs up from his dad’s lap and Ryan stands up and stretches his arms out over his head, releasing a long yawn.

“How was that?” Eddie asks as he collects the beach towels they had been sitting on.

“So cool!” Luke says, jumping as if to emphasize his point.

“I like the ones that make the fizzy noises as they go out,” Ryan says as he picks up the empty Burger King bag and balls it up in his hands.

“My favorite are the ones that go pheeeeew,” Luke attempts to mimic the whistle, “then BANG!”

“What about you, Daddy?” Ryan asks.

“Hmm,” Eddie hums as he considers the question. “The ones that were shaped like circles. They looked pretty cool. Okay, now come on and take my hands, guys. It’s gonna be like a stampede getting out of here.” Eddie tucks the towels under one arm and offers a hand to each son.

They only make it about five steps before Luke is groaning. “It’s going to take forever to—hey! Look!”

Both Eddie and Ryan turn their heads to look in the direction that Luke is pointing. Eddie’s heart stalls in his chest. Luke’s grinning from ear to ear as he notices you walking with your friends. Ryan gives a gasp of delight when his eyes land on you as well.

“I’m gonna go say hi!” Luke exclaims, and he’s already halfway to you before Eddie can even open his mouth.

“Luke, I—ugh, shit.” Eddie mumbles the last part under his breath as he leads Ryan by the hand over to you and your friends. Luke is already in your arms by the time they get there.

“And then the red one went higher than all the others! And I think it had the loudest boom, too,” Luke is saying. You look up and the brightest smile lights up your face as you see Eddie and Ryan standing there.

“Hey, strangers,” you greet and Ryan dives in for a hug. You chuckle and wrap your arms around him too.

Long Hair is standing to the side, slightly closer to Eddie than he is to you, and the rest of your friends are behind you. He gives a small chuckle at the intensity of the hugs the kids give you before turning to Eddie and saying, “You want a hug, too?”

You jab Long Hair in the ribs with your elbow, but that only makes him chuckle more and wrap an arm around you to pull you back against him. This time, Eddie notices, you don’t have the same enthusiastic grin that you had earlier in the evening. It takes everything in his power not to pry you from his arms.

“I’ll see you guys on Monday, yeah?” you ask the Munson men, desperate to fill the silence.

“Usual time and place,” Eddie says. The words would usually be accompanied by a wink or a smirk, but something about being around these college guys is grating on his nerves and it’s the closest he’s felt to being intimidated since he was a senior in high school—the first time.

“Bye!” both boys call and wave at you before walking away with their dad. You wave in return, but it looks pitiful compared to their enthusiastic ones.

As soon as they’re out of earshot, you pull out of your friend's arm and spin around to face him. “Peter, do you ever shut up?”

“Calm down,” Peter says, exhaling a sound that’s a mixture of a laugh and a scoff. “This guy’s old enough to be your dad.”

Tony smirks and rests a muscled arm on Paul’s shoulder. “Maybe she’s into the whole ‘daddy’ thing.”

The eye roll you give them is involuntary. “You guys are assholes!”

Turning on your flip flop heel, you spin in the other direction and jog a bit until you catch up with Eddie and the boys.

“Hey! Where are you going?” Paul asks.

A soft, gentle hand lands on Eddie’s shoulder and he looks back to see you offering him an apologetic smile.

“I’m sorry if my friends were weird…and I’m sorry if I’m making this weirder.”

Eddie’s entire demeanor changes; despite having to watch you flirt with those douchebags—and then being mocked by them—he can’t help but soften towards you. “Nah, Sweetheart, you’re good. Be safe tonight, okay?” Be safe? Seriously, Munson? What are you, her grandpa?

You don’t seem to notice the way he bites his tongue, trying to quell the surge of embarrassment. “I always am,” you say reassuringly. “See you Monday?”

Eddie nods as you turn around to head back to your friends, utterly oblivious to the way your natural beauty outshines the brightest firework tonight. You’re everything he could ever want, but you’re young and gorgeous with a million better prospects than an old married man.

He takes one last look at you before he brings the boys to the car. The passenger seat is empty, and he wears a sad smile when he thinks about you sitting there, excitedly chatting with him and the kids about the evening. Eddie would rest his hand on your thigh while he drives back home, and once Ryan and Luke are sound asleep, you and Eddie could make some fireworks of your own.

Shaking his head, Eddie pulls out from the parking spot and braces himself for the holiday traffic. He grumbles some swear words under his breath, flicking on the radio to the first station that doesn’t have commercials.

“…say I’m not so tough, just because I’m in love with an uptown girl.”

He leans back in his seat and taps out the rhythm on the steering wheel. Funny, he’s never really been a Billy Joel fan, but something about this song reminds him of—

“Dad! Luke’s looking at me!”

“He looked at me first!”

“Both of you close your eyes,” Eddie orders. He can’t see whether or not they listened, but the squabbling stopped, so he’ll consider it a victory.

“Uptown girl, she’s my uptown girl…”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #older!eddie #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson fanfic #AYW #AYWs

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z0mbiekisses · 2 months ago

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Another request QUEEN!! I loved loved loved the Josh fic it was amazing and has me coming back for more! First of all though, how are you? I realised we haven't talked much before lol. Anyways, my amazing spectacular request!!

RAB Tyler who is best friends/hiding his feelings with the reader. She's someone who works super hard, gets good grades and almost drives herself insane with all the extra curriculars she does yet still doesn't feel good enough. After having a stressful day she stops by his house feeling worthless and he comforts her, refusing to let her believe she's not amazing.

Thanks bestie!

AHHH THANK YOU BFF!!!🤗🤗 thank you so much for requesting more, you’re always welcomed i LOVE your ideas . i did kind of write this in a highschool setting 😣😣.

i’m okayy, very tiredd BUT we’ll push on through (hehe)💪 TYSM FOR ASKING, how are you??😁 it’s always nice to hear from you 🫶

thank you guys so much for ur recent support!! it means smmm, sorry this took so long and it’s short, i have some more things in the drafts that hopefully make up for it 🫶 requests are opened !!🩶

THIS IS ME TRYING !

i always did my best. in school, life, everything. i needed to get into college, i NEEDED to get out of my house. however, college isn’t cheap. and i don’t exactly have the best support system, so it’s up to me. i’m in film club, national honors society and student council. i spend whatever free time studying or at my best friend, tyler’s house. it’s overwhelming, but i didn’t have many options. if i wanted to get into a good school and start living my life the way I want to, this had to be done. but today was rough, i spent all of last night finishing my college essay just to go to school bright and early the next day. i was so exhausted, but what else was new. except i had a test in my first two classes, a presentation for national honors society. and i had to stay late for a student council meeting.

i was used to the stress, however today was just awful. every little thing that could go wrong went wrong. i was late to school because my car broke down, which meant i missed taking the test. i tried to beg my teacher to still let me take it but he only said he'll think about letting me make it up. i NEEDED to take this test, it was a huge part of my grade. it wasn't fair. i gave my presentation for NHS, which went fine. except everyone's presentations were WAY better than mine was. it was obvious the amount of effort and time they spent on it, sure i put effort into mines. i was just missing the time, since i stayed up all night wednesday putting it together. i felt like an idiot. i sat alone at lunch, i only shared my lunch period with one of my friends. but she was busy hanging with her boyfriend. i ended up skipping and just spending the time volunteering at the library. the more hours the better. the day seemed to drag on, especially since i had to stay later. like most if not all the other kids who did student council, we were only doing it for our college applications. i didn't get along well with the other kids. not in the way where we would fight or anything. they were all just so pretentious and snobby. they would always undermind me, as if i could never be an intellectual individual like them. i spent the whole 4 hours i had to stay there wanting to stick my face in a hot pan of oil. when it was all FINALLY over, i sat in my car for a minute. i felt so.. worthless. everything i did didn't feel like enough, maybe it wasn't enough. what's the point of doing all these things if i wasn't even good at any of it? it wasn't long before tears filled my eyes. but i watched as the other kids from student council walked over to their fancy cars. and i realized the last thing i needed was for them to see me crying in car that probably should've been in a junkyard AGES ago. i didn't want to go home, my parents would only make me feel worse. i called tyler and asked if i could come over. he said yes and with that i drove over to his house in silence. my thoughts racing through my head were the only things i could hear. i will never be good enough. for anyone, for anything. what is the point in even trying?

eventually i knocked on tyler's door. to which he answered with a smile. it was a struggle for me to return one back. i didn't say anything at first, tyler was telling me about some story about him and josh. i couldn't focus though, my head was spinning. tyler noticed, he reached out and touched my shoulder lightly. "what's going on y/n?", tyler spoke softly. i tried to shrug it off, but tyler was more stubborn than i was.

"i know you're not okay, what's up?", tyler looked over at me softly. i wanted to tell him not to worry about it. my problems were stupid anyways. but i knew tyler wasn't one to let these kind of things go.

"what is the point of trying if i'll never be good enough.."

"trying to do what?"

"everything.", i let out a sigh.

"all i do is try, try, try. and yet i always fall short every single time i mean- it's exhausting.", as much as i tried to fight it tears fell from my eyes.

"i'm not good enough i-"

"y/n please.", tyler reached out and held my hand.

"you are more than amazing. you are the most hard working, driven person i know."

"you have to say that-"

"i mean it.", my cloudy eyes met tyler's brown ones.

"i think you're more than enough, you have such amazing things ahead of you. and that's all because of your dedication. i'm so proud of you.", i practically fell into tyler's arms. he rubbed my back as he spoke over my muffled sobs.

"you're so perfect to me y/n, i admire you.", those word silenced the negative thoughts pounding in my head. tyler's arms made me feel safe. i finally felt okay. i always knew tyler had a way with words thanks to his music. but this was so much better than that. i finally felt like i was enough.

“look at me y/n.”, i hesitated for a moment before i lifted my head up. this was the closest we’ve ever been, our inches only inches away from each other.

“i think you’re so lovely.”, my cheeks flushed a little bit. tyler’s compliment making my heart skip a beat.

“as long as you think so.”

#twenty one pilots #josh dun #tyler joseph #tylerjosephfanfic #joshua dun #tyler joseph x reader #tyler joseph fanfiction #tyler joseph imagine

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neuvistar · 2 years ago

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hi hi is it okay if i req kaeya with a reader who has a habit of bouncing her leg all the time and one day he just puts his hand on her thigh and gently rubs to stop her and she just gets really flustered and it leads to bedroom activities <33

MHM! OF COURSE yk what they all say, you ask and you shall receive! (I am so sorry this took longer than it should have, I did not mean for it to do so ૮꒰ྀི ⸝⸝´٥ ˋ⸝⸝ ꒱ྀིა and i kinda added a few things hope that’s fine) IM SORRY IF THIS IS SHORT OR NOT AS GOOD I WROTE IT A FEW DAYS AGO AND FINISHED TODAY IM V TIRED 😓 AND IM SORRY ITS NOT WHAT YOU EXPECTED I HAD A BIT OF TROUBLE

BOLD AS EVER.

— featuring . kaeya alberich x fem!reader

— warnings / content warnings . nsfw. slight semi-public sex at first, fingering, she/her pronouns, thigh riding,, use of nicknames, not proofread, mm i hope this is fine i don’t write a lot for the tall males and know a lot about their personalities so i hope this is fine, overall suggestive content, please let me know if i missed a few ໒꒰՞ ܸ. .ܸ՞꒱ა || 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

✦ KAEYA . ALBERICH

meetings. ah, meetings. to be honest, you weren’t quite fond of them especially if they were hours long, listening to Master Jean and all the other knights talk, giving their own opinions on topics they discuss about, coming up with ways on how to protect monstadt and all those boring things! it was bad enough you were dating the calvary captain, kaeya. every now and then he’d drag you along to meetings with him, he’s always ramble about “missing you” or even ridiculous things such as he wouldn’t be whole without you by his side, so sweet of him yet so ridiculous! though you never really pay attention to anything master jean says, but oh well.

“my top priority is to put a stop to anyone or anything who may pose a threat towards monstadt, I expect you all to take this to heart and keep in your minds. this nation is ours, barbatos gave us freedom to live and fight for ourselves with him by our side, we mustn’t throw that all away. have we all got that?” she spoke with her head up high, a determined expression on her face. goodness she was always so hard working, you wonder.. does she ever take any breaks from all this difficult work on her plate? your eyes sparkled in awe, you were so caught up on all your other thoughts and wonders about the acting grand master you didn’t even realize how much your leg was bouncing from anxiousness, fingers shaking. the calvary captain by your side glanced at you, eyes then fixating on your leg.

he brought his hand down to your side slowly and gently caressing your thigh. “you alright?” you flinched, face heating up as your body got even warmer as well. “y—yeah!.. i’m just not used to big huge meetings like this, i’m just nervous” you stuttered bringing your voice down to a whisper, squeezing your thighs closer together. “you sure? because we can leave this meeting if you want to” he whispered to you tapping you with his index. “nono! don’t worry about it, i’ll be fine” the bouncing of your leg began to slow down by the second as you felt more wayyy calmer now that you were talking with kaeya, although.. this didn’t last too long now did it?

all of a sudden, a gasp left your lips. kaeya’s hands moved up further into your skirt as he stared at you, rubbing your thigh once more as if he was asking for consent, in which you nodded. oh boy, you shouldn’t have. kaeya used his hand to lightly flip your skirt, revealing your soaked panties to him. “apologies for this babe.” “whatever! just get this over with, we’re still in a meeting you know? atleast try to be qui— mnn!” the calvary captain took your word, shoving your panties aside as he plunged his fingers inside your wet cunt feeling it clench around him already. “you want me as much as i want you, hm?” “mmh! fuck you kaeya, just be quick with this theres people aroun—“ two fingers, then three. you prayed to the gods that no other knight can see what you both were doing, trying your absolute hardest to hold back the moans that threatened to leave your throat, god.. kaeya’s such a jerk sometimes!

his thumb rubbed the softness of your thigh, licking his lips. fuck.. it was not only you that struggled to focus, it was also him. he slightly bit his lip at the sight of red blush forming on your cute little cheeks, swallowing a lump in his throat as he wonders how cute your mouth would look around his cock, cheeks hallowed and taking him so well like the good girl you are.. his fingers continued to pump in and out of you until your pussy spasms around his digits, reaching your orgasm as you came on his fingers.

what a bold jerk. bold as ever.

— buuuwwep !! ૮꒰ྀི >⸝⸝⸝< ꒱ྀིა

“yeah? yeah.. you like that? you like how good your pussy feels when you rub yourself against my thigh like this?” you exhale sharply with teeth clenched and pressing yourself closer against kaeya’s chest. your hands latched onto his shoulders for dear life, fingers pinching the soft fabric of his clothes as you rolled your hips. rubbing your core harshly against his thigh you pant and groan greedily wanting to feel more of him, moaning his name ever so gently against the shell of his ear. “you like it when i fingered you with people surrounding us? you poor little thing would’ve been caught if i fingered you even further..” he reached for the hem of your shirt lifting it up swiftly off your head before taking a tit in his mouth, sucking and licking at it desperately, pinching and pulling at the other. “you like it when i touch you like that during meetings? getting flustered over me doing things to you, hm? you want people watch me break you next? fuck your brains out until you can’t do it no more, sweet thing?”

he grabbed your hips, strong hands helping you rub yourself even more against his thigh feeling heat pooling down from your legs already reaching another orgasm, gripping his shoulders even tighter as you rode him even more desperately, body jolting at the sudden slap on your pussy from him, squirting on him before creating a mess on the sheets and on your boyfriend. “that’s three, you cum a lot do you? and sometimes my dick isn’t even inside you when you do, that’s impressive.. don’t you think?” “there are days where i want to slap the hell out of you, y’know” “aww.. don’t be mad babe. can you still handle another round? haven’t came inside that pussy of yours yet, gotta help me with that too”

WAHA IM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG ANON!! WORST OF ALL, ITS SO SHORT WAHAHAHA IM SORRY ૮ ㅠ ㅅ ㅠ ა man.. SO SORRY EVERYONE IM GONNA NAP NOW, ILL CORRECT THINGS LATER — Maryse

#ᖭི༏ᖫྀ maryse’s diary ૮꒰˶˃̵ ^ ˂̵˵꒱ა #genshin imagines #genshin impact smut #genshin smut #kaeya imagines #kaeya x reader #kaeya x you #kaeya smut #genshin headcanons #genshin kaeya #kaeya ૮꒰ྀི >⸝⸝⸝< ꒱ྀིა #WAHAA SO SORRY ILL CORRECT THINGS LATER #i was too tired writing this i hope it’s alright atleast wahahaha i’m sorry :

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gagmewitha-spork · 2 years ago

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A Hard Time (Vicky Losada x reader)

Warnings: none.

Description: Vicky and reader are married but play for different clubs, so she decides to surprise reader after a tough couple of months apart.

Notes: requested. “reader and vicky are togther and say it's a weekend that vicky hasn't got a game so.goes to surprise reader at a Barca game”

Word count: 1819

It had been almost two months at this point since you had last seen your wife, and it was starting to take its toll on you. All you did was get up, go to training, go home and wait until she too had finished training and was available to call you. You would then spend the rest of the day on FaceTime, until your phone died, or you fell asleep.

Vicky could tell you were struggling, not that you would tell her, you didn’t want her to worry about you, but she could tell. From the way you always answered her calls within seconds of her pressing the call button, to your insistence that you weren’t too tired to keep talking, even though the bags under your eyes always gave you away.

She missed you too, in all the years you had been together, you had never been apart for longer than a week or so. But since her move to city, the two of you had struggled to find more than a few spare weeks here and there to spend together during the season. And since you had spent the summer playing in the euros, and she had her own busy punditry schedule, you hadn’t had much time then either.

Vicky couldn’t help but feel like it was her fault you were so low, she was the one who had left Barcelona. She knew you understood why she had to leave, and you had supported her throughout it all, but deep down she had a feeling like she was abandoning you. You had always assured her you didn’t think about it like that at all, and she believed you, but she still felt it.

It had been over a year now since she had moved to city, and the distance had been getting easier to deal with. Until everything with the national team started happening. She understood, of course she did, she had been through basically the exact same thing, and you had been there for her through it all. But she couldn’t be there for you if she was in Manchester and you were back in Barcelona, and she hated not being able to hold you as you cried.

All this had led to her decision to fly out to Barcelona to see you. With you no longer being called up to the national team, it meant you had a large chunk of the international break off, and you planned to spend the whole time with your wife. You just needed to get this game against Real Madrid out of the way first.

For once you were in a good mood, your teammates all knew why, and it wasn’t because you were playing in the El clásico, though you did always enjoy these games. It was because in a few days time you would be picking your wife up from the airport back in Barcelona and spending four full uninterrupted days with her. What you wouldn’t give for it to be longer, but right now you would take all you could get.

However, unbeknownst to you, Vicky had decided to fly out a few days early, so she could watch and support you and her old team.

