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orangegreet · 3 years

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No Minor Miracles | Chapter 9

In a Cell, At the Bottom of the World

In which we find out how Aleksander takes the news of his Sun Summoner's impending nuptials.

Alina lay awake in the moonlight, white beams cast across their bed.

Between her thighs, the tacky seed was drying and growing itchy. On this last night at the dacha, they were lazy with keeping clean.

Exhausted and spent, the effort to clean up after every round cost too much and they opted to fall asleep in each other’s arms. Waking only occasionally to refuel with food.

She watched him doze, running her hand through his long loose hair and drawing lines across his features.

She could not leave him.

She could not go home.

At home was something she did not want to face. Did not want to do. At home were people who demanded too much of her and censured her own actions in the same stride.

Running had never seemed so appealing before now.

She could take him with her, keep him as she longed to do.

And the Tsar would die and Nikolai would be put on the throne and someone else would kill Zlatan and they would find someone else to lead the West and it could all be done without either of them.

They could go live in anonymity among the otkazat’sya. They could outlive this whole generation of people and then rise up in the next century if they wanted.

Two Immortals, two creators of the world.

What was to stop them from scrapping it all to start anew? Reducing this world into powder and regenerating something better in its place.

They held the Making at the Heart of the World between them.

Did that not give them the power to decide how the world spun next?

They could create a new world and walk it’s lands from the first day, together. They would ensure equality and freedom for all Grisha from the beginning and they would rule in tandem.

It would be a world made just for them.

With a pang she thought of Tamar. Tolya too. And Nina and Matthias.

Even of the ashes of Pabel.

The bodies of her father and mother that lay at the bottom of the True Sea.

Could she destroy a world which held all of them? Erase the people she loved, both alive and dead from existence?

Pabel would not like it. Pabel who had seen so much hurt and pain in the world that he struggled to remember how to hope.

Pabel who had claimed himself as her first true miracle. “The Sun Summoner made an old man believe things could be good again. That people with power could be good again. I thank the Saints for you, Alinochka.”

To take it all away would be to obliterate that hope entirely. Was that in her?

Her fingers brushed down the neck of her Shadow Summoner, his even breaths filled the space between them.

What would it mean to erase the Fold he created?

She wondered yet again what would have happened if she had been there to push back against his Shadow. What shape would his Shadows have taken in the presence of her Light?

It would not undo the pain he poured out onto the earth that day.

Perhaps it would be wrong to undo it. Wrong of her to clear away the evidence of his agony like wiping a tear drop from the face of the earth.

Pain is memory and Aleksander might not want to forget the few people who made a mark on his long life anymore than she wanted to part with hers.

Moreover, how could she erase the world when so many had made their marks upon it?

Just a few months and she and Aleksander would be together.

That was, if Aleksander choose to stand with her when all was said and done.

The thought of the Tsar and the Tsesarevich and their impending assassination and the secession of the West and the engagement to Zlatan and the murder of Zlatan and the transition of power to Nikolai and herself all swirled around her head, unsettling her anxieties.

Would he instead hate her for eternity? She had told him once that she could endure it. She prayed that was true.

Thinking of it any longer was causing the pressure to build in her chest and his brow was furrowed in his sleep and that was probably because her emotions were bleeding into him.

She placed soft kisses to his face until it relaxed. It relaxed her too.

But then.

His cock was hardening, pressing against her thigh and she welcomed the oblivion of sex. She kissed his pliant sleep-softened lips as he murmured unintelligible words to her and his eyes blinked open.

When he was semi-aware, Alina rolled him to his back, stroking his cock with her tongue before she settled herself over him. Soft groan issued from their throats and his hands spread over her thighs, running down them with splayed fingers in appreciative strokes.

She pressed her hands to his chest and circled her hips, warming him up and feeling the pay off as he grew inside her.

When Aleksander had fully woken, his hands captured her hips in a vice and he held her still while he thrust deep a few times.

Lightning was shooting through her belly and into her core and her head was thrown back in the pleasure of it.

Everything felt suspended. Worries, anxieties, fears. They pushed out from her being and she lived in the place where she and Aleksander dwelled as one.

The need to be close was overwhelming them both and when she pulled up on his shoulders he was already sitting up. His mouth met her breasts and his hand lay against her stomach.

His palm pushed in to feel the tip of his length as it moved in her and her mouth began to water at the feeling.

His other hand went to her lips and she laved his fingers with her tongue. His wet hand pressed firm strokes to the slippery lips of her cunt, ensuring she felt every sensation of him.

“Nothing is better than this feeling, Alina.” He confessed to the valley of her breasts.

She nodded against his hair, clutching his head as they strived to get deeper, tighter, wetter.

As if through this act they could possibly fuse together for good.

“Nothing,” she agreed, “nothing will ever be better.”

Aleksander pulled her mouth to his, struggling to keep the rhythm while he tried to consume her whole.

____________________________

It was at dusk the next day that they gathered their things.

Aleksander stood before her, dressed in his black kefta, hair pulled back into his warrior’s knot. In his face he was still soft and gentle, completely open to her and her alone.

His General’s persona was just at the edge of their room and she knew once they passed the threshold, she would not see him like this again.

May not see him like this again for a lifetime or more after this day.

Alina was already crying. Dense, silent tears rolled down her cheeks as she finished the last clasp over his chest.

His calloused hands held her face and he brushed the tears away with his thumbs.

“I cannot do this, Sasha.” She whispered.

His eyes slid shut and his forehead rested to hers. He breathed a deep, shuddering breath.

“Let us go far away from everything. We can do that.” Alina began in a flurry, “We could begin a quiet life away from everyone. Just for a while. Just for now.”

He was confused and shaking his head but she barreled on, unrelenting, “In a century we can rise up together, partners and creators and we will rule all of Ravka as we were made to do. No one will deny the sanctity of a Shadow Summoner and a Sun Summoner blessing the earth in the same moment. Everything can be ours then.”

Her knuckles were white where she clutched at his wrists and he began shushing her, thumbs still methodically brushing over her cheeks, soothing her.

If she could only make him understand that this would be the best thing.

“Where is this coming from, Alinochka?” She closed her eyes and shrugged helplessly.

His voice was strained as he spoke, “I cannot leave my people. You know that I cannot. My Grisha, all those at the Little Palace, in the Second Army. Grisha cowering from discovery for fear of death, enslavement, experimentation—you know we cannot hide, solnyshka.”

Her people waited for her as well. Waited for her to deliver them from the fate of Zlatan. From the impending alliance with Fjerda which would open hunting season on all the Grisha in the West. How could she even consider abandoning them?

Her legs were crumbling beneath her and Aleksander caught her and clutched her to his chest.

Alina was so full of everything.

Full of power and full of energy and full of passion and of love and of rage and contempt.

Why did it all make her feel so small in this moment?

Her body was some insignificant casing and in her was contained the full fury of the sun and who exactly thought this would fit together well?

She was altogether too young to feel the weight of this so acutely. It seemed that everything would go flying out from her body as soon as she rested.

Had Aleksander once felt this way? Perhaps it would take a few centuries for her to adjust.

Only she did not have that kind of time. Discernment and commitment and loyalty were already tangled inside.

His hand stroked her hair and he murmured into her ear. “Come with me now. Please, Alina. We can be together and lead as we were meant to do. It can all start right now, you just have to trust me.”

The agony of his request flared inside her and she wanted desperately to be able to follow him home.

But again she thought of Tamar—all of her friends and allies and knew that she was the lynch pin in their plan to free the West.

She knew without a doubt that she would regret not following him home anyway.

She thought of the words of his mother, Zlatan fears Aleksander. Zlatan will kill Aleksander, one way or another.

The gasping breaths of Aleksander.

A Fjerdan wolf. A zealous Secessionist.

The tether fraying in her chest.

The feeling of being unmoored. Set adrift.

Alina, floating through space and time, ungrounded, untethered.

Alone.

She had to push forward. Keep to the plan. Trust that her opportunity—their opportunity—would arise again.

They had eternity to figure it out. It was she who had determined they were Inevitable.

She who held this truth in her chest as a perpetual water wheel of hope. Rising within her and renewing her resolve to see through the circumstances before her.

One day they would truly belong to each other. The fires of doubt flared again and again but the truth of their inevitability rose and doused the flames time and time again.

She owed it to give her people their day now—those who did not have eternity.

Her breathing slowed as she composed herself. When her eyes met his, she did not need to voice her rejection of his request.

His mouth scrunched with the bitterness all the same.

“It is close.” She began, cutting off any possible disdain he could offer up.

“I am close to the end of my work in the West. I will come to you when it ends. I will follow wherever you ask when I do. I will devote myself to your will and your life and your pleasure until the world burns up beneath us. And if there is an after I will find you there and my vow will remain the same.”

Aleksander did not have words for the unease he felt between them. The anxiety and the guilt and the shame she was emitting sounded off inside of him like a warning bell.

He simply nodded, bending to gather her mouth in a kiss. One that filled them both with urgency and comfort.

“I will not be able to be in touch for at least three weeks, Sasha. Everything is all right, I just need you to know.”

“Not even—“

“No. I am almost to the end of something. If I have you to fall back on right now, I may not see it through. I have to see this through. For myself.”

He did not like the answer, she could tell. Still, he nodded in acceptance.

When he lifted her traveling cloak from the bed and secured it over her shoulders, he took care to caress her neck with the backs of his fingers as he closed the clasp.

“You promise it will be soon?” He asked.

“I do.”

_________________________

Alina emerged from the Fold well past midnight.

Her goodbye with Aleksander lasted far longer than either of them intended.

Ultimately, she ended up on her hands and knees, head arched back to view the undulating curtain of Shadows as he tugged her hair in one hand and steadied her hips with the other.

His hand wrapped into her locks and he thrust into her from behind with a punishing pace—unwilling to let her forget who had used her body in this way. Who it was who owned her body. Her soul.

Their dual cries were swallowed by the void before them and something about the swirling darkness made her feel even dirtier as she cried out her ecstasy into the void.

His head fell between her shoulder blades, arm supporting her torso as he rubbed her clit with his dripping spend, determined to leave her with another orgasm.

She came again with a whimper and he let her ride it out on his fingers and then pressed his cum back into her with soothing shushes.

She growled and then moaned. She wanted to kick him away but his fingers were still moving, feeding her aching center with his cum and she hated how much it roiled her belly with pleasure.

It was impossible to know if she could ever get enough of him.

When he buckled her trousers for her, cupping her clothed cunt all saturated with his seed, he whispered in her ear, “Wouldn’t want you forgetting me on the journey home, pet.”

And then with a kiss to her mouth, he sent her off into the shadowland.

The literal dark scar of his pain, etched into the earth by his hand.

As if she could forget him in here—her Shadow Summoner had the real flare for theatrics.

She did not want to think of anything but Aleksander anyway—did not want to redirect her focus to the other General. The man whom she would announce her engagement to in a fortnight.

Alina moved through the comfort of the Fold. Feeling as if she were still safe in the arms of her love.

Feeling that, for a couple more hours at least, nothing could touch her here.

She thought again of his request that she follow him home now. Tonight.

Just as she predicted, she already regretted her decision to say no.

__________________________

Three Weeks Later __________________________

Aleksander did not hear the sound of the cheering crowd. His breathing halted altogether.

Over the heads of thousands of people, Alina’s eyes locked with his. Her fear swirled into the swell of his anguish.

His chest tore open and the alley around him filled with a tidal wave of darkness.

Shadows poured out of his body in a geyser of black matter.

Alina was still standing on stage, with her eyes fixed on him while the other General stood beside her, waving to the crowd.

He made quick work, forming his shadow into something he could control, something large and dense which he could sweep across the crowd and use to pick up the little body of the otkazat’sya General and pull it apart into a dozen—

Aleksander froze in place.

His chest convulsed.

The shadow around him was dissolving. Blowing away like the sand at the top of a dune and he did not even have a moment to be properly confused before he fell to his knees.

He saw only blackness.

__________________________

He woke on a thinly cushioned bench, head pulsing with the furious pumping of blood and he put a hand to his forehead.

The metal rod strung between his wrists stymied the movement, clunking across the bridge of his nose.

“Fuck!” He blinked and looked down. Grisha slaver’s shackles. Aleksander shook his wrists in their steel bindings and cursed again.

Metal bars stretched from floor to ceiling across the back half of the stone room he was in. Nothing else was particularly notable with the exception of a small window inset near the ceiling of his cell.

The passing horse hooves and feet he could see through the square told him he was below ground. The brightness of the light told him he had been out a few hours.

Locked in a cell.

Shackled at the wrists.

Alina.

Alina engaged to General Zlatan.

Alina would be married to a Secessionist leader.

He had to get out.

“HEY!” He shouted, calling out beyond himself over and over again.

At the other end of the basement was a door. Aleksander fixed his eyes on that as he got to his feet, yelling as if it were powerful enough to bring the thing down off it’s hinges.

He began to hit the shackles against his cage so the vibrating metal jarred him and the clanging echoed off the stone.

The door to the chamber burst open.

Had there been any room left in his body for a spare bit of shock, he might have felt it as he watched his mother descend the stairs.

He squeezed his eyes shut, wanting desperately for her to be gone when he opened them again.

She was not. Baghra looked at him, sizing him up.

“It is good that I was close by before your little episode could play out, boy.” She said. “It would have been just like you to ruin a perfectly good plan by creating another shadow Fold and turning the public tide even stronger against Grisha.”

The shadows dissipating. How quickly his creation dispersed…

Of course his mother was involved. But then how did he pass out—

“One of our Heartrenders made quick work of you while I cleaned up your mess.”

Aleksander watched her, mind sluggish with disbelief. Pain. Betrayal too.

“I do regret that,” she said, pointing at the slaver bar keeping his hands from touching, “for what it’s worth.”

There was a muffled commotion sounding through the barrier of the door. Baghra glanced behind her and then returned her attention to her son.

“Humph. I supposed I will not have long uninterrupted—”

“Is this where you have been, Baghra?” Aleksander asked. He looked around again, gaining his bearings as he processed the events of the last twelve hours.

“Yes and no. West Ravka is new to me in the last few years. Before this we were mostly overseas.”

His eyebrows raised, surprised at how easily she was answering his questions. Struggling to take advantage of it even as he could barely comprehend the circumstances. The series of events which brought him here.

“You said…a plan—what are you doing?” He asked. “Who are you doing it with?”

Very few times in his life did Aleksander feel like he was out of step.

With Alina, that was essentially the rule. However, now he knew his mother was somehow folded into his captivity, he was growing weary with all the plot points that were not his own.

“Hush boy. There is barely any time to go over all of that with you. I’m here to talk to you about what you really want to know.”

Shadows fell from beneath his clothes at the reprimand. His shackles prevented him from controlling them properly but they congregated around his ankles all the same.

“And what is it you think I want—” He began through gritted teeth.

Baghra rolled her eyes, cutting him off, “Your Sun Summoner, stupid boy.”

The commotion behind the door was growing louder.

Aleksander sneered at her and looked away. The idea that his mother was privy to his desires was a gross realization.

He could not deny it. He hungered to know everything she knew about Alina.

His body craved to swallow up everything everyone in the world knew about Alina. On this side of the Fold, it was clear, just how much of her life was obscured from him.

“As I said, you almost ruined our plan today. The truth of the Sun Summoner is not yet known to the public—at least, not as Grisha. Alina or rather the otkazat'sya 'Anya', is a well loved public figure in the West. This engagement to Zlatan is what we would call an undercover assignment.”

Aleksander grew uneasy as more questions pestered his slow-moving brain. The blood still pumped furiously and the noise outside the door continued and he had not seen his mother is over ten years.

As if all of that weren’t dividing him, his insides were still being eaten alive at the image of Alina’s hand in Zlatan. At the image of a wedding day between them.

Aleksander cricked his neck, determined to focus. “Why are you telling me this?” He growled.

A bang sounded from the other side of the door and a white flash of light illuminated through the cracks.

Baghra had a look on her face that he could not place. She was hesitating—something she never did.

Then her wrinkle-lined eyes met his. Guilt.

He read it on her face, plain as day. Though, it had never appeared to him before. At least not in memory. It was a marvel to witness—rare as the Sun Summoner herself.

“What did you do?” He asked.

The guilt dissolved into a scowl.

“What I always do—exactly what has to be done. We needed a way into the Secessionist party so we could bring it down. Alina was able to provide one for us. She was simply doing her duty—”

The din from the hall was growing louder. Another flash and then a scream.

The door burst open for a second time.

Alina stood, silhouetted on the threshold, chest heaving.

“Get out.” She hissed at Baghra.

The malice in her tone was shocking to him.

Had he not been so murderously heartsick over her in the moment, he might have been aroused to feel something more.

The surge of heat he felt was quickly squashed under the image of Zlatan holding her hand and simpering to the crowd.

Baghra lifted one imperious brow and left out the door.

Alina bolted it behind her.

She practically ran to him. Desperation written on her face as her hands wrapped around his through the bars.

Aleksander stiffened, carefully wiping his face of emotion as he backed away.

“Are you okay? Have they hurt you?”

Her desperate and pleading looks were too much to bear. On her hand, the gleam of the engagement ring caught his eyes. He sneered at the sight of it. Shining, even in the dim light.

In himself he found a cruel smile to give to her.

“Alina. Welcome.” He gestured around himself. “As you can see, my new place is sparse but over time I’m sure I will come to call it home.”

“Aleksander…”

In spite of the fact that he did not want to succumb to his bitterness—at least not immediately—he found that the persistent gleam of her ring would not stop twinkling in his eye and he could not stop himself. “Forgive me, dear. Congratulations are in order, aren’t they?”

Aleksander gestured toward the ring, his hands still heavy with the steel rod. Her eyes lingered on the shackles and then met his eyes again.

She looked afraid.

Good.

He continued, “I should thank you, I suppose. For choosing me to work out all your pre-wedding kinks. As you now know, I am quite skilled between the sheets. My one downfall is that I’m a terrible bragger. I am thinking of writing Zlatan a detailed letter of every way I have used his future wife’s body.”

Horror was painted over her face and Alina shook her head at him. “ You cannot think that I—that is not what happened with us.” She was breathless. Catching up to his words and his emotions.

Both of them once again playing the game of trying to guess the other’s thoughts. Both of them trying again to head the other’s thoughts off at the source.

Alina swallowed, glaring at him with resolve. “Aleksander, no. You mean more than him…that week meant more than—”

“Come now, Alina. You don’t have to be shy with me. I have seen you from every angle now,” The abrupt shift in his tone alerted her that he spoke of more than sex. “Who better to describe every facet of your being than I?”

“Listen to me, Sasha, please—”

Aleksander hit the slaver shackle against the bars of his cage. Alina jolted and stumbled backward as the sound again echoed off the stone walls.

That she would call him that name. That she dare use that name to coax him into submission—it was despicable.

He tore his eyes away from her, willing his emotions to abandon him in the process.

She wanted to be candid, very well. He could provide candor. “You have betrayed me. Utterly and completely.”

Her breath hitched. He did not look at her to see the tears he knew were already in her eyes.

Aleksander continued, voice even and empty, “If I could rip the light out of you and give it to someone else, I would do it. I would do anything to cut my tie from you.”

Anything that will numb it all again.

In his periphery, he watched her legs give out. Silently crumpling beneath her weight until she was kneeling quietly on the floor, her hands still clamped to the bars for support.

“I asked you not to come.” She said, softly. “I said you had enemies on this side of the Fold."

“You failed to inform me that you were one of them.” His tone was still flat and lifeless.

“I am not your enemy, Sasha—“

He stiffened, his jaw clenched. “Do not use that name with me.”

The quiet fury seeped from his otherwise controlled voice. “That you would name me with affection when you have sworn yourself to another man is the gravest of insults.”

Alina reached her arm through the bars, willing to touch him—to have him look at her.

“I am not sworn to him, Sasha."

“You are not permitted to use that name!” He shouted at her, composure breaking as his yell also echoed around the chamber. She flinched.

He paced the wall, breathing heavy from his thoughts. How did this happen? How could he not have known?

How could she not have told him?

Alina took a breath.

“Zlatan does not know me. He does not have my true name nor does he have anything true about me. He is angling for a political marriage with Anya.”

Aleksander huffed.

In truth, even he had heard of this woman. This sainted being from across the Fold capturing the heart of commoners. It was a smart move on the part of Zlatan, this ploy to tie the love of the people into his rule.

Except—now Zlatan would have to be ripped apart by shadow as soon as Aleksander could get his hands freed.

Zlatan, his hand holding Alina’s. Zlatan, marrying the Sun Summoner before the entire country.

“And has Anya spread her legs for the esteemed General Zlatan?” He asked, hoping it hurt her to hear the words as much as it hurt to ask them.

“Has she done her duty for the new leader of West Ravka? This Anya might be a saint but I’m sure the way she uses her mouth and her cunt is completely divine.”

She clenched her teeth, growling at him. Sunlight rose to the surface of her skin and he stared down at her with blank eyes.

"I have never allowed him to so much as kiss my lips.”

He scoffed, “Saving it all for the wedding day, are we? Well I suppose Anya is as big a tease as you are, Alina. The part must be terribly easy for you to play.”

Tears were falling down her cheeks and she gripped the bars as she got to her feet.

“I cannot discuss this with you right now.” She choked on the words, starting to back away.

He launched himself at the door, chest pressed to her fist, trapping her hand around the bar where she stood, already half turned toward the door.

Aleksander’s eyes were feral as they finally met hers.

“You let me believe you were mine.” Her face crumpled further, tears streaming as she spoke.

“I am yours.”

“You are a liar.” His teeth were clenched and to his own growing horror, his vision blurred with unshed tears and his voice cracked. “I have been betrayed by hundreds of people over my lifetime. None have been as cold or as treacherous as this. I will never forgive you for this, Alina.”

Alina stared into his eyes for several long moments. With her sleeve, she wiped her eyes and her nose. Sighing, she pulled away from him.

“You must be hungry. I will be back.”

It was obvious she was about to return only because the yelling commenced outside the door.

Still, the door opened and she stood at the top of the stairs, quite alone. Her demeanor was rankled but she closed the door firmly behind her, balancing a tray on one hand.

Aleksander watched her from his seat as she unlocked the cell and entered. The cage was opened but his hands were still bound and he was dangerously close to her now.

It hurt to be so close.

The tether inside of him pulsed, itching to light up and stretch between their chests as it had done a dozen times the last month. Aleksander closed his eyes and breathed, willing the thing to coil itself back up so he could press it down again.

Alina straddled the bench next to him and picked up the piece of bread, dipping it into the stew on the tray and holding it out to his lips.

Though the cell was open, his hands, evidently, would not be unbound for him to eat.

Aleksander turned his face away from the proffered food and stared out the small window at the fading daylight.

“Would you rather me send someone else here to feed you?” She asked, quiet and small again.

He hated her for it.

“I would rather you killed me than continue to force me through this humiliation.”

Alina sighed and took a bite of the food herself.

Just a few weeks ago, she had fed him. She sat on his lap and spooned jam on a roll and he licked the excess sweetness from her fingertips. Then when breakfast was done, they pushed the food aside and she fed him with her body, legs spread open on the table so he could feast on her cunt with the voracity of a starving wolf. His tongue had explored her, devouring and stroking until she had finished twice. After he had pulled her lips to his, feeding her body right back to her.

The memory sent a lurch through him.

Her eyes met his and she cleared her throat. The regret and shame in his gut told him they both felt the desire of that moment.

Just as he sometimes shared the feelings of her euphoric orgasms, she would feel his desire for her in return.

“Zlatan has never touched me.” She said, their shared feeling a natural lead in. “He will not ever touch me intimately. I swore the truth to you that day when I said I would only be yours.” She put the food behind her on the bench and shifted toward him.

“Zlatan needs me to further his agenda only. He does not require me to even pretend affection. We, my friends and I, are using him to bring me into a place of leverage and power. Once I am established, we will kill him. We know under his lead, we will never get freedoms or protection for Grisha. Under my rule, it will be law.

“Please believe me. There will be no wedding. No newly wedded kiss. No wedding night.”

Alina lay a soft hand on his arm, “I will slit the throat of Zlatan myself. I will do it in front of you if it is what you wish. I would have you watch as I take his life.”

His eyebrows twitched as indiscernible emotions waved across his features. His breaths were quick but deep. He could not deny the image she provided him was a pleasant one and she had all but cooed the promise into his ear.

“I understand you do not trust me, Aleksander. For that, I am sorry. If I could go back and tell you everything, I would.” She chewed on her lip, “Actually, if I could go back, I would have gone home with you when you asked me a few weeks ago. I would do anything to make this different.”

The churning in his stomach had been placated somewhat. The pain at the thought of Alina letting him into her body only to give it someone else had dulled a little.

A plot for power he could understand. Taking advantages when offered freely was a rule he generally followed without exception. This was war and Grisha would never be in a place to be given the freedom of a safe life. The freedom had to be wrenched from the hands of those who withheld it.

Alina took a chance, dipping the bread back in the stew and raised it to his lips again.

His eyes told her he still did not trust her but he did open his mouth for a bite.

He chewed in silence, unsure what to say next.

He wanted to know everything now.

He wanted to destroy her.

He wanted to fuck her until she cried.

He took the next bite offered and chewed.

“And the Tsar?” Aleksander said eventually, “You had him assassinated, did you not?”

She blinked, apparently forgetting her hand in the demise of the ruler of Ravka. Then again, it was not yet public knowledge on this side of the Fold. He had only received the intel hours ago.

“Yes and no. You told me the crown would align with Shu Han. Our Council has had someone in place for a very long time to take out the Tsar and the crown prince at our signal.”

Aleksander closed his eyes and grunted. The information he had shared had been useful to her after all.

He had been arrogant. Idiotic. Believing she would not be able to enter his territory without him knowing.

“How?”

Alina watched him with trepidation. Still, he did not look at her.

“A Squaller. He is young. We sent him to the Little Palace some time ago and he has been there waiting for the right moment.”

“A young Squaller…Kalem from Novyi Zem.” Aleksander said, nodding his head in understanding and internally screaming.

He had been highly impressed with the boy. Overlooked the fact that he was quite impressive for being so new to the Little Palace.

Sighing, he got to his feet, no longer able to stand being near her once again, “You have to let me go, Alina.”

She frowned.

“My army is marching back to Os Alta as we speak. Once the court finds out it was a Grisha who took out the tsar and the crowned prince, there will be no one to protect them. Not the army, not the teachers.”

He looked back at her, scrutinizing her. “Alina, there are children in the Little Palace. Did you not consider this?”

“Of course we did.” She seethed. “Kalem has ensured everything points back to the visiting Shu delegates. No one will be surprised that they have betrayed their own peace talks.”

“But you cannot be sure,” He said, pacing the cell. “You cannot be sure and I cannot stay here when there are people who count on me. Why did you not consult me?”

He glared at her, “Do you doubt me so much that you would go behind my back and put me in this position?”

“No, I do not doubt you!” Her tears and her tone made her surge of desperation all the more evident.

“Then why, Alina!?”

She flinched and then looked at the door.

“It was out of my hands.”

“Do not dare lie to me. You did not need to tell them what I confided to you about the arrangement with the Tsar and Shu Han but you did.”

“I did no such thing!” She got to her feet and was finally angry. "Kalem has been monitoring the situation for months. He knew it was time and he waited for approval from the Council first.”

Alina clutched his arms, forcing him to face her. “It was planned before we went away together. That is why I invited you when I did. I did not want anyone in the Palace to suspect your involvement.”

Frigid air cascaded into his chest, choking his lungs. A bitter laugh tore out of the cold.

He ripped his arms out of her grip and slammed the steel rod against the bars once.

The metal clang rang through the room once more forcing Alina to cover her ears.

He hit the bars again.

Then again.

Aleksander was yelling soon. Loud, raging bellows, deep and guttural, joined the clanging as he hit his hands against the bars over and over and over.

He could not stop the fury pouring out from him along with his shadows. They wafted around him without agency, their master unable to lift his hands to control them properly.

Aleksander shouted himself hoarse and blood seeped from the wounds beneath the shackles and the pool of shadows crept over the floor, filling the room.

Only then did he stop, chest heaving and forehead resting against the cell bars.

Alina approached him with caution. She touched a hand to his back and he stiffened. She flinched back.

“Let me out of here, Alina.” His voice croaked, raw from his rage. “This has gone on long enough. I have to go where I am needed.”

She said nothing for a moment.

“Aleksander, please.” Her voice was so small again and closed his eyes against her. He hated her. He had to hate her. It was easier than loving her.

“Sasha, I need you.”

If he could wish for anything at that moment, it would have been the will to believe her. The will to believe that most of the thoughts and words she had spoken to him over the last few years had been true.

He couldn’t.

“You have just told me that you not only took the throne out from under me, undermining my leadership of both the Little Palace and the Second Army in doing so, but on top of that, this week away together…This time which you so generously granted me, was some sort of ruse to serve your agenda.”

“That is not what I said. You are willfully twisting my words.”

“Am I?” He asked, his voice was empty again. Alina turned his face toward his, her palms were hot on his cheeks and he closed his eyes so he would not have to look at her. The anguished tears on her face already burned into his vision.

“Yes! You do not understand. You are used to being in charge of everything. You believe that I am in charge here but I am not.” Her forehead pressed against his.

He remained unmoved.

“Then take charge, Alina. Get me out."

The door to the chamber opened again and Aleksander turned to see his mother once more.

Alina scowled at Baghra like a feral cat. His mother looked between the two of them and eventually landed on Alina.

“I have convinced the Council it will be in our best interest to let the General return to Os Alta.”

Silence fell between the three of them. It stretched until Baghra let out an impatient noise and gestured for Aleksander to step toward her.

Baghra stood just outside the cell, a key clutched in her hands as she pulled Aleksander’s arms toward her.

Aleksander held still while his mother removed the bar from his wrists. Alina stood beside him, her hands closing over his bloodied wrists as they became free.

He watched her, cataloguing her features. Those wide and fearful eyes, her anger at the wounds he now bore. She wanted to fuss over him and he was tempted to let her.

Tempted to fall back in.

How easy it was to forget she was so young. She was still so malleable and full of raw potential. The people here did not know what it was they held.

And she did not know yet how to withdraw from the influence of others.

Perhaps he should have expected that when she fell out of his grasp, she would end up ensnared in another. Could he hold her responsible for this?

It felt impossible to decide. He was too close to the book and he had to put his mind and his focus back where it mattered.

Alina was out of his purview for the time being.

He tore his eyes from her and looked at his mother expectantly.

“We have horses saddled and ready to return you to the Fold and then on back to the Little Palace. It is expected that you will work with Nikolai, Darkling. As Tsar he will protect Grisha and keep the Second Army in his service.”

Aleksander made no acknowledgement, simply staring at the ancient woman before him. The one who raised him and endured century after century as he did.

He walked around her.

“You have done well without me, boy.” Baghra said to his back.

He scoffed, reaching for the chamber door. Alina was at his heels.

“And this Summoner,” Baghra gestured at Alina. Reluctantly, he turned to look. “She did not choose this. She is doing this for you—to protect you. For the good of Grisha.”

Alina’s eyes stared at the floor in shame as she passed.

Without a word, he followed her through the door.

________________________________

He stared up at the black curtain. The dark of nighttime surrounded them once more and their horses shuffled at the edge of the Fold.

Aleksander looked down at his hands. When he had come through the Fold just last evening, he felt he had something to hold onto.

The Light lived in his palms and was dependent on the strength of his connection to his other half.

Together, he and Alina had ventured deeper into the Making at the Heart of the World and while there, they could use the elements almost interchangeably.

And now, once again, he found himself removed from her. No trust between them—not any more.

Perhaps in time they could reforge something but, as it was, Aleksander could barely spare a thought for the woman who, just a night ago, ruled his very existence.

The pain was too much to bear and the offenses too great a burden to carry.

Only now, leaving it behind was an issue. The Darkling would be unable cross through his Shadow Fold without the volcra descending upon him. Without the protection of her Light—of their connection—it was useless.

“I need your help.” He said. The words wrenched from his mouth. “With crossing, I will need your help.”

Alina was quiet and he sensed the questions she wanted to ask but instead she just answered, “Of course.”

________________________________

The journey through the Fold was silent.

On the other side, Alina swung her body down from the horse without a thought and waited for Aleksander to do the same.

Longingly, he stared out at the field and contemplated taking off for Os Alta without a backward glance. It was easier than a goodbye.

Zlatan’s hand. Zlatan’s ring on her finger. Lie after lie after lie. He was so weary.

When he joined her in the small space between their two horses, he could not help the way his hands gravitated to her cheeks. She was warm in his hands and he wanted to swallow the gasp from her mouth. Wanted to hold his mouth over hers and share the same breath they way he felt they shared the same life force.

Her face was cradled in his palms and for a moment he distanced himself from his own confusion—long enough to look fully into her eyes.

“Alina. I don’t know when I will see you again.” Her eyes closed and she tried to pressed forward but he held her still. Lie after lie after lie. It was too much just now. “And I do not think I want to see you again.”

The space between them grew warm with her breaths which were barreling in hard and quick.

Aleksander felt the panic inside of her. Felt it trying to creep across their connection but he blocked it out as best he could. It hurt to love her and he was a General and he had responsibilities and she was engaged to another General and she promised she would not fuck him but he couldn't process that right now and it gave him no release.

“Do not try to get in touch with me. For now I want to pretend as if you never existed. I want to believe I have not met you. That I have not touched you.”

She cried, her head sagging in his grip. Her tears wetted his hands and he pulled up on her face, demanding her attention. She had to understand that she had pushed him beyond what he was capable of handling right now. She had to understand.

“Do you hear me? Not a trace. Please—I cannot bear it.” His voice broke. Alina’s eyes raked over his face, savoring his features and he knew he looked wrecked as he gazed down at her in return.

Any second he would cave inward, crumble beneath the weight of it all.

She nodded.

Aleksander turned from her, gathered the horse’s reins in his hands and pulled himself back onto the saddle.

He left her there, abandoned her at the edge of the Fold. He did not look back. His palms were still warm from her skin.

________________________________

When he caught up to his troops, it was before they had even completed the return trip to Os Alta. He welcomed the presence of Ivan and Fedyor in his company once more.

The torture of three days spent alone with his thoughts was finally ended and he entered the tent with a renewed sense of purpose.

Divulging all he learned to them—the assassination, the impending secession of the West and any next steps he worked out on a speeding horse in the last three days—returned to him a sense of control.

________________________________

A scant two weeks were spent at the Little Palace, securing defenses and paving the path for the new Tsar. Nikolai proved to be a more natural leader at least than his older brother, may he rest in peace.

Aleksander, thankfully, did not feel the need to grovel before him, nor did Nikolai expect it.

Indeed, when they are alone, save a couple guards at the door, Nikolai confided in his General. “I have received word from mutual friends of ours that you are to be trusted. I hope that is true.”

Aleksander eyed the newly minted Tsar and nodded. He had at least ascertained that the Tsar did not know the role their “friends” played in the assassination of his father and brother.

Nikolai was content to blame the Shu as all evidence indicated and Aleksander held the information close to himself, waiting for the appropriate time to use it.

________________________________

At the request of his Tsar, he returned to Kribirsk a mere fortnight after he left it. Having delivered the news that the West began steps in secession, Nikolai agreed that another trip through the Fold would be required as a final supply run before the inevitable civil war could begin.

The General thrived at the front, well distracted from the issues which plagued him just three weeks before.

Though he had meant it when he told her he wished to believe they had never met, it was not easy to commit to this sentiment for long.

At night, he dreamed of her. Felt her skin under his hands and could not stop himself from taking every part of her body for himself. In the darkness of his dreams she glowed and he watched in awe, always surrounding her, closing her into his cocoon of darkness. Protecting her, protecting them both from the world around them.

He tried not to let it drive him back into madness. Although he wished things could be different, he was at least resigned that it was only a matter of time before they reconnected.

They were magnets—opposite sides of the same thing. One of their existence beget the other and vice versa. What they were could not be undone or detached. How deeply he had missed her. How intrinsically linked they were and how wrong it felt to be divided from her.

They circled each other on and on and into eternity.

For now, though, he stubbornly clung to his hurt.

For her part, Alina did an exemplary job adhering to the promise she made to him. Alina did not so much as twinge in his direction for a solid month. And so, when the inexplicable tugging started in his chest, despite his request of her, a burst of hope radiated through him.

It was immediately followed by dread.

Accompanying the tug was a searing pain, rendered into the very heart of him. The General disappeared into the privacy of his tent, going to her at once.

“Alina?” He whispered, her body a hazy mass on the ground.

She was passed out on a dirt floor. Aleksander could not make out any of her surroundings.

“Alina?” He kneeled beside her.

Dark hair obscured her face and he tenderly lifted it, brushing it away. Her lip was cut and she had a gash across her temple but she was otherwise unmarred.

Her hands were trapped in a similar device used to keep him from summoning just weeks earlier, the steel Grisha slaver rod.

Aleksander lifted her gently into his lap, wrapping an arm around her back and cradling her head in the crook of his arm.

“Alina. Wake up.” Gently, he patted her face.

Her face scrunched.

“Alina, please.” He kissed her forehead.

Eyes blinking slowly, she looked up at him, “You came.”

“Where are you? What happened to you?”

“My friends cannot…” She coughed. “It’s been a while and no one has come…I’m sorry…I d-didn’t know what else to do.” She coughed again and he held a hand to her cheek, bringing her focus back.

“Your friends did this?”

She shook her head, eyes clenched in pain. “You have to tell them…they need to know. ’S going to ruin everything.”

“Who, Alina?” He held her face tipped up.

Her voice was croaky, “H-he is going to kill me in the morning.”

Alina took a deep breath and breathed out a sob which broke her composure, “He will kill me and then he will come for you. He wants you dead, Sasha and I won’t be able to stop him.”

“Zlatan? Alina, where are your friends?”

Her head lolled on his arm, “Look at me.” Aleksander said, jostling her as he brought her face close to his. “What happened?”

“Zlatan knows.” She whispered. “What does he know?”

“That I was going to kill him.” She said, voice fading. “He knows now that I am the Sun Summoner. He knows and now he will make sure I die.”

#darklina fic #darklina fanfic #darklina #alina x aleksander #alina starkov #aleksander morozova #smut #betrayal #power dynamics #politics #eventual hea #the grisha trilogy #grishaverse

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peridot-tears · 4 years

Text

If LWJ had jumped off the cliff too, and WWX met Madam Lan

I am falling to my death.

Shijie.

I am falling to my death.

What did his sister think when her eyes closed? Panic? Relief, that she saved her little brother? Or fear?

Would that I could. I would take all that fear from you. And he put the thought away. What did it matter how Shijie felt in her last moments, when he had made her suffer, and now she was gone?

Besides, he thought, with his eyes closed. He was already halfway to joining her.

Would that he could.

For once in his life, Lan Wangji did not think. Bichen like a single wing in his hand, he flew. He flung himself from the cliff.

我陪你。

无愧于心。

In his peripherals, the spray of his own blood. In his tunnel vision, Wei Ying. Yes. Tunnel vision, towards Wei Ying. Nothing could attack him from the sides, anyway. His bleeding did not matter. He would not bleed to death tonight.

Wei Ying was so, so far. Lan Wangji reached inside himself for the spherical power undulating unbidden in his center; it moved still. He had energy yet. He gripped that spiritual energy tight, by the throat, and drew it into the wind.

Wei Ying once said that 妖魔鬼怪 were akin to the life and death of a tree. Lan Wangji was now a ship, with a sail. And he was streaking downwards, towards the achingly distant shape of a man.

Wei Ying.

His spiritual energy sputtered, then burst into a speed that threw him down towards Wei Ying. His black shape slowly became larger, and larger, till Lan Wangji reached out a hand and brushed his red ribbon.

More. He needed more.

Throttling the center of himself, he drew out the last desperate breaths of his spiritual energy; with one last burst, he closed the distance between himself and Wei Ying. The core of himself burned, but with a cry of relief, he wrapped Wei Ying’s body in his arms.

The name is on the tip of his tongue, and he opens his mouth to exhale it. But he finds that he cannot.

This is such a long fall, but Lan Zhan will not...Lan Zhan won’t—

Just let me die. Wei Ying’s tears are coming again, and the dull throb of his heartbeat has sharpened, is ripping him open from the inside out.

If mere moments and one blackness ago, Lan Zhan’s lips were pinched with the most obstinate look Wei Wuxian has ever seen, then one return to the world later, his face is soft and clear.

I can’t bring you down with me, Wei Wuxian thinks, panicking. He regrets opening his eyes, because he is not yet dead, and now Lan Zhan...he...

“Wei Ying,” he says, more gently than anyone has said his name in days.

Wei Wuxian finally manages to press Lan Zhan’s name out of his throat, though he cannot hear it in the gush of falling around them. He feels the name move the bones in his skull. He wants to tell him to go, but where could he go?

“I am coming with you,” Lan Zhan responds. “Without any regret in my heart.”

Wei Ying’s round eyes are blasted open with shock and pleading. His body is pulsing with blood and life.

Let it stay that way.

Lan Wangji tears his gaze away to look beneath them, at the ground materializing into nearness. Bichen trembles in his hand, and he is unsure if it is something in the sword spirit calling him, or the pulse of his own life. He twitches his palm, his fingers, and wills Bichen to listen: if he has one last request in the world—anything—then it would be Wei Ying’s safety.

Bichen loyally unsheathes itself. It matches their pace, tucking itself under Lan Wangji’s feet, killing their descent.

The ground stops rushing up so quickly to meet them.

Lan Wangji is waning, but he is flying Bichen now, both arms wrapped tight around Wei Ying’s waist.

Like a carriage jerked to a halt too quickly, Bichen stops just above the cold, hard ground. Lan Wangji tumbles into its embrace, but not before he rolls into his landing, softening the fall enough so Wei Ying will only feel a bump.

Safe.

Bichen retreats into his sheath at his unspoken command, and that is all he has the strength left to do.

Lan Zhan is on top of Wei Wuxian, pressing the breath out of him. His gaze searches him so much, Wei Wuxian feels like he is standing on that rooftop all over again.