The day dragged if you were honest. All you could think about was finishing the game and getting on the train back home where you would be one step closer to seeing your wife in person once more. But of course you were clock watching, and so the minutes dragged by for what felt like the longest day of your life until eventually you found yourself on the pitch warming up before the game.

Vicky sat in the stands, a hat and glasses on in order to ensure you didn’t recognise her too soon. She smiled to herself as she watched you warm up with the team, she couldn’t wait to hold you in her arms again. You seemed happy in the moment, you were laughing along to something with Mariona. Vicky found herself feeling relieved that you were still finding happiness in smaller moments like this, even if overall you were having a hard time.

The game was pretty rough, as they all are against your rivals, and you had taken a fair number of bumps throughout it so far. Vicky had been screaming along with the other Barca fans in the stands around her telling the ref to sort herself out and actually make some calls. You could have sworn that you’d heard her voice amongst the fans, and several times your head had swivelled to scan the stands in search of her face. Of course you never found it, she was in Manchester, you just really missed her that was all.

With about 15 minutes of the game left you were subbed off, Irene taking your place next to Mapi in the back line. You walked slowly down the side of the pitch from where you had exited, clapping to the travelling fans as you walked by them. That’s when you saw her face. It was just a flash and as soon as you blinked it was gone. You blinked a few more times and shook your head to yourself.

Sitting down on the bench next to Keira, who had also just come off, she handed you a jacket and bib.

“I think I’m going insane”, you muttered, partially to yourself but loud enough that the English woman next to you could hear.

“Why’s that?”, she asked you curiously, a look of both amusement and confusion on her face.

“I swear I just saw Vicky in the crowd”, you shook your head again and rubbed your eyes, maybe your lack of sleep was starting to make you see things.

“Maybe she’s come to surprise you?”, Keira suggested, nudging your shoulder, “or maybe you are just going insane”, she continues suggesting when you stay silent. Again you don’t respond, just looking down at the ground at your feet instead, “you’re allowed to miss her”, she says now, getting a little more serious, “she’s your wife, you’ve spent most of your careers together until now”, she wraps an arm around your shoulder, pulling you into her side, “just a couple more days until she’s back here anyway”.

“And then she’ll be gone again almost straight away”, you mumbled, not really meaning for her to hear.

“Hey don’t think like that, it’ll just taint the time you have together if that’s all you can think about”, if you hadn’t known Keira for a while now, through Vicky of course, you would have been embarrassed to be taking advice from someone almost 6 years younger than you, but you also knew that she had quite literally been in this position before.

“You’re right, you’re right”, you sat up, your eyes settling on watching the remaining few minutes of the game, and were just in time to see Frido score. You cheered with the rest of the bench, your mind briefly occupied by something other than missing the love of your life.

——

The game ended 0-4, and Barca’s victorious streak over Real Madrid remained intact. You were celebrating with the rest of the team when you saw her again. You blinked, rubbing your eyes and when you opened them she was gone again. You were definitely going insane you thought to yourself. You wound your way through the moving celebrating bodies around you and found Keira again.

You didn’t say anything but she wrapped her arm over your shoulder and you celebrated with her before everyone started heading inside to change.

Walking up the corridor towards to locker room you heard a familiar voice and as soon as you rounded the corner you recognised her immediately.

“Jennifer Hermoso”, you announced her name loudly. Jenni was one of your best friends, you had played together for Spain and several club teams for a long time. You had missed her since she’d moved to Mexico, though you had to admit, her being missing from your life had been largely overshadowed by how much you had been missing Vicky. Nevertheless, it was great to see her and as you approached she wrapped her arms around you in a classic bone crushing Jenni hug.

“I missed you my friend”, she said in your ear, and proceeded to lift you off your feet slightly.

“I missed you too”, you giggled as she held onto you.

“Jenni, you’d better not be making a move on my wife!”, a voice shouted from down the hallway.

Your face dropped at the voice. It couldn’t be. Jenni dropped you to the ground and you immediately whipped around to look for the source of the voice you had missed so much.

You found her quickly, she stood a little way back up the hallway where you’d come in from, and you froze. It was like you were too scared to move any closer, for her face to become clearer and reveal itself to be someone other than Vicky.

“You better still have time to catch up with me later”, Jenni whispered in your ear and as soon as you were finished, it’s like her voice had cut the cables to the breaks that had your feet rooted to the ground. You took off running towards your wife, throwing yourself into her arms once you were close enough. She had brace herself for it so caught you easily.

“Is it really you?”, you sobbed into her neck.

“It’s me, it’s me”, she held you tight. It was her, even after being away from her for a few months you could tell it was her. Her smell, she feel of her arms wrapped around you, it was her.

You pulled back a bit, though kept your legs wrapped around her waist so she could easily hold you up, and held her face in your hands, “I thought I was going insane”.

“What?”, she questioned, she had expected you to say you’d missed her, or at least something along those lines.

“I knew I saw you in the crowd during the game, and again just after it finished”, you informed her, “but you kept disappearing, I thought I was losing my mind seeing you everywhere”, you laughed lightly.

“Well I’m here”, she smiled up at you, “now give me a kiss”, she had barely finished her sentence before your lips were on hers.

Her lips felt exactly how you remembered them as they moved against your own. Her hands squeezed your hips gently and you hummed into the kiss.

“Okay okay”, a voice interrupted the two of you, “save that for later”, Mapi laughed as Vicky lowered you back to the ground. You rolled your eyes at your blonde teammate as she flung her arms over your shoulders and guided the two of you into the locker room, “we have a win to celebrate first”.

#Vicky Losada x reader #woso x reader #woso imagine #vicky losada imagine

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dogmetaph0r · 9 months ago

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SIC 'EM

Chapter 1: Fetch

A/N: We're FINALLY ready to get started here! So excited to share my work with you guys after talking about it for so long. Each chapter will come with its own warnings, tags, etc. but the chapters are not stand-alone. It's... more just because I am a pantser and not a planner so lord knows what will happen in the future.

Pairings: M!OC x F!OC, future M!OC x Tommy Shelby

Warnings: mentions of period accurate anti-Romani racism, mental health issues, generally just being a PB fic

Summary: Tommy Shelby needs a rat for the Grand National at Aintree Racecourse. Runaway lovers Samuel Lovell and Florence-Maria Lee need the money. It's a bulletproof plan, an easy job, and a chance to make things right with the Lee family... so what other choice does Sam have?

The other Lee girl was meant to meet him along the road halfway between Haydock and Collins Green just over twenty minutes ago, according to Tommy’s pocket watch. Esme had promised Tommy that Florence-Maria would make good on her word, but her lateness was beginning to wear on his resolve. Still, he had no choice but to wait, cigarette after cigarette burning down to embers at the tips of his fingers. Thomas Shelby was a man who valued the soldierly punctuality that would have been the difference between life and death on the Front. Esme’s sister or not, Florence was still an unknown variable, and the far travels of the Lee family could prove difficult if it came to tracking the young woman down. If she did not want to be found, she would not be found.

She certainly had her fair share of reasons to balk at their meeting. If Johnny Dogs’ story was to be believed, Florence was the first to object to the deal between the Shelbys and the Lees. The sisters were best friends, the closest in age of all of Zilpha’s children. Esme was Florence’s whole world. Strike one against the Shelbys, then, for taking Esme away. John’s account of the young woman was that she was skittish and not easily comforted by the promise of peace between the families. Tommy himself remembered seeing a girl roughly Esme’s age shying away from Cousin Nipper’s offer of a dance, flinching as though a touch from their accursed family could kill. Strike two. Most compelling of all was Esme’s own warning, delivered with the pride of an older sister: Florence does not take unnecessary risks. And Tommy was asking a very, very risky favor. Strike three.

He took a long drag of his cigarette, the smoke thick and acrid as he let the wind carry his sigh away. The prospect of making this deal work was too tempting to give up now. It kept Tommy leaning against his car, resolutely opposing the strong wind buffeting his side, the slightly-too-warm late spring sunlight beating down on his jacketed shoulders. If this plan went well, the Blinders could expand to Aintree Racecourse, taking the Grand National Steeplechase and cementing a reputation in Northwest England. While their security with Solomons and his Yiddishers meant they already had a place in booming London, the idea of staking a claim on Liverpool and Manchester was tempting. Tommy was nothing if not enterprising.

A low snort alerted him to the presence of a stout black filly cresting the top of the hill before him, a petite woman astride her unsaddled back. There was no mistaking her: this was certainly Florence. Her resemblance to Esme was evident, from her upturned nose to the brunette curls brushing her shoulders. Even the way she carried herself was familiar, bearing the unmistakable poise and dignity of a daughter of Zilpha Lee. Her dismount from the horse was gentle, nearly soundless even with the oversized riding boots she wore. It wasn’t until Florence turned to face him that Tommy could see the slight curvature of her lower belly below the loose fabric of her dress. When she caught the direction of his gaze, she pulled her colorful shawl more tightly over her abdomen, frowning slightly. Ah. That certainly explained her sudden departure from the Lee family caravans. Her mother was a stern and practical woman. If Zilpha were to find out about her daughter’s pregnancy, she would likely have been married off immediately to save her girl and the family the embarrassment. Perhaps to someone she didn’t know, whom Zilpha would approve of far more than her man. Not unlike how she and I married off her sister, Tommy thought, not without a small pang of guilt.

“Thomas Shelby, then?” She called out to him from a distance, keeping herself close to her filly. God, she even sounded like her sister: birdlike and light, but with a sharp edge of wariness.

“Aye,” he responded. “Florence-Maria Lee?” She nodded, glancing over him suspiciously. Undoubtedly, she already knew about the razor blades tucked unobtrusively into the brim of his cap. That wouldn’t help matters. Slowly, Tommy removed the cap and lay it out on the hood of his car, palms raised placatingly. The tension in her shoulders unwound slightly, though there was still a stubbornness to her voice when she spoke.

“He told me this morning he didn’t want to see you,” she called out. “Said he didn’t want a part in the Peaky devils’ business.”

It wasn’t ideal, that. It was always a possibility, coming all the way out here only to be turned away by the man he’d been hoping to see. But he would be damned if he gave up now, when the North was so close to being his that he could practically taste the factory soot in the air. “What would it take to change his mind?” Florence tilted her head, silently scrutinizing some unknown detail on Tommy’s face as she brought up a hand to stroke the cheek of the little black filly. Tommy had seen this type of horse often, when he’d been young. Only broad, compact horses were strong enough to pull a vardo across miles of open plain without complaint. He wondered if this was the sort of creature that Florence’s man worked with often: sturdy, dependable, solid. Hardly the leggy, lean build of a pedigree racehorse, but it had a unique charm that was difficult to deny. Rough-hewn and efficient, they were all that was needed with none of the frills.

“She’s a beauty,” Tommy said, breaking the silence as he jutted his chin towards the horse. “What’s her name?”

Florence relaxed a bit further, allowing the little horse to press her velvety nose in the cup of her palm. “Fleet Ypres,” she responded proudly. “She’s practically his baby. Not for sale, nor barter. So don’t try.”

Tommy nodded, daring to approach the horse, who eagerly flared her nostrils to examine the newcomer. From his left jacket pocket he withdrew an envelope stuffed with money– Florence’s share of the payment for her share of the negotiating –handing it over so the woman could safely tuck it behind the plain neckline of her dress. From his right, he procured a small pink taffy, which he unwrapped and fed to the eager horse. “He fought in Belgium, then?”

She didn’t respond immediately, instead clicking her tongue at the filly so that she would sidestep closer to the wooden fence along the side of the road. Using the rails as leverage, she mounted Fleet Ypres carefully, a hand resting protectively on her small bump as she pulled herself upright and adjusted her shawl again.

“He’s in a bad way today,” she commented in lieu of an answer. “You were a soldier. You’d know how it is.”

All too well, Tommy thought bitterly, the phantom scent of thick, burnt-sweet opium smoke assaulting his nostrils at the memory of one too many sleepless nights ending in a drugged-out haze. “I’ve seen men behave in all manner of ways, coming home.”

Florence gave him a sympathetic wan smile. She held his gaze contemplatively, a furrow between her brows as another strong wind blew against her back, making Fleet Ypres shiver and shift her balance. Her comfort with silence struck Tommy as unusual. Growing up in a household as crowded and hectic as his own, it was difficult to develop the patience to be so still. Florence, despite her own large, close-quartered family, seemed to possess this affinity for quiet. He respected that; it took discipline and an even temperament. She was exactly the type of person Tommy could rely on to keep this negotiation running smoothly.

A creeping chill settled over them as a thick cloud blotted out the midday sun. In the overcast light, he could see where Florence had become different from her older sister. Where Esme’s defiant gaze was fueled by stubbornness and fire, the younger Lee girl held a quiet desperation behind her cautious dark eyes. Her cheeks were beginning to sharpen despite her youthfully round face, something he’d learned to recognize when food was scarce and his younger brothers were at risk of going hungry for too many nights in a row. The combination of these factors would have typically made him wary, like some sort of primordial survival instinct developed to recognize when a person was at their breaking point. Once again, the girl (consciously or not, Tommy wasn’t sure) protectively rested a hand on her lower belly. No, he thought, not a threat. Someone in her position wouldn’t risk ruining the offer he’d laid out for her.

Florence was the first to break the silence with a resigned huff and a shrug, the tips of her ears pinking with the confession: “Fine, let’s go then.”

Tommy blinked. “Pardon?”

“He’s waiting to speak to you. I needed to vet you out first.” Florence gave him another critical once-over, waiting on his reaction. “Sorry for the delay, Mr. Shelby.”

It took a moment for Tommy to realize what Florence was saying. Then, half a second later, that she’d been misleading him on purpose. The mix between relief that the tension had broken and irritation that she’d outmaneuvered him must have shown on his face, judging by the slight cheeky smirk the Lee girl was struggling to suppress. Sorry my arse, he thought. You’ve been conducting this conversation to the exact tune you wanted. I just happened to sing in key. “Very well,” he sighed, turning towards his car and placing his hat neatly back on his head. “Alright. You have the money, now I’ll need the address.”

Florence scoffed, as if the very idea of such a thing was ridiculous. “There’s no address, Mr. Shelby.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Meaning?”

She turned Ypres back down the road she’d rode in on, the horse’s long tail catching the breeze in an unexpectedly graceful about-face. “If you’re going to find Sam Lovell,” she shouted over her shoulder, “you’re going to need to think like Sam Lovell.” Fleet Ypres kicked up a cloud of dust behind her as she cantered off, leaving Tommy to hop into the driver’s seat and start the ignition on his Model-T.

Fuck’s sake. He knew enough about Sam to know exactly where she was headed. He would need to follow behind quickly and keep his eyes peeled for a little red vardo, the one that had gone missing from the Lee caravans just a few months ago. That was the last Zilpha had seen of her daughter, and the last anyone had seen of the elusive Samuel Lovell. From what Esme had said of him, perhaps that’s been for the best. With that thought in mind, he sped off down the dirt path, following Florence’s lead.

At a canter, the horse wasn’t overly fast, but she had a steady gait. That speed wouldn’t do on the track, Tommy reasoned, but it was well enough for a caravan horse. Certainly well enough for Florence, who rode at least ten lengths from the car without a second glance behind her or an ounce of concern for her delicate condition. Even with the rumble of the car engine just out of sight, something startling to a horse with little to no city experience to be heard of, the little filly kept her course without a hint of anxiety. Bomb-proof, he thought, and a wave of relief brought a smile to his face. A horse like that could only come from a handler of integrity, a man who understood mutual respect. The type of man Tommy could do business with and walk away from without sweating over the fear of a bullet in his back.

The path Florence took him down grew dusty and dotted with sparse patches of grass, leading them away from the main road to Haydock. Past here, only tip carts and sure-footed horses disturbed the dirt, the natural grooves in the earth rattling the chassis of the automobile as it sped carelessly over each bump. Tommy could just make out forked sticks left in the grass along the trail as patrin signs urging fellow travelers onward, indicating safe passage and friendly company up ahead.

Just as sunlight broke through the cloud cover, the road curved around a copse of thin trees to reveal their destination: a small, red vardo bedecked with hand-painted blue and yellow flowers. Outside sat a tent and cooking fire, and just before that was another horse tied to a stake in the ground. The chestnut gelding was snorting and pawing at the ground, ears tilted back in warning as a tall, dark-haired man stood patiently outside of kicking range. Florence slowed Fleet Ypres to a stop to dismount by the vardo, and Tommy pulled to the side of the road, closing the car door behind him as gently as he could so as not to unsettle the hotheaded gelding further.

Florence and the man– Sam, he presumed –conversed in hushed Angloromani, darting furtive glances back at Tommy as he approached. With one last reassurance that he was fine, that the state he’d woken in had passed, Sam kissed Florence’s forehead sweetly.

His eyes were the first thing Tommy noticed. Large and dove grey, they gave Sam a distinctly melancholy appearance, like the sky just before a downpour. The bruise-dark circles just below stuck out harshly against pale, sallow skin. Despite this, Tommy couldn’t find himself to be put off by his appearance. Sickly and unassuming as he seemed, he didn’t shy away from Tommy’s gaze. Call it simple intuition or call it recognition of a fellow soldier, but Tommy could tell that this man was not the same one who had enlisted. He must’ve been handsome before the war.

“Mr. Shelby,” Sam greeted, wiping his calloused palms on his farrier’s apron. Tommy removed his driving gloves, shaking his hand firmly. “Sam Lovell. Henry’s son.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Samuel. Good to finally see the man I’ve been hearing of,” Tommy drawled, stepping back to take a look at the gelding as a whinny pierced the air. “And this is?”

Sam huffed, shaking his head. “Meska. Danny Lee’s new horse.” He rounded the gelding’s front and patted him firmly on the neck, despite the horse’s loud snorting. “He was sold with an abscess under the left back hoof. Danny-boy dropped him here a while ago to go, ah… have a word with the seller,” Sam looked askance at Tommy, quirking an eyebrow knowingly. “And to deliver a message from the Peaky Blinders. But you knew that already.”

Tommy pulled out a cigarette for himself, offering one to Sam. He declined. Instead, the man reached into his back pocket and revealed two slices of dried red apple wrapped in a handkerchief, popping one in his mouth and letting the horse cautiously eat the other from the palm of his hand. “Gave up smokes after the war. Gives me the shakes.” He sniffed and cleared his throat, trailing a hand along the gelding’s flank until he reached the troublesome hoof, bandaged and padded. “This’ll take some time. He’s got an attitude, won’t let me near without a fair bit of bribery. But he oughta be good for riding by the Appleby fair, God permitting.”

“You’re still a godly man after everything, Samuel?” Tommy lit his cigarette, letting it hang from his mouth as smoke curled around his head.