Then, with an exhale, he collapses against his shoulder.

With the warmth of his weight on top of him, Wei Wuxian does not know how long he is down there, stunned, alive, crying. He clutches at Lan Zhan’s body. He wants to scream, but loses any desire to. He thinks the sky is too far away. He wants it to come down and bury him.

In the middle of the tears, of counting each spot in the sky where there should be a star, Lan Zhan’s heart beats against his. It is like a spark against flint.

“Lan Zhan,” he croaks, barely hearing his own whisper. “Lan Zhan.” Why did you save me, Lan Zhan?

He has been cursed with good instinct from birth—though it wasn’t good enough to save Yu Furen, or Shijie—and he knows that Jiang Cheng will climb down here to looking for them, even if he must turn Zidian into a rope and climb with each agonizing handful of lightning. He would kill Wei Wuxian. That is fine. But who knows if he would take anything out on Lan Wangji?

Wei Wuxian hefts Lan Zhan’s weight off of himself. He surprises even himself with the strength left in him, rolling him onto his back and brushing his own hair out of his eyes. Jiang Cheng can have him. Jiang Cheng should have him.

But no one should have Lan Zhan.

Lan Wangji would not blame Wei Ying if he left him beneath that cliff.

He left Wei Ying all by himself outside of Xuanwu Dong, after having sung him to sleep. He was sick, and delirious, and Lan Wangji left him to wake up alone. It must have been like waking up in a cold bed.

It was the right thing to do at the time. But if only he knew what would come after, how he would encounter Wei Ying next. And the next time. And the next.

His decisions had all been right. But the wrong thing could also be right.

He wakes up to the sensation of swaying.

It is akin to waking up after his first ever taste of alcohol. Wei Ying was there that night, too. They woke up together. He wishes he could see the way he burst into laughter in the late-morning sunlight, almost noon. He wishes Wei Ying could smile as sharply as that light again. But when all is said and all is done, he has granted himself his own wish. Wei Ying is alive.

He wakes up on Wei Ying’s back.

Lan Zhan’s breath is soft on his neck. Wei Wuxian wishes he wouldn’t wake up like this. He wants him to stay asleep until he is healed, and then never see Wei Wuxian again, because by then Wei Wuxian would finally have killed himself. And this time, he wouldn’t even have to see it and blame himself for not saving him in time.

“You’re awake,” he says.

Lan Zhan’s next breath carries the trace of a grunt. His throat bobs against Wei Wuxian’s hair as he exhales.

“Don’t try to talk,” Wei Wuxian says. Truthfully, he is telling himself this too. He should be mourning, so where is the energy to even open his mouth coming from?

Thankfully, Lan Zhan obeys, but he still breathes down his neck like a relaxed predator. Wei Wuxian should not feel so hunted, he thinks, until he realizes that there is nowhere to go. No one in the world would allow a criminal into their inn, much less the Yiling Laozu, who killed Jin Zixuan, who killed millions. Why, even his own sister—

Lan Zhan needs you right now, he thinks.

It is incredible, how long he can follow the rocks of the very bottom of Bu Ye Tian and not get caught. He walks until his feet ache as much as his chest, and then keeps walking.

He walks and walks until the land thickens into trees.

It starts to rain. Nevernight turns to night. Night turns to day. Turns back into night.

He keeps walking.

—

He is brought back to a certain other night, when he decided to walk back into hell to save a handful of innocents. And they later died. I wonder, would Lan Zhan die too? he thinks idly. Well, no. No, he won’t let that happen. Not again. Which is exactly what he declared to the world the last time.

Lan Zhan is unconscious again. Wei Wuxian lays him down under the eaves of the abandoned lean-to, thankful that nowhere else in the world is there wind as merciless as that in Luan Zang Gang. He kindles a small fire and bandages Lan Zhan’s arm.

Even after a battle, exhausted to death, Lan Zhan’s face is the smoothest cut of white jade. It is like the moon—could provide light even in the dark. Wei Wuxian traces a finger along his cheek, his jaw, and marvels at his own hands. They are trembling.

The irony is not lost to him. That he is the one very much breathing and moving—jittering, even—while Lan Zhan is sleeping like the dead. The whiplash of being alive is so repetitive.

His throat works. He hums to himself, then scrapes a leaf off the side of the lean-to. For all the sick feelings in his stomach at the thought of mouthing Chenqing again, he places the leaf under his lips. Its whistle is different from Chenqing’s. There is no power, just the vibrations of something that is still green.

This is what he has been reduced to, he supposes.

The song is nameless, but he knows it.

How long have I been alive? he chants to himself. He threads these words into the tune he plays, giving them lyrics. He wonders if Lan Zhan ever gave them lyrics. He threads that name into the harmony, too.

Lan Wangji opens his eyes to the sound of something that should be played on the earthy tones of his guqin. It has been turned into something more high and unreachable.

The first thing he thinks is that he does not hurt as much as he should, that his arm must be bleeding, and that it is rainy and cold.

But Wei Ying.

Their song is in the air. He twists his head in a ginger, delicate motion to see Wei Ying’s exhausted, pale visage, and that one pop of green against his lips.

He finds no need to speak.

Wei Wuxian has played the song at least three times before he decides to check up on Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan stares back.

“You’re awake,” he says. There should not be as much emotion in those words as there is.

“Mn.” Wei Wuxian doesn’t like how he’s responding. He’s looking at him as though he is the one lying barely conscious, and Lan Zhan is the one playing this song for him.

“Go back to sleep,” Wei Wuxian says. “The more you rest, the sooner you’ll get better. And then you can go back home, and tell your Shufu and brother that I took you away against your will. You can even take credit for killing me, if you want. After this, you’ll never see me again.”

“I will not leave you.”

Then I’ll leave you, but what’s meant to be a secret then leaves his mouth.

Lan Zhan is steadfast. “Where will you go?”

Wherever Shijie is. So I can say sorry.

Wei Wuxian elects to spread himself open. Where other people curl into a defensive ball, he lays himself on the ground, a child of earthly affairs.

反正天大地大，四海为家。

“The world is big,” he says, “and wherever I go, I can make it into a home. That’s what happened in Luan Zang Gang, but I don’t want to go back.”

But where else do I belong now?

Lan Wangji opens his mouth, but Wei Ying has frozen in time. There is not a physical whiff of smoke around him, but he shakes, leaf dropping from his grip. His lips move, as he has conversations with someone who died in a cruel fashion a long time ago.

“Wei Ying,” he calls.

His eyes are glazed over. Lan Wangji has seen this before.

“Wei Ying,” he calls again. With Jiang Yanli out of the world now, and out of wherever the ghosts possessing Wei Ying live—a person like her meets death with a greeting and a bowl of soup—only Lan Wangji has a flicker of hope in keeping him here.

He scrambles to lift himself, winces when he uses his injured arm, then heaves himself upright with core strength alone.

Grabbing Wei Ying’s arm is like touching a hot stone: In a flash meant to repel, it burns him. He should jolt and jump away, but instead clutches harder. He says his name again.

How long has Wei Ying been walking to bring them both out of the reach of the cultivation world? Where are they now? How long has he gone without sleep, when he should have stopped to grieve?

Wei Ying finally, finally takes enough breaths to find himself, finally has the space of mind to turn his head enough for Lan Wangji to realize how bloodshot his eyes are.

With one last shudder, he collapses.

魏无羡你想报仇吗？

Revenge? On whom? Himself?

Shijie does not belong on a battlefield. In another life, one where she could be as strong in body as she is in mind, she would be the best. She would beat anyone as easily as Yu Furen and her handmaids. When she is reincarnated, in her ��生，heaven will be kinder to her, because if not to her, then whom?

So why is she here, dressed in white for her own funeral?

There is a whisper she is trying to pass onto him, and the hand on Wei Wuxian’s cheek is already cold from lack of blood. Instead, she shoves him aside. She dies instantly.

That blade was meant for me.

It should have been me.

Jiang Fengmian should never have taken him in. He killed his daughter. Wei Wuxian should have been left to die on the streets.

Do you want revenge?

I want to die.

The voices have faces. Every one of them is Jiang Yanli. Such hateful words should not come from her mouth. He wants to raise Chenqing to the voices, but then, he would have to raise it to her.

He dreams of falling. Luan Zang Gang calls him. Come back, say the ones who gave him Chenqing. Don’t you want revenge?

When he hits the ground again, no longer able to see the sky, Shijie reaches a hand out. She does not belong here, either. “Go,” he tells her. “Go—”

Don’t touch her, he screams at the spirits. Listen to me. You promised, you promised.

Shijie raises one gentle hand to his cheek. He is too afraid to lean into her touch.

“—Ying!”

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roses-ruby · 5 years

Text

Diary of a Nyctophiliac (Rewritten)

Nyctophiliac from Nyctophilia (n). An attraction to darkness or night; finding relaxation or comfort in the darkness.

Hoseok x Female Reader

Genre: Druglord AU!, angst, smut

Warnings: Sex, Oral ( F and M receiving), Fingering, Mentions of Drug Usage, Orgasms, Sir kink, Infidelity, Death

Word Count: 3,673

A/N: Rewritten bitches. I used the ‘short descriptive’ writing style cause I’m experimenting 🤔 Tell me how my smut is, completely uncensored. I need pointers, tip, critics, HELP. This is originally supposed to be a small drabble I wrote after reading Sciascia’s The Day of the Owl which is such a masterpiece. Also let me know what you think and enjoy!

An endless cycle.

Skin against skin. The afterhours of the night and lust conveying the trust words wouldn’t dare. Your hair matted with sweat, licking away at your exhaustion. Gut tucked under his arm, his muscles holding you still and obedient to his chest. The symphony of moans disturbing the quiet euphoria of the darkness.

“S-Sir-”

The young man pounding harder from the call of his sweet siren.

“Please.” you cry

Your death hung from your inner core, your rebirth every time he kissed your crevice. In every thrust was a hidden message. You had told him once that he was like the sun. But you were a woman who preferred the night.

And in that endless night, the bed’s creak, the pouring rain, the pleads were all your liberation from the crawling guilt. The hand you crave to always caress you – forces your chin up and eyes awake. Eyes that constantly avoid him.

Face your sins.

It’s a scolding. The one filled with the most love.

And god you love him.

You considered yourself a simple woman. Danger, secrecy, guns, drugs, money, lust and pain are all part of your life. Married off as a naive maiden, being spoken for by Asia’s most powerful man – hand in hand, joined by force of business, together by word of law.

Separated by younger hands, softer hair, and gentle eyes.

Together every night.

At times after the calloused ones have taken you. Selfishly. Uncaring. Tainted.

But are his not?

His taint you’d wear like a diamond ring. A stone to show off to every patronizing voice, even your own. Yet if only he’d keep his breath after he’s taken over yours.

He carries the dark like a shield and he’ll bend the rules as he wishes.

“I love you.” he says one night

Naked, unabashed, and quenched; laying in each other’s arms. You blink.

“I know.” You whisper and bring your small hand to gently cup his face. His jaw twitches above your palm, but you know – and he knows, this has to be the limit of your words.

If only he’d keep his head after he’s taken over yours.

The lights are so bright, one could spot demons in the shadowy corners of the vast room, yet you can see nothing.

Another unknown arrogant guest from another wealthy family comes to meet you, or more so him, and another fake smile you must sell, another tear unshed.

“So, the Kami Clan is finally retreating I see.”

“Nothing a few underlings couldn’t handle, of course.”

Poor thing was so young, had no parents or family-

Heard he was exceedingly handsome? Missed my chance dammit!

Thankfully his sacrifice made a difference.

“I’m going to grab something to drink, please excuse me.” You smile with your spotless teeth at the already forgotten couple in front of you.

“She looks a bit tired.” The woman feigns worry as you walk away

“Ah, yes. She must be. We’ve been trying for a baby 2 weeks no- “

Keeping your pace faster than the beat of your chest, you were soon too far away for the rest. Wincing at your irritated legs covered with blemishes from another eventful ‘try’ your antagonist had planned, you were thankful your gown was lingering the floor to cover your pain. For what it’s worth, you hope the jewel adorning your neck was covering your heart.

You ask the bartender for a Bacardi 151, “I want to die tonight.”

He snickers but gets to work when you don’t. As he fixes your drink, you look around you. How many of these have you attended by now? Before and after you were sold off…

The huge halls of his mansion, the chandeliers and priceless outfits. How bright was the room, how polished was the floor. Your reflection glares back at you from the tiles. Money wasn’t just green paper, but broken backs, gold mirrors, diamond rings, and bleeding heads.

Haughty looks, competing status, judgmental gossip. And behind it all, they stood as the silent protectors…expendable humans. The hidden protection. A smirk graces your lips, quite a fitting title they wear, as dark as the night.

“Here you are, Mistress.” He places your drink before you.

The glass was wide, the alcohol dim and heavy. It didn’t fit the lit-up area, it didn’t fit you.

The room is spinning. You’re nauseous.

“He left again tonight.” You tell your guard, “I don’t want anyone disturbing my room.”

He nods. And he’s gone.

You don’t have to wait long, just until the darkness is so suffocating it feels as if it’ll swallow you whole. Or until he will.

“Baby doll.” A hushed whisper.

Hoseok slides up to your laying figure. You let go of the breath you were holding.

“I missed you.”

“I missed you more.”

A warmth spreads as he touches you, slightly at first as if to make sure it was still okay. Impatient with his placidness, you jump up from the bed. Throwing your arms around his shoulders, face buried into his neck; embracing firmly.

He smells of roses, addiction and smoke. You were needier than usual.

“What’s wrong.” He giggles, and you grasp harder. Forbidden words die at your throat.

“Jonah didn’t make it back today.”

He frowns, his arms coming up behind you. Every movement displayed exhaustion.

“Don’t worry about that stuff. It’s normal in our line of wo- “

“Shut the fuck up.” You pound his chest with your small fist, empty rage from his words dressing you.

He doesn’t even budge.

“It’s not supposed to be, it shouldn’t be. Not for Jonah, not for Kim, and NOT for you.”

He watches down at you with stoic eyes, like a parent watching a child throw a tantrum.

“Please don’t die.” You cry to him. Your pounding getting weaker. Emotions you’ve kept concealed since the disclosure pouring out like a fountain.

Please don’t leave me.

He grabs your fist, his eyes finally adjusting to the darkness of your room, the darkness your eyes have become used to observing.

Bringing your hand up to his mouth, he kisses. One, twice, until he’s trailing his mouth up your fragile arm, into your neck.

“I won’t.”

You know he didn’t say it, but you swear you heard it.

He strips you of your thin night dress and lays you down. Your nipples hardening at the cool air. You become this barren, body and soul, just for him and he knows that. Takes pride in it. Which is why he hates taking his time, because there’s not a second to waste when he’s with you.

His rough hands, calloused from his every sin, are all over your breasts in a second. Taking turns at squeezing your soft mounds and pinching the hardened bud. There was something about his touch that always shot right through your core, especially when it was this desperate.

Your eyes were closed, the skin of your fondled chest erupting into goosebumps. Light pecks travel up your jaw and just underneath your lips.

You whine

He giggles again, the tease, and you feel it inside your skin.

Forcing open your eyes, you reach up, grabbing his face and forcing him down onto your mouth. He stumbles on top of you, and you could sense his shock at your assertiveness. The room was filled with your slither as you sucked and fucked his tongue. Teeth clashing giving you a flimsy rush, tongues pressing against his as he bites your lips raw.

Your chest collided against him, his warmth embracing you like the shadows. While your arms slid up his biceps pulling him closer to you and wrapping your left leg around his torso, so he can touch your needy, wet cunt. His hands find their places on your ass, tugging at the plump skin till it bruised.

You couldn’t feel his gun today.

As he shifts down your jaw, the man’s knee becomes pressed into your side, and it hurts. Even with the lack of comfort, you only let moans escape your mouth as he bites at your purpled skin, to retrace, to rename. Because you know, if you say something, if you make it known, he’ll move off, he’ll ask what’s wrong. And you’ve waited a million minutes to not part for this one. With him, you’ve come to understand there was pleasure in the pain anyway.

“Hoseok.” You breathe, mouths still on each other, slipping with the way you slurred. Pulling at his coat, you signal him.

He takes it off in a flash, followed by his shirt, and he is on you again. Hoseok was built like a Greek god, which is why you couldn’t stop staring at him in those fitted button ups and black harnesses. Craving him to destroy you, even with your husband nearby. It is also why anytime he was this close, anytime you could smell the cigarettes off his torso like the smoke was inside your own lungs, you clung onto him like a koala. And lastly, while he’s putting all his weight on you, you can feel his hard dick pulse on you through his slacks.

You feel so suffocated, becoming one with the bed; surrounded by his scent, tongues intertwined, so much warmth. Even the mussed-up sheets on your back, every stitch out of place, every lump and wrinkle. It felt like bliss.

Serendipity.

His kisses become rougher as he grasps your hand.

“That bastard, mm, joked abou-ahh about you today.”

He gets up off you, and you stare at him dazed, confused, and out of breath. Your lips were burning, fingers tightly intertwined.

“Said you were a walking cum bag in front of all his men.”

And even in the dark, you could see the fire ignited in his eyes,

“One day, I swear to god, one day, I’m going to kill the old man. Gut him and hang him off a tree, I’m going t- “

“Well,” You intercept, pushing yourself up by the elbows until you sat. He towered over you on his knees, like a shield keeping you safe. With a smirk, you place you free palm on his bicep, and he freezes under you. Dragging your hand through his rocky chest, you land onto his hard crotch. It jerks under your palm and you watch his tough man act drop. “He’s not wrong you know.”

He tilts his head disorderly, probably about to reprimand you by how his brow twitched.

So, humorously scoffing, you gently nudge to flip him over. It almost made you cackle the way he fell over like a domino. Only for you. Now, it was you who hovered over him, still softly rubbing him.

Holding himself up by the elbows slightly, he bites back a moan.

You make your way south, admiring his abs, cultivated by a malevolent angel you’re sure. As you’re directly over his clothed member, you sigh, kissing his dick over his pants a few times.

“I am a walking cum bag…just not his, sir.”

Hoseok’s whole body tightens; his abs clench. You tug at his slacks and he lifts his butt, so you can pull them off. His erection springs up in front of you, the tip glistening in the moonlight who was spying at you both through your large window.

“Mmmm~ want this-” You sigh right above it, giving it a lick and feeling him shiver. “Inside me.”

Your hand glides up and down his length, while Hoseok throws his head back.

You kiss the tip and spread the precum, before gathering the spit in your mouth. With a grunt, you spit it onto him, and hear him shiver. There was a silver string of saliva that still connected your mouth with his length. Pursing your lips, you begin to stroke him softly, letting your wet hand glide through the skin in ease.

“Fuck.” He grunts under his breath

Opening then your mouth as wide as you could, you take his dick all the way down his length before you suck with blunt force.

With him, you never cared about looking attractive or innocent like you do with everyone else. Instead you wanted him to see all your bad sides, you wanted to be his mindless whore. Sometimes you wish you could forget everything and everyone but him. That no one else survived but you both.

He’s always thought you were so innocent. A fragile flower ruined by the harsh winds of this cold word. But you were more corrupted than he could even imagine.

You eat up his shaking and hisses as praise, feeling like an open spring around your heat. Lips are glossy, filled with spit and cum as you bob up and down his length, your fingers playing with his balls. Letting your teeth lightly graze him, you grin with a dickfull as he throws his head back. Hoseok was salty, but it was salt spun from gold. And you always had expensive taste.

Popping off of him, you delicately hold the shaft back, before licking his balls with your skilled tongue. His right thigh is being rubbed by with your digits, because you know how sensitive he is there. Nails gliding and slicing through the soft top layer of the skin. Every time he groans you feel so accomplished.

As you take him inside you again, you make sure he hits your throat, trying to take him deeper and deeper into you. Your expression is so whorish in pure delight – like you’ve never tasted anything better, and he’s never seen anything more virgin. He grabs your head once you are at the tip, before pushing you down on his dick till the hilt. You immediately gag, throat closing in on reflex.

“Just how long did you think you could play with me?”

It’s your turn to shiver, he holds your head down his length with gentle force, but it feels like he’ll take apart your skull. Your eyes roll into the back of your head.

Grabbing a fistful of your hair, he slowly pries your mouth away from his cock by pulling up. The strand he tugs loosely burn through your head, feeling like it’s on fire. Your pussy throbs with desire.

It hurts, and you love it.

The sexiest thing about him was his anger. Such as when you wouldn’t even spare him a glance at those parties, ‘you hated,’ glued to the side of that man. When you’d teased him with dirty gestures throughout the day with everyone nearby, the purest minx he’s ever seen. Even the spaced out look you’d have after every session with that bastard –

He fucking hated it

With a growl, he throws your face into the pillow and positions himself behind your elevated ass. Being exposed like this, in the bleak light was what you loved the most about the night. The air around you was heavy, and without even looking at him, you could just imagine him gaping at your exposed, puckering hole. Your glistening core. Knowing he could do whatever he wanted with you and you’d never protest.

“My walking cum bag should do its job better hmm?”

His deepening voice almost makes you cry.