It was an innocent question, nothing more than a weak attempt at peeling back the layers of Sam’s guarded past, but it earned him a glare as cold and dead as still water in the trenches. Perhaps it was the change in light, the overcast above thickening as it cloaked the sun, but the circles under his eyes seemed to grow darker, deep and sunken. The man's lips were chapped and anxiously bitten to scabbing in places. It didn’t take a soldier’s experience to know that Sam was exhausted, laden with the kind of weight that didn’t shake with a good night’s sleep. If he could even manage such a thing, he thought. Tommy had seen men fall victim to their own minds with a lack of sleep in the Somme, going skittish and paranoid like cornered animals. Yet the look in Sam’s eyes wasn’t desperate, but fixed. Focused. It was a dizzying thing to be the subject of.

“You keep calling me Samuel,” he muttered, the ghost of a scouse accent coating his words as he stepped into Tommy’s space, breathing in his smoke. “God has heard, it means. D’you think God heard me in Ypres?” He leaned in close, right next to Tommy’s ear, lowering his voice to just a whisper. “Because I’ll tell you a secret, Tom. I did a lot of begging for it all to stop.”

Tommy steeled himself, slowed his breathing. It would do him no good to give in to the discomfort and back away, to put distance between himself and the war being stirred up in Sam’s brain. Whatever battle Sam had been fighting this morning had evidently not been won as easily as he’d told Florence it had. While Tommy did not come here looking for a confrontation, it was difficult to determine if Sam knew as much– or, rather, whether his mind could recognize the difference between friend and foe so far into this waking nightmare. The way he spat out God’s name felt like a provocation, tempting Tommy to fight back just to give Sam a reason to bite. Besides the fact that he and the heavens were no longer on speaking terms, Tommy knew better than to escalate. Knew that this was just the jagged edge the Western Front had left behind when it ripped Sam away from the safety of home. Something in the tension the other man held, an anticipatory rigor, told him that he had to keep playing his part in the verbal standoff if he wanted this conversation to go anywhere. He had to meet the soldier where he was at, even if that place was a trench only Sam could see. “And did God answer?”

Sam was the one to back up, hunching slightly to grin sardonically with that same ghostly eye contact. “Oh, yes. He sent me a bullet, right here,” He tapped a rib on his right side. “Nearly sent me up to my maker, it did. But the week I was due back on the front lines, the war ended. Lucky me.” He straightened up but didn’t move farther, just glared down at him like a priest at the pulpit. “So yeah, you could say that I’m a proper faithful man, Thomas.” Don’t fucking ask again, his tone said.

“Good.” Tommy looked him up and down slowly. Analytically. Waiting for the bite to follow his bark. “I like to see devotion.”

Sam’s nostrils flared, betraying his irritation that the older man would not stand down. He cut an imposing figure, Tommy had to admit. It was a shame how hard he tried to shrink into himself before this disruption, lean limbs pulled in and shoulders hunched as though he could hide in plain sight. This, in contrast, this…intensity was a force to be reckoned with. This was someone Tommy could use on his side. He had to teach him to harness that anger, refine him the same way he honed Arthur to a razor-sharp edge and wielded him like a weapon. Break him the way he might break a horse. Train him the way he might train a bloodhound. Their eye contact held until Florence stepped into his peripheral, a hand on Sam’s shoulder to guide him back gently. She whispered a question to him, inaudible over the sound of the gelding’s concerned huffs, to which he responded with a tight smile and slight shake of the head. The warm glow of Tommy’s cigarette quickly reached his lips, and he crushed the butt of it into the dirt with the heel of his shoe.

They didn’t have money, that much was clear. Between Sam’s unhealthy pallor and the frayed hem on Florence’s dress, they gave the impression of a couple working themselves ragged in an attempt to make ends meet. Tommy’s offer could get them out of the cold for the winter, put them up in a flat in the city where the factories could use a blacksmith. That wouldn’t appeal so much to someone like Sam, accustomed as he was to clean, fresh air and the sensitivities of horses, but it was work. Work meant food on the table. That realization must have reached Sam while he listened to Florence, because something like dread settled over his face as he took in the difference in their appearances: Tommy, clean-cut and offering him a job, and Sam, hunger gnawing behind his ribcage and no family left to take shelter with.

“Alright,” Sam returned to Tommy, the ice beginning to melt away from his pale eyes. “I’ll consider doing business with you, but it’ll be no tricks, aye? If I don’t like your plan, or if you change shit up on me day-of, I walk. Got a deal?”

Tommy nodded, emboldened by this show of trust. “Deal.”

Each man spat into his bare palm, and they shook on it.

Sam did not like Tommy. Not at first, at least. He carried himself as if he weren’t the upstart head of a Brummie street gang; an ill-fitting hand-me-down from his father that he had only just grown into, if he’d heard correctly. The tailored suit and shiny dress shoes were a poor fit for the dusty country road, as though he’d been planning to meet over crystal tumblers of gin and tonic at a fucking white tablecloth restaurant rather than the middle of a field miles from anything resembling a town. Sam had no such pretenses. Tommy knew he was just a farrier, knew he was the son of a farrier, knew he was dirt poor and barely scraping by even without the baby. But if Tommy wanted to flaunt his new status and play at the image of old money, he could go right on ahead. It cost him nothing when Sam knew he could see right through it.

Sam had to give him credit for one thing, though– he was a good businessman. The plan was solid, and the offer was just steep enough to be tempting while realistic enough to be trustworthy. He hardly had to act to fill the role he’d been set to play, just keep his eyes and ears open and his mouth shut at Aintree Racecourse. Tommy needed someone to integrate into the regular staff of farriers, veterinarians, trainers, and stableboys milling about the racecourse over the course of the two weeks leading up to the race, learning the ins and outs of the venue and discovering the weak points in security. After every few days he’d report to their go-between, Paul Knight– which he was sure was not the man’s real name –who was identifiable as a big bloke missing half a pinkie who would wait for him at the Queens Arms pub. But on Grand National day, his role would be the silent, inconspicuous observer posing as yet another nameless grunt in the stables, tracking the movements of every piece on the chessboard: the jockeys, the coppers, the bookies. Up until the minutes before the races start. From the bar, he’d create a distraction: a staged fight with another of the Blinders over something stupid and typical, like betting or women or offhand remarks. He’d involve others. Make a scene. And, with the Blinders’ help, their scuffle would escalate into an all-out pub brawl. The coppers would have no choice but to flood the scene just to untangle the whole mess, and Sam would flee. With no coppers and no eyes on the bookies, the Blinders could burn their permits and rob them of their earnings. A variation on the Epsom scheme, Tommy had said. A modus operandi in the making.

With the price Tommy was willing to pay for his cooperation, it was impossible to say no. He had a child on the way, a family to look after, a home to be the man of. There was already no other choice for him. The age of automobiles was upon him, and the type of people who could afford to pay good money for a good farrier were no longer the people who required his services. He wouldn’t be many clients’ first choice; it was easier to send the Rrom on his way and pay a higher price for someone whose parentage they respected. Anyone who wasn’t like him.

So there was no other choice. That’s what he told himself. It’s what he told Florence, later, when they were alone and settling in for the night. There was no other choice, and the money would be enough to keep them afloat, and she deserved to rest while he made things work. That he would take care of her. That he always did.

“Fia,” he whispered to her, fingers carding through her curls. Long ago, Florence-Maria became just Fia, and the name had stuck tighter than a burr in a wild colt’s mane. “Fia, listen. It’s just one job.”

She sighed, one heaping lungful of air saying more than words could. When it was just the two of them, words were hardly necessary anyway. “It’s always just one job with those men,” she muttered into his bare chest, “and then before you know it it’s just another job. And another. And a horse. And a few guns. And some cash. And a night in a cell.” And your big sister, he thought. It went unspoken.

“Yeah, well, next time I’ll just tell ‘em to fuck off.” He kissed the top of her head. “Just this time, I’ll do it. It’s not much effort, and a lot of money besides. The racecourse’ll pay me for the honest work on top of that. They’ll be none the wiser.”

She pouted. Sam couldn’t see it, but he could certainly feel it against his skin, the way her jaw tightened and her lower lip stuck out just slightly. He resisted the urge to poke that scowl, just to make her laugh. Something about this moment felt like no laughing matter.

After a moment of silence, she spoke up, her voice small and quiet: “I didn’t like the way he talked to you.”

Sam scoffed, rolling his eyes with the confidence of a man who knew he couldn’t be seen from her angle. “He hardly did, Fia. Puffed himself up like a rooster and said the vaguest shit you ever did hear, then it was right to business.”

“I don’t like the way he looked at you, then,” she moved, propping herself up with a hand on her cheek so that her chin rested on his shoulder. “Like you were a horse at auction.”

Like a piece of meat, more like. He shuddered. “And what if you’re wrong, eh? What if I do my job and go on my way, and the Peaky Blinders just leave us be?”

Florence shrugged, still skeptical. “Well, if I’m proven wrong, then I’m wrong.”

“My Fia? Proven wrong?” Sam gaped at her, gasping dramatically. “Hell might freeze over before I hear you admit that.” “Wanker.” That, at least, provoked a snort and a poorly-restrained grin to break out over her face. She wriggled up until she was partially propped upright by the pillows behind her, then took Sam’s hand and placed it right over her bump. A flicker of sadness shone behind her eyes for half a second. “Just… don’t let them keep you from being her father, alright?”

Sam grinned, scooting so that they were close again. “Her? You’re convinced we’re having a girl?”

“Oh, we are.”

“Nah, we’re having a boy. I know because I prayed.” He pressed his palms together and looked skyward, “Oh please God, send me a son! Send me a son so that I’m not stuck being nagged by two mares and a daughter and a wife all at the same time–”

She cackled, leaning down and bumping their foreheads together. “Sam, you can’t just say I’m your wife!”

“Gotta say that to keep the Big Man happy, eh?” Sam rolled so that he was hovering over her, nose-to-nose. “How else am I gonna get my prayers answered? Not with sex out of wedlock and spiriting you away from home, that’s for sure.”

That golden smile of hers deflated slowly, turning bittersweet as she stroked an overgrown lock of black hair away from his forehead. Ah. So that’s what this was about.

Sam sat back on his heels, taking her slender, work-calloused hands between his own. “Hey. Hey,” he waited until she was focusing on him, brown eyes meeting grey. “It’ll be okay, Fia. Esme’s the one who had Danny bring you the letter, wasn’t she? And besides, he left his new horse here, yeah?”

She nodded slowly, eyes glistening.

“Right. And if she was angry with you, or if your mum was angry with you… do you think they’d go and do that?”

Florence sniffled, shaking her head vehemently. “They hold grudges.”

Sam smiled. “Reminds me of someone I know. Fia, if your mum holds grudges, and Esme holds grudges, and Danny– bless his little arse-kissing heart –was sent all the way up here just to draw us into the Shelby family nonsense and then ‘borrow’ your mare while I doctored his proud-cut devil of a horse… do you really think they’d be upset at hearing from you?”

Florence sighed, reluctantly shaking her head no. Sam was sympathetic to her anxieties. It was world-shaking for her, finding out she was pregnant so soon after her best friend and older sister left home with a gangster. Their decision to leave in a stolen vardo when her monthly was late was impulsive, but not terribly unexpected. She’d threatened as much a number of times when Zilpha had told her that under no circumstances was she to marry the troubled boy from the troubled family in Liverpool. If Zilpha only knew the truth, her answer might’ve been different, he thought ruefully. It aggravated him, to think that they couldn’t see the way that he cared for her. That he would protect her. Love her. Do anything for her. Would they see that, if they knew why they’d run?

“They’ll have to figure it out eventually. You know that, right?” He tried to control his tone, struggling to keep the accusation out of his voice. Will you tell Esme? Will you tell Danny? Will you tell your mother?

Are you ashamed of me? Should I be ashamed of myself?

Florence rolled onto her side, curling up protectively. “I don’t want to go on about it, Sam. Not right now. I don’t feel well.”

Please tell me you aren’t ashamed.

He let out the breath he’d been holding. “That’s okay,” he said instead, lying down to hold her back against his chest. “We’ll figure it out when we get there. I promise.”

The tension in Florence’s shoulders evened out as sleep overcame her. Sam stayed awake, watching her breathe until the sun rose.

#fic: sic em #oc: samuel lovell #oc: florence-maria lee #peaky blinders #peaky blinders oc #peaky blinders fanfic

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oneshotnewbie · 2 years ago

Note

Baby Danvers loses her beloved cat that she had rescued with Kara

Authors note: Okay, this might suck because I was not in the right head space while writing it and it is really short so I am apologizing for this story being yucky.

⚠️Trigger warning!⚠️ This one-shot includes the topic of pet loss and euthanizing. The plots are presented. If this triggers you too easily or you just can´t handle the subject, I urge you NOT to read this work. I am NOT embellishing this topic under any circumstance. Read at your own risk.

---

Animals are life companions, best friends, confidants or soul mates and usually for many but not enough years.

Pets are not just animals, they are true friends for humans. The impending death of a beloved four-legged friend hits hard and leaves a sad void. Saying goodbye to a pet and the simultaneous loss of a friend, knowing that here was not much time left for the two of you, is difficult for people to process.

You were not ready for it. You were not ready to let go even though you knew you could save suffering and it was the right thing for her.

You already missed the moments when you would come home and watch your cat jump rabidly around the apartment, dragging your holey curtains along the floor behind it. The moments when you would be annoyed that there were rolls of lint on your blouse and you could not get them off or the desperation when changing the food because the lady was too fine for her old food.

You knew that the time had come for you to say goodbye to your beloved cat, whom Kara and you rescued and who had moved with you to National City after graduating from college; who had been with you for practically your whole life since youth.

You had no idea where she was born. You only knew that people had no idea how to care for kittens; she was often very ill and due to the lack of milk for her siblings and herself, she was very thin at the beginning of your journey.

When they took her away from her mother, her baby teeth had barely come through and she still needed her mom so much. But her breeder only wanted money and the meow of her only surviving sister and her got on their nerves.

And so one day the were loaded into a box and taken to a pet store. In the box, she was cuddling herself tight to her older sister, who was already dying. Her head rested on her soft fur and she felt her life drain from her sisters body. Your cat was supposed to be given away cheaply so that it would soon be gone and make room for new animals, and on that very day you had rescued and bought her.

But now all the wonderful years you could give her were gone in a flash and the final visit to the vet was pending. You shuddered as you gently held her in your arms and stroked her now old and rough fur. It was awful; the death of a beloved pet is a devastating experience for any owner.

You knew it was time. Every movement hurt her, she slouched and she had shortness of breath just walking around the living room a little bit. Last night was the particular bad one when she could not get up on her own, wet herself, hardly drank and just screamed out in pain.

It broke your heart and the tears had not stopped flowing since then.

"Come on, babygirl. You need to lay her down." Kara whispered in your ear as she tried to hide her tears from you and give you strength that you did not have in that moment. Cuddling you both from behind, she too let her bitter tears slowly fade into your hair.

When you sat her down on the vet´s table for the last time, the metal beneath her was cold and you could clearly feel her fear in her rapid breathing. You laid your head against hers and cried into her brittle and lackluster fur as you felt her warmth once more. She lifted her head with the last of her strength and licked some tears from your face before the vet gave her the injection and she looked at you gratefully and contentedly. "I will miss you so much, C/N. I hope you are no longer in pain."

Now she was back with her mom and her siblings in a big, green meadow where there was nothing but peace and happiness. With a quick flick of her tail and a little final sniff, you watched her as the life was drained from her body, her breathing became shallower under your touch and her narrow pupils dilated further in her stare until her heartbeat slowed down and there was no longer any life to be felt in her heavier growing body.

You could not swallow your sadness anymore and turned to Kara, who wrapped her arms protectively around you and held you tight when you collapsed in them. "It is okay. Let it out, sweetie. Where she is now, she´s doing much better."

You had spent so many happy years with her and she gave you a best friend who never let you down. She has always been by your side whenever your grieved and over time has become a close and loyal friend.

It was hard taking the last step but you knew it would be a great help to accompany your friend on her final journey- after all, she has been with you all his life. An animal that has lived with you for so long will never be forgotten.

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faunandfl0ra · 1 year ago

Text

TIMING: Yesterday LOCATION: Wicked's Rest State Park PARTIES: Conor & Rhett @ironcladrhett SUMMARY: A walk in the national park turns into a trip down memory lane for some, nightmare alley for others. CONTENT WARNINGS: Sibling death (mention)

In the two months he had been living in Maine, Conor hadn’t really thought about taking a look around town, or beyond. The shop was often busy, and when it wasn’t, he liked to retire in his backyard, which was beginning, day after day, to look like the disorganized, flowery, luscious haven he wished to spend his evenings in. When he didn’t do that, he generally settled with his violin in his bedroom, rehearsing for hours.

Going out was never really his priority. His garden counted as going out to him. He didn’t need to be with people to do that. His garden was fine.

He didn’t particularly seek the company of others today either.

Conor wasn’t much of a hiker, but he figured the state park would have greenery worth the trouble. He hadn’t packed much aside from a bottle of water, and he hadn’t told a soul about where he was going or for how long. It was Sunday, he didn’t need to tell the whole town about what he did on Sundays, right?

On his way toward a stream, he had to stop to look at the purple and yellow irises growing there. “Well aren’t you a beauty,” he smiled, crouching down to take a closer look.

—

Spend more time in the woods, his brother had told him. Warned him, more like. There was a reason he was trying to keep Rhett from the lake, and while the warden couldn’t fathom what it could be, he could do what Emilio asked. For a little while, anyway.

As such, today found him wandering through the state park, his posture relaxed enough that it was almost as if he was just on a stroll and not on the constant lookout for fae or fae-related activity. Still, the scabbard hanging from his hip and the rifle slung over his back told a different story—not that he cared much about appearances. He looked dangerous, and anyone that he encountered that had nothing to fear from him would do well to stay away anyway, because he was in a sour mood after failing to kill that fucking lake nymph.

A buzz crawled over his skin and he stopped dead, wide eyes scanning the area. His vision might be shit, but his fae-dar was impeccable, especially in a place like this. Crowds of people and monsters were another story.

Moving stealthily, the warden drew his sword and twisted it in his hand, his breath catching in his throat when he finally saw the source of the claws that scratched at the backs of his eyes. Some… whatever it was, crouched down admiring flowers. Cute. Those purple and yellow buds were about to get a fresh paint job, though.

He crept up behind the figure, careful with the knowledge that it might have some kind of advanced hearing, moving as slow as he could. Crouched down among the ferns, focused fully on his victim to-be, he didn’t notice the crystal poking up from beneath the foliage his palm brushed through, his fingertips dragging along its smooth surface for a brief second or two before moving on to the rough bark of the tree that stood beside him.

When the fae started to move again, Rhett moved faster, closing the distance in about a second and pressing his iron blade to its neck as his hand gripped it by the opposite shoulder. He should have slit its throat then and there, but curiosity got the better of him. “What are ya?” He could only tell a nymph by feeling alone, and this one had a different flavor of irritation.

—

Conor left the flowers where they belonged. He couldn’t bring these back to his place. They’d die there. Then, if he managed to dig a pond in his backyard, perhaps he could invest in those sorts of plants next year. He’d have to worry about mosquitoes, but he supposed there were easy ways to get rid of them.

Lost in his train of thoughts, he paid no mind to the sounds in his back, up until it became clear those were footsteps, and coming from someone way too close to him. Now was not the time to freak out, yet, Conor couldn’t stop himself from focusing more than it was comfortable on the sharp, cold yet burning thing pressed to his neck, or the strong hand gripping at his shoulder. He didn’t like strangers touching him. He knew he was tense, and yet any noise that could have helped him get help got caught up in his throat. And why was that knife burning him?

The stranger spoke. He didn’t sound nice, or from around here.

Conor didn’t attempt to take a look at him. He didn’t dare move. Still, he had to answer his question. “What do you mean?” His voice quivered as he stammered his way through the short sentence. “I’m just hiking, I’m not gonna do anything.”

—

“Didn’t ask what yer doin’, idjit. Asked what ya are. Know you’re fae, no point in lyin’ ‘bout it. Wanna know what kind afore I cut yer damn head off. Why don’tcha let that pretty li’l disguise’ah yours drop, eh? Would love tah see what ya really look like.”

As if to back up this threat, Rhett’s cutlass pressed more firmly into the fae’s neck, his grip moving from the creature’s shoulder to grab a fistful of its unruly hair.

“Come on… rude to keep a fella waitin’,” Rhett warned a final time, leaning his head down to speak directly into his prey’s ear, just in case he wasn’t being heard.

—

The hunter did a good job of exposing Conor’s neck, of making him entirely vulnerable. What could he possibly do now, to break free from his strong hold. With a whimper, Conor slowly raised his hand up, before him. He didn’t want to do the other harm, simply to get out of harm’s way.

It would be disappointing to see the end of the path today. He had just began the process of letting his brother back into his life. Disappearing would leave a bitter taste of unfinished business in his younger brother’s mouth, and Conor hated to be the sort to keep on letting him down. He had just introduced himself back to the Bostonian man, all to be murdered weeks later. What a shame.

“I’m a…” He winced. The other’s lips brushed against his ear lobe, too close, his voice too loud for his sensitive ears. With that stimulation, they turned back to their natural aspect, pointier, goat-like, and it wasn’t long before Conor’s legs took on a more hairy and complicated aspect, his bushy hair parted on his temples, revealing curled horns. “Please, I… I don’t do people harm.” He tried not to wince. That wasn’t quite right, but the other didn’t need to know it.

___

Was a divine damn thing, seeing one of their kind shed the human disguise it used to masquerade in a place it didn’t belong. He pulled back a bit as those ears changed, gaze traveling down the creature’s body as more of it shifted, then back up again to see the horns that’d appeared on its head.

“Ah.” The usual plea. “Faun.” As far as murderous fae went, faun were a little lower on the totem pole—he could recall a time when he’d have left most of them well enough alone, provided they weren’t hurting anyone. But unfortunately for this faun, those days were gone.

“No? Y’ain’t never killed no one? Find that hard’tah believe, goat. Easy t’go overboard. Never had an accident, then? Yer the pinnacle of control?” His tone carried a sharp, poisonous edge to it, not unlike the one digging into the faun’s flesh. “Be honest, I know it’s terrible painful to lie. You ever killed anyone?”

—

"You've killed before," Conor countered. No one in their right mind would walk up on someone like that with a knife if they weren't metaphorically screaming bloody murder from a mile away. "Doesn't mean you should die for it, does it?" Conor knew some of his fae pals would disagree.

He was ashamed of his feats enough as it was. He didn't need the fae police to come and slap him on the hand (or much worse) about it. So yes, Conor's tone was harsh, and the faun was once again cranky. It would be terrible to die having renounced his ideals. It would be strange for it to be any different with that damn blade burning against his neck.

With a heave of his shoulders, Conor took another calming breath. "I was raised by humans. I don't know the ways of my kin," which was why he had accidents. "I'm so sorry. I don't mean to do people harm," most of the time, he didn't. Karens and Kyles had it coming.

—

“That’s where yer wrong, bucko. I’ve killed, sure. I’ve killed lots. Fae, undead, shifters… don’t make much difference to me, so long as they ain’t human. But fae really key me up like nothin’ else, yanno? All those fuckin’ tricky ways you lot like to talk… sucker some poor human into doin’ whatever you tell ‘em to, into hurtin’ the people they love, all with yer god damn fuckin’ words…” It was getting personal, clearly. “But all that killin’ I’ve done? It does mean I should die for it. In fact, I plan to. Just not today.”

He shoved down on the faun’s shoulder to force it to its knees, sucking in a deep, wavering breath. “Save yer fuckin’ apologies,” he bit out, wondering why his throat felt so tight. “You might not mean to, but ya do. Ya do all kinds’ah fuckin’ harm all the fuckin’ time—” What remained of his vision had grown blurry, and there was a sound in his ear like a mosquito that just wouldn’t leave. “I—” His thoughts had gone foggy and he felt… he felt… oh, no. Not now. His mind abandoned him, separating from his body in a metaphorical sense, leaving him hollow and confused.

“Gonna kill ya,” he muttered, tightening the grip on his sword, almost like he was trying to remind himself why he was there. “Gonna…” His dark gaze dropped down to the top of the faun’s head and the world around him felt spinny. It felt wrong.

“Look at me,” came the command, soft but stern. He only waited a half-second before demanding again, louder and more fraught with emotion. “Look at me, goat! Look at me!” His eyes were wide and wild and brimming with tears as the faun finally met his gaze, and a choked sob was barely bitten back as he took in the other’s visage.

Fuck’s sake, he looked a lot like Desmond.

It. It looked a lot like Desmond. But it wasn’t. Dez was dead. Dead a long time ago. Not lookin’ up at him from his knees, horned and fuzzy-eared—

“Dez,” he groaned, still holding his sword out in a threatening sort of way, though it was clear that he was… elsewhere. Agony turned to frustration and he tried to shake off whatever was ailing him, but it was no use. God, why did this thing look so much like his brother?

—

The tricky ways his lot liked to talk? That didn’t speak to him. He hadn’t met many fae, but the few he did meet were kind to him, even Cass, and she had destroyed his front door. Some were scared, hiding, disgusted with themselves, some took being fae as something more than an identity, making it their duty, and some just wanted to live their life. He was a bit of that, although Conor had avoided looking at his reflection over the years.

His knees hit the ground as he reflected on his situation, how unfair it all was, and how fair it all was. It was unfair to his mother. She’d never know why he stopped writing. To his brother and to him. He expected a response from him, and he wanted to reconnect with him. But deep down, Conor knew that none of this mattered. This man was right. He was a murderer. He didn’t mean to, but more than once, he was unable to stop his feeding process and people had died. Of course it looked like heart attacks, and he was coined as the unlucky witness. “I’m sorry,” he repeated.

His eyes fell on the flowers. If he was gonna die, he might as well be looking at something beautiful. The thought brought a sad smile to his face.

And then that cruel man demanded he looked at him. And that’s when he saw his face, at this awful man calling him a goat. He was not a fucking goat. The faun’s lip quivered and he wrinkled his nose in anger, in disgust.

“What?!” he spat. Who the fuck was Dez. “Why are you doing this? You don’t need to do this. Please.”

Something was wrong. This wasn’t the usual bout of dissociation, something else was happening and he didn’t know what. He felt furious and tormented in the same breath, like there was some terrible, heavy truth weighing down on him that he’d been hiding for centuries.

But that was ridiculous. So what, then? Why did he feel like the world was fucking ending? He was just here to kill a goddamn goat. Kill the faun. Focus. Focus. Breathe.

“I do need to,” he argued, unsure why he was even bothering talking to it. Just cut the head off and be done with it. “Y’don’t understand… I gotta.” Why? Because he’d been raised for it? That hadn’t mattered to him back when Dez was still alive. In fact, he’d often been the one sticking up for fae when his brother wanted to kill them.

But that was why, wasn’t it? Because his trust had been misplaced, and it had gotten his brother killed. And the one who did it—she’d gotten away. It was her fault. Her fault. The fault of all fae, just like this one. But if he hadn’t made that promise—

Fury decorated with a golden filigree of sorrow wrapped around him like chains and he gasped for breath. He couldn’t do this. The faun was begging for its life and where that would normally delight him, now it made him feel ill. He tried to think about what could have changed. He retraced his steps in his mind, as serpentine as they were and as much as his thoughts wanted to fully disconnect from themselves. None of it made sense.

“Get out of here,” he snarled, unable to combat the feeling of damnation that had taken his whole person in a vice-like grip. Fuck it. Fuck it, he needed to be alone, and killing this thing felt like too much effort for arms that refused to work, to do what his brain tried to tell them. “I said git!” Again, the command was barked louder and only a half-second after the first. Rhett took a step back, his sword thudding to the forest floor as his hands rose to instead tangle themselves into his mane of silver hair. He wasn’t supposed to feel like this, not ever. Not anymore. He didn’t feel shit anymore. He needed to ground himself. Needed to do his steps, run through his routine, until this went away.

____

"Why? Who told you that?" Conor's eyes would have rather looked anywhere else than at that terrible, terrible man's face, but he could feel a change and maybe this would be his only chance. “I don’t fucking understand, no, but… you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. Please.” He felt like every single time he pleaded, the clock just ticked closer toward the inevitable, and yet he couldn’t stop saying that damn word. If that man allowed him, he would say it again.

Around them, things were undisturbed. Perhaps could he find solace in being surrounded by such beauty for his final moments ?

The water was still streaming next to him, and the scent of the flowers still perfumed the ambient air. Soon, there would only be the smell of blood, but the calm would last because all in all, he knew he was insignificant and that the neighborhood would be more disturbed by the absence of a florist than by the absence of the florist. Hermetic to the torments that shook the hunter, the faun was about to leave, but certainly not in such a literal way.

The bad man barked, and Conor didn't immediately understand what that meant. It didn't make any fucking sense, and he stood for a moment, a second at most, staring at him, looking confused as well as offended. What the fuck, he thought.

And yet, it didn't take long for him to do exactly what was asked of him, once again. Conor didn't necessarily have much affection for authority figures, but he preferred not to upset assholes who carried a sword behind their backs. The sound of metal hitting the floor. He remembered covering his ears then, almost mirroring his opponent, but not for long. Before the hunter regained his composure, the faun would be long gone.

—

It was illogical, what he was doing. There was no reason that beheading the faun should feel so fucking difficult, but it did, and he was telling it to leave before he’d taken care of things. Stupid. Stupid.

Who told you that? Everyone. Everyone he’d ever known, even though he’d not believed it for the first twenty-some-odd years of his life. They didn’t all have to die, he’d argued. The ones that weren’t hurting anyone on purpose, they didn’t have to die. They needed tools, that was all. Tools to help them control what the universe had given them, to make their own choices. Like he was making his own, despite what he and his brother had been taught growing up.

That was a time when ‘it’ had been ‘she’, and she had been the love of his life. The one that showed him nothing but beauty and a kind of grace that he lacked, but had aspired to. She was everything, until she took everything. His love, his family, his unborn child. Gone in a second. Gone like his choice to spare any of them, ever.

Except for now. Because there were voices in his head screaming at him to stop, voices he’d never heard before. Phantom hands, not real in any capacity but still able to grasp him as though they were, dragged the warden to his knees where he wept. He wept for some unknown anguish, foreign to him but coursing through his bloodstream like it was his own.

The faun was gone, but that didn’t stop the feeling. It went on, and on, pulling him to the forest floor where it would keep him for the better part of two days.

#ironcladrhett #faun and flora | threads #rhett threads #sibling death tw #wickedswriting

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lilimonarch · 1 year ago

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Doctor Hanahaki - I wish that you would stay in my memories. [2]

Doctor Hanahaki

Chapter 2

WC: 6055

Akaashi talks with his new patient, Bokuto Koutarou. This unnverves him, and his past is revealed to all but himself.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/47404093/chapters/119693767#workskin

“Oh, um, right,” Bokuto seemed slightly startled at first, though he got his composure eventually. His voice was rougher than the average person, though Akaashi was not too sure by what amount compared to his normal range. “Hanahaki, my throat is killing me. I’ll cough up blood and petals, but sometimes these small twigs.”

Akaashi was intrigued, twigs were never part of the symptoms. “Got a whole nest up in there, don’t you?” Akaashi stepped forward with his gloved hands, moving to slowly touch Bokuto’s neck to feel for any punctures. “If something hurts, let me know,” the sterile hands slowly danced along his skin, until he stopped feeling a sharp end in his finger, followed by the wincing of his patient. “That’s odd.”

“It’s Hanahaki, right?”

“Yeah, just-” Akaashi stepped back. Hanahajou? Is this the mysterious variant he had only seen in research? “Anything else?”

“My nose will start bleeding sometimes; I don’t know if that’s related. It’s hard to breathe, though I know that’s normal,” Bokuto commented, harsh coughs filling the room as small Sakura petals painted in crimson fell into his hands. “I know the blood isn’t supposed to happen until later, though I’ve only been like this for a week now.”

“You sure know your stuff, are you a doctor?” Akaashi tried to poke light in the darkness, getting a cup of water and handing it to his patient.

“Far from it, I used to play volleyball. You know the MSBY Jackals?” The weakness in Bokuto’s eyes faded slightly as he flexed his muscles, a haphazard grin on his face. “Bokuto BEAM!” The two shared a soft smile. “I played with them until I was 30, I was also on the National team for the Olympics. Time of my life,” Bokuto sighed, clearly reminiscent of the days. Akaashi knew volleyball was significant to him at some point in his life, though he did not follow the sports. Now that he thinks about it, he can recognize the man in his younger years being on the court of the Olympics. “I… I watch you on the news a lot. It’s really impressive stuff, being a doctor and a correspondent.”

“So that’s how you know all this,” Akaashi took some notes on the punctures in the throat, surely the twigs he was talking about. “At least someone listens to me instead of thirsting over the edits,” he chuckled, Bokuto letting out a small laugh followed by harsh coughs filled with fluttering petals. “So breathing is rough, I’m saying an inhaler for now, but I also want an emergency x-ray done on you right after this. We have to make sure those aren’t puncturing your lungs, also some blood testing to see if it’s a Hanahaki variant.” The medical part of Hanahaki, the part Akaashi was great at.

Then, there was the part he was less great at. “So… Hanahaki is caused by unrequited love,” his voice dragged the last part of the sentence. “Who is the person who makes you like this?” It still made him feel awkward, despite his expertise. Akaashi specialized in Hanahaki, not in listening. Usually, a patient would quickly bring up the person of their desires, but Bokuto seemed to stay relatively quiet on the topic.

Bokuto fidgeted with his hands slightly, Akaashi catching his stolen glance. “You probably don’t hear this a lot, but he does not know who I am.”

“Really now?” Akaashi had heard this millions of times before. He doesn’t know I exist, this and I’m just a stranger, they don’t know my name that. All pointless lies, based on pettiness and lack of courage to confess. Yet the way Bokuto said the words sounded different. “I do hear that a lot.”

“Not like that,” Bokuto interrupted, coughing up another group of petals. “We were really close, and then something happened. He went for a surgery, and I never saw him again, at least not in person.” Bokuto opened his mouth to continue but paused before closing it again. “I guess I’m just missing what could have been, he cared so much for me.”

“I’m sorry,” Akaashi found himself in shock at the words. His job was to listen, not to feel sympathy. There were therapists for that, and heaven forbid he said the words I hope you meet again. There was the unnatural draw once more, Akaashi clearing his throat and fixing his white coat. “Right, so I’ll have the nurse come in to fill some final details and schedule our next appointment one week from today. It was nice to meet you, Bokuto.”

“Yeah, nice to see you,” Bokuto sighed as Akaashi left the room, a headache following him.

He was off, those were words to describe it. Akaashi had seen some sickening stories in person, he did residencies at hospitals and heck, his specialty could be called gore on its own. Akaashi sat down in the chair of the more office-like area in the wing to fill out charts. Patients never left him this distraught, and he could not pinpoint the reason.

Akaashi does not remember.

His high school years were much of a blur, his friends and experiences erased. Usually, he did not mind, for the lack of memories and emotions meant no attachments and nothing to hold him back from his career. All Akaashi needed was his career and Nariko, that was enough for him.

So why did Akaashi find a feeling of concern bubbling in his chest?

Akaashi was 17 when it happened.

Cleaning up the gym after practice, he had finally admitted it to himself. The lists of the person’s strengths and weaknesses, the way he smiled after every successful spike, and how he would open himself up to Akaashi more than anyone else. Akaashi had hated to admit it, but he was in love with his spiker, his captain.

More so, he hated how the other would never love him back.

“I’m not going to date anyone until I’m retired,” Bokuto would declare as the two of them were walking home alone after practice one evening, just the two of them. “When I graduate, I’m going to focus on my volleyball career and make so much money,” and for once, Akaashi hesitated before agreeing with Bokuto. “We’ll stay friends though; I’m going to buy you all the onigiri you could want. Heck, I’ll get you a whole store just for us so we can go out for onigiri together every day!”

Akaashi’s breath hitched in his throat, his heart beating rapidly as his face heated up, trying to push down the feelings which bubbled in his chest. “That sounds nice, Bokuto. I’ll make sure to show up to all your games.”

“Akaashi?”

“Yes, Bokuto?”

“What do you want to do when you grow up?” Bokuto asked as they reached a stop to where the two would part ways, Bokuto took a left turn and Akaashi would continue to walk straight. Bokuto never got very philosophical, yet there were times the two would share their deep conversations.

“Something with writing,” Akaashi mentioned. “Editing to start, but I hope to one day start my own book.”

“That is so cool, ‘Kaashi,” Bokuto hugged his younger teammate goodbye before turning left. “I’ll see you tomorrow! Bye Akaashi!”

“I’ll see you later, Bokuto,” Akaashi mumbled as he continued his walk home on his own. A headache formed in the back of his mind as his heart continued to bubble in his chest, his throat stinging as he stepped into his house. Must’ve caught something, Akaashi thought to himself as he lay down his school supplies to start homework. He grabbed a cup of water to ease the burning in his throat, noting the difficulty breathing. He didn’t have asthma, not yet at least, so the entire concept was odd to him.

Until he felt an object stuck in his throat.

He felt like he was choking, gasping for air yet dizzy as he rushed to the sink to eject whatever was stuck in his throat. Bile and Sakura petals fell from his mouth, landing in the sink as Akaashi stood horrified. Petals were far from normal; he knew that much about the medical field. At least after the petals were out, he could breathe easier.

Instead of going to return to studying his homework, he reached into the medicine cabinet for some painkillers and went to search for what he could possibly have. His mother worked late so it was all on him.

Throwing up petals.

Akaashi was never the most interested in the medical field, and he did not follow much of the news like a news freak, only occasionally. So, when he saw the words which flashed across his screen, he was more confused than anything.