“Y-yes sir.”

He slaps your pussy hard and you scream out, muffled by your cashmere pillow, while your walls clench around nothing. Unaffected by your pain, he plunges his long digits into you. Moving them apart like they weren’t being restricted by your tight walls. That action has you has you clawing at your pillow.

“Speak clearly”

“Y-Y-…Yes sir.” You state, lifting your mouth off the pillow; holding in the leaky tears.

This taint you’d wear like a crown. Show off to every doubting voice, even your own.

“Good doll.” He takes out his fingers, placing them into his mouth. You hear him sigh at your taste, licking himself clean and your whole-body aches. To praise you, he pats your pussy, mesmerized by your submission.

You scream again when you suddenly feel his tongue inside you, his long fingers spreading your cheeks apart.

His extended muscle stretches inside of you. You were squirming but he held you in place, slapping your ass to tell you to hold still. He contracts his wet tongue toward your folds, licking ellipticals. Hoseok moans at your glaze, you matching the rhythm of his tone. Everything was so wet, you felt so dirty, so heavenly.

Diving back into your walls, he pinches your clit and you cry out. Digits still pulling your ass apart like dough. The man was famished. So much aggression from suppressing his desires every single day the damned sun dared to shine. It was exactly what you wanted, a taste only the luckiest girls get. And it’s all yours.

He brings his mouth forward to toy with your clit, sucking harshly. Your jaw hangs open, thighs shaking so bad you’re sure they’ll collapse, till he smacks your inner thigh, jolting you sturdy.

“Shir, s-s-shlir, ple-I’m gonna-ah-cum, oh god, p-pleash-” You slur around your saliva. Part of you wishes your naïve parents could see you right now, their perfect little angel, a complete whore for a man who wasn’t her husband. No, he was far from it. It gave you pleasure to imagine the horror on your father’s face. The man who sold you without blinking.

How would he feel when he sees you were the actual ruler of this transaction all along? Your body belongs to you, and whoever you choose to give it to.

He removes himself from your insides, breathing out warm air before sitting up. You whine while he watches your pathetic writhing state, licking around his mouth for any juices left over.

“You taste so fucking good, doll.” He squeezes your inner thigh

“Tha-Thank you sir.” The praise was making you light headed, your breath was still as heavy. Your fast heartbeat rung throughout your ears and you felt like you were floating on clouds. It was like that time you took a line with him, although he only let you take it once, you adored that painful feeling of pure pleasure.

He rubs your ass, stroking his cock a few times. The area was red and sore making him wince. For your sake he hoped you could make excuses for any bruising in the future, but on the inside, he was elated. Everyone should know who you belong to. Everyone.

Biting his bottom lip, he slowly he plunges into your heat, observing the way his dick disappears inside you in the darkness. A truly breathtaking sight. You let out a long-drawn whimper as he inches in. The stretch and burn was addictive, transcendental. Making you grip the sheets around you tightly, fingers filled with ache. For a moment there was nothing but both of you and the overcast night.

Once he has filled you to the brim, he waits for you to adjust while you shed a tear onto your pillow, firmly clenching your eyes shut. Although he said nothing, only took exhales, although it was quiet, and dim and you couldn’t see anything. His love was as obvious as your beating dead heart.

He takes his thick, veiny length out slowly before ramming into you again. Over and over and over and over again. His palms gripping your hips. A steady pace, for fallen grace.

And you’re here once more. In the dark, nothing but the music of two sinners and the creaks of your bed. The two most beautiful sounds in the world for the guilty.

“Hoseok, I-I’m gonna cum-”

“Mmm, go on.” he fastens his pace – harder thrusts, louder notes

Your toes curl in and your whole-body stutters, falling in on itself, mouth agape, going through epiphany. Hoseok holds you up by the forearm as you clench around him.

“Fucking shit doll.” He mutters. His hard pace faltering. Soon after, he cums inside you. Milking every last, endless drop. Painting your walls and your heart.

You both drop down onto the mattress, panting hot and hard. Sweat sticking you like soulmates, even the stars couldn’t separate you.

He tugs you closer to his body, giving you a passionate kiss. You kiss him back with the same energy.

Skin on skin. In the afterhours of the night.

He pulls back and stares into your eyes. The darkness is the only place to see things clearly; without any blockage the lights bring. Trapped in his arms, the dark is as clear as the day.

He’d die for you, but you’d never give him the chance.

“I love you.”

“…I know”

An endless cycle.

They say it was painful

It was 2 weeks ago, anything new please?

I heard the circumstances around his death were suspicious? An inside-

Such a waste I wanted to try him out once~

“I’m not feeling well.” You tell him. It’s true this time, it feels like your head will split apart.

“Go inside then.” He says, not even looking in your direction

Huh, no ‘you don’t do shit, the least you could do is smile’ this time, you think as you slip away from the bright lights and hungry, condescending looks, up the stairs.

You step into your room, slipping off your Ralph Lauren and Louboutin’s, turning off all the lights in your chamber. It fills you with an immediate sense of relief. Placing your untouched drink on the dresser, you face the large window. The moonlight peeks in through the broken clouds.

You snort. Broken.

And suddenly the moon is blurry. The only goddamn thing you can see in the darkness is faded. Blinking hazily, you sigh feeling the tears down your cheeks for the hundredth time. It’ll mess up your makeup.

You heave a bit. Nausea crawls up your throat, but you fight it. Close your eyes tight and blur out the classical orchestra blaring downstairs. It won’t happen, it can’t. Because it’s not his, you can tell.

Stained, tragic passion.

“Fucking liar.” You whisper at nothing

“I love you, too.”

You fall into the darkness.

A broken cycle.

Singularity.

#bts #hoseok #bts x reader #hoseok x reader #bts angst #bts smut #hoseok angst #hoseok smut #jhope #R:DOAN

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kbstories · 4 years

Text

Etymology

et·y·mol·o·gy (n.)

The study of a word's origin.

For Sanji, coming home is easier said than done.

(Or: Let’s talk about the Vinsmoke fiasco, shall we?)

Tags: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Nakamaship, Childhood Trauma, Miscommunication (!!!), Found Family, PTSD, Angst With A Happy Ending

Read Chapter 1 here. Content warning for panic attack(s) and unintentional self-harm. Special thanks to @ppitte for helping me wrangle the chaos that is Zoro and Sanji interacting!!

***

Wide, endless blue. The sun-warmed touch of wood under his palm. A breeze carrying the scent of tangerines and ocean salt.

Those are the things Sanji had dreamed of in hell. Not the two years he likes to refer as such – the Drag Queens , too, have aspirations like everyone else – but the one he didn’t think possible, crossing into reality via a bridge not burned thoroughly enough. A hell made of stone walls high enough to swallow the sea and the sky and the stars.

If, Sanji had thought, gaze fixed on the lonely moon above, if I make it out of here alive, I will let them know.

That every time he closes his eyes and dares to imagine a future, they are with him. That happiness is a smile under a straw hat, and love a home-cooked meal, and freedom a black flag in the wind, flying, flying.

Sanji lets out a long breath and watches smoke dissipate into nothingness. Turns out there is no such thing as second chances, not for someone like him.

He feels him coming long before soft, measured steps reach his ears.

“Cook.”

The Sunny stands still for the night; the anchor was dropped not too long ago, the lion’s claw resting peacefully on a shallow reef. Arms crossed on the railing, Sanji’s chin rests on the back of his hands and he watches as its colorful inhabitants swim up close to the ship and nip at polished Adam wood, their bioluminescence making the waves glint like silver.

“Fuck off. I’m not in the mood.”

A wasted effort, Sanji knows: The heavy presence behind him doesn’t shift, doesn’t go anywhere, persisting as it always has. The skin on Sanji’s back crawls with the need to turn around and make him.

“Mosshead”, Sanji says, a hiss and a warning in one.

“Hm?”

Unbothered, like Sanji didn’t speak at all.

The evening is mild, infused with residual heat from a sunny day just past. Sanji grinds his teeth hard enough the other will be able to hear it, a mere handful of paces away. “I mean it. Leave.”

Zoro scoffs, “Nah.” His boots creak as he takes another step, closer, and–

A streak of blurred motion and embers spark against the sleek black of Haki. Sanji gives him a grin that’s a joyless show of teeth and not much else; illuminated by fierce red, Zoro’s lips flatten into a tense line.

“I said”, Sanji growls, lets himself fall on his hands and twists, gains speed. “Fuck. Off.”

The hit connects, the force of a volcanic eruption meeting immovable steel and Sanji is close enough to see the fire’s glow reflect in the fathomless depth of Zoro’s eye, growing darker still–

Sanji makes to draw back but can’t, realizes in the split-second between shifting his weight on his palms and a sudden ache around his leg that it’s not a scabbard but Zoro’s hand that met the blow, fingers clawed, gripping, not letting go.

“I’m not fighting you.”

Of course. Because why would anything in Sanji’s fucked up life start making sense now?

The breath in Sanji’s lungs leaves his mouth a pissed off tch and he lets the flames flare, watches with righteous anger in his chest how Zoro inhales sharply and hesitates – to release him or be burned, and Sanji’s leg tugs free a moment later.

“Bastard. Going soft on me, are you?”

There’s no hesitation in his movements as Sanji turns on the tips of his fingers and strikes, again and again, snarling against the stoicism on Zoro’s face as the man’s hands don’t reach for his swords once. “That’s not it”, Zoro tells him like he’s stating the obvious, and it’s the simple kind of statement that pierces Sanji’s defenses and aims straight at his core.

The next kick draws blood, a neat scrape-and-burn across the scar on Zoro’s cheek, and Sanji’s gasp is louder than the low grunt that comes from Zoro.

Sanji’s feet hit the ground with dull, unbalanced thuds and he stares, wide-eyed, at the stray drops of crimson that pool and run down tan skin, near-black in the oncoming moonlight. The instinctive question – Are you alright? – remains unsaid, acidic where it sticks to Sanji’s tongue and his chest feels tight, tight.

“You done?”

There’s an air of indifference to Zoro’s voice but Sanji knows Zoro, can see the demon coiled within the man, straining to bite back. Zoro rolls his neck, hands flexing against the bruises smudging his skin as his Haki fades.

Sanji is lost, mouth slack and breath panting like it’s an army he just fought and not his friend. For a moment, he’s back on a field of endless green under cotton candy clouds, painting it red in uneven splatters as he kicks, and kicks, and kicks without resistance–

“Why?”, he rasps, voice trembling, utterly outside of his control. Sanji blinks and clenches his jaw, struggles to retain some of the anger in there somewhere. “Stop fucking around and fight back.”

“No.”

Zoro crosses his arms, wide open now, and his gaze is analytical as it tracks the way Sanji tenses and stays exactly where he is. That singular eye narrows, a bloodhound that caught a scent.

“I left you guys. I had a choice and I left.”

“You had your reasons”, Zoro says, calmly. He takes a step forward and Sanji takes one back, heart rattling wildly against the cage of his chest.

“I– I went after him, Zoro. I attacked my captain. I didn’t hold anything back.”

That makes Zoro’s lips twitch into a frown, displeased but not surprised and– Luffy talked, Sanji thinks and something inside him breaks just that little bit more.

“I know.” Yet Zoro’s swords stay sheathed. Another step closer. “Luffy’s wounds… There’s only one style I know that causes those and it’s yours.”

The railing presses against the small of Sanji’s back and he’s trapped, has no space to move and nowhere else to look but at Zoro and the cut that continues to bleed, dripping lazily onto Zoro’s shirt–

And Sanji can’t get enough air in his lungs, fingers tingling with numbness and spots dancing in front of his eyes and he’s aware, numbly, that he might pass out.

“Sanji.”

There are hands on his shoulders then, Zoro’s palms a solid-warm weight, squeezing, keeping him on his feet. “Hey”, he murmurs, low enough that Sanji knows it’s meant for him, just for him. “I need you to listen to me.”

Thoughts swirl and collide in Sanji’s head and nothing makes sense. He nods even though Zoro isn’t exactly asking – a jerky, helpless motion – and something in Zoro’s eye softens.

“Breathe, okay? Nothing’s going on. Nothing’s changed.”

He shakes Sanji, obviously trying to make a point. Even now it’s ridiculously gentle, coming from Zoro, and Sanji tries for him, he really does.

“At least not for us? You got your hackles all the way up these days, and it’s making everyone nervous as hell. Like–”

A quiet struggle with words ends in a huff, quick and gruff.

“I think Luffy is about a day away from melting down if you don’t start calling him a shitty rubber captain again – that sorta thing. And I don’t know what exactly happened on that island between you and him but he insists it’s done and over with. So, is it?”

Sanji is pinned by that gaze again, sharp and searching and trying to understand. He breathes and finds he can, chest heaving with it–

“I don’t know”, Sanji tells Zoro and it’s the truth, the words brittle like old bones. Sanji’s wrists burn and he scratches at them. “I thought I’d left all that Vinsmoke shit behind me but it keeps coming back. I don’t know if they’ll ever let me be.”

Zoro sighs, deeply. A breath Sanji feels against his skin and it occurs to him they’ve never been this close, not without being at each other’s throats at the same time.

“You fool. That’s not what I mean and you know it.”

“Listen to me, shithead”, Sanji snaps; he scratches, scratches. “It’s no joke. They know things about me, about all of us, and I wouldn’t have left if– This shit’s serious. Got it?”

“More serious than what, the Emperors? The fucking World Government? Fine. Let them come. I don’t care who those Vin-whatever people think they are, and you know Captain doesn’t either– Stop that.”

Faster than Sanji can anticipate, Zoro grabs his hand, snatches it away from his wrist and– Oh, it’s bleeding, Sanji realizes with a slow blink. His hand is bleeding.

“What are you, stupid or something?”

The rest of what Zoro mutters under his breath is lost to Sanji; before he can even think to pull away, Zoro is tugging at the bandana tied around his bicep. Fingers calloused and rough, he folds the fabric over the criss-crossing, bloody lines and ignores Sanji’s hiss of pain, grasp tightening further.

Making Sanji feel his frustration and weirdly, it’s that that makes the ground under Sanji’s legs feel solid again.

“Get out of your head already”, Zoro is saying, eye focused on the knot he’s tying against Sanji’s palm. Sanji… lets him. “Did you apologize to him or not?”

Or not. Indignation burns in Sanji’s gut at that and he knocks Zoro’s hands away, ignoring how soothing the bandana feels against the rawness of his skin.

“What the–! Of course I did. D’you think I’d even take a fucking step on Sunny if I hadn’t?!”

And Sanji sees the tension bleed right out of Zoro and in that moment he hates him a little. The swordsman rests one arm on Wado’s grip and scratches his stupidly green hair with the other, mildly annoyed now.

“Well, then. Snap out of it.”

Like it’s the one and only conclusion there is. Like an apology could ever make up any of the things Sanji did, what he put Luffy through, that he made Nami cry and scream for him to stop–

“It’s not that easy”, Sanji hisses, getting back in his face and Zoro meets him in the middle this time, growling:

“Good. It shouldn’t be. Suck it up and stop making everyone miserable.”

“Then stop keeping secrets from me!”

The shout is loud, shattering any pretense of privacy on a ship that’s been suspiciously quiet this entire time – especially by their standards – and Sanji doesn’t care. He’s done being blamed for something that can’t be entirely his fault, not when everyone was there when he got kicked out of his own damn galley. Not when he felt them all put their heads together the moment he was out of sight, like he wouldn’t notice, like Observation Haki isn’t a thing that exists.

And as much as he’s thought about it (and he has, for hours and hours and hours), Sanji doesn’t know why. Yes, he left and he hurt Luffy and he deserves it but why this? Why now?

Sanji is a Strawhat Pirate, he’s used to all things whimsical and idiotic and those have always made sense to him, before.

This just… It doesn’t, isn’t even anywhere near it. A location marked X beyond the borders of a map, where mythical creatures reside among nebulous lines – there’s simply no way for Sanji to get there, not without Luffy to guide him and Nami to make sure they stay on course and all the other things he’s taken for granted before all this happened.

“Or– Let me do my job, at least. Please.”

So this is Sanji, giving in. This is Sanji, standing chest to chest with Zoro and witnessing, up close and personal, how a look of sheer bewilderment blooms on his face. All it does is twist him further up inside until he feels like he’s going to throw up or maybe cry.

Sanji is far beyond tears, now.

“Let me cook”, he begs instead, with a desperation he won’t hide anymore because if there’s one thing Sanji needs Zoro to understand it’s this. “I know I’m a fuck-up but I’m a good chef. Let me have that.”

“Sanji–”

A hand is raised and Sanji doesn’t flinch as much as he holds his breath, the instinct to brace himself as inescapable as the blood that runs through his veins. Zoro stops and stares at him. Looking genuinely shaken as he inhales and opts to cross his arms in front of his chest.

“Look, just– Help me understand, ‘cause you lost me somewhere. Where is all of this coming from?”

Sanji just groans, “You’re lost? You were there”, runs a hand through his hair and forces himself to go back to square one, again.

“Earlier. Luffy, Nami, Robin, you. You were talking about something. Then you all looked at me. Then Luffy said–”

“Okay, stop. That, right there. That’s what this is about?!”

“I… Yes.”

It takes a few second for Zoro to stop gaping at Sanji and then he laughs, and Sanji’s gut drops in the same moment that blood rushes to his face. He thinks: Oh, I’m going to kill him.

“What. The hell. Mosshead.”

Zoro waves his hands, palm-up, gesturing for Sanji to wait and for some fucking reason he actually does, cheeks burning and knees weak with shame as he watches Zoro trying his damnedest not to crack up again.

“Sorry. No, I mean it, I really shouldn’t– But fuck, you should’ve just said so. Cook, it’s your birthday.”

What?

“What?”, Sanji voices the thought out loud, tone flat; Zoro tempers his grin to a close-lipped smile and says:

“Your birthday. It passed two days ago and we didn’t, uh. Well, we didn’t know ‘cause you never told us, actually. Robin figured it out somehow. March 2nd, right?”

“…What.”

“Yeah. That’s the big secret, you idiot.”

The insult is undeniably fond and Zoro sounds so relieved, like that one revelation will solve all of the world’s mysteries at once and it… kind of does? Or it will, once Sanji’s mind stops spinning because it’s his birthday.

That’s what they were whispering about. His birthday. The birthday of his brothers. The day Sanji has hated all of his life and hasn’t celebrated, not even once, since he left the Vinsmoke name behind.

Sanji swallows. His fingers itch for a smoke but Zoro’s bandana is still wrapped around his wrist and the guy hates the smell of his cigarettes.

“And Luffy…?”

Zoro just gives him a look, brow raised, eye glinting. “What do you think? Birthdays are important to him, you know that. Oh, which reminds me: It’s supposed to be a surprise. Don’t ruin it for them.”

It’s then that Sanji lets the railing take some of his weight because– “There’s a surprise.”

Amusement turns to frowned concern on Zoro’s face. “Why is all of this news to you? Robin’s was just last month. Franky’s is coming up. There’s always a surprise.”

“Shut up”, Sanji tells him but it’s weak and he knows it. “It just never applied to me before.” Another thing occurs to him, then:

“Wait. Did Luffy put you up to this?”

By this point, Zoro is looking at him with the same pitying disdain Trafalgar Law tends to wield against all of them and it’s rich, coming from someone who opens a book maybe once a decade.

“He told me to keep you busy, not give you a therapy session but same difference, I guess.”

Sanji huffs, “As if I’d ever take advice from a meat-headed idiot of all people”, and reaches for his pocket because Zoro deserves some cigarette smell after all.

Zoro eyes the newly-lit cig in his hand for a moment before joining him against the railing, close enough to brush shoulders. Sanji blows the smoke away from him and pretends not to notice.

“So. How long are we giving them, then?”

“Mh. Ten minutes?”

“Fine”, Sanji sighs. “What are they even making?”

“Do you even know what a surprise is?”

“Ha ha.” A bout of silence. Sanji smokes. “Luffy better not burn down my kitchen. Again.”

Zoro hums, giving the cook a side-long glance.

“He did promise to be careful, y’know.”

Sanji can’t help it: He smiles, just a little.

“Yeah, I know.”

Light spills from underneath the door onto deck and with it, the muffled sound of laughter and multiple voices talking all over each other. Sanji reaches for the handle and doesn’t let himself hesitate, not anymore.

It swings open on well-oiled hinges and reveals the galley in all its glory: Sanji lets his gaze roam from the bowls stacked precariously in the sink to the colorful sprinkles tossed all across the floor all the way to the group of people freezing in the middle of what could be reasonably described as a food fight.

Or, as Sanji knows, his crewmates’ valiant attempt to bake something without him.

The smell of sugar and raw cake batter is almost overpowering in this kitchen made small by way too many cooks. In the center of it all is the rubber idiot that is his captain, half of his face almost artistically covered in different kinds of frosting. The chef in Sanji can’t help but calculate just how many resources must’ve gone into keeping those sticky fingers he knows so well away from the multi-layered cake that manages to tower over them all (minus perhaps Franky).

“Sanji!”

It’s Luffy who calls out to him, all joyful and not at all bothered by the fact none of it is done as he yells, “Surprise!”, and the rest of the crew cheers with him. Even Nami, and Sanji catches her eyes across the room and her beautiful smile stays exactly where it is.