Hanahaki, the mysterious outbreak has claimed 100 lives in Japan.

Akaashi clicked the link of the article, seeing a doctor on one of the larger news channels talking about the disease. “Hanahaki is very new, and we don’t know much about it at all,” the correspondent stated, the interviewer intently listening. “No information on transmission and there’s only cases in the low thousands. What we do know are the symptoms, petals. It starts by coughing and throwing up petals along with other bodily fluids and eventually, the infected person could suffocate, though that seems to be extremely rare. For most, it seems to go away on its own!”

“What should the citizens of Japan do to protect themselves, Dr. Suzuki?”

“I do not believe there is reason to worry, it should be treated as the common cold,” Dr. Suzuki stated confidently with a smile. “Like any other disease, stay home when you don’t feel well. Panic will only worsen the situation.”

“You heard our lovely Dr. Suzuki, Hanahaki is currently not a grand threat. If you believe you have Hanahaki, dial this phone number to log this underwhelming disease,” the video clip ended as the phone number flashed on the screen.

The rest of the article did not discuss the actual illness, only the controversies between government officials, especially the chaos which unfolded in the United States as they received their first case of Hanahaki. Deciding to take a chance, he went to dial the number, only receiving a robot telling him to do the same the video clip had just done.

The tiredness had gotten the best of him as he fell asleep at his desk, uncomfortably doing his best to breathe through burning sensations, flowers surely sprouting in his lungs. Falling asleep and waking up in his bed, a cool cloth on his forehead and a cup of water beside him. “Keiji,” his mother stood by him as she refreshed the cloth. “You’re burning up, coughing up flowers. You had me worried for a second.”

“I’m-” Akaashi went to apologize for worrying his mother, but the words burned his throat as he coughed up more petals, the words not even coming out.

“Don’t speak, just get some sleep. I’m so sorry sweetie, but I still have to go to work. I’ll come home early and if you need something, I’m just a phone call away,” Akaashi drifted off to a soft kiss from his mother (his ever-hardworking mother), a fever melting his mind as his bed slowly became covered with petals he did not bother to brush away. He tried to sleep, though the rest was much interrupted by the ringing of his phone.

BOKUTO is calling you.

Shit.

“AKAASHI!” Despite the phone not being on speaker, it might as well have been with the volume of Bokuto’s screaming on the other line. Akaashi is not too sure why he even responded when he did not have much of a voice to do so. “Akaashi, where are you? You’re late, you weren’t in the hallways where we always meet up before morning practice… and you weren’t even at practice!” Akaashi groaned as he looked through his phone, seeing missed calls and pools of messages from his teammates, specifically Bokuto.

“Bokuto!” Konoha could be heard in the background, much quieter than Bokuto (which Akaashi was quite grateful for. “Are you alright, Akaashi? You weren’t at practice this morning, and it has Bokuto out of his mind.”

Before Akaashi could respond, a mix of bile and petals built up in his throat as he rushed to the nearest trashcan, emptying the contents of liquid and flower petals. “Akaashi?” Bokuto’s voice could be heard faintly as Akaashi squeezes his eyes shut, coughing petals into the trashcan. “Akaashi, are you okay!?”

When he woke up again, he was on the couch shirtless, leaning his head on Bokuto in a very odd position, his legs draped over Bokuto as Konoha quietly made tea in the kitchen (one could say he was practically on the captain’s lap). Groggily waking up and blinking the sleep out of his eyes, seeing Bokuto and Konoha were indeed in his house. “…’Kaashi?” Bokuto whispered as Akaashi slowly sat up before realizing he was laying on top of Bokuto. “Woah, slow down. I rushed as soon as you didn’t answer, you had a really high fever, Akaashi.”

Akaashi flushed red when he realized Bokuto had seen him pathetically on the ground, laying in a pile of Sakura petals. Speaking of petals, he felt slightly better. His throat was still dry, and he was still incredibly weak, but breathing seemed less of a luxury and more something he could easily do. Indeed, he looked down and saw he was shirtless. “Don’t worry about that,” Konoha commented and handed Akaashi a cup of tea. “At least your fever is low enough for some tea. My Nana always made it for me when I was sick. It works like fucking steroids, try it.”

Akaashi nodded, breathing in the scent, and slowly drinking the whole cup, becoming more aware as he felt better and better. Tears formed in his eyes at the kind sentiment of his friends, Bokuto wrapping his arm around Akaashi. “I was so worried, Akaashi. I thought you died, and you can’t die. I love you, Akaashi. You are my best friend, you can’t die.”

The tea hitched in Akaashi’s throat as Konoha shook his head. Suddenly, he found himself coughing petals on the living room table as Bokuto rubbed circles on his back. “I’m not… going to die, Bokuto,” Akaashi jokingly glared in between coughs until it passed. His voice burned, but not as much as this morning. Really, it appeared as simply Bokuto’s presence helped him. “I think I’ll be good tomorrow.”

“Don’t rush it, Akaashi,” Konoha smirked a bit, as he picked up Bokuto by the shirt, slowly aiming for the door. “Yeah- we need our setter, but we also need our friend to be healthy. Bokuto? Can you start the car? I have to talk to Akaashi.”

“Oh, sure,” Bokuto’s face fell slightly, but he did as he was told, hugging Akaashi and heading to start the car. “Bye ‘Kaashi! Feel better soon!” The second Bokuto left the room, Konoha’s face fell.

“Hanahaki, right?” Konoha mumbled as he helped Akaashi to his feet and back to his room. “I read about it, my sister wants to be a nurse and she is obsessed with it, though it’s not as pretty in person,” Konoha sighed, Akaashi nodding slowly. “The doctors and news say it’s no big deal, but I don’t believe them, and I’m worried about you, Akaashi.”

“They don’t know what causes it either,” Akaashi mumbled, sinking into the bed. “I’ve literally never been this sick. If I don’t show tomorrow, make sure I’m not dead?” Akaashi joked, Konoha having a small smile.

“Yeah, sure thing, Akaashi. Feel better.”

Akaashi went through the rest of the day, occasionally gasping for air and coughing petals, but he was up on his feet doing work on his laptop. A vast improvement, he was almost looking forward to seeing Bokuto the next day.

See him he did, Akaashi had convinced himself and his mother he was well enough to go to school (be it he was partially in denial). He kept a mask on not wanting any of his teammates to suffer how he did (and suffer he did), slowly trudging his way towards school, much to his mother’s dismay.

I’ll drive you!

You’ll be late for work!

They needed the money, Akaashi never forced his mother to stay with him if she did not need to. He was at Fukurodani on a scholarship, money was already tight as is. So, he walked to the same place he met with Bokuto every morning, the spiker’s face lighting up when their eyes met. “Akaashi! Akaashi!” Bokuto rushed over towards the setter, practically spinning the boy around in a circle. “I missed you so much, I’m so happy you are back! Are you feeling better?”

We need our setter, but we also need our friend to be healthy.

“Um, a bit,” Akaashi smiled a bit, Bokuto’s face faltering. “Not enough to practice, but I’ll still join you,” he mumbled as the two walked to practice, Akaashi doing his best to muffle a cough as he felt petals spill into his mask. Akaashi felt bad, he really did want to go to practice, but he couldn't, he wasn’t physically able. It would be stupid to practice in his condition, he’d end up passing out on the court.

Bokuto nodded in understanding, before slowly reaching for Akaashi’s hand. Their fingers intertwined with each other as the iconic smirk grew on Bokuto’s face. “Well, come on ‘Kaashi! We can’t be late to practice.”

Akaashi flushed red, slowly nodding as he squeezed Bokuto’s hand. A part of him had hoped for the other to blush, to stare for too long, but he didn’t. Bokuto simply grinned and walked to the gym, Akaashi following him. “Of course, Bokuto.”

We need our setter, but we also need our friend.

Akaashi had gotten himself to practice that afternoon, his stubbornness getting to the best of him. He had insisted he had recovered (much to Konoha’s glare knowing he was clearly lying) and practice had run smoothly. Akaashi would set for Bokuto no problem and Bokuto would flawlessly spike the ball into the ground, no problem.

“Bokuto is so much brighter when you’re here,” Konoha mentioned during their break, Akaashi nodding while he tried to hide petals he coughed up. “He missed you a lot, and none of us can get him out of sad mode like you can.”

Akaashi simply nodded, his headache continuing to worsen. Yet, he continued to play until the end of practice before heading to the bathroom. He entered the stall, his knees crumpling to the ground as he threw off the mask, coughing up petals and gasping for air. Coughs which ran through his body turned into wretched gagging of vomit covered petals. Akaashi shook his head and went to flush it down, about to put his mask on until he saw the inside of the mask was splattered with dots of blood. “What the hell?” Akaashi’s eyes widened, and truth be told, he panicked.

That night, he returned to google, knowing a small fever had returned as noted by the chills.

Coughing up blood and petals.

Nothing.

The device had led him to the same videos and articles as before. Hanahaki, a hoax by the government? Videos filled his recommended as he closed his phone, heading to sleep. His week continued where his symptoms would subside slightly, Bokuto would improve his life temporarily, and then he would go home to mellow in his fever while he gasped for air and ejected petals from his lungs.

We need our setter.

The Friday of that week, Akaashi knew he was getting worse. His throat burned and each step brought dizziness, or maybe he could not breathe. He had become a master of holding in his coughs until he was alone to not worry the others, because what else could he do? Sleepless nights from harsh coughs rocking his body and fever dreams making any sleep he did receive practically terrifying, he knew he was… for better words, Akaashi was sincerely fucked.

He was screwed, gasping for air while his teammates cheered so they wouldn’t hear his wheezing. Why in the world was he even on the court? His team had split to do a six on six, and his vision was blacking in and out without oxygen, Bokuto’s cheers of a successful spike always bringing him back to reality. Petals built up in his mouth, but they were in the middle of practice, and he held them in as he tried to breathe. His legs were starting to give out, stay with me, Akaashi, he mentally shouted at himself as his teammate went to the back to serve. His vision blurred slightly as the ball sped past his head, not making it to the other side of the court.

“Sorry!”

“Just try again!”

Bokuto was right next to him in the formation, Akaashi reached his hand out. “Bokuto-” his voice was harsh and rough as petals spilt out of his mouth. “Bokuto, help-” tears formed as the petals slipped out of his mouth, his legs giving out while he collapsed. His breaths were wheezy and uneven, Bokuto panicking as his best friend collapsed into his arms.

“Akaashi?” Bokuto laid the unconscious body on the ground, Akaashi faintly feeling a cloth on his face. “He’s burning up, Konoha. He’s not breathing!”

“Stand back! Do CPR!”

“Stop panicking, please. Konoha, call an ambulance.”

Akaashi shook his head, opening his eyes slightly, though his vision did not do much for him. Everything was blurry, and the last thing he saw was Bokuto’s tear-stained face being held back by another teammate, flashing lights going off in the distance.

Akaashi had never felt worse when he finally woke up again. He was hooked up to machines wherever he looked, tubes up his nose giving him oxygen and a bucket full of petals beside him. Feverish logic concluded he was in a hospital and thankfully, not dead. Colors melted together and when he realized his words were scratchy but existent, he breathed a long sigh of relief.

“Akaashi Keiji,” a doctor came up, a smile on his face. “You are awake, your mother and a few friends of yours are outside worried sick. You know why you’re here, right?”

“Might wanna tell me anyways,” Akaashi mumbled, coughing a few times.

“Hanahaki, you’re one of the few teens we’ve had come in with this,” the doctor commented as he sat down. “You were incredibly low on oxygen and there are flowers in your lungs, your lungs will start to fail at this rate.” Well, that logic was stupid, just transplant them then. Akaashi thought to himself. “We can’t transplant new ones because this disease as we’ve recently discovered, starts in the brain. By the area which is responsible for feelings and memory, so new lungs would not help you there. The flowers will come back, you know?”

Well shit.

“At least we know you aren’t contagious,” the doctor continued. “Your mom and friends want to see you. Your mom seems to love you very much, working hard to keep you alive and all that.”

Akaashi did not like this doctor very much. He would, however, like to see his mother and friends. His mother would walk in first, worried sick over her child. “Keiji, thank goodness you are finally awake,” Akaashi’s mother would state as she did her best to cradle him at his bedside. “It’s been two days, sweetheart.”

Two days? Akaashi thought to himself, panic rising in his throat. He had school, he had commitments, what was he going to-

Bokuto stood by the doorway of the room, eager to get inside. Akaashi’s mother knew her son well, how much the boy meant to her son. “We’ll talk later, it appears as if a certain teammate of yours is waiting rather impatiently to see you,” she whispered, winking a bit as she got up. The ever-considerate Ms. Akaashi, being it early in the day, she knew her boy had a game early (a game her would clearly not be attending), but she had a feeling Keiji would want his friend to be at that practice game.

Bokuto poked his head into the room, Akaashi waving him over. It was only then he realized how awful he must look to his peers. Oxygen being given to him through his nose, an IV poked into his arm, and now that he really tried to think, Akaashi could tell he had pounds of drugs with names he couldn’t pronounce being pumped into his system. Eyebags from all the sleepless nights and heck, he’d probably lost a considerable amount of weight at this point.

He felt small, smaller than he had ever been.

“Hey, ‘Kaashi?” Bokuto walked into the room, his voice noticeably quieter than usual. “How are you feeling?” He crept a bit closer as Akaashi continued to encourage the other’s entry.

Akaashi fiddled with his fingers as Bokuto sat on the edge of the bed and Akaashi could swear the sun shined a bit brighter when he sat down. “I… could be better.”

“Why did you say you were fine?” Bokuto said blatantly, and for a rarity in both their lives, the spiker was serious. “Akaashi, you don’t get it. You looked so-” Bokuto searched for the words, his voice breaking in raw emotion.

“Sick?” Akaashi filled in the words as he usually did, Bokuto nodding and reaching for Akaashi’s hands. “The team needed me, you know?”

“Fuck the team, Akaashi. I need you, and not because you are my setter. I need you because you mean everything to me.” Bokuto did not swear; neither did Akaashi (out loud) but even he cursed more than Bokuto. The words rang in his chest, and Akaashi found himself choking from the words, or was it the petals? “That’s why it hurt so much when I saw you on the ground, throwing up bloody petals,” Bokuto sniffled a bit, wiping his tears away. “It’s pathetic ‘cause I’m not the one who’s sick but I really need you, ‘Kaashi. I imagined life without you, and I got so scared I was going to lose you.”

The flowers in Akaashi’s chest seemed to wilt slightly, Akaashi coughing up a few petals into the bucket beside him. “Well, then you won’t lose me,” he weakly extended his pinky-finger towards Bokuto. “I promise.”

“You promise?”

“Yeah,” Akaashi found himself blushing, his heart giddy with excitement when he saw Bokuto’s cheeks do the same. “I do.”

Akaashi let his feelings fester, his heart aching and symptoms growing worse by the day. He had dropped 20 pounds since his hospitalization, and he hadn’t left since. The coughs became worse and worse, and sometimes the doctors would drug him just so he could get any amount of sleep. He had not bothered with school; he could kiss his scholarship at Fukurodani goodbye! Despite his crippling state, Bokuto stopped by everyday after school with an activity. Some days, he would simply recall their games or how he was doing in class. He would buy books he knew Akaashi was obsessed with and bring in Get Well cards from the team.

Today, Bokuto cheerfully walked in, startling Akaashi a bit. He was starting to drift off, though his energy was immediately replenished. Bokuto’s face faltered when he caught sight of Akaashi, a breathing mask replacing the oxygen tubes he had grown familiar with. A special mask he could remove to cough up petals, but an alarm would go off if the mask was removed for too long.

They both knew it too well, Akaashi was growing worse.

Akaashi waved a bit, he was not one for words nowadays. Bokuto understood and brought a small package and set it on the table beside Akaashi’s bed. “Friendship bracelets!” Bokuto grinned as he pulled out the string and beads. Akaashi sat in bed tiredly, slowly reaching for some of the brighter colored beads. “I’m graduating soon and to be honest, I’m a bit nervous,” Bokuto filled the room with conversation, talking about calls from team coaches and scouts interested in having him as a player.

“Bokuto,” Akaashi spoke for the first time that day, Bokuto smiling. “The doctors said… there’s a new surgery to help me.”

“Well, then what are you waiting for!” Bokuto jumped up with excitement, the most excited Akaashi had seen him in ages. “Then, you’ll be better! We can hang out at your house again and maybe even play volleyball together again! This is great, Akaashi!”

“It’s in America.”

“It’s… what?”

Akaashi slowly nodded, temporarily removing the mask to cough up the bloody Sakura petals he had grown sick of, wheezy breaths sounding throughout the room before he quickly put the mask back on, sighing in relief. “They are going to bring me to California for it, and one of the side effects… is amnesia.”

“How bad of amnesia? Are we talking I can’t remember what I had for breakfast amnesia or…” Bokuto tried to poke light in the situation, but deep down, his heart knew.

“Bad, really bad amnesia.”

“But you will be alive,” Bokuto held Akaashi’s hand, lifting up the bracelet to reveal it had Bokuto’s name spelt in blue beads. “Perfect that I made this then, so you won’t forget about me!” He was being unrealistic, and it was that moment Akaashi realized Bokuto had to know.

“Bokuto.” Akaashi felt his throat tighten with petals and flowers, tears pooling in his eyes. His heart raced in his chest, and he could not hold it any longer. “There’s something... I need to tell you.”

“Yeah, go on ‘Kaashi,” Bokuto sat on the bed, intrigued.

“I’m in love with you.”

“You’re… what?” Bokuto had heard him, they both knew that. Akaashi watched as Bokuto’s face shifted from excitement to pure disappointment. “I- I’m sorry, Akaashi.” Bokuto’s voice broke as Akaashi’s breath hitched, the petals continuing to flower in his throat. “I think- I think I should go.”

Akaashi nodded, waiting for Bokuto to leave before tears poured down his face, throwing off the mask as hundreds of petals fell from his mouth in a mix of coughs and bile (which he thankfully caught in the bucket). His sobs turned into gasps for air as petals continued to be ejected, his vision slowly fading in and out. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Mom? Mom, I need you, please come back.

The hospital button was too far away, and his weak screams were only in his imagination as the bucket of flowers spilled. Bokuto, I’m so sorry. Please, come back. I didn’t mean it; it was a joke! We are just friends, please! I need you!”

The next time Akaashi would wake up, it would be in a different hospital room.

His mom would be beside him, and the oxygen mask was replaced with tubes once more. There was a sense of peace throughout him, Akaashi could deeply breathe with relative ease. “Ah, Akaashi Keiji, right?” He blinked a few times and saw a blond man with a clipboard and another man who looked more like himself. The blond man would say some words in English which Akaashi and his brain too foggy could not understand despite his lessons in the language before the other man would say the words in Japanese. “Welcome to California, we hope you are feeling better!”