And it’s not quite forgiveness but an offer nonetheless: One Sanji would be a fool not to accept.

There is that look of hope on Luffy’s face again, the one that’s a question as much as it’s trying to be an answer as well. Behind Sanji, Zoro sighs a fond little breath now that his mission is accomplished and he steps past him to join their crew, glancing over his shoulder as if to ask, you coming?

Sanji takes it all in and his heart melts, dripping between his ribs to gather warmly in his stomach. “You assholes had me worried”, he tells them without any sort of bite, and Luffy smiles.

“But Sanji. Birthday meals are made by friends. It's the rules!”

It turns out to be the best damn cake Sanji has ever had.

#one piece #roronoa zoro #vinsmoke sanji #monkey d. luffy #zosan #one piece fanfiction #choo choo all aboard the sanji angst train #hey vinsmoke judge turn on your location zoro just wants to talk #my stuff #this fic is also on AO3!

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la-fille-en-aiguilles · 5 years

Text

Not a One Time Thing

Female Reader x Young!Sirius Black Drabble

A/N: I’ve been consuming a lot of Sirius Black content lately, and it got me thinking about The First Wizarding War, and this drabble just happened. It’s nothing much, but I hope you like it.

I also have a request for Remus in my inbox (I haven’t forgotten you, Anon - I was wondering by the way if you are the person that requested the story about Sirius’ son). Anyway, I’m planning to write it once I finish with The Beautiful & Damned story - which returns tomorrow with the last chapter.

Synopsis: Beside Y/N is where Sirius Black finds a home in the midst of The First Wizarding War - Attention, slightly smutty content!

...There was something blatantly tragic in the way he lowered his gaze. He probably thought he wasn’t welcome, and dodged your eyes in attempts to escape that guilty feeling scratching on his chest. In vain, might you add. You knew all too well how the rest of your night was going to play out, one look at him sufficed.

While Sirius was probably dealing with his inner demons and trying to come up with something to say (none of what he could tell you would make sense, and both of you knew it), you tilted your head, studying his silhouette bathing in the moonlight, bleeding through your bedroom’s curtains, summer breeze playing with the weightless gauze (you always left the window open, so owls bringing news could fly straight in).

Everything about Sirius held a trace of that flagrant culpability that made your heart ache. You were always very discreet about it, tried not to stare too much at the prominent lines on his forehead, or that tense line of his jaw now hidden by a thick beard – a new look he must have been forced to adopt, for it is difficult to find the time to shave in the middle of a war, when the fiercest of Death Eaters are constantly tracking your ass. You felt bitter now, not able to see the bottomless oceans of his light grey eyes, very upset at the fact that he still thought he needed to hide them every time he’d apparate unannounced.

Suddenly alarmed on some intuitive level, you let your gaze scan his entire frame, propped up on a chair, searching for any sign of injury. When you found none, a sigh of relief escaped your bitten lips.

That’s when Sirius raised his gaze to face you. The crystal clear surface of two moonstone-colored oceans were finally fixed on you, and there was nothing in the world that you wouldn’t give just to see those silver sparks dance around the pitch-black pupils. Seeing Sirius smile was a luxury these days that lasted for rarely more than a couple of seconds. Blink and you miss it.

Watching him raise from the chair, his hair slightly longer than the last time you met and falling on his forehead, you made your way towards him.

“You don’t have to explain”, you muttered under your breath before you tangled your fingers in his hair, your mouth brushing ever so slightly against his. Feeling his long eyelashes tickle your skin, you deepened the kiss, his hands clutching on to your hips as if you were his lifeline. He might not have had those familiar clean-shaven cheeks or neatly combed hair, but he still smelled like he used to: like the dust of the battles he had slayed, an old-fashioned patchouli perfume and some musky odor you couldn’t quite place. Burying your face in his collarbone, you inhaled the mélange, for the first time in months feeling like home.

“I just needed you”, his voice came out rasp, but so full of sentiment. “Coming here is incredibly stupid of me, but…” you’d expect him to develop, but Black did no such thing. After a second of staring onto your reddened lips, he couldn’t make himself finish. His lips captured yours again, the kiss so much more heated this time, his beard scratching your cheeks and chin; but you had no fucks left to give. You might not have mentioned it before, but you needed him too. Not like the members of the Order that sent him on the most dangerous missions, because they knew he was the only one able to come back alive. Not like his best mates James and Remus, when they were confronting the darkest parts of themselves and needed the light of the brightest star to chase them away. Your need was of a different nature, and right now he was trying desperately to fulfill it, in Merlin knows how many minutes you were allowed to share this time.

“Sirius,” you moaned, as his lips traced a burning path down your throat, his hands cupping your breasts through the thin material of your shirt. The wind outside picked up some, ruffling Black’s hair from behind as he faced you again, his grey eyes asking you what was wrong. The truth was, nothing was wrong. You just wanted to see him, wanted to remember every detail about his features, every small crinkle in the corners of his eyes, before he left again.

“I love you”, he stole the words right off your mouth, rubbing small circles in your cheekbones with the tips of his calloused fingers. His eyes were so bright they were hard to look at this up close, but he gazed at you in a way you’d never expected from him before, and you were hypnotized. “Stop me if this isn’t what you want”, he whispered.

The tips of your noses grazed before your lips smeared together in a stinging kiss that ignited every fiber of your body. The tip of his tongue slid along the seam of your lips and you opened up for him, your lower belly weightless, desire for Sirius overwhelming you. Dizzy and lightheaded, you let out a little gasp when you felt one of his hands slip down the arch over your back, bringing you closer to his solid, taut body. Everywhere he touched you was white hot, the taste of him on your tongue making your entire body shiver, down to your core.

You knew this was leading to something more than what you both were accustomed to. As you slid your hands around the back of his head, pushing your lips squarely onto his, whimpering in his mouth, you wondered for how long he would leave you this time, and before the thought upset you, you brushed it away. What mattered was here and now. And if he survived – and he most assuredly would – he would come back to you, because whatever was going on between you was never a onetime thing. You both knew it before, but tonight, your sentiments were put into words.

“Open up for me, baby”, he whispered into the silence of your dark room, and you threw your head back, feeling his fingers press to your folds, your skirt resting entirely on your waist by now. “Let me feel you… Let me taste you”.

You knew his beard would leave angry skin on the insides of your thighs. You knew it would be a torture to feel him fill you up and then walk around empty for Merlin knows how long. Yet you also knew he loved you, and you wanted drink his love up like a shot of firewhiskey.

“Not tonight,” you whispered into his mouth, staring right into his eyes blown-up with emotion, positive you looked just as fucked out. “Merlin knows there’s only one thing that I want between my thighs other than your head”.

And then, a fire coursed through you, a veil of tears burning at the back of your stare as you struggled to keep it in. Biting your lips, you admired the beautiful sight in front of you, bestowed upon you by some silly joke you considered yourself lucky to come up with.

Sirius said nothing – and he didn’t need to talk. His smile and sparkles dancing on the surface of his moonstone eyes had said it all…

#young sirius black #sirius black x reader #sirius x reader #sirius black smut #sirius black angst #sirius black fluff #sirius black drabble #sirius black one shot #ben barnes #sirius black imagine #marauders era #marauders imagine #harry potter imagine #harry potter reader insert #first wizarding war

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livingmybestfictionallife · 5 years

Note

can't believe nobody has written billy + mommy kink lmao

Taking place in my fictional world where the duffers didn’t kill off the best damned character for no reason...

Billy didn’t think he had a “mom kink.” In fact, even thinking of it made him uncomfortable.

Then he met Mrs. Wheeler.

He wanted to see how far he could go with an older woman, but no matter how far it went he knew he couldn’t go through with it.

It was a relief that she “stood him up,” so he pushed the thought from his mind. ...until he met Y/N

He remembered having a class or two with her during their senior year, but she was never one for making new friends. Sure he’d seen her in the hall, given her the signature smile, maybe even played the good-guy a couple of times when some asshole knocked her books from her arms in the halls, but nothing prepared him for the moment he saw her walk into Hawkins Community Pool.

Her best friend had promised they would hang out this summer, but that was before she got a job working at the mall, so Y/N found herself alone most days. She didn’t care much for being outside in the sun, but found her parent’s continual fighting so nerve wracking and angering one afternoon, she grabbed a book and made her way to the pool just to get away.

She was stretched out across a lounging chair not far from where the Mom’s of Hawkins normally laid out in lying wait of his attention. Her nose was so buried in her book she didn’t even realize the boy who had been nice to her on occasion during high school had passed by.

But you can bet your ass Billy noticed she was the only person at that whole damned place not to pay any attention to him.

Being ignored drove him up the wall, but it wasn’t because she was blatantly ignoring him, it was because he couldn’t ignore her.

She wasn’t his normal type--girls who have been around town a time or two. As far as he knew she hadn’t had a boyfriend before...but then again he’d only been around in town for less than a year.

He was sitting in his lifeguard stand, only briefly watching the swimmers and kids who were nearing too close to the deep end while his sunglasses hid the direction his eyes trailed.

Y/N had only moved from her position once to roll onto her stomach and if he thought he was entranced looking at her front, the back had just enough to be surprised about.

How could he have not noticed her before?

Maybe he never saw her because a book always hid her captivating eyes and delicately beautiful face.

Whatever the reason, he was certainly seeing her now. Especially when a young boy no older than three ran up to her with tears in his eyes. It was clear the kid was distraught, but Billy hadn’t even noticed the kid was in trouble until the boy rushed to Y/N.

The protective way she scooped him up into her arms, the comforting way her hands rested over the boy’s damp hair, the desperate way the child clung to Y/N sent Billy’s attraction for a whirl. Feeling his heart beat harder in his chest, he climbed off his stand, swallowed the pride he had in his mind that told him she should make the first move and approach him, and made his way toward her.

“What seems to be the problem?” he asked.

“He’s lost,” Y/N explained.

“Well, lifeguards can help kids find parents,” Billy said with a bit of arrogance in his tone.

“I babysit him and he's not the biggest fan of strangers,” Y/N scoffed at Billy while the child cried into her neck.

After a moment of searching, Billy and Y/N were able to find the boy’s mom. Somehow, after having his guard let down, the words slipped from his mouth: “Why didn’t we know each other in school?”

“Because you’re kind of an ass.” --Billy had been called an ass before, but for some reason, as it left her mouth, the words that had never affected him stung him to the core.

“Would you believe me if I say it’s because no one’s treated me the way you treated that kid?” Why the hell would he say that?...exactly what he was thinking.

“Yes.”

“Well, do you think you could give me a chance?”

Y/N’s character flaw of being too caring and considerate of others was Billy’s saving grace. That night, Billy took her to see some movie about a group of adults who met in college called St. Elmo’s Fire--Y/N chose the movie, and as much as he may refuse to admit it, it was one of the first movies where he connected to a main character...named Billy nonetheless. It seemed like all the guy needed was for someone to care about him...to see his worth.

Being with Y/N was different than being with other girls. They just wanted him the way he wanted them. Nothing serious, nothing sensual, nothing sentimental. Y/N was caring, sympathetic, nurturing, kind. She took the time to be with him, she made him understand that she wanted to be around him, that she wanted to spend time with him, that she wasn’t just around for the bad boy physique.

Billy didn’t notice it at first, but every time that nurturing side of her graced him with a gentle touch, or a soft yet sturdy hug, or when her lips grazed against his in a reassuring and comforting way, he was just...so...turned on. He couldn’t get enough of that shit...he couldn’t get enough of her!

Their first time was after a rough fight with Neil. Billy had called her and asked if she could go for a drive. He sounded scared and troubled, and Y/N didn’t want him to be alone, so she agreed. When he showed up, his mouth was bleeding, bruises in the shape of finger tips were forming on his shoulder, and his cheek was red as if from being repeatedly slapped.

He told her everything. How his dad had hurt his mom, how she left him alone with his father to save herself, how ever since then he’s been even harder on Billy to be a man’s man even from the young age of eight. Billy told her how he took pride in his leather and denim jackets at school as a statement, but really they were to cover the beatings from every unsuspecting person around him. He was an ass because he needed to feel in control over something. It was a shitty rationalization, but Y/N understood---she didn’t excuse his behavior...she understood.

“You don’t want to be with me, Y/N...I’m just going to hurt you. All I do is hurt people.”

“You aren’t that person...the real Billy isn’t that guy who bullied kids. It’s okay to be scared,” she’d said, took his hand and placed it gently on her cheek. “You’re not dangerous,” she said and gently placed her own hand on his chest. “Bad things happen to good people, and sometimes those good people do bad things. It doesn’t mean they’re inherently bad people.”

“You don’t think that, Y/N.”

“Yes, Billy, I do,” she stated. “I grew up seeing the good and the bad in good people and bad people. What you did doesn’t define who you are or make you any less worthy of affection.” She took his free hand and placed it on her hip and cupped her hands around his face. Her soft lips landed lightly on his and she could taste the salt from his tears on the tip of her tongue. Feeling her arms travel from his face and wrap gently around the back of his neck...feeling her hold him tight and her chest pressed against his...he moved his lips graciously across hers and gripped gently at her sides.

“Damn it, Y/N,” he groaned against her gentle skin as another tear fell form his eyes. “I love you.”

Their first time wasn’t just physical, which is probably the first time Billy had felt the emotional side of sex...but it was definitely the best. Because of Y/N.

So maybe he didn’t have a “ohh mommy” kink, hell he didn’t even want to be a bottom, but he got off hard on the affection and loving attention Y/N doted on him.

SO this is my first attempt at a head canon so let me know if I did a shit job ;)

#Billy Hargrove #billy hargrove headcanon #stranger things #stranger things season 2 #stranger things season 3 #dacre montgomery #Headcanon #stranger things headcanon

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ala-mhinyan · 5 years

Text

Grief ( Part 3 )

A shudder runs along his frame, drawing in a slow and even breath. Just one last time. All of this for one last time.

That makes C’tolemy turn back to face her, arms folded over his chest and a deep set frown creasing his features. <”Do not offer what you cannot give.”>

Hooked.

The older woman tweaks the corner of her lips into a smile, shaking her head. <”It is no hard task for one who ferries along the River, yes? That is the power of a Dead Witch.”> An offer she knows that the one before he would sooner snap his head from his shoulders than refuse. It would land her in a position of control over him to have him owe a favor and, with enough finesse, she could saddle herself with re-training her daughter all over again.

The right way, this time.

C’tolemy stands in silence for a long, long while—warring with himself on whether or not this was a smart decision to make or the stupidest thing he’s ever done in life. If Ayanga and Dunrai ever found out that he’d done something like this, let alone met with C’sah? He’d never hear the end of it—especially knowing that he’d conjured the meeting himself and gone without telling him what was happening behind his back.

But he had to. Just one last time.

Just one.

It would be over, he would be free and this shadow would finally stop chasing him.

<”Be quick about it.”>

C’sah’s smile widens into a gleam of razor sharp fangs of malice and welcoming dread, dropping down in a motion of pure grace to kneel. She pulls a dagger from her belt and spills blood from the palm of her hand, letting it splash down onto the sunburned stone beneath the both of them. The dagger is shoved into the center of that blood splatter, using the tips of her claws to draw runes and sigils surrounding the splatter with her own blood. Satisfied with the circle, she closes her eyes and begins to chant.

Aether pools below their feet, drawn inward from the environment—over the runes and bloody sigils, scrawling over stone and rock until a wide dome of spider-webbed aether was formed around them. The power burst, the world flipped and they both found themselves in a black space—devoid of sunlight and so very, very cold. Where the Land Between Worlds was warm, the fresh scent of rain and the sounds of rainforest surrounded them? Here? There was nothing but cold, quiet and a distinct sense of loneliness.

C’tolemy didn’t budge from his spot, golden eyes focused on C’sah as she worked her ritual. He was trapped from within regardless and no fail-safe to protect him in case she tried something—he had to be careful.

She smiled up at him, reaching out with her bloody hand—over the blade—and made a plucking motion, as if picking something invisible out of the air and setting it down. From that spot, a spark of red aether blooms and bursts until it’s the shape of a man too familiar to have ever been forgotten and too haunting to ever mistake. The specter of red aether shifts a couple of times before he turns his head and peers, unbelieving, at C’tolemy’s startled expression.

<”Dasa?”>

Oh, his voice. Heavenly, a stake through his heart.

C’tolemy snaps his gaze to C’sah and hisses low at her, <”This better be no ploy or so help me—”>

<”It is no ploy.”>

That voice gets C’ajnee spinning, just as shocked to see C’tolemy as he is to see C’sah—kneeling behind him and bleeding. <”Mistress…”> The words are reverental, another stake through C’tolemy’s heart to hear a single word from his awful, ugly mouth that sounds so soft. So wanting. So loving.

Nothing he would ever hear toward himself.

<”C’aziza bid me to summon you from the River, C’ajnee. Your time is limited. I would say what you have to say now while you have the chance.”>

That shakes C’tolemy loose at the core, tilting his chin upward to peer at C’ajnee while the man nods and turns back to stare into his eyes. It is silent.

<”Why did you call me from the River, Dasa? Were you not the one that brought the dark scales with you to murder me?”>

Another stake, the pain from that accusation so sharp that he staggers on his feet and nearly falls before the very man he’s been made to kneel before so many times in the past. A steadying breath, shaking his head.

<”I had—Kushal, please. I had no choice. I couldn’t let you do this, do what you did to me, to anyone else.”>

<”Didn’t I train you better? Is your loyalty nothing? Does your word, your blood before your very Master, mean nothing?”>

<”Kushal—I…”>

There is no answer he can give.

Kushal was right; he’d taken with him the man’s very death, to protect children so they would never suffer the same crime, the same pain, the same torture that he did. It was for a noble cause, a humane thing to do to save those children and bring an end to the reign that Kushal had held over the heads of so many others that hadn’t deserved to go through what they went through—but none of this changed the inevitable of the situation.

He had betrayed his first Master. He had failed an order. He had failed.

C’ajnee glowered at the large man in front of him, causing Tolemy to cower slightly under that stare, gaze cast aside to the floor. He couldn’t say anything and all that seemed to do is anger the spectral Seeker, mumbling someone about how all his time had been wasted and how Dasa had ended up being a good-for-nothing. Another stake in his heart, this time chased with a faint whimper.

Ghosts of words said from Ayanga’s very mouth make it impossible for him to stay quiet forever, everything coming rushing from his mouth before he can stop it.

<”Did you mean what you said? When you…”>

<”Spit it out, Dasa.”>

His mouth had run dry and all he could feel was his entire being hinging on this final moment; this final truth that would either condemn him or set him free. <”Did you mean it when you said that I was unloved by all, save you?”

The red specter seemed to jolt at those words, turning his head away and then back again after seemingly settling something with himself. He opens his mouth to speak—

<”C’ajnee.”>

<”Mistress?”>

<”Your life is already forfeit. There is little pride to hold onto in death.”>

A sharp laugh comes from the specter and he shakes his head, bringing a hand up to rub across his face with a sigh. There was no point in hiding from the one that had summoned him—no point in pretending when he had nothing left to lose, even pride. He was dead. This was a temporary, last reprieve.

A pause.

<”Yes, Dasa. I meant it.”>

A shaking breath, the Seeker across the space from him nearly shattering on the spot.

<”But… But—It’s only because I look like her. Because I’m her child. Because you wanted her instead!”>

Another laugh, C’ajnee simply shaking his head once more and glancing over his shoulder at the concentrating C’sah. <”Your mother never wanted me, Dasa. She was devoted to her duty and I was never going to be the one that came between her and that. I wanted to lift her up, not tear her down.”> Another sigh, looking forward again to peer at C’tolemy. <”At first, genuinely, you were a replacement for C’sah. I wanted to see her likeness in you and build you up to be the perfect copy of her—so I could have the woman of my dreams at last. But you were not C’sah. And I was so angry that you weren’t C’sah that I took out years of rage and desire that I couldn’t sate… onto you. You were willing. You were the perfect outlet.”>

C’tolemy’s mouth simply hangs agape, the truth of these words hitting somewhere inside that he doesn’t know how to cope with. All he can think to do is dumbly murmur out a, <”So what changed?”>

It was C’ajnee’s turn to smile, giving a fairly lame shrug. <”You would smile on our walks at night through the Lochs and I couldn’t help but be gripped with wondering if you’d always smiled at me like I was your universe. The blushes. The smiles. How you’d strain so hard, even in tasks I knew you despised, only if it meant pleasing me. It doesn’t take long for someone to become enamored with such devotion.”>

A bewildered stare and another murmur.

<”Then... Then why?”> The ache in the center of his chest was at a bursting point, threatening to overwhelm every little bit of him that just barely remained. These words would be his undoing. <”Why did you hurt me? Constantly? Why did you beat me within an inch of my life if I would so far as try to reach for you if you thought this of me? Why—Why would you hurt the thing you adore?! Why would you treat me like trash and then tell me you did it because you love me?!”>

C’ajnee grimaced, canting his head to the side. <”I didn’t know how to approach my feelings. Every time you would tell me you loved me I would feel something welling up inside that I wasn’t going to be able to control. If… If I had—If I had acted on it… Gods above know what I would have done to you.”>

The leash on C’tolemy’s control snaps. He can feel the recoil of control being broken in-half. He can feel himself break and all of it come pouring from him before he can stop it. Rage scores through the entirety of C’tolemy’s being; from the tips of his fingers to the ends of his toes and it comes out in a roar of a retort, furious in what he’d learned.

<”You COWARD!”>

C’ajnee recoils, refusing to look at the man in-front of him.

<”You are nothing but a spineless, dickless coward! I cannot believe you put me through all of what you did because you didn’t know how to deal with your goddamn emotions! Because you were afraid of what you’d do to me!”>

C’ajnee puffs out his chest, narrowing his eyes in the direction of the shouting.

<”You should be grateful I—”>

<”It was not a mercy that you didn’t show your love! You don’t GET to tell me that I should be grateful that you tied me to a post and let men fuck me senseless in the rain, let them do whatever came into their fucked up little heads! That I should be grateful you tossed me off ledges and left my broken body in valleys, only to starve me when I didn’t climb back up! That I should be grateful for every single night I spent in waking terror of what you’d do to me the next time I made a mistake!”>

<”I could have been so much more cruel to you, Dasa! It was MERCY that I spared you my love or you might not even be alive right now!”>

<”I HAVEN’T BEEN LIVING SINCE YOU TOOK ME IN!”>

That scream ends on a pitiful sob, C’tolemy’s bottom lip quivering in the aftermath of his emotional wave. <”I have spent every day, every hour, every minute chasing something I was never going to get because of you! I have been a slave to emotions that have gripped me from the inside for YEARS because you treated me like I wasn’t even a person! I have been living as a pathetic, scared dog running alleyway to alleyway looking for it’s Master that doesn’t even care it’s missing! Surya be damned, do you know what I’ve done to my HUSBANDS BECAUSE OF YOU?! AND THIS IS WHAT YOU TELL ME?!”>

<”Dasa—”>

<”You don’t get to call me that anymore.”>

<”Dasa, I just—”>

<”YOU DON’T GET TO CALL ME THAT ANYMORE! I’m not your slave. I’m not your pet. I’m not your property. I’m not your dog. I’m not ANYTHING that belongs to you! Not anymore!”>

C’ajnee takes a step forward and he’s met with a fierce, furious roar from deep within C’tolemy’s chest—the fear that used to grip this man long since melted away by the kind hearts of the men who love him and his own growing sense of self-worth. C’ajnee flinches backward, ears pressed down and his expression a mix of frustration and desperation.

<”Dasa… I did all of this because I love you. Please—please believe that.”>

C’tolemy sneers bitterly, tail lashing wildly at the darkness behind him. <”You don’t have the right to love me.”> And with those words, he reaches for his belt and lobs a throwing dagger directly at the summoning circle—channeling aether through the blade to burst upon contact with the blood soaked stone. Sparks ignite and the stone cracks, shattering the summoning circle before C’ajnee can be properly sent back into the River where he belongs. Where the wretched man will linger now? It’s anyone’s guess.

C’sah had managed to protect her face right as the aether explosion went off, bearing mild burns and scrapes once the dust had settled and the aether dome around them had dissipated. She grunted, working old bones to stand and brush at her arms.

<”Are you satisfied, C’tolemy?”>

He snarls hotly at the woman—where she matches him back with her own set of snarling and snapping. The encounter abruptly ends when he huffs out a breath and turns to leave.

<”I never should have come here.”>

The older woman can only chuckle, waving a hand to his retreating back and calls out cheerfully.

<”Arms of Meed. 7 suns. Twilight. I await your answer — You owe me that at the very least.”>

She is given naught but a grunt and the sound of scrabbling stone as C’tolemy vaults over the space and onto the cliff hiding the Arms of Meed from sight. One last glance over his shoulder and he disappears off the lip, needing to do something—anything to bleed off this aggression.

C’sah merely stands where she is and smiles. Anything for just one last time.

[ Part 1 ] - [ Part 2 ]

#ffxiv #ffxiv writing #my writing #c'tolemy #c'ajnee #c'sah #was it worth it for that one last time?#did you get what you wanted?#at what point does it become pathological mourning?

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boat-full-of-lotus-pods · 6 years

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MDZS Chapter 101. “A Hatred for Life” Part 4

Failed rescue

Jin Ling sat up instantly and called, “Uncle!”

Leveling him with a glare, Jing Cheng spat coldly, “Now you know to call me Uncle. What were you running for earlier?!”

Then, he threw his gaze half-heartedly towards Wei WuXian and Lan WangJi. Before their eyes could meet, however, Su She had already gotten to his feet by leaning on his sword, Nanping[1], and stabbed at Jiang Cheng. Before Jiang Cheng made a move, a series of loud dog barks exploded in the air as Fairy leaped into the temple like a flying fish and pounced straight for Su She. At the sound of the dog barks, all the hairs on Wei WuXian’s body immediately stood up. His soul ready to disperse out of fright, he shrank into Lan WangJi’s arms and called, “Lan Zhan!”

Lan WangJi had already secured his arms around him. “I’m here!”

Wei WuXian said, “Hold me!”

Lan WangJi replied, “I’m holding you!”

Wei WuXian continued, “Hold me tight!”

Lan WangJi replied again, “I’m holding you tight!”

Without having to turn around to look, just their voices alone was enough to make Jiang Cheng’s entire face twitch. Originally, he’d at least wanted to shoot a look at the two of them. Now, however, Jiang Cheng forbade his neck from turning with all his might. Just then, numerous monks and cultivators rushed out from the back of the temple to the front with swords in their hands. Smirking, Jiang Cheng sent out a blinding a ray of purple light with a flip of his right hand. The ray of purple danced within the temple, flinging out everyone it touched with explosive force. The oil paper umbrella still remained steady in his left hand. As the wave of bodies collapsed all over the floor, most still twitching from the effects of electrocution, Jiang Cheng at last closed his umbrella. Meanwhile, Su She was still hopelessly tangled by Fairy’s harassment, cursing nonstop. From the side, Jin Ling shouted, “Fairy! Be careful! Fairy, bite him! Bite his hand!”

Lan XiChen warned, “Sect Leader Jiang, beware of the guqin’s melody!”

Right as he finished speaking, two long notes of the guqin can be heard coming from the back of the temple. Since Jiang Cheng had already fallen prey to the dark melody once, he was exceptionally vigilant this time around. So the moment the music started, Jiang Cheng kicked at the ground and, with the tip of his boot, sent a cultivator’s fallen sword into the air. Tossing away the umbrella in his left hand, he grabbed the air-born sword and, pulling out Sandu with his right, struck the two swords together.

As the two blades scraped against one another, the resulting screams of metal scratching sharply against metal drowned out the tone from Jin GuangYao’s guqin.

It was a very effective method to counter the dark song! But it had one problem—the resulting noise was too terrible and unpleasant for the ear!

It sounded so terrible that people felt like their ears would bleed. It was exceptionally unbearable for Lan XiChen and Lan WangJi of the Gusu Lan Sect, both of whom couldn’t help but frown. Right now, however, Lan WangJi was too busy holding Wei WuXian to be able to cover his own ears, and so Wei WuXian covered Lan WanJi’s ears for him while shivering to the sound of dog barks.

With a hard expression and a sword in each hand, Jiang Cheng continued to create those awful but effective noises against the demonic melody as he advanced towards the back of the temple. Before he reached it, Jin GuangYao walked out of the back himself, speaking as he covered his ears, “Sect Leader Jiang, I must say I am greatly humbled by the devastation you’re accomplishing with this tactic.”

Zidian shot straight at him. Jin GuangYao dodged to the side and asked, “Sect Leader Jiang! How did you end up here?”

Jiang Cheng didn’t bother to answer. Jin GuangYao’s spiritual energy wasn’t as strong as his own. Unable to confront him head-on, Jin GuangYao could only continue to nimbly dodge. While his subordinates surrounded Jiang Cheng, Jin GuangYao continued to speak with a composed and unassuming air. “Did Jin Ling run off by himself again? And chasing after him led you here? Fairy must have even led the way for you. Ahh… I gave him the spiritual dog as a gift, and look what I get in return?”

Tight in Lan WangJi’s arms, Wei WuXian no longer felt as terrified by the dog’s barks, which cleared his mind enough to think. Noticing how Jin GuangYao was like in combat, with his eyes dancing, mouth smiling and talking incessantly, Wei WuXian was reminded of a certain someone. He said in a quiet voice, “He and Xue Yang really are cast from the same mold.”

Lan WangJi remained silent. Hearing no response from him, Wei WuXian looked up and realized that he was still covering Lan WangJi’s ears. Lan WangJi must have not heard him at all. Just as Wei WuXian lowered his hands, Jin GuangYao suddenly switched the topic with a smile. “Sect Leader Jiang, what’s wrong? You’ve been avoiding looking at that side of the room for a while now, is there something there?”

Jiang Cheng spat, “Aren’t you at least the Chief Cultivator? Stop with your bullshit and focus on the fight!”

Jin GuangYao continued, “Still avoiding? There’s not much over there, just your shi-xiong[2]. Did you really end up here from chasing after Jin Ling?”

Jiang Cheng fired back, “Or what?! Who else would I come for?!”

Lan XiChen warned, “Don’t answer him!”

Jin GuangYao was a master at word play. The moment Jiang Cheng started responding to him, he would no doubt be distracted by Jin GuangYao and be riled up to become more and more emotional. Jin GuangYao said, “Fine, Mister Wei, did you see? Your shi-di[3] is not here for you. In fact, he doesn’t even want to look at you.”

Wei WuXian smiled and said, “What a weird thing to say. Jiang Cheng’s attitude towards me isn’t new. Do I need you here to remind me?”

Hearing this, the corner of Jiang Cheng’s mouth twitched slightly. Veins protruded on the back of the hand that held Zidian. Jin GuangYao turned back to him and commented with a resigned sigh, “Sect Leader Jiang, you see? It’s not easy being your shi-xiong.”

Noticing that Jin GuangYao kept on steering the conversation to be about him, Wei WuXian became alarmed. Jiang Cheng sniped back, “Sect Leader Jin, being your sworn brother is even harder!”

Jin GuangYao continued, seemingly without a care whether Jiang Cheng was actually listening, and said, “Sect Leader Jiang, I heard that you made a big scene at the Lotus Pier last night, seemingly without reason. I hear that you were running all over the place with the Yiling Patriarch’s sword, and asking everyone to unsheath it.”

Immediately, Jiang Cheng’s expression darkened beyond terrifying.

At the same time, Wei WuXian suddenly sat up within Lan WangJi’s arms. His heart gave a hard jolt as a voice in his head said, ‘My sword? Suibian? Didn’t I throw it at Wen Ning for safekeeping? No, wait, I really didn’t see it with him yesterday or today…… How did it end up in Jiang Cheng’s hands?! Why is Jiang Cheng asking other people to unsheath it? Has he tried unsheathing it himself?’

Feeling high-strung, it was only after Lan WangJi gently caressed his back twice that Wei WuXian felt himself calm down a little. Jiang Cheng, meanwhile, had fallen into a gloomy silence. Jin GuangYao’s eyes were ablaze when he said, “I also heard that no one can unsheath that sword, yet you’ve somehow managed to do it. Now that’s just weird. The sword had already sealed itself thirteen years ago when I first took it into my collection. Aside from the Yiling Patriarch himself, it should be impossible for anyone to unsheath……”

Jiang Cheng launched both Zidian and Sandu in a single, combined attack as he raged, “Shut your damn mouth!”

Smiling, Jin GuangYao continued talking without a care, “Which made me remember that back in the days, Young Master Wei had truly been arrogant. He would never bring his sword anywhere with him, and each time he would find a different excuse for it. I’ve always found it very strange. Don’t you?”

Jiang Cheng roared, “What exactly are you trying to say?!”

Jin GuangYao raised his voice. “Sect Leader Jiang, you truly are exceptional. The youngest sect leader alive, single-handedly rebuilding the Yunmeng Jiang Sect from scratch. I truly admire you. But from my memories, weren’t you always second place next to Mister Wei WuXian in terms of everything? Would you kindly enlighten me on how you’ve managed to reverse your positions after the Sunshot Campaign? Did you take some miracle elixir for your golden core[4]?!”

Jin GuangYao punctuated the words “golden core” harsh and clear. Meanwhile, Jiang Cheng’s facial features were ready to scramble themselves over. A dangerous flare of white light sizzled from Zidian. With his mind entrenched in utter chaos, an opening appeared in his movements.

The opening was exactly what Jin GuangYao had been waiting for. He flung out the qin string that he’d been hiding for a while now. Immediately, Jiang Cheng’s full attention snapped back to block them. As Zidian and the qin string entangled, Jin GuangYao felt the shock of the weapon numbing his palm and dropped the string immediately. And then, with a light chuckle, he flung out another qin string with his other hand and aimed straight for Wei WuXian!

Jiang Cheng’s pupil contracted to a fine point as he immediately redirected Zidian to block the other string. Yet, Jin Ling screamed, “Uncle, watch out!”

In the span of a second, Jin GuangYao had already taken out the sword wrapped by his waist and stabbed right at Jiang Cheng’s heart!

Ashen-faced, Jiang Cheng clutched at his chest. Blood oozed out between his fingers, dyeing the robes over his chest into a shade of purple so dark that it was almost black. After blocking the string, Zidian had reverted back into a ring on his finger. Spiritual weapons always returned to their least energy draining state when their owner was losing too much blood or gravely injured. Taking this opportunity, Jin GuangYao walked up to Jiang Cheng and sealed his cultivation with two strokes. Retrieving a handkerchief from within his sleeve, Jin GuangYao wiped his soft sword clean before wrapping it back around his waist.

Jin Ling was already by Jiang Cheng’s side, supporting him. Lan XiChen sighed, “Don’t move around too much. Help him sit down slowly.”

Footnotes:

[1]: Nanping: 难平, Su She’s sword, literally means “hard to find peace” in the sense of “having difficulty in achieving satisfaction over something”, “finding things to be not enough”.

[2]: shi-xiong: 师兄, “older brother who studied under the same master/teacher/sect”.

[3]: shi-di: 师弟, “younger brother who studied under the same master/teacher/sect”.

[4]: Miracle elixir for your golden core: 金丹妙药, broadly means “miracle elixir” or “wonder drug”, already contains the words 金丹 “golden core” as part of its name. So in the original, Jin GuangYao wasn’t putting as much stress on the words “golden core” as it sounds in the translation, but was only dropping/hinting at them indirectly.

#魔道祖师 #mdzs #mo dao zu shi #grandmaster of demonic cultivation #novel translation #my translation

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makingnewenemies · 6 years

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Hi Hi Hi. Here is a little blurb I wrote off the top of my head about all my friends on this year’s Group Picture Vol. 8. I love them all. I love their songs. And I love that we still keep up this stupid tradition; and somehow the comp keeps getting better and better. Thanks everyone! Merry Christmas / Happy Holidays :) - walt

Sour Guy - All Those Plans Were Wrong

Last summer Kris Schobert (Sour Guy, Walter Etc. / Mitty core member, Ernie…) was admitted to the hospital… and then again… and then again…. I think he spent like a month total in the hospital. It was not chill. But when he got out, the whole experience gave him a bit of clarity and new perspective on his life and the decisions he has made thus far. I won’t speak any further for him, but Kris… hey, nice song! And your quality home recording production and continuation of the WMAHMO slop sound doesn’t not go unnoticed! This song made me tear up in a coffee shop the first time I heard it.

Slaughter Beach, Dog - Big Band

Slaughter Beach, Dog are randomly GP staples by now but also one of my favorite bands and greatest friends. This song is a bit of a sound change for them, swapping mid tempo soft rock John K Sampson vibes for a theatrical late 60’s / 70’s sound that is a bit more light hearted than normal and I LOVE IT. It’s catchy, it makes me laugh, yet its so true. Glad to have these boys back this year.

Teal & Jer - Alphabet

Portland’s dreamiest duo Teal & Jer (Chain, Riled, Loose, lots of projects) bring a quirky alt edge to our otherwise bland and boring comp. Without them, we’d just be us. I personally would like to hear more Teal solo work??? Teal???

Milk Flud - Rodeo

If you don’t fuck with Milk Flud then you can get out.

Chase Hoyt - Health

Chase Hoyt (Ubu Roi, Feed, Chaz and the Minions of Chaz, The Rodeo…) is a GP fixture by now, and important asset to MNE because it’s his classic rock sensibilities that balance out the overload of folk / indie rock that we swim in. This song not only has a comically true message (health is the most important, i agree Chase) but the vibe, especially the chorus, has my head bobbing and me feeling like I’m on a grassy hillside at an outdoor concert in the 70’s, but also one glass of wine deep making homemade pizzas at an Air BNB with a girl I love, and that is a nice combo of feelings. “Let’s wrap it up / I’ve embarrassed us all enough”

Dry Goods - Learnt Nothing

You hear that flawless acoustic finger picking? That masculine story telling voice that sounds somewhere between a suburban Bob Dylan and a cowboy singing to the emptiness of the high desert? Yup, its Russell Park AKA Dry Goods and FKA Weston Bookhouse coming at us with another folk masterpiece, but this year adding in some new elements we aren’t quite used to- namely some cruisey guitar solos! Rumor has it Dry Goods is in the studio recording a new album right now and I would not be bummed out if this song were on it.

Byronius Punk - Beautiful Things

I just spent 3 weeks with Byronius Punk (Ian Farmer of Slaugher Beach, Dog / Modern Baseball) at his studio The Metal Shop in Philadelphia making a record with his beautiful mind and his new drum machine- so this song really hits home for me. I could write an essay on why this is the perfect Group Picture song- my three main points being - 1. It is a song about the act of creating. (“in everything that exists there lies a certain beauty / I want the world to know how much it all means to me”) which is exactly what Group Picture aims to celebrate. 2. It’s a song written and performed by someone who is usually more in the background of his bands (bassist / backup vox / recording engineer) but here has a platform to express his own individual style and skills, which is exactly what Group Picture wants to promote. 3. It has a Milk Flud name drop, which is a classic and classy GP / MNE move. Thank you Ian. You rule.

Dante Elephante - It Bothers Me

Dante Elephante are Santa Barbara legends and their new album “Rare Attractions” shows them evolving their sound into more loungey and ethereal territory. I am so glad they have joined GP this year, because I see singer / songwriter Ruben almost every weekend when he DJ’s at The Tavern in Ventura and I drunkenly annoy him / vaguely fan boy out on him. Dante being on Group Picture is a sign that our friendship extends beyond Saturday nights at the Tavern. Also their album vibes hard. Check out Rare Attractions on Spotify.

Peanut Butter Cups - Highest Quality

Petition for Aaron Kovacs (Peanut Butter cups, Lauren Records CEO, Winter Break and Summer Vacation drummer) to finally put out a full album? This catchy lo-fi pop rock is undeniably infectious. Fun fact: I’ve been hanging with this boy for almost 10 years and I’ve never heard him sing, but then he sends me these recordings and I’m like wtf your voice is so cool! If he makes a full album, MNE will put out the LP and still give him 100% of the digital income. That is how much I like Aaron’s style.

Anika Pyle - Young Love

I once wrote a song with the lyric “I’ll probably see her on tour but she won’t be on Group Picture this year.” I’m so glad I was wrong. Welcome to GP Anika Pyle! Anika (Katie Ellen, Chumped) plays raw emotional pop rock songs and this gem “Young Love” is just the tip of the iceberg. When her vocals max out at the end of the tune and you get a little bit of musical goosebumps, that is the feeling you get for a full 30 minutes of watching her play live. Anika, please come in and stay for a while!

Walter Etc. - This Would Only Happen to Me

Ok ok enough of the soft emotional bullshit. Here’s a song about someone coming to kill me! It’s 100% true. If you’re reading this, help!!!

Jake Lee - Good Run

Jake Lee (Bleeding Gums Murphy) strikes again with a lo-fi indie gem in which we hear Jake Lee reflect on his gaime from last year. Sounds like he made some interesting choices and is coming to terms with them? Or did I miss the mark, Jake? He is and always will be one of my favorite songwriters and his voice in this fuzz effect is not a bad look, I have to admit. The only way my life would be better is if Jake made a full album. Cheers homie.

Babytooth - State Quarters, OR

Technically, this is Babytooth’s official debut on Group Picture, but Portland, OR singer / songwriter Isabel Zacharias had a song on the comp last year that blew me away. It was her vocals and lyrics that hooked me then, and are still yanking me now. Now backed by a full band that gives dynamic range to her songs, it was still that first line “now you know you want a girl without a phone” that had me nodding “yup i love this”. Fingers crossed for Babytooth to become a GP staple.

Trashbike - Weasel

Trashbike is Bread (Blowout, Walter etc., Donkey Lips) and his homie Ru playing the pedals. He told me he wrote this song while stumbling home from the Bye and Bye. Bread is like a sexy emo prince, can’t you hear it? This song rules and I really hope Trashbike is more than just a one and done GP band. I would listen to a few albums of soft songs like this, wouldn’t you?