Akaashi, to say it lightly, was confused. He was in Japan a few seconds ago, he had been dealing with… with… with something. He could not remember what had happened before. The two males in the room had given him a second to take in his surroundings, and his eyes went to the bracelet on his wrist. Bokuto, the bracelet spelt out, Akaashi did not understand. Hesitantly, he took the bracelet off and left it on the bedside table, the thread had been bothering his skin.

Akaashi listened to them explain how they flied him out to California immediately after he was stabilized from his recent fainting spell, how he had seized for the first time during the course of this disease. How the surgery had supposedly gone perfectly and whatever brain chemicals that were causing the Hanahaki and the flowers had been removed.

Ms. Akaashi watched as her son cried, she watched as he sobbed tears of joy. “Mom, I can breathe again,” Akaashi smiled in the tears, the male and translator shared a smile as Keiji’s mom hugged her baby boy.

Akaashi Keiji was officially cleared from Hanahaki the next day.

The recovery process from such an invasive surgery would take its time, but Akaashi enjoyed his new life in California. For the first time in months, he sat in a wheelchair as his mom pushed him in a park outside, making sure to avoid any gardens sprouting with flowers.

Akaashi Keiji was free, the disease which had brought him to death’s doorstep had left him alive and in the land of opportunity, the United States.

“I was thinking, we should stay here,” Ms. Akaashi mentioned one day as they took their daily stroll through the park by the hospital, Akaashi would be cleared to go home in a week. “They have offered us a place to stay as they continue to monitor you, but if you’ll miss your friends that badly, we can go back.”

Akaashi shrugged his shoulders, he did not remember any of his friends from Japan. He would scroll through his phone and see pictures of him with strangers, pictures he had since deleted. While becoming fluent in English would prove to be a challenge, it was a challenge Akaashi was willing to go through. Akaashi had planned his life accordingly, he would become a doctor and help those like the doctors who helped him. He would go to the school of medicine in Stanford and maybe then, he would move back to Japan.

It would be a waste to throw his chances away and go back to a life he could not even remember.

“Let’s stay here, Mom,” Akaashi’s face was the brightest his mother had seen in months, almost bringing her to tears.

“I love you so much, my sweet Keiji.”

Love?

Akaashi sat in his wheelchair, finding he did not understand the concept. Love in his eyes meant making oneself weak in front of others. He appreciated his mother loving him, but he would not say he reciprocated the sentiment, which shocked him. He was supposed to love his mom, but he just… didn’t. There was no doubt his mom was important to him, but so was oxygen, and food, and water.

He would not tell her of this realization, only forcing the words out of his mouth. “I love you too.”

Akaashi had achieved his dreams: he graduated from the top of his class, got accepted into Stanford medical school, and then he made sure his mother would not have to work another day in her life. The frail second year Akaashi had become Dr. Akaashi, working his residency at a hospital before moving back to Japan with his mother and opening a clinic of his own.

All without feeling an ounce of love in his life. As time had gone on, he had learned the disease was caused by unrequited love, and he grew distasteful of the past he could not remember, thankful he could not remember his past stupidity. He had learned the surgery removed his ability to love and his memories of the one he loved… along with any activities involved with him. It was almost a gift, to not feel love. Nothing would hold him back any longer. What Akaashi could remember was the pain and suffering he faced due to Hanahaki, so he would have a fear of getting sick, but he simply did not get sick either.

He had tried to open up about his story, a progressive Hanahaki survivor. Progressive Hanahaki was the one that killed, chronic Hanahaki made you suffer the rest of your life and personally, Akaashi was thankful he almost died. Not being able to love anyone was not the end of the world as most believed.

Akaashi Keiji was loveless, but free.

#haikyuu #haikyuu!!#doctor hanahaki #bokuaka #akaashi keiji #hanahaki #Lili's Fanfictions #ao3 fanfic #haikyuu akaashi #bokuto koutarou

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moonchild-things · 9 months ago

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Chapter One: The Bounty Hunter

Summary: Picking sides is not something that Yumo likes to do. All she cares about is getting paid and offering her services to the highest bidder. Being a bounty hunter for quite a while has dampened her outlook on the war. Who won or lost doesn’t matter to her in the long run. However, running into the Avatar and his friends might just change her attitude a little bit.

Word Count: 3053

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A/n: When the avatar netflix series was announced, this idea popped into my head. So here we are!

---

“PLEASE! YOU CAN’T TAKE ME TO THEM!” A man shouted as he struggled in the chains that kept him from escaping. The rattling of his futile attempt to escape echoed across the port. His shouts drowned out any and all other sounds as vendors and travelers turned to glance at the raucous and watched the commotion. It’s not like they could save the poor man, after all, he was currently being dragged across the ground by one of the most fierce bounty hunters in the whole world.

The one who dragged this man across the ground with little to no effort wears all black clothing, hiding every and any distinctive feature that they have. The slightly baggy tunic and pants hid anything to identify them. All that people could see was that this person was decently tall and appeared to be extremely agile from the small number of muscles that were actually visible as they pulled on the chains. No one could see their hair color due to the hood they wore that reached over the top of their head and nearly covered the top part of their face. A black cloth covered their mouth and nose, and every once in a while those who paid close attention may be able to catch a glimpse of their dull gray eyes. They were chilling, cold, and terrifying. The eyes of a killer.

Even though this person was dragging along a fully grown man who had to be twice their size, it seemed as though she were doing it with little to no effort. The soldier, for he was a soldier based on his fire nation uniform, struggled in his binds like a fish wishing to escape its net. Though he couldn’t do it despite his captor being so small.

“I beg of you, they’ll have me killed please!”

The stoic bounty hunter did not say anything to him. Silent and strong, the person continued to drag the struggling man through the crowds that parted in their wake. Even though he cried and begged for his life, the bounty hunter made no indication that she was listening. Not that she cared all too much about what happened to the man. She had a job to do, and she just wanted to get paid. It just so happened that when she tracked down fire nation soldier deserters she got paid more.

While working with the Fire nation tended to get her dirty looks and horrible names thrown in her direction, she couldn’t care about that. What mattered was getting money to feed and have shelter for another few nights. It didn’t matter who paid, just as long as it was enough. In that pursuit to find a means of surviving she made a name for herself: Mogwai.

Ignoring the stares, the cries of her prisoner, the whispers, Mogwai approached the docks where tall fire nation ships were bobbing slightly in the water.

“Commander Zhao, I've been hunting the Avatar for two years, and I -” A voice said.

Then another shouted out, “And you failed!” Mogwai recognised the infuriated voice of Commander Zhao. “Capturing the Avatar is too important to leave in a teenager's hands. He's mine now.”

The Avatar? Mogwai thought to themselves. That couldn’t be true, considering the wielder of all elements had been gone for one hundred years. There was no way, in their mind, that the Avatar could be around now. Mogwai knew that all of the air benders had been wiped out in the attack against them one hundred years ago. If there was any chance that the avatar was still around, she would know.

Once she entered the tent, still dragging the captive, the bounty hunter found that Zhao was having a meeting. Not that she really cared. She would gladly interrupt the meeting, get paid, and leave as quickly as she could. Soldiers were posted all around the room, which was to be expected, as an old man and scared boy sat at the table in the middle. Of course, Mogwai knew who that scared boy was. It was difficult not to know the stories of the banished prince and the dishonor he brought against his father.

Now noticing their new guests, the commander composed himself. Though he continued to glare at the prince as he turned to face the entrance. “Keep them here,” Zhao ordered the other soldiers.

General Iroh looked around at the soldiers as Zhao led the bounty hunter out of the room, “More tea, please.”

Mogwai was more than happy to pawn off their crying captive to the fire nation soldiers who dragged him away. Less deadweight for them to deal with, since it was more than annoying to hear his begging as she had come all the way back here. So Mogwai turned their lethargic stare to the man that had contracted them a day prior.

The commander smiled at the bounty hunter, “Mogwai.”

The bounty hunter nodded their head, not saying a word.

“Your reputation precedes you,” Commander Zhao complimented, pleased with the success that Mogwai had achieved. After all, it wasn’t like he could send his own men after a deserter, one skilled at hiding. He needed an outsider’s help, and who better than one of the highest regarded bounty hunters. “A job done efficiently, your payment.”

He handed them a pouch, full of the coins that they had agreed upon before she had set out on her. She opened it up slowly, keeping an eye on the commander who did the same to her. Mogwai slowly counted the coins to make sure that it was what they agreed to. Most of the time people were quite forthcoming with the payment, perhaps scared what the Mogwai would do to them if they skimpped on payment. Though from experience, she knows to always check anyway.

With the money all counted, at the correct amount that Mogwai was looking for, she raised an eyebrow at him. Silently asking him the question, ‘anything else?’

Zhao tutted, “I’m afraid I have no more work for you, however, I’ll know how to find you if… anything else comes up.”

She just nodded her head, with nothing else to say and walked out of the tent. She was greeted by the hesitant gazes of those around the ships and once again paid them no mind. The fire nation was hated by mostly everyone else in the world. Including her. However, she wouldn’t turn down a job that paid well.

She’s not one for politics. She gave up trying to understand it a long time ago and would much rather stay uninvolved. Most people aligned themselves with their nation's decisions, backing whatever it was their leaders convinced them was right. Yumo has no alliances with any nations. She owed them nothing. She paid attention at times, but didn’t let politics rule her mind by any means. Mogwai had other things to worry about like finding food, shelter and work. No need to worry about which nation had power over the world. All that mattered was who had jobs for her and willing to pay handsomely.

So Mogwai started stocking up on some food from the market nearby. Paying for the necessities that she would need before heading off on another trek to the next village. She’d already been staying at an inn in this village for about three days, too long in her opinion. So it was time to move on and look for work elsewhere. The usual routine for a bounty hunter like her.

After collecting her new purchases she headed back to the inn and collected her bag. It was old and ragged but sturdy enough to withstand the abuse she put it through on a daily basis. The bag was large enough to hold a good amount of food and a few of her knives and extra clothes.

“Did you hear?” A hush voice said, “There’s an Agni Kai!”

Another gasped, “An Agni Kai?! Between who?”

“The banished prince and commander Zhao!”

Mogwai tutted while walking past the gossiping people. An Agni Kai, a silly duel between two prideful firebenders. Though considering it would be between the banished fire prince, there was surely going to be the talk of the village. Fire benders, or benders in general always seem far too arrogant for her liking. Besides, she found it more impressive when someone demonstrates skill with a weapon such as a sword or knife than something like bending. If they were to have an agni kai with just swords, then she’d be impressed.

What needed to be decided now was which way Mogwai headed next. She had been heading South and had finally hit the ocean again. So the only logical thing to do was get on a boat to head to the next piece of land. Besides, she knows just the place to head next. She’s lucky that it was close by. The perfect place for her to rest and lay low for a while. Since that fire nation soldier had been a bit more difficult to find than other bounties she had dealt with. A nice reset after a taxing job was just what she needed.

She walked over to a boat, one manned by an older man and bartered her way on. Even if the man was wary of her to begin with. After all, who would want to be stuck on a small boat with someone with such a cold stare. Only one could imagine what someone with a stare like hers would do to them. So whether it was out of fright or kindness, the man allowed her to buy passage on his boat to Kyoshi Island. It was lucky that he was headed there anyway, since he had some trading to do there.

So as they set off, the waves almost comforted Mogwai as she settled down in the furthest seat away from the man, she took off her mask to munch on some bread she just bought. Her features were completely contrary to what type of person she was. A ruthless killer didn’t have a button-like nose, or small lips. If it wasn’t for the harsh look in her stormy eyes, she would look like any other innocent fifteen year old.

Staring out to sea as they started their journey across the ocean to the earth kingdom island, Mogwai knew that she had some time before they made it to the Island. She sighed heavily through her nose, now finished with her bread and resting against the side of the boat. Kyoshi Island had to be one of the only constant things in her life at this point. That was right next to bounty hunting. While most would describe her as a nomad, not sticking to one village for very long before moving on to the next, Kyoshi Island was one place that she had a tendency to return to every once in a while. Perhaps that was because it was quite secluded from the rest of the world and she made decent relationships with the village people.

On that island she wasn’t Mogwai, since she never had jobs on the island or the clientele out there. Kyoshi was the place where she could just be herself. Just be Yumo. There weren’t many places or times where she could just be the normal fifteen-year-old she was. An island full of female warriors and quiet evenings was just the place to let her do that.

---

“Come here,” a soothing voice said, “look at this.” A warm hand patted down the unruly brunette hair on her head, “you see that.”

Her gray eyes looked to see that it was two fish, swimming in a circle with each other. Trapped in the small pond that they were sitting beside and having nothing else to do but swim together. She watched as they danced with each other and giggled, “they look happy.”

“As happy as a fish can be I would assume,” the man beside her pondered. The two of them shared the same bright gray eyes, shining in the light like a brand new silver chain. As well as that spark of mischievousness and curiosity as they watched the fish dance around in the water.

Yumo tilted her head, her long brown hair falling out of the bun her mother had put it in earlier that morning. She looked up at him, “So you think they get bored? Swimming nowhere?”

“Well, maybe. Though it’s not like they know anything else.”

Yumo hummed, “I’d get bored. And dizzy.”

“Dizzy?” He questioned as a mischievous smile crawled onto his lips, “Like this?!”

Suddenly, Yumo was lifted off of the ground as the man started to spin around in a circle with her in his arms. She broke out into a fit of giggles as he spun her around. “Dad!” The nine-year-old giggled, “Stop! I’m dizzy!”

Her father chuckled, “Well, I guess that makes you a fish then, huh?” He paused the spinning and allowed her to crawl up onto his shoulders. He made sure that she was secure while sitting on his shoulders and started to head back to their camp. “Now let’s go, your mother needs help packing up the clothes.”

“Awww, but I thought we were done already!” She whined while pulling at her father’s brown hair.

He cringed lightly, “if we were done, we would be on the road already.”

Yumo pouted, “why are we leaving? I like this place,” she glanced around the small cave that they had found in the forest. She enthusiastically started ranting, “The trees are really tall, and the berries taste nice and I found this lizard thing in the cave a few days ago.”

There was a chuckle, “yes, your mom was very happy with the new friend you found.” He did sigh though, “I know it’s a hassle to keep moving like this, but think of all the adventures we can have in the next village we find!” He said happily, “There can be tons of new food to try and people to meet!”

Yumo hummed, considering the offer he pointed out to her, “I guess you’re right!”

“I’m always right!” He smiled brightly up at her.

She just pouted, “Nuh uh!”

“Yea huh!”

“No way!”

“Yes way!”

---

Yumo knew that the fire licking at her arms was going to leave a scar. As she cried out in pain and panic, she still ran as fast as she could. Her mother and father’s desperate demands called for her to run, and run far. So she wasn’t going to disregard their commands, not now.

The newest home that they had found, a small earth nation village deep in the mountains, had turned out to be the worst place to settle. They had been tired, wanting to just settle down in the nearest village when a group of people on rhinos attacked them. It was a blur to Yumo, since she had no idea what the people that had wanted from them. What she did know was that they were fire benders. They lit her family’s camp ablaze for no reason, in her mind, and terrorized her parents. Whether it was luck or some miracle, Yuma was able to slip away from the fire bending soldiers. Though that wasn’t without some reminders of her escape. She needed to get somewhere safe, though being in the middle of the woods, she didn’t know where to go.

Her parents had made sure to teach her how to survive, live off of the nature around them. However, her mind was panicked and running in circles from the pain radiating upon her arm. She didn’t know what to do, where to go. Yumo was lost and fearful.

---

Yumo jumped out of her thoughts, her mind having drifted while watching the waves as they headed further out to sea. It was like this most times. She itched at the bandages around her arms. They were nearly completely covering her arms up towards her biceps and were causing quite a bit of a phantom pain at the moment. Whenever she had a moment to herself her mind wandered to the good things and the bad things of her life. It was almost like her mind was taunting her every chance it could to remind her of what she lost and how. There was no denying that it was painful, but she has to move on. She has to be indifferent to the past and keep moving forward.

Speaking of moving forward, the boat ride took about a day to get to Kyoshi island. She had zoned out for most of the ride, letting her mind drift to subjects less than pleasant.

“Hey, we’re here.”

Yumo grunted in acknowledgement, nodded to the man one final time before hoping off of his boat and into the village. It was familiar yet different. It had been a while since she had been on the island and it was quite refreshing.

Yumo took off the hood on her head, letting the short, unruly brunette hair breath. It had been quite a while since she had taken it off. It felt freeing for a moment to finally allow herself to

“Yumo!” A voice called out. “It’s so good to see you!”

She turned to see two girls in Kyoshi warrior garb running over to her. Yumo didn’t have much of a choice but to allow the two to attack her in a bone crushing hug. Even if she prepared as quickly as possible for it, it still knocked the wind out of her, and the three landed on the ground in a heap.

The two girls giggled as they bombarded Yumo with questions about her whereabouts and any new stories she had to share with them. Yumo, while not a very physical person, was more than okay with letting them crush her ribs. It brought her quite a bit of joy in her life. Perhaps that was a huge reason why she kept coming back to this island. Though she wouldn’t admit it.

“It’s been so long since you’ve been here!” One of the girls on top of Yumo, the shorter of the two, exclaimed.

She gave the girls a small, relieved smile, “it’s good to be back.”

---

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#avatar #avatar the last airbender #atla #avatar: the last airbender #Avatar: the last airbender fanfiction #atla fanfic #atla fanfiction #fanfiction writer #fanfics #fanfiction #fanfic #ocs #multiple ocs #oc #female oc #female!oc #male oc #male!oc

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sp1resong · 8 months ago

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YOUVE ALREADY SEEN IT ACTUALLY it was the one i posted in sqs earlier (although i did tweak this version a little bit a little bit)

however, that is all the encouragement i need

so! the myrrch (lit. cats-of-the-ocean). one of many cultures in my Big Worldbuilding Universe (tm), and arguably the most developed (they have a whole wip conlang ffs). theyre actually an import from a warrior cats story i wrote a while ago but that's unimportant

they live up north in the regions known as the Marrch (lit. lands-of-the-ocean), and are the only cultural group living north of the arctic circle on [unnamed continent where this story takes place]. in their original concept, they were maine coon mixes, but this universe doesnt have irl cat breeds obv so theyre just Ambiguously Big and Fluffy. i mean, this way i can pull in some traits from other big northern breeds, like Siberians and Norwegian Forest Cats

anyways. as such, they tend to be quite tall, heavy, and thick-furred, with broad muzzles. the most common colors among them are grey and black, along with silver and smoke variants of both. they often have some degree of white spotting--they are known to have 'atypical' (by our world's terms) white spotting patterns, specifically spotting that's more blotched rather than your average tuxedo-type patterning.

white fur, high-contrast tabby markings, bluish-green eyes, large ear tufts, and large 'manes' are all considered attractive.

their language, myrrmrarr, is notable for its vowel system, wherein the Vague Idea being conveyed by a word is defined by the consonants and vowels of the second syllable onwards, while the specific aspect/concept it's referring to is defined by the first vowel slot. you may have noticed this already based on 'myrrch' and 'marrch' being the same word (__-of-the-ocean) with a different vowel!

vowel meanings are as follows:

Y – cat of, person of. Typically used in names, but not always. Myrr is cat-of-the-ocean.