Banned From Japan - Vegan X

Welcome back to the Socal Valley punk rockers Banned From Japan! If you know that singer / songwriter Matthew Earle has been sober for a few years, this song is hilarious, simultaneously poking fun at vegan straight-edge and himself. The music rips and his vocals are catchy af. Fat Wrecks Chords come and sign Banned From Japan asap!

Walter X - Winter Shy

Ok. This is a bit meta. Walter X (Michael Mahaffie and his WMAHMO / Walter Etc. hardcore chip tune cover project) covers an old Walter GP song as his own GP song. Pretty niche MNE content! This song, in this Lifetime-esque style, his vocals so clear but so gruff, those guitar harmonies, the creative intro and chip-tuney bridge…. this literally gives me chills and is so much better than the original. I encourage anyone reading this to go check out his own original music under the name Jump Cut. It sounds just like this but with Michael’s own songs, shedding the limitations of the musical simpleton Walter songs. Also, check out the full Walter X album on Spotify! What a talented dude…

Curling - Genkai Trip

Curling released their MNE album “Definitely Band” this year and the musical arrangements / song structures absolutely floored me. Genkai Trip is a song that got left off the album, but lives on through GP! Singer / guitarist Bernie Gelman noted “There's some pretty wacky guitar overdubs where Jojo and I each doubled some guitar parts while the other person was playing with the trem on the guitar, so you get this really weird detuning effect.” and yup that is Curling in a nutshell for you. Always excited to play around with gear and recording techniques that are way beyond my level. I think this is an extremely underrated band and highly encourage the world to check out Definitely Band on spotify!

Ali Muhareb - DIY Hell

Ali? What the hell did you even make this song? It’s intriguing in the verses and then when the chorus busts out it sounds like if Dough Martsch were an up and coming artist in Portland in 2018. I actually had to text Ali to ask what these guitar sounds were and, if anyone is interested, he responded, “I compressed two guitars together through a virtual amp. And they’re both running through this sick pedal I got called the Data Corrupter.” For sure Ali! Thanks for a bad ass tune.

Dakota Loesch - Don’t Solve My Mysteries

I’ve been listening to a lot of Dakota’s music (solo, Animal City, Lemp Lungs) recently. I keep coming back to it, and its not a mystery. After hundreds of songs in his pocket, songs like “Don’t Solve My Mysteries” still sound musically and lyrically fresh, like Dakota has never had writer’s block in his life. When I listen to his music, I feel like it vicariously breaks down my own creative barriers. For instance when I first heard this song and he dropped the hook “just don’t solve all mysterious” I had that knee-jerk urge to ditch what I was doing and go write a poem or something. His will to create is just that contagious. Combine that with the Casio-keyboard bedroom drum machine vibe that I love so much about his songs like “The Basmati Rice” and you have a 10/10 GP banger.

Jerbear - Nowhere Girl

Jerbear is Jeremy Murphy (Teal & Jer, Riled, so many) and he is the king of a few things: weird bad guitar tones, asymmetrical organic song structures, rad lyrics that I never understand, and a voice that is universally loved. He stole my heart with Cranberries in the Cosmos on a previous GP, but I think Nowhere Girl takes the cake. Jer- when do we get the full solo album? Please don’t fall into the category of GP lost wonders. You’re not too shabby at this music thing!

Hemingway - Catch My Cool

Catch My Cool is a B-side from Hemingway’s You Will Never Be Happy.

I played drums in Hemingway at this time and I always vibed that Benny didn’t really like the way this song came out int he studio. I don’t get why? That vocal melody, soft sad and surfy guitar leads… it makes me wanna hold hands with a girl on Christmas Eve while walking down some bougie street looking at Christmas Lights. It sounds like a Starflyer 59 worship track and I love it for that. Benny, you made a mistake. This song should have made the album.

Alex Maddox - The Hypocrit’s Dilemma

I’ve heard Alex play this song when we get together to jam, and he always laughs it off as a Walter Mitty rip off song. But honestly, this is what I wish WMAHMO would write about if we made a folk punk record today. If you listen to this song knowing that Alex Maddox was a guy who quit his high paying job to travel Europe in his van, surfing and skating and working on farms, the lyrics to this song are way more wanna-be Walter Mitty. The song depicts a transformation in his paradigm and is completely raw, authentic, and sincere. Alex inspires me to chase a wholesome life that is designed for and by myself, rather than the obvious and sterile template that is provided for us, and this song exemplifies that 1000%.

Uncle Uncle - Nira (I’m Alive)

We played with Uncle Uncle last year in Santa Barbara and I honestly think we should have opened for them. They are actually a good band, both live and recorded. Stylish, friendly, and comically laid back- they might be the quintessential Santa Barbara band. A semi-new band, Uncle Uncle is gaining momentum quickly, and I won’t be surprised when the day comes that Kevin and Dom big time me on State st. Til then, I’m just glad I get to claim that they were on a Group Picture.

Humphrey Orlando - Set U Free

Ah, Humphrey. No, Humphrey accompanied by Toast. Two legends as old as MNE itself. What is there to say? I could listen to their wandering ballads til I fall into the Big Sleep, and still the melodies linger on…

#group picture #group picture volume 8 #making new enemies

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anoutlandishfanfic · 7 years

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Metamorphosis Chapter 14: Jet Black, Part TWO

The Premise: What if Claire had conceived on her wedding night?

You can find Ch 14 Pt ONE here or you can find all previous chapters here.

October 20th, 1743

Numb.

I felt so incredibly numb as we rode hard, putting as much distance between us and Cranesmuir as we possibly could. The motion of the horse and Jamie’s arm around me did nothing to penetrate the transient weightlessness that had me adrift on an open sea. Nothing could reach me, could bring me back from the black abyss that ensnared me. My back and hip were silent, the pain unregistered as I moved in sync with Jamie atop Donas. I almost wished I could feel it and have some sort of anchor that would bring me back down to reality.

But, did I really want to come back to reality? Back to a world without fair trial, one that burned people at the stake for a crime that could neither be proved nor disproved? A lifetime without the two innocent lives that had once flourished within me?

No.

I didn’t want to come back.

I closed my eyes, letting the tide take me where it would and finally succumbing to the pull of shock and grief.

…

Claire.

Something solid and unmoving was beneath me as my awareness slowly returned to me. It’s damp chill seeped through my skirts as my name echoed in my ears.

Claire.

Each reverberation gained intensity as it traveled down my spine, settling into my hips. It pulsated through my bones and took a firm hold of my lower back. An angry heat accompanied the sensation as it spread across my shoulder blades, melting the wall of ice that had, until now, kept me separated from my blinding pain.

Claire.

I shook my head, fighting consciousness, but the voice - Jamie’s voice - only grew louder, his magnetic pull guiding me to the surface. His hands were on my face, his breath warm on my cheeks. I could feel him, taste him, but I remained in the dark, alone.

Jamie.

My lips refused to move and I tried again.

Jamie.

“Aye, Sassenach,” he sighed in relief, his face still hidden from view, “I’ve got ye.”

My hands trembled as they felt along to find his face. His cheeks were chilled from the wind, but the creases of his eyes betrayed the underlying heat of turmoil as his tears fell onto my fingertips before they trailed down familiar line of his cheekbones.

“Jamie…”

He took my hands in his, kissing them both before pulling me closer, onto his lap. I rested my head on his shoulder and grabbed a fistful of his shirtfront, assuring myself that he was real, that this wasn’t another horrid dream.

“Mo chridhe?”

I blinked once, twice, and suddenly the world came into focus. The muted browns and greens of the forest separated themselves from Jamie’s jacket, the brilliance of a noonday sun above me from his pale skin.

Jamie’s hand lowered to my lap, cradling the swell of my abdomen and the floodgates opened. My tears fell in torrents and my words tumbled out of my mouth before I could stop them. I told him of my fall, of my dream, and of the surety of my impending miscarriage.

The muscles of his jaw tensed as he swallowed hard, his fingers restlessly moving against the fabric of my skirt. An intense look passed over his face, his brows furrowing in thought as he uttered a single word.

“No.”

I stared up at him. Of all the ways I thought he’d take the news, I never once imagined that he wouldn’t believe me.

“What?”

Jamie half smiled, his face regaining color at a remarkable rate while something in his eyes spoke of a confidence, an intuition that I had no explanation for.

“Have… have ye had any bleeding?”

I slowly shook my head, “but that doesn’t mean —“

“Then the bairns are safe and well,” Jamie interrupted, turning me on his lap so that he could rest both hands just over my womb, “I ken it.”

“Jamie —“

“I willna stop fighting for them - for you - until the battle is over,” his chest heaved with the emotional effort it took to make his heart known, “but ‘tisna over, mo nighean donn… no’ yet.”

Then, with the care and attention of the finest nurse, he saw to my wounds, cleansing those that were visible as well as those that lay far beneath the surface. He draped his plaid over my shoulders, careful as to not upset my raw skin, and tucked the ends snugly around me. This done, he knelt at my feet, a tentative look in his eyes.

“I said before that I wouldna ask ye things ye’d no wish to tell me… and I wouldna ask it now, but I must know, for your safety as well as mine,” he clasped my hands tightly and I could feel him tremble. “Claire, if ye’ve never been honest wi’ me before, I beg ye, be so now, for I must ken the truth.”

Jamie looked down, bringing my hands to his lips. His thumbs ran back and forth over the ridges of my fingers as he wrestled with something, an internal struggle of a sort that made me wish he’d just spit it out and have it over with. I opened my mouth to tell him so when he lifted his head.

“Are ye a witch?”

...

Back on the horses, we continued to ride hard. I paid little heed to my surroundings, but, instead, turned my focus inwards. The little flicker of hope Jamie had ignited within me had grown into a steady flame and I mentally re-examined my symptoms in a new light.

My cramping hadn’t produced any spotting or discharge of any sort. Could they’ve merely been muscle spasms and not contractions? And my hip-- the pain was now very localized to the area around my left greater trochanter, with angry offshoots if I moved wrong. Could I simply have a deep bruise, my hip’s bone structure taking the brunt of the impact?

All of these things would mend in time, if I was careful and took it easy.

This left the babies’ lack of activity, but the combination of my stress, jostling movements, and infrequent meals of the last thirty six hours was more reason enough for them to be still.

Could I ignore my doubts, push aside what medicine said could merely be a possibility?

Could I choose to trust in what I couldn’t see, have faith in what I couldn’t yet feel?

I won’t stop fighting for them until I know the battle is over.

Jamie’s words came back to me and I realized I had done just that. I’d stopped fighting for them when I let my fear for what might happen cripple me. I’d stopped fighting when I ceased to believe that they could be strong enough, that I could be strong enough.

I squeezed Jamie’s arm, which was securely wrapped around my waist, and slid my eyes shut as I leaned my head back against him, resting my other hand over them. I felt him turn his head towards me, anxious of my discomfort, I was sure, and lifted one corner of my mouth in reassurance.

Maybe all could, indeed, be well.

...

A warm, fuzzy glow surrounded me as I lay in Jamie’s arms. The sunlight streaming through the window behind him set every wispy curl on fire. He bent his head, his lips kissing mine in such a manner that I felt breathless, dizzy with passion. I melted into the downy mattress beneath me as his heat permeated my very core.

I gasped as he lifted the hem of my shift, a cool breeze raising gooseflesh on my thighs. His hands slid up my legs as his tongue flicked in and out of my navel, his thumbs massaging me, opening me. I tipped my head back against the pillows as I writhed with pleasure, encouragements tumbling from my lips.

I heard the rumble of his voice, felt his breath against my skin and reached out my hand to touch his face. My fingertips found rough, damp wool instead of smooth, bare skin and the sensation pulled me out of my dream. My head spun as I regained consciousness, desperately trying to sort figmentation from what was actually going on around me.

Or, more accurately, within me.

Grabbing a fistful of his shirtfront, I shifted myself into a better position. His lips found mine again and I nearly swallowed him whole. He laughed as I rose up to meet him, ready and willing.

“Please,” I urged.

Jamie shook his head, pleasure written all over his face. His lips hovered above mine in a smile that was just out of reach. I strained, lifting my face, begging him to kiss me. He did so in such a way that only made me burn hotter, that left me needing even more from him than his little game would allow. I groaned in frustration and arousal and moved against his hand. He eagerly responded, coaxing me closer and closer to the edge of oblivion.

“Now,” I insisted as I pulled his head down, “I need you inside me now.”

A low rumble of delight started somewhere near his toes, gaining intensity as it worked its way to his face and burst forth into a grin I could only describe as cheeky, ”No’ just yet. I want to watch ye.”

...

A new day dawned as Murtagh and Jamie readied the horses. The icy stream made my morning ablutions a bit brisk, but it was wonderful to wash the last reminders of the thieve’s hole from my skin. I heard my husband approach and turned, giving him my best attempt at smile. His proffered hand lifted me to my feet, then tucked a damp curl behind my ear.

“Ready to go home, mo nighean donn?”

Nodding, I leaned into him, needing his warmth. His arms came around me and I tipped my face up, my lips seeking his. He kissed me with a desire, a ferocity that beckoned back to our encounter just a few hours before.

“It’s what you wanted, aye? What you’ve always wanted?” His voice was lower than usual, thick with an emotion I couldn’t quite place. “To go home?”

“Yes,” I answered slowly as I studied his face, unsure where this was coming from.

Jamie’s eyes slid shut, his hands framing my face. He pressed his forehead against mine for a moment, then murmured, “Then lets go.”

…

“Is this the place?” he asked, hesitating just outside the circle of standing stones as he examined their positions carefully before entering.

“This is it.”

The buzz coming from the center stone was beginning to make me feel dizzy as it drew me into the windblown space between the stones. Jamie came to stand beside me as he finished his loop around the giant, cleft stone. “This one?”

“Yes,” I answered, shifting uneasily.

My heart beat erratically in my chest. It plummeted as I caught Jamie’s pale countenance out of the corner of my eye, then soared at the thought of seeing Frank again, of reuniting with the man I’d longed to be with for the last six months.

“What did ye do last time?”

“I didn’t really do anything,” I took a step forward and outstretched my hands. “There was this buzzing sound… and I just… touched the stone.”

The roar of the stones sucked me in, the walls of the world around me came crashing down in a sensation both familiar and completely foreign. It was the same sound, the same siren’s song that echoed in my ears, tugging me back to my own time… to Frank.

Suddenly, something - or someone - grabbed hold of me. A force latched onto me, jerking me into a blinding white light. I screwed my eyes shut as a pounding in my head took up residence and nausea threatened to pull my digestive organs up and out of my mouth all at once.

“Claire?”

Jamie’s voice was strangled, more frightened than I’d ever heard it. I tried to smile, to show him I was still breathing, but all I managed was a slight twitch of my lips.

“I’m alright,” I muttered.

“Are ye, then?” He pulled me up from my prostrate state, clasping me tight against his chest, “Oh, God, Claire, I thought ye were dead. Ye left… began to go somewhere… and ye had the most awful look on your face, like ye were frightened to death.”

“Claire, I’m sorry,” Jamie breathlessly apologized. My eyes were open now and I could see the shock and fear written all over his face, “I stopped ye, I shouldna have done so. I just… I wasna ready.”

Clarity slowly returned to me with each beat of my heart, my tunnel vision and focus expanding with every breath I took. The thundering in my ears lessened and the nausea faded away, leaving a lump in my throat as I realized I wasn’t ready either.

This is what I wanted, right? To go back home?

Suddenly, now that the opportunity was here, I wasn’t entirely sure.

“At least we know it still works,” I mumbled, finding words woefully inadequate.

Jamie nodded, his jaw twitching with tension as he wrestled with .

“Aye, it does,” he swallowed past a lump of his own and cast a glance of fearful loathing towards the center stone. “‘And now I must part wi’ ye… ‘tis what we’re here for, aye?” His face was pale as he brought the both of us to our feet, speaking aloud to himself as much as he was to me, “‘Tis your own time, the things ye ken, on the other side of tha’ stone. Ye’ve a home there, a place… and Frank.”

“Frank,” I echoed as his face swam before me as the blood rushed to my head, his eyes dark and smiling.

“There’s nothing for ye here, save violence and danger,” his fingers beat rapidly against his leg. “Nothing, Sassenach. Now go,” he insisted, taking a step backwards, “I’ll stay until nightfall, to see ye safe.”

I couldn’t look away as he walked to the edge of the stone circle, where he hesitated, swaying slightly before he turned and bid me, “Goodbye, Sassenach.”

I stood frozen, torn between following my heart or my head.

“Jamie.”

The word stopped him in his tracks as he moved to leave. He didn’t turn back to face me, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. His rigid stance held no sign of weakness, no lingering doubts over his actions… over his parting words to me.

Was there truly nothing here for me?

Here with the father of my children, a man I loved?

I bit back a sob and swallowed his rejection with the lump in my throat.

My voice shook as I whispered, “Goodbye.”

#outlander #Metamorphosis AU #chapter 14 #jet black #outlander fanfic

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blackpalaladin · 7 years

Text

Paths

I just finished one test. So I’m rewarding myself with something short and sweet. Another Hanzo thingy.

The first one is here. (My first interpretation of this interaction)

Something that’s been jiggling around in my brain for about a week or two.

This is Doomzo and Mchanzo. So fair warning.

{Warnings: Sexual content mentioned(Nothing explicit), voyeurism(Mentioned)}

Hanzo has always been attracted to powerful men. Not a shock, considering he’s spent his entire life under the control of powerful men.

So when Akande Ogundimu stepped through into his family's compound, a low bow at his father’s side, Hanzo knew. He knew in the way Akande watched him as they toured the main grounds, those strong arms tucked at his lower back, hands clasped. Hanzo could hear their fathers speaking quietly and he knew that an alliance would be struck between their families.

He was not aware that a marriage would be required.

He was also not adverse to it.

Akande was a generous lover, a strong presence at Hanzo’s side. He had an analytical mind that could rival Hanzo’s own. His tactical genius assisted Hanzo when his father deemed them worthy of assigning raids.

Akande visited frequently. Hanzo never visited him. Sojiro would never allow his only competent heir to leave the fortress of their home.

Hanzo was bitter, angry. He watched Genji flit around Hanamura with clouded eyes.

“Jealously is a double edged sword, Hanzo.” Akande’s fingers tip his chin up from where they lay in Hanzo’s room. The tatami doors are open and the cool wind strays across sweating flesh. Hanzo’s hair spills out across Akande’s chest, his hair tie was long gone and ripped away.

“I am not jealous.” He mutters.

Akande regards him quietly, hand sliding along Hanzo’s jawline and into his hair, “It burns within. Do not let that anger consume you.”

The kiss is soft, much softer than the sex has ever been.

His loyalty to Akande and his father shifts just slightly on his twenty second birthday. Genji drags him out of the compound, despite his protests. Akande waves him away and returns to whatever it is he was reading.

He meets the mysterious man in black at the bar. He’s young, perhaps as young as Hanzo himself. His hair is unruly and his clothing speaks of duty. There is a patch hidden in the confines of his pocket and Hanzo is part of an underground operation.They are no strangers to Overwatch’s matryoshka doll of an organization.

Blackwatch was in Hanamura.

Something thrilling erupts in the pit of Hanzo’s stomach. Rebellion at its core. Something he has longed for his entire life. That tingly sense of freedom and he wonders if this is the high that Genji’s lives on.

He takes the cowboy (‘Call me Jesse, darlin’) home with him. The man’s hands are rough and his voice rougher as he slips them up Hanzo’s clothes. His skin is alight, mouth hungry as he tastes cigars and whiskey hot like embers on his tongue.

“Are you going to share?”

Akande’s voice is a thunder of curiosity behind them. Hanzo startles, realizes where he is and who was in his room waiting for him.

Shame is the first thing to rush through him.

Arousal is the second.

He looks up at the blackwatch agent, thumbs the beard at his jawline, “You will watch.” He speaks to Akande.

Akande’s laugh is dark, promising, “Only if I get you after, my dragon.”

He takes the agent named Jesse in his bed. Hands curled in the man’s unruly hair and insides burning from the frenzy of emotion Jesse releases. His words are frantic, rushed and bleeding with promises Hanzo knows he can’t keep.

Akande watches from the sidelines, waiting.

Jesse steals a rough kiss and his eyes are almost gold in the moonlight cast through Hanzo’s bedroom. He leaves in silence, one last look at Hanzo as Akande slips into the bed with him.

Akande is a brand, an overwhelming overstimulation.

Hanzo loves it.

But he dreams of Jesse.

Years pass. Akande comes to him with news. He has been taken under by a mentor. The second line of Doomfist. It is an honor, despite the atrocious the second Doomfist has committed. He asks Hanzo opinion and they discuss it over tea.

Akande is passionate, brilliant.

Hanzo’s smile is tight. His brother’s figure passes the doorway.

“We will be unstoppable together.” Akande declares.

Hanzo returns to his betrothed, can see the ambition and promise in Akande’s gaze.

He forgets about Jesse.

He murders his brother.

Blood drips down his hands, sword at his feet. His chest is tight, too tight and there seems to be no breath in his lungs. The dragon's howl under his skin, distraught and screaming at the death of their own brother.

Hanzo flees.

He runs and runs, changing his name, his identity. He hides.