UU – unlike (sometimes transcribed as ‘oo’ or ‘w’). Muurr is unlike-the-ocean.

O – used to denote personification/‘deity of’ for abstract concepts or inanimate objects. Morr is the deity of the ocean, and the ocean incarnate.

A – land of. Marr is land-of-the-ocean.

U - just the thing itself. Murr is just the ocean.

Vowels can be used in combination with one another, however the first takes… precedence? ig. For example, ‘muuyrr’ would mean ‘cat of the muurr’, while ‘myuurr’ would mean ‘unlike a myrr’

their religion largely centers around the ocean. it makes sense--they typically live on the coastline as fishercats and sailors. Their creator deity is quite literally the ocean herself, Morr.

A notable figure in myrr mythology is Myrr Syf (Fog), known in the southern lands as Mercy and probably actually the fantasy-etymology for that word. she's something of a folk hero, having supposedly drowned the tyrant king Yrrth (i dont know what that one means yet lmao. it's based on 'arthur' as a little easter egg as to Syf's source--the character she's derived from also ended up being derived into Mordred in my arthuriana thing) via dragging him into the cold ocean, been blessed by Morr, and walked back out of the ocean alive. there's probably like 113143322313232 paintings of that scene, it just seems like the type to Enrapture vaguely cat-medieval artists.

due to their thick fur, they shed heavily in the spring and autumn, and often spin their shed fur into yarn.

they are a ways north of the ex-moltenfire nations, though there is a non-insignificant population of myrrch living in especially the Mirror Lake and Northern Forest Kingdoms, as those are the only ones with a coastline. many of them are sailors and dockworkers who came from the north by sea.

howdy guys do you all want to read the 595 word oc lore infodump i wrote earlier

#spire rambles #my ocs #tales of godborn #worldbuilding tag #i fucking love worldbuilding and htinking about ficutional cultures and stuff. can you tell

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maginxlia · 2 years ago

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Starring Tokyo Revengers Men In ✰ Maury

Cast Line Up Manjiro, Draken, Keisuke, Nahoya, Kazutora and Souya

Rated PG-13

Summary ✰ How Would your Men React to you dragging them on Maury to Air out Your Dirty Laundry on TV and Question The Paternity of Your kids?? Some Crack for The Holidays Baby! (Highkey Sad and Funny at the same time)

No Pronouns up In Here!

Manjiro ‘Mikey’ Sano

The Pre stage Video:“I love my kids and I have always been there for them. They are my life and this whole situation Breaks my heart” Manjiro states while the wind blows his hair back

✰ Manjiro is calm, cool, and collected while walking out on stage, Not an ounce of ignorance Radiating Off Him as the Audience cheer for him

✰ Close his eyes and when he opens them, They are on you like what the fuck?? while you air out dirty Laundry or talk about people you fucked on the side “Oh I didn't know all that” He says as his stomach flips

✰ His head swimming at this moment and the results can change how he acts

✰ All his friends in the crowd as calm but headstrong witnesses of all the things Manjiro has done for your baby but Keisuke and Nahoya Booing You whenever you speak

✰ “I just want to hear the Results to see if I am the father,” Manjiro Says calmly before glaring at you

You Are The Father!

✰ He's crying from Happiness while all of His Friends cheer for him “ I AM THE FATHER” Manjiro says while he lifts you up and spins you around

You Are Not The Father!

✰ All his friends booing you while you run backstage as Manjiro cries “The Fuck am I supposed to do Now??” Manjiro says while he hugs Draken

Ken ‘Draken’ Ryuguji

The Pre stage Video: “ I Don't care what anybody has to say, I am Here for My baby. I've been there for my daughter before she was born. I was there when she took her first breath, Her first steps, and said her first words. That baby Is My Daughter.” Draken says while crossing his arms

✰ Draken Ignores The audience even though they're cheering for him as He approaches you

“You really using My daughter for your five seconds of fame? On National Television? You disgust me” Draken spat out to you before greeting Maury

✰ Looks at you with pure disgust as you talk about your man on the side “I hope he was worth losing your family over” Draken says while cracking his Knuckles

✰ “For Our Daughter's Sake, you better hope those results say I'm the Father, cause this? This relationship?? It's dead.” Draken Says while shaking

You Are The Father!

✰ Hops out of the chair so hard that the chair falls “ I knew It! Now let me hold my daughter.” Draken Says while he avoids your arms

You Are Not The Father!

✰ Toss the chair to the side before walking backstage “ I prayed that you wouldn't hurt our daughter like this. I'm still going to be in her life, She deserves a good dad” Draken says before asking you to leave him alone

Keisuke Baji

The Pre stage Video: On My momma! I did everything for MY Baby! I bought Diapers, Formula, Breast Pumps, and Whatever MY Baby Needs! I think it's bullshit I am here right now when I have been the Daddy the whole time!

✰ Keisuke Brings his Momma with him on stage and Her Presence changes his Behavior

✰ Doesn't pay the boos attention because he wanna talk to you

✰ “You bring me on TV to Break my Heart?? You a Bit- A bitter person” Keisuke says while eyeing his mom

✰ “My Son, He might not be the brightest but he knows who his baby is” Keisuke Nodded his Head along to what his momma said until he realized she called him dumb and looked at his mom like The hell?? (Becomes a meme)

✰ Chifuyu is in the crowd in Support of Keisuke cause he knows shit can turn bad at any moment

✰ “Read The Result Maury That says I'm the father,” Keisuke says while crossing his arms

You Are The Father!

✰ Jumping Up and down before hugging his Mom and You “ I knew it! I never doubted that I was the father for a second!” Keisuke says while his eyes get tears in them

You Are Not The Father

✰ “You fuc- oooh You Bi- You better be glad My mom is here” Keisuke says while walking backstage to cry with his mom and chifuyu.

Nahoya ‘Smiley’ Kawata

The Pre stage Video: “I Can't Believe They brought me on TV to question the Paternity of The babies I been busting My Nuts, Balls, and Asshole TO HELP RAISE? Where is Kutcher at? Cause I know this a Joke” Nahoya says while grinning like a madman

✰ Walk out on the stage giving the finger to the Audience when they boo him “Yeah Boo this! cause I don't give a fu- oh you were gonna bleep me huh? I know it cost you money” He laughs before sitting down

✰ Grinning while You talk about your side man while he clenching his fist

✰ “You really Talking Talking since you on camara huh?” Nahoya grins before shifting in his seat

✰ Souya in the crowd Bawling “ We did everything for those Babies! Those are My nephew and nieces!” Souya said while tears pours down his face

✰ “Read Those Results Before I trash this Place” Nahoya huffs while his smile deepens

You Are The Father!

✰ Hugging his brother before storming off stage while you reach out for him “ Nah. Don't Touch me. Humiliating My babies, Souya and Me like this. The fuck you thought?? i was gonna kiss you? With the same mouth you been sucking -Bleep- With? Hell Naw -Bleep-”

You Are Not The Father!

✰ Tossing Chairs before storming off while Souya races after him “This Stinking -Bleep- Gonna do this to My babies? This some bullshit Man” He says while crying as Souya holds him close

Kazutora Hanemiya

The Pre stage Video: “ I may not be the best Daddy but I don't deserve this. I've been there since day one and now I'm being told my entire world might not be mine. Ma-Man I can't do this” Kazutora says while he tears up

✰ Ignore the Audience while Walking up to you “What did I do to deserve this?? Please Just Tell me?” Kazutora cries

✰ Can Barely stand Hearing about who you been with and Nealy walks off the stage twice “ I can't believe this is happening to me right now” Kazutora says while burying his head in his lap

✰ Chifuyu and Keisuke in the crowd for support while Kazutora bounces his Leg waiting for the results

✰“Please Maury Please Tell me I am the father” Kazutora begs

You Are The Father!

✰ “I knew it! Gimme those Papers Maury, I'm Gonna frame Them!” Kazutora Says while hugging his friends, “We can work through this” Kazutora says as he hugs you

You Are Not The Father!

✰ Kazutora looks at you in shock before walking off the stage to cry as Keisuke and Chifuyu walk past your crying form, “He still My son’ Kazutora cries into the shoulder of Keisuke while Chifuyu pats his back

Souya ‘Angry’ Kawata

The Pre stage Video: “I know I am the daddy of my babies! This Breaks My Hear-” Souya Cries before Nahoya cuts him off, “Nah Baby Bro don't do that! That smelly Hoe out here using My Nephews to hurt My brother? On Television?? On Maury??? You don't disrespect The Kawata twins! We will ride on your whole famil-” Nahoya barks before the video cuts off

✰ Souya Crying while the Audience Boos him when he walks out as Nahoya stands up

✰ “ Shut The Hell up and Keep those lips shut with all that -Bleep-” Nahoya says while laughing

✰ Tears won't stop falling down Souya's face as you talk about your side pieces “I-I'm just here for my sons” Souya Says as he drops his head while Nahoya screams “Head up Baby Bro! Head up!”

✰ “Please Please Tell me I am the Daddy Maury” Souya sobs

You Are The Father!

✰ Souya Hugs Nahoya before walking off the stage “ why would you put us Through all this?” Souya asked while he hug you close to him

You Are Not The Father!

✰ Nahoya clowning you while He comforts his sobbing brother “ You Stanking -Bleep- Go on run, Shoulda be Running from all That -Bleep-” Nahoya Yells as you run off stage

Likes, Comments, Reblogs, And Asks are Appreciated & Loved

Please Don’t Steal My Shit

#sano manjiro x reader #Mikey x reader #draken x reader #ken ryuguji x reader #Baji Keisuke x reader #keisuke x reader #nahoya x reader #smiley x reader #angry x reader #Souya x reader #kazutora hanemiya x reader #Kazutora x reader #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers x black!reader #Crack

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chastiefoul · 3 years ago

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dreamy | genshin impact (1/2)

ft. arataki itto, thoma, kujou sara

tags : unrequited love, angst, little comfort

honestly just wanna write something not fluffy

divided into two parts, i'll update the post with link to the 2nd part as soon as it's posted.

part 1 - part 2

---------------------------------------------

Arataki Itto is so dreamy.

Strong, gentle, and unbelievably kind. While he may be lacking in the intelligent department, you thought that his personality truly made up for it. He always did things he didn’t have to just to help with utmost consideration, always making you laugh, and always making sure you’re not working yourself too hard or get yourself hurt. Sometimes all you can think about is how the heck the whole nation’s eligible man and woman hadn’t had a crush on this guy yet.

Although, similar like the happy stuff you dreamt, he also felt far away. Like the light that was on the end at a tunnel but the more you chased it, the further it hastes. Like a rainbow where no one knows where it ends. This secret of this feelings of yours, you will keep it hidden for as long as needed. It’d decided long before that,

Arataki Itto is unattainable.

Why are you so certain? Well why shouldn’t you, when he told you days and nights, how dreamy Kujou Sara is.

"And then she just looked back as if she didn't just killed an enemy from 300 yards away with that beautiful bow of hers!" Itto claimed excitedly, while walking side by side with you.

That tugged a little of your heartstring. Although it wasn’t the first time, and probably won’t the last either. The main problem is not even that he talks about her, it's how he does it all the time when he's with you.

What? Are you that dull that he thought the only conversation that would last between the two of you is the one where he sounds completely over heels over the General of the Tenryou Commission?

If so, with how much he talks about her and how little you responded, it sure sounds like he'd be entirely fine just by himself.

But alas, you also couldn’t lie to yourself that if someone asks what has been the best part of your day, you'd answer it's when the big dumb man named Itto comes to visit. The little minutes where he didn’t talk about you know who, and instead told you about his day, cracking up jokes, telling you all about the beetle fight he had attended that day.

That, that was when you couldn’t take your eyes off of him, because in that in between seconds you didn’t have to be reminded and he’s the Itto that’s out of your reach, the Itto you have feelings for but couldn’t say, the Itto that completely doesn’t see you in that way.

You offered a small smile as response, swallowing the bitter taste that lingered in your mouth. “Yeah, she is amazing, isn’t she?”

“She sure is! Oh, this is you, I’ve been talking so much I didn’t even pay attention and that we’ve arrived at your house!” He grinned, scratching the back of his head. Well quite the opposite, you’ve been counting the steps until you finally arrive.

“Well thank you again for accompanying me home Itto, you really don’t have to,” you said. “ Not this again, every evening and what not I drag you along with me doing whatever I wanted, the least I could do is send you back home safely.” He pat your head, his overbearing smile somehow painful on your part.

“Yeah well, I had fun too so don’t worry so much!” You smiled, that one was genuine. You couldn’t be more honest when you say you always looked forward his visits on the evening. Often, he’d take you on his strongest beetle-searching, adventuring along the scary yet fascinating hills and cliffs of Inazuma.

And you’ve loved every minute of it.

Needless to say that the thunder nation is breathtaking, even though you’ve lived here your entire life, you’re only realizing that and you only got to know that only thanks to the man in front of you.

It may seem that a gratitude is overdue, the same way how ending all of this is overdue.

However fun you’ve had, you just don’t think it’s worth it anymore to stay until the curtain rises, revealing a man who’s hopelessly in love with Kujou Sara. Especially how your feelings are getting stronger each day you spent time with him, only to have your heart shattered little-by-little.

You always said you’d end it, and today now you’ve reached your 10th reminder.

“Well then, I’m off!” The blaring voice snapped you out of the trance. He’d already so far away by the time you realized, your eleventh reminder will come tomorrow.

“Hey, thought you’d be here.” A gentle voice called out. You had been leaning on the big tree that grew behind your house. Sitting there was the perfect angle to see the moon just above the water. It’s a good thing you lived by the big lake. It was always your favorite place; to hide, or cry. Whatever it was that overwhelmed you.

“Thoma?! It’s midnight how are you here?” You claimed, surprised written all over you. Thoma was your friend first before he was the housekeeper of the Kamisato Clan. Few years ago at the time he had no mora and hadn’t known what he’d do at Inazuma, you knew you couldn’t just leave him alone the moment you heard, thus you sometimes you had him help around the house for the spare Mora you had, which wasn’t much, still, Thoma appreciated it regardless.

But Thoma never felt like a helper, he was always a friend. And on his spare time doing god knows that—but it must be something right that he gained the trust of the Kamisato Clan and now have a home of his own and work he has pride in. You were beyond happy when he told you and he promised to keep in contact. Which he did, until this very day.

Every week on days you could never guess he always visit you.

And today just one of those time.

“Well I planned on visiting on earlier hours but the business I had to attend went longer than I expected, and I thought about going back immediately since you probably already asleep, but with the stories you’ve been telling me about this Itto guy, I doubt that you sleep early these days,” Thoma sat beside you, leaning back as well.

“I hate it when you’re right,” you said, hugging your knees, eyes resting on the tranquil moon. “Did something happen today?” he asked, feeling that you’re especially weary today.

“Nothing new really, I still like him, he still likes Kujou Sara, just the usual good stuff,” you emphasized the sarcasm.

Thoma couldn’t stand seeing you like this, the way your shoulder always slumped now, and your emotion was dependent on a single person. He sighed out of concern, “I keep telling you-“ he started but you quickly cut him off. “-I should move on.”

Saying it aloud didn’t make you feel better, it just made it felt more real.

You continued, “I know, but it’s just-” You took a deep breath, it was a little shaky. “It’s hard.” Thoma finished it off. He offered a quiet comfort, putting a hand on your back. “I feel like you had to be there but Itto always talks about her with this expression I can’t put my hand on. It was so, sofull of love and adoration I-I couldn’t help but yearn for that,” you meekly explained, voice barely audible at the end of the sentence.

“I guess it just hurts so much to keep being reminded that I will never mean that much to him,” you chuckled quietly out of pity for yourself, tears flowing freely.

Thoma was quiet, not because he didn’t know what to say because he always knew. It’s because this time he’s certain that no word on the dictionary would be any help to mend whatever’s hurting you right now.

The nightfall continued along with your quiet sobs and sniffle, Thoma was by your side the entire time.

#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact #genshin angst #arataki itto #itto #itto x sara #itto x reader #thoma #genshin thoma #kujou sara #thoma x reader

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from-a-reckless-writer · 3 years ago

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ii. secret.

read on ao3

Lena Luthor dies a villain.

Her death took out half the population in the vicinity. A blinding white light piercing through the National City skyline. A deafening boom heard 5 cities over. An explosion so great, even Supergirl was knocked dead.

And so, Lena Luthor dies a villain.

Alone and young. And so, so bitter. An accomplice and ally to Lex Luthor.

Some would even say she was a greater, far more cunning, far more terrifying force than Lex.

There were rumors that the woman had magic at the end of it all. That no one person could be capable of that much destruction without the help of something inhuman.

But well, rumors were all it can be, especially when all possible witnesses perished along with the Luthors.

******

Weeks later, Andrea Rojas holds a memorial event for Lena Luthor; protesters burn the venue to the ground.

Months later, Supergirl returns to the world. More radiant than ever. More alive than ever. Stronger. Better.

Years later, National City recovers fully from the whole catastrophe.

Supergirl is reported to most frequently be seen in the memorial square for the fallen victims. A dozen paparazzi pictures of the caped heroine quietly walking, sometimes whispering under breath.

Praying, somebody on a CatCo article comments. She’s always praying whenever we see her there.

****** The closet doors burst open and out steps Alex Danvers.

A colorful stream of expletives coming right along with her, “Fuckin’ fur coats, goddamn hangers, fucking hitting me in the face—”

“Took you long enough,” a familiar voice greets her, “where the hell have you been? And why are you so...dirty? If you track mud on my carpet I swear to God, Alex—”

“I was cleaning your grave, okay?” she snaps, setting down a bucket filled with various cleaning supplies, that Lena’s just now noticing, on said carpet.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Alex huffs about, crossing her arms, “You don’t have to make a big deal about it. I don’t want to do it again, it’s a bitch for my back pain. I was just pissed about the graffiti. You’d think people would have better manners than defacing the grave of a dead woman. If only they—”

“Thank you, Alex,” she cuts her off, a shy smile gracing her face. She really doesn’t want to hear about the rest of it. And if Alex doesn’t want to make a big deal out of it, then no big deal shall be made.

“There’s coffee in the kitchen,” she says then, and Alex just nods, grabs her bucket of supplies again and turns to leave.

Although not before saying, “Remind me again why you let Kara win? With the portal?”

Lena just shrugs, dark hair escaping out of her messy bun at the movement.

“She said she’s always wanted to go to Narnia.”

Alex shakes her head, rolls her eyes, “Whipped.”

And well, that sounds about right.

******

There’s a documentary on Netflix about the Luthors. Lena’s face in black and white, on the preview banner, a big red X drawn over it.

Kara snaps the remote in half.

Lena reaches over the blanket, grabs her hand, flicks the TV off with only a swish of her fingers and a glitter of sparks.

“C’mere,” she says, tugging gently, till she has a lapful of Krytonian draped over her. Lena traces her fingers over the crinkle between Kara’s brow, smooths them out, thumb dragging across lips till it pulls to a soft smile.

“We know the truth,” she tells her, “and that’s enough.”

“It’s not fair.”

Nothing ever is.

******

“How’re the kids?” She asks, one hand whisking eggs, the other holding the bowl steady.

“Oh, you know, asking me a thousand silly questions a day. Driving Alex crazy. Never letting me sleep. They’re perfect, really,” Kelly says, and Lena hums in response. Before she catches Kelly popping a blueberry in her mouth, a crime punishable by Lena Luthor’s death stare.

“Those are for the muffins.” A foam covered whisk points dangerously to Kelly’s chest.

She raises both arms in surrender, palms opening, dropping the remaining three blueberries onto the counter.

“You know, I’ve seen you do it a thousand times, yet it still doesn’t fail to surprise me.”

Lena concludes she’s talking about the baking tray hovering in the air, a feet away from them, greasing itself. Or maybe it’s the soup at the stove with a ladle stirring itself.

“What can I say,” Lena quips, smirking, “I’m magical like that.”

******

Andrea finds her on a Tuesday.

One minute Lena is reading quietly on her front porch, the next, there is an explosion of sound in her living room. She throws open her door, magical energy sizzling at her fingertips.

The sight that greets her stops her in her tracks. Acrata pinning Supergirl down, their coffee table destroyed. She sighs internally, she loved that coffee table. It was a wedding gift from Nia and Brainy.

“I knew it,” Andrea whispers, her grip slackens around the hero's throat. She stands up slowly, as if afraid that if she moved too fast Lena would disappear. She leaves Supergirl gasping on the floor; materializes in front of Lena in a cloud of black smoke.

“I knew it. I knew it. I knew it.” She sobs into Lena’s blouse, arms wrapped tightly around her. Lena embraces her on instinct, her eyes closing briefly, before opening up again to check on Kara dusting herself off.

“Andrea,” Lena croaks, “you can’t tell anyone.”

You can’t tell anyone I’m alive. You can’t tell anyone how I tricked Lex, how I saved Supergirl, how I saved National City.

“Nobody will know,” Andrea promises her.

******

There is a cottage by the woods that nobody else sees, where every Sunday a blonde woman rips apart pieces of wood with her bare hands, where a pale woman with even paler hands grows crops from the barren earth within seconds, where the closet hides cities instead of clothes, where a dead woman and a hero spend their lives in bliss.

******

It has been ten years, her hair is more gray than blonde now, her skin more wrinkled than smooth, her hearing though? Her hearing is still better than ever. And it has been ten years since she’s heard that tell-tale whoosh of a cape, it’s been a decade and still, the sound brings her the same thrill, the same adrenaline.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Supergirl? Or should I say, Superwoman, now?”

And oh-

She did not come alone.

Lena Luthor is set gently down on the balcony.

If Cat Grant wasn’t Cat Grant, she’s sure she would’ve already suffered a heart attack from the mere sight of a woman long dead standing breathing and alive in her home. She would’ve shrieked and demanded answers.

“I need a favor,” Kara tells her, stalking closer, hand on her hip. Cat would’ve laughed at that if this were some other time. No need to play the intimidating game with me, Kiera, she would’ve said.

“What is it?”

“I need you to break a story,” she tells her. “You, Cat. I want you, and nobody else to cover this.”

Cat raises her brow at that, she already has an inkling as to what the story might be about.

“A story hmm? This better be good, if I’m to come out of retirement for it.”

This time it’s Lena Luthor who speaks. Cat has been dying to hear what she has to say.

“It’ll be good," she promises her, "It’ll be better than good."

Kara crowds closer to Lena, then; wraps a protective arm on her waist. Cat watches frozen as Lena's index finger lights in flame. What a sight they make.

"You’ll be telling the entire world the last Luthor’s secret.”

#it's already october 2 in my corner of the world so...#yeah.#LOOK I JUST WANT LENA TO LIVE THE COTTAGECORE WITCH LESBIAN DREAM OKAY?#the reckless writer writes #a supercorp ficlet of sorts #if u see a typo no u didnt #supercorptober 2021 #supercorp

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tiffanylamps · 2 years ago

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A Beyond Evil Fic Rec List: Works in Progress

[So, apparently, you can break Tumblr when you write too much or include too many links, or I don't know, are just too much in general. So, I'm splitting this rec list into three posts.]

So, I was meant to post this a long time ago, but life got in the way. This post only includes uncompleted fics with mixed ratings.

FYI: This will be an ever-growing list and will be updated semi-regularly

You can find the General and Teen fic rec list here. The Mature and Explicit fic rec list is currently [as of 20/10/2022] uncompleted

Works in Progress love, at least by ltyrell Rated: Explicit General Lee Dongsik returns to the capital at the summons of the king. A king he has long believed had something to do with his sister's mysterious death twenty years ago. A king he intends to bring to justice, whatever the personal cost.

A king whose son just might throw a wrench into those plans.

[or: Joseon era jwds with some plot but more flirting]

if I could never give you peace by ltyrell Rated: Mature Juwon deserves better than this, than him. He deserves someone younger, brighter, less burdened. Someone who hasn’t been broken down and pieced back together—the cracks sealed with tenderness and care, certainly, but there nonetheless.

Dongsik might love him with his whole being, but it has been a long time since his being was whole.

[or: post-canon jwds pine with the best of them, until one of them finally works up the nerve to make a move. then they pine a little more.]

the bitter and the sweet by princesskay Rated: Explicit Four years later, Joo-won moves back to Manyang to find things the same yet irrevocably changed. In the year since his probation ended, Dong-sik has traveled as far as Busan and Jeju, making it a point not to come back frequently; but the imminent demolition of the grocery and Joo-won's reappearance turn the tide of his escape. Meanwhile, Han Ki-hwan reaches back out to his only son, convinced that he never was quite able to drag himself back out of hell ...

if you don't love me, pretend by whir Rated: Mature Throughout his life, Kwon Hyuk has always been second. Second class, second best, second choice. That all changes when Juwon comes along and makes Kwon Hyuk his first. First friend, first confidant, perhaps even his first love. Ten years together, three years apart. A wedding to reunite them one last time. This is their story from the very beginning to the very end.

about love (and what's after that) by Katierosefun Rated: General For Joo Won: why did it have to be you.

For Dong Sik: of course, it had to be you.

Neither, of course, would say this for a good while.

At last, Dong Sik smiled.

“Well,” he said. “Long time, no see, Inspector Han.”

[or: after not speaking to each other for a while, dong sik and joo won wind up having to pose as a married couple for an operation.]

read all the books beside your bed by Katierosefun Rated: General Han Joo Won stared at Dong Sik, then at the crowd of students.

He looked unimpressed, as though he wasn’t the most hated professor in the nation.

“Professor Lee,” he said calmly. “There’s no need to kick down my door.”

[or: the au where lee dong sik and han joo won are forcibly made co-professors.]

In your arms (I’m me myself) by zombielots Rated: Explicit "Everyone likes a well behaved boy," His boots scuff on the pavement as his hand removes the cigarette from his lips and rubs out the burning tip in between two fingers on his opposite hand. Mr Lee gives Juwon a charming grin, and grabs his hand.

or juwon walks into a bdsm club after breaking up with his boyfriend and leaves enchanted by a man.

The Obligatory Time Travel Story by BarbaraAburi Rated: Mature Juwon had stared into his father’s eyes, he had actually watched as the man in front of him decided whether to kill his own son or not, he had watched as he abruptly inhaled, as if searching for strength to actually do it.

He’d heard a scream coming from the door.

The sound of the gunshot.

And then…

He woke up.

---

Every fandom needs a Time Travel fic, this is the first of many.

De noche y de día by Oodblood Rated: General Joowon hits his head. Apparently, that gifts him the ability to read minds through eye contact. This isn't going to end well. As it turns out, Dongsik has a lot of very interesting thoughts about him. Interesting, intense, detailed thoughts.

company policy by 64907 Rated: Explicit Office AU. Han Joowon returns to Korea at his father’s behest and finds himself more than curious with one of the company’s executives.

Werewolf Heart by jsikook Rated: Explicit Han Joowon is an up-and-coming Crime Thriller book author. In his current series, he writes of a heartless serial killer who reeks havoc on a small town and terrorizes the citizens.

Lee Dongsik is an avid, and passionate fan of Joowon’s work. Determined to get his attention and win his love, he starts to copy every murder that Joowon writes about in his books.

rare is this love (keep it covered) by JasperMeadows Rated: Teen In a world where everyone is born with a scar that represents their soulmate, two men who have convinced themselves that it's all a farce are destined to cross paths.

Han Juwon owns an independent bookstore in Hongdae. Lee Dongsik owns a flower shop in nearby Manyang. They shouldn't have anything to do with each other but one day an empty lot opens up across the street from Red Fox Books and Dongsik takes a leap of faith.

When a chance meeting confirms what they once thought to be impossible or foolish, Juwon and Dongsik will come to learn what happens when perhaps, just once, you learn to let love in.

[alternatively: the jwds soulmate, bookstore, and flower shop au no one asked for!]

#beyond evil #jtbc beyond evil #enjoy!#(scheduled)

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louwhose · 2 years ago

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Blind Spots | Flowers

AO3 | Previous | Next Well, I may not have posted a chapter yesterday, but I DO have this one today! I should theoretically be able to finish the rest of the story on time, but... we shall see.

flowers | noun

flow·ers | \ ˈflau̇(-ə)rs \

1d : a cut stem of a plant with its flower

Thorn Princess.

Derived from Yor’s surname, or rather her maiden name, of Briar. The spines that accompany a flower. The thorns that protect a wild rose.

Of course, Yor hadn’t been clever enough to come up with it herself. No, that credit was due to the Shopkeeper.

Yes, the Shopkeeper, the Gardener of Garden. Her coworkers weren’t quite as bad as Yor, but they were all hitmen, not exactly valued for their brains. The Shopkeeper was always the mind behind each operation.

So Yor chose to tell him about her discovery.

Of course, she spent quite a few days debating about whether or not she should. After all, it was so easy to ignore, and pretend that she had imagined the whole thing. Was it really so bad if Loid was a spy for Westalis? Even the fact that they got along so well despite their opposing nationalities and conflicting interests gave her hope for peace beyond this cold war their countries were locked in.

But… their goals were just too different. Yor had married him to avoid discovery by the secret police, but it could hardly be good if the west knew she was an assassin either. And Loid was sharp. Sooner or later, he was bound to notice that something was off, if he hadn't already.

So Yor, after nearly a week of knowing Loid was a spy, she chose to call the Shopkeeper while her husband was away at work, whatever it was that he really did.

"Thorn Princess?" the kindly voice of the old man answered after a few rings. "You don't usually contact me. What is it?"

"Umm…" Yor hesitated. Not because the Shopkeeper was intimidating, at least not to her, but because this was something big, and important, and suddenly she didn't feel quite as certain that Loid was, in fact, a spy. But she had come this far. She might as well voice her suspicions, even if that was all they were.

"I think my husband might be a spy for Westalis!" she blurted.

All that came through the earpiece to the phone was the faint crackling and static that accompanied every call. Then finally, she heard a long breath being let out under the static. "What makes you think that?"

Yor explained how she had found the bug in Loid's room, and how she could think of no other possible explanation, and how there might be a scheme with Eden and Anya somehow involved.

The Shopkeeper sighed. "I can see why you thought that. It still might be for some other reason, but you're right, we can't discard the possibility that he might be a spy."

There was a suspenseful pause before he continued. "Do you think he might be Twilight?"

Yor froze. Twilight, the most infamous of all the spies, man of a thousand faces, able to infiltrate anywhere, do anything? While all of that did seem to be fairly in line with the kind of capability that Loid always showed, she didn't think that alone necessarily pointed to the two being one and the same. "Why?"

"We had so little reason to suspect him before. Your husband seems to have done an extremely good job of keeping his work removed from his home life, if he is indeed a spy."

Yor dragged a hand over her arm, as though there had been a chill in the air. “So he might be the best.”

“Yes.” There was a pause. “We’ll try to get some of our own people that are skilled in information gathering to try to confirm that Loid Forger is, in fact, a spy. It will be difficult, since a spy will take precautions to avoid detection. But until then, just act normal. We’ll let you know if we need you to do something.”

And just like that, the Shopkeeper hung up.

Yor slowly drew her hand away from her ear and let it clack back onto the receiver. Wondering what they might need her to do at all. She wasn’t good for much besides killing. Her hand started trembling before her thought process caught up with the emotion.

They might want her to kill Loid.

Of course. She was an assassin. What else was she good for? But that didn’t make it hurt any less, even as a possibility. Yor sunk to the floor, clutching her arms around her knees and crying into them.

Could she even do it? Kill Loid, or rather, an enemy spy? She wondered as she sobbed.

No, she realized with alarming clarity. No, she couldn’t. Because, no matter how much their professions opposed the other’s, he was Loid. Her husband, the one that she… loved?

Yes. Loved.

She realized it now.

Yor loved Loid. Had for… a while now. Might have first fallen for him when he stood up for her at that first date where he pretended to be her husband. And everything since had only built it up.

This little family was real, to her, anyway. And no matter what she was told to do, she couldn’t destroy it. She took this job to create peace for others, and… well, killing Loid was not the answer to that. If the Shopkeeper told her to do it anyway…

Yor clenched her fist.

She stood up and wiped her tears off of her cheeks, feeling the heat radiating from them after getting so worked up. She went into the bathroom and washed off her face, which both helped her to cool down and refreshed her.

The door opened and slammed shut, and Yor came out to see Anya bursting in, just back from school. She smiled.

“Mama! Mama!” Anya squealed, literally bouncing up and down with joy. “You’ll never guess what Sy-on boy said to me to—”

Anya’s ramble quickly came to a halt as she somehow tripped over her own feet and face planted on the floor.

Yor hurried over to help the girl back onto her feet.

“Are you alright?” Anya nodded, and besides her nose being a little red and her eyes a little wide, she didn’t look any worse for the wear. “What were you saying about Damian?”

“Mama.” Anya stared at Yor with an oddly determined expression on her face that managed to make her nervous. “Are you a good or a bad person?”

Yor’s jaw just dropped in shock. What was this now? Sure, she had been considering the fact that she might have to kill Loid, and hadn’t quite recovered from that train of thought once Anya came home, but what would make the girl question it?

Yor raised her hands defensively and waved furiously. “Good! I’m a good person!”

Anya nodded solemnly. “That’s good. I see, I see.”

Yor stood there, looking at her daughter and wondering if she should ask about the story again. Or about her day? Or maybe just offer to let her play for a while as she prepared a snack for her. Any of these were fine, really, but she was still reeling from that question out of the blue. It was hard to figure out what to do when you found out your daughter seemed to think you might be a bad person for some reason.

Of course, Anya had no consideration for this, and proceeded to ask a question that somehow managed to take Yor even more off-guard. “Do you like Papa?”

“O-of course!” she answered instantly, face starting to burn up to a bright red once again. She had barely managed to realize that she was, in fact, in love with Loid, and now to talk about it, with her daughter of all people. If she hadn’t just realized that she loved him romantically, it would have been no problem to admit it, since she had been aware of loving him in a broader sense for a while now and had no shame in admitting that. “I mean, of course I love him, just like I love you. Well, maybe not just like the way I love you, but…”

Yor trailed off, unsure of what she was trying to say. She must resemble a fire engine now. She buried her head in her hands.

And of course, that of all times was when Loid came home. With a bouquet of red roses clenched almost uncertainly in hand. Not nearly as large as the one Yuri brought that first time he came over, but that was truly ridiculous and this one was still large by any normal scale.

Of course, Yor only knew any of this by peeking out between her fingers, taking in his slightly perplexed expression as he tried to figure out what was happening here, with his wife beet-red and face in hands in front of his daughter.

“Papa!” Anya exclaimed, running over to him and hugging onto one leg. “Mama likes you!”

One corner of his mouth quirked up in something between understanding and amusement. “Well, I would hope so.”

She rested her chin on his leg, looking up at him pointedly. “No, Papa. Mama actually said that she loves you.”

“Oh?” Loid asked, raising an eyebrow before turning his gaze from his daughter to meet Yor’s eyes.

She immediately uncovered them from behind her hands as she explained. “I was just saying how I love both of you, of course. You’re both my only family, besides Yuri, after all. And…” No. She was not confessing yet. Not here, not like this. Not so totally unprepared to do so. She changed the subject. “What are the roses for?”

Loid looked back down at them. “Ah, I saw them on my way home from work.” He looked back up to meet her eyes again. “And thought of you.”

Yor felt her face warm up again, not from embarrassment, but from the warmth of being… loved? Was that it? The revelations she’d had in the past week made it seem unlikely, but she certainly felt like she was being loved.

“Papa and Mama are going to kiss!” Anya exclaimed. Yor’s attention turned back down to the girl looking back and forth between the two parents and felt the embarrassment creep back in.

Instead of loudly protesting with a “no” like she usually would, Yor just… considered it. And how, erm… nice it sounded.

Loid drew her attention again with a sigh as he leaned down to gently pull Anya off his leg. “Why don’t you go put your stuff down in your room, and we’ll get a snack for you once you’re out?”

Anya grumbled about being kept out of the “juicy stuff,” but went as she was asked.

Yor managed to shake herself out of her daze enough to walk over to where Loid was, first helping him out of his coat to hang it by the door, and then taking the bouquet from him. “I’ll put these in a vase. Thank you so much for these, Loid.”

And then, with a burst of confidence from she didn’t know where, Yor leaned up on her tiptoes and kissed him. Just on the cheek, but still.

Then, too afraid to see how he would react to that, she hurried to the kitchen to get a vase and prepare the flowers. Loid did follow her a few moments later, setting to work on preparing Anya’s snack.

Yor went to place the vase on the table, listening to Loid and Anya’s banter absentmindedly as she carefully checked the arrangement to see that it was nicely done.

As she drew back to admire it finally, one hand lingered, and she was suddenly struck by a bit of melancholy. These flowers were beautiful, of course, but cut off from their roots, they wouldn’t stay alive very long, no matter how much water they had.

She couldn’t do much for the flowers. But Yor would not let herself be cut off from her family.

If you have questions about Loid and the flowers like my brother did, I will simply ask you to please wait until the next chapter, because that should clear things up. Probably. If I did my job right. *sweats nervously* Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed it! Please leave a comment! I love hearing what people think about my work (even if I'm not the best about replying)! Previous | Next

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