Akande’s capture spreads across the world. Contaminated by Talon. Taken down by a small team from Overwatch.

Hanzo hovers above his prison twice. He so desperately wants to see him.

Why did they stray so far from their paths?

They were supposed to rule together. They were going to be unstoppable.

But Hanzo is done with this criminal life. He roams the world, seeking redemption for the atrocity that he has committed. He mourns for his brother every day. Returns to the castle in his honor every year.

That is where he is reunited his brother once again.

His dragon is a beacon of green, a reminder of what Hanzo has done.

Genji offers forgiveness.

Hanzo can not accept that.

He cannot.

Hanzo keeps tabs on Overwatch for a month before he drops onto its doorstep. The recall brings more than he thought it would.

Including:

Jesse McCree.

Who greets Hanzo with a tip of his hat and a smile that speaks volumes of their past.

“Never thought I’d see you again, darlin’.” His voice has aged, so has the rest of him. So has Hanzo.

“Nor did I.” Hanzo mutters.

Jesse swallows, pats his legs, “How about a drink?”

Hanzo lifts an eyebrow, nods, “I would….enjoy that.”

He is with Jesse for nearly a year when the Reaper assists Akande in his prison breakout. The doomfist gauntlet has been taken. Numbani is in tatters, a frenzy of political and civilian meltdowns.

Hanzo is alone on the battlefield when Akande lands before him.

He is just as imposing as he was in his youth, more so now with the golden gauntlet covering half his chest. The white markings are new. His footsteps are silent, despite his hulking size.

Hanzo is not afraid.

“Hanzo, you should consider joining us, I think we would see eye to eye.” It is not the first thing he expected Akande to say to him after so long apart.

Hanzo wrinkles his nose, nocks an arrow, “I would have little to gain from such an arrangement. No, I will find my own path.”

Akande stops before him. He is the enemy now. Hanzo should be afraid.

His left hand cups the side of Hanzo’s face, thumb across his cheek, “You are sure?” Akande’s voice lowers, as does his head.

Hanzo thinks of Genji. Of everything he has done. The anger that burned within him when he struck his brother from the sky.

He thinks of Jesse, a warm weight at his back every night. The smell of smoke and the taste of alcohol on the balcony of the watchpoint.

“We would be unstoppable.” Akande promises, “Talon could offer you more than just your empire, Hanzo.”

Hanzo closes his eyes, “I must refuse.”

A sigh, heavy and warm against his face.

“Losing you is difficult to bear.” Akande admits quietly, “You know I do not like refusal.”

Hanzo steadies his posture, jerks out of Akande’s grip and levels an arrow at his chest, “Then you should get use to my refusal from this point on.”

Akande grins, eyes dark and molten on Hanzo’s, “Then I look forward to seeing you again on the battlefield, my dragon.” He bows swiftly and slinks away.

Hanzo lets him.

Hanzo lowers his bow. Heart racing. Sweat beading down the back of his neck.

“-anzo!”

His comm fizzes to life, he did not realize it had been compromised.

“I am here.” He replies.

A relieved string of sighs on the other end from numerous members of his team, “Where are you? What’s your status?” Soldier 76’s voice is firm and bellows over the other questions of where he is.

“I will return to the rendezvous point shortly.” Hanzo states, “And 76?”

“Yea?”

“Tell Winston that Talon is recruiting.”

#mchanzo #doomzo #my fics #megan writes

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evilrevan · 7 years

Text

Division

Post Tyranny

The air felt heavy and suffocating with the scent of bronze, the acidic tang of armor polish, and the familiar soothing smell of treated leather. Reyvanna inhaled slowly. Taking in the intoxicating scent of impending war with ease. Having taken part in the Conquest of the Tiers Reyvanna didn't mind the harsh almost biting quality of the air as it filled her lungs, and instead allowed her fingers to realign the straps of her leather gauntlets to properly wrap around her hands.

Outside to the far north, dark clouds saturated with rainwater began to recede from their year occupation over Kyros' empire. The crackling of thunder faded away until all you could hear were the gentle tones of rushing water and gentle breezes. Even the winds which had battered against the sides of houses, ripping roofs from their nailed down positions, exposing the inner workings of the home to their merciless machinations, dwindled into harmless caresses along the skin.

The Edict of Storms had finally ended. And with it, Kyros' army marched to the drums of war.

Time was no longer a luxury for the Tiers.

Dusky freckled fingers curled against the hardened leather of her gauntlets, the knuckles turning a lighter shade of brown from the tension building just under the skin. Uncertainty and fear plagued the Empress. Bound her limbs with chains of made of iron and ice- unyielding and unbreakable against even the most brutal of punishments. Stagnant air slipped between her ochre lips. The taste of brimstone and ash lingered on the tip of her tongue. A reminder of what was to come. Death.

Deft agile fingers readjusted ill-fitting straps. Pulling the leather taut against her skin until it felt like it was her skin- only thicker and able to withstand the cut of a blade or a dagger. It wouldn't stand up to fire or ice for the material would either burn or crumble under duress. In those situations, Reyvanna would rely on her ability to slip in and out of the fire, quite literally. Everything boiled down to one's own ability to survive. To kill. To skirt death. Nothing else mattered in war. Only live and stand upon the bodies of the fallen. Kill or be killed. A cruel taste of the circle of life if anything else.

Round ears twitched under a mess of long mellow brown curls, hyper-aware of footsteps inching closer to her room, one which stood in complete darkness as Reyvanna hadn't bothered to relight the scones when they ran out of oil.

"Your Imperial Majesty." The Adjudicator's voice culled the silence, demanding attention under the allure of civility and regulations.

Refusing to meet hard grey eyes Reyvanna continued to ready herself for war. Ignoring the click of the door as it creaked shut behind the enormous archon, nor the hiss of fire as a nearby sconce suddenly flared to life with the slightest hint of magic.

Despite having never witnessed the Adjudicator use magic in her lifetime, the empress was keenly aware he had the capacity to utilize it to suit his needs. It was rare. And seldom used. The smoke which normally curled from under his robes wasn't conjured from his magic. Merely a by-product of being an Archon. It reacted to his emotions. Came and went at his behest. But it wasn't magic. Not in the traditional sense.

The floorboards creaked loudly. Indicating the Archon of Justice banished the twisted clouds of inky black smoke holding him several inches off the ground, adding his already monstrous height.

Out of the corner of her eye, Reyvanna watched as the bronze gavel, which had always been glued to the Archon's hand, set aside. The symbol of justice and order rested against the wall closest to the doorway. The young Archon knew the meaning behind the gesture. Tunon was here of his own volition. Not as an archon. Not as a judge, jury, and executioner. Just simply a man.

"Reyvanna." His careful measured tone cracked a little, expressing something different underneath his normally toneless voice. Soft brown eyes rose to meet expecting steel grey eyes, silently watching as those two softened like her's. Unlike his appearance in the court, these eyes didn't hold the sharp piercing quality he viewed all petitioners. These eyes were meant for her.

Again Reyvanna could feel her fingers curl into tight fists in a fit of nervous energy. An idiot could tell why he had come to see her. Knew the reason. Knew what he'd say. And Reyvanna had tried so hard to steer clear of him if only to avoid the subject. No longer could she walk away from the elephant in the room. Not with him standing in her room, setting aside his gavel, and making it known he wouldn't move until she talked to him.

Reyvanna pressed her lips together until they formed a tight firm line. "Don't. I know why you're here," she began. Hints of stress and fear seeping into her naturally husky voice. The Huntress didn't wish to have this conversation. Genuinely didn't want her bleeding heart exposed for him to witness... to see the depth of weakness lancing through the core of her being.

A singular gloved hand rose in the air his voice dipping low, "If you know then enlightened me to the reason why." Holding his gaze Reyvanna witnessed as his eyes hardened for a fraction of a second. Brief as it was it left a very clear impression on her. He was none too pleased with current events.

"The court will need someone to keep it in check. Kyros is liable to send any or all of her spies to force it to crumble from the inside out while I engage her army." Reyvanna didn't bother mentioning who would need to be left behind to ensure chaos didn't greet her when she came back from dealing with Pox's army. It went without saying.

Still, it didn't ease the stabbing burning pain of betrayal she inflicted upon him. Even now she was keenly aware Tunon struggled with human emotions, many of which he had suppressed for centuries after deciding it was the best solution to remaining bias in the face of meting out justice. Their relationship shook the very foundation of his decision. By being in a relationship with what the public considered his master, he would be biased and therefore, unfit to properly met out justice in a cordial fair manner.

And yet, for so long, in the face of the court and public eye, he had managed to hide his emotions slowly bubbling to the surface in regards to her. In private he was different. Not unwholly different then she knew of him as a fatebinder- but there was no doubt he felt more than he had in his four-hundred years of living.

The stoic archon cracked. "The Fatebinders are well equipped to handle such matters in my stead. This you know." In this he was correct.

Reyvanna, having been a fatebinder in his service knew Rhogalus, Calio, and Nunoval were fully capable of putting a stop to any outbreaks of rebellion within the court's walls in their absence. Still.... Reyvanna's teeth worried her bottom lip.

"My decision is final, Tunon. You are to remain with the court." Reyvanna's voice rose an inch and hardened by a mile.

A spike of power shattered what precious few glasses remained on her nightstand, the telltale tendrils of hellish smoke rising above the remains as if summoned. The shattering of glass didn’t startle her. Nor the warm greys in his eyes shifting towards colder tones- angry didn’t quite encapsulate the look in his eyes.

Betrayal. Fury. Contempt.

This was the first time she invoked her authority as Empress onto him. Forcing him to obey or else undermine her authority and therefore, the court. Afterall, how could the public follow an Empress if the ones sworn to her failed to do exactly as she commanded?

From where she stood, she could clearly see the way his hands balled into fists, straining the hellishly coarse material of his gloves over the skin trapped underneath. The fabric would chafe. Rub the skin raw at times. And the Adjudicator didn’t care.

When he finally spoke it was as if frost crackled under one’s foot, “I see.” Sharp eyes narrowed in her direction. “As you command, your Imperial Majesty.”

Reyvanna flinched at the sheer cold exuding from his words, the chilling numb look in Tunon’s eyes as he mentally tried to reign in his chaotic emotions. Violent wisps of blackened smoke curled out from his feet, whipping around as trying to find a physical outlet for his seething hatred.

Wordlessly he sharply turned. His feet carrying him towards the locked door. Ignoring the nagging voice in her head to leave him be, to let him soak in his anger- to distract him from the possibilites of her falling in battle, she took one step towards him. Then another. And another. Automatically her hand shot out towards him, her exposed fingers grasping the coarse linens of his sleeve. The contrasting color of purple and black stripes lingered in her head as she tried to tear him away from the door and closer to her, deep in her room where anything they said or did would remain hidden from prying eyes.

The masked Archon of Justice provided some resistance in being pulled away, anger rolling off him in waves. When he was far enough to satisfy Reyvanna’s desire to keep him from running, she let go of his sleeve- grasping the front of his robes. The action alone surprised the older Archon as it took only one swift tug for him to be forced to bend at the knees, his head now level with that of Reyvanna’s.

Guilt twisted in her brown eyes as she stared at him. While she wanted to come back alive after the war, there was a slim chance that might not happen. If that was the case, she didn’t want this to be the last conversation they had.

“Tunon...” She paused for only a moment to collect herself. Banishing the need to let her eyes water as the thought of being unable to see him again crossed her mind. “Your life matters more to me than anyone else’s.” Part of her didn’t recognize the soft undertones in her words. The way her voice wavered ever so slightly.

Tunon did. Despite being held down by her he managed to shift a little into a more comfortable posture, their height differences making many things an issue in how they could interact. The frigid sheet of ice lining over his steel grey eyes lightened up slightly. His facial expression hidden behind his stark white mask known to all.

Seconds trickled through their fingers as silence infected the air they breathed. Both struggling with their own demons in the face of Kyros’ army advancing upon the Tiers. Tunon knew of Pox’ prowess due to personal experience. Reyvanna, as Empress, needed to be on the frontlines in order to make a show of force. Shrinking from the challenge would send a message to all she wasn’t fit to rule and weaker in comparison to the overlord.

This was a no-win situation. And nestled at the core of it was: fear. Jagged claws tore apart her insides as the heinous emotion claimed her dreams in the night. Losing him... it would break her. Perhaps she’d lose her mind like Kyros. Or lose all hope. Neither was an acceptable outcome.

Tunon was the first to break the silence, “My life means little. Without you, this campaign would fail.” The logical, methodical tone sinking into his baritone voice stung. Skin the color of freshly wet dirt began to turn ashen from the strain, her fingers gripping the front of his robe even tighter.

For once, Reyvanna looked away from the Archon. “As an Archon or as you are, Tunon?” The Adjudicator would know what she meant. What she was asking of him here and now.

The answer became clear when a scratchy glove rested over the hand holding him in place. “As I am.”

There wasn’t anything else to say. Nothing. All Reyvanna could process was her head inching towards his, her lips pressed against the cool metal of his mask. It felt like ice against her lips. Cold and cruel. Tunon wouldn’t be able to feel it. But the action alone meant more than physical contact.

Or it would have. A singular hand on her chest pushed her by gently, the hand which had rested over her own rose upwards towards the mask she had been pushed from.

It snaked behind the hood Tunon wore over his head. A sharp click rang echoed in the spacious room. Two more clicks and the very hand which had been inside his hood moved to the bottom of his iron mask.

Slowly it rose enough to expose the pale skin of his face to Reyvanna’s eyes. Thin sharp lips were revealed before the mask stopped inching upwards. And then...

A familiar taste of pungent tea leaves and smoke claimed her mouth as the warmth chased away the cruel bite of metal lingering on her lips.

Everything fell into disarray in that moment. Her arms wrapped around his neck, drawing him closer despite the protest his back might be giving him over enduring this position for so long. To them, this was worth it.

The pain. The hopelessness. The anguish.

All of it drained from their bodies. The calm before the storm claiming them before running straight into the eye of the storm.

Minutes passed. Both Archon savoring what time they had left. There was no time to discard clothing and delve into something akin to base desires. Pox’s army wouldn’t wait for them to properly sate their desire to imprint one another’s naked bodies in their head, should anything go awry.

Bitterly Reyvanna pulled away first. Noting the feeling of Tunon’s free arm wrapped around her back. She hadn’t felt it press her right up against him. Their warmth fueling one another like a fire feeding off wood.

Hands resumed their proper places. Tunon’s darting back to properly afix his mask back against his face. Even if he no longer worked for Kyros’ as her vassal, he still clung tightly to remaining masked to everyone. Everyone but her, that was.

In the wake of current events, they resumed their facades. Empress and vassal. Master and servant.

It was all a lie. In reality, they were more of equals. But for the sake of the court, they acted as if there was nothing between them save the difference in power.

“The Court will await your return, Reyvanna.” Stoic and emotionless rang within his deep voice. But Reyvanna knew better. It was his way of saying ‘becareful and come back alive’.

Fondness flickered across her features for but a moment, dropping the immovable mask of the Empress. “I don’t plan on dying, Tunon.” A fang filled smirk graced her lips, a light teasing dripping into her voice. And then, the look of endearment melted from her features as quickly as it appeared. It didn’t reach her eyes, however. The warmth of love and adoration strong in the deep almost honey colored eyes of her’s. The change from the deep dark brown bordering on black to a honeyed color caused the older archon to still in place.

He knew what it meant. And yet, his tongue stayed fast within his mouth. Now was not the time to mention the shift. The telltale sign of an archon truly coming into power.

“I love you.” The words flew out of Reyvanna’s lips faster than she meant them to. A pained sympathetic look crossed her face before finally, she turned her back to the Archon of justice, unlatched the door, and delved straight into hell itself.

Deep within his very being a sense of dread washed over him. Fear, a common feeling in all his years, took root. His hands clenched into tightly formed balls as he was forced to remain behind. Tunon understood the reasoning. Part of him wish he didn’t.

But he did. “Return alive.” Smoke drifted out the door as the Archon set off to prepare for the Empress’ absence.

#Tyranny game #tunon the adjudicator #Reyvanna viper #Tunon/Fatebinder #Fatebinder/Tunon #established relationship #Fatebinder #I FINALLY FINISHED THIS!#WHOOOOO #Angst #Pox #Kyros

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taichoushadow · 7 years

Text

Bts reacts to you comforting them

A/N: Gosh that sounds so cute though hahaha. I think everyone would immediately feel better once they felt something rubbing on their cheek. I would totally laugh out of cuteness. I’m not really known with the measurement inches so I wouldn’t really know how tall you are but I assume you’re not that tall if you say so :p. Anyways I hope this is something you had in mind and enjoy reading. and thank you for liking my blog. I’m doing my best to keep it that way plus that I enjoy writing eventhough I need some more practice.

Thank you for requesting! Stay healthy!

Seokjin

The chatter immediately filled the air as you opened the door to the dressing room of the boys. Seokjin had texted you if you wanted to come and of course you had replied with an excited yes with lots of smiley and kissy faces and jumped in your car heading to the venue.

Your eyes roamed around the room but you could not find the person you were looking for. Closing the door behind you, you walked over to Taehyung who was playing some games on his phone and asked him where Jin was. He answered you that he was standing in the corner behind the rack of clothes. Raising an eyebrow in confusion you made your way over to him and pushed the rack aside and saw him staring at his shoes, nervously fumbling with the hem of his shirt. Once he noticed he wasn’t ‘hidden’ anymore, he looked up. The sudden hug you got yanked in startled you a bit, but quickly composed yourself and returned the embrace.

Seokjin spilled everything that was bothering him, tightening his hold on you. ‘’Seokjin look at me.’’ you whispered, lifting your head to look at him. Just as you could see his face clearly, you tucked him down with one hand holding his neck and pushed your cheek against his and began to rub. At first he would look baffled but soon after a loud laugh could be heard through the room. Satisfied with the outcome you pulled back but he pushed you back asking you to continue with the nuzzle.

‘‘Now, please continue with what you were doing.’‘

Yoongi

Yoongi is a perfect example of the words: a hard shell but a soft core.

You were casually sitting in the kitchen, sipping on some tea, flipping through the pages in the paper infront of you while waiting for Yoongi to come home. Taking a quick glance at the clock standing on the shelf, you quickly shot up from the chair and shuffeled towards the hall to greet your boyfriend with a smile but your smile fell once you saw the blonde man entering the house. He looked exhausted. His hair was ruffled, his lips were red and his eyes looked down and dispirited. The sight made your heart clench and before Yoongi could even utter some word you already pulled him down, burying his head against your chest, your hands rubbing circles in his back as you whispered soothing words in his hair. His hands slid against your waist and ended up on your back

Once you felt he calmed down a bit,you slowly pulled him from your chest until your noses were touching. Your hands shot to his hair, ruffling it some omore while rubbing your nose against him. A chuckle slipped from his lips, as his eyes looked deepy into yours. The tired look was still there but a new emotion filled his charming orbs and his lips were curled in a small smile. It wasn’t a big one but it was enough. The affection and love you felt for and from this rare man was so immense that you would do everything, everything just to see him comfortable, relaxed and happy.

‘‘God I don’t know what I would do without you.’’

Hoseok

Gosh, this boy worried you to no end. He wouldn’t want to see anyone that he felt stressed or sad or any negative emotion in that matter but it’s you were talking about. The one who completed his heart.

The sudden weight on your lap got you distracted from the book you were reading and when your eyes moved away from the words, they focussed on the man laying beneath you. Putting your handbook away,your hands landed in his hair, softly massaging his scalp. ‘’what’s wrong?’’ you would ask him after his deep sigh. ‘’Im so tired.’’ Hoseok replied, his eyes closing from the feeling your hands made. Nodding your head in understanding, your hands left his hair and traveled down to his shoulder, gently guiding him to lay sideways so his eyes, faced your tummy. Hoseok snuggled closer, hiding his face against your tummy, his hands holding your waist carefully.

“You don’t always have to smile Hoseok. They’ll understand if you can’t. You’re only human afterall. I mean I personally would it find a bit creepy if someone only smiles and laughs, not showing any other human emotion.’‘ you chuckled, caressing his neck while you talked. ‘‘But I understand you want to be their hope, to be their light. In here with me, between these four walls, know that you can cry and scream if you need it, okay? I want you to know that you can lean on me.’‘ you finished, looking down at the emotional drained man. ‘‘It’s okay sweety. It’s okay. I will catch you.’‘ The muffled sobs got louder when you pulled him away from your shirt. Dipping down you kissed away his tears while your fingers pushed his hair out of his face. When Hoseok calmed down and his sobs tunrned into hiccups, you sat back up, smiling down at him. His glinstening eyes focused on yours, the sight melting your heart. Dipping down once again, you rubbed your nose against his, laughing as he chuckled too.

‘‘Better?’‘ you beamed.

‘‘Better’‘ He replied smiling, shifting his weight, his lips touching yours.

Namjoon

This leader had a way with words, always making you feel better and the times when the roles were switched you did not hesitate to soothe his worries.

He was working on lyrics, his back hunched over the once blank paper now graced with inkt. The lamp standing on the corner of the desk, illuminated the room in a warm and calming light as the sound of scribbiling disturbed the silent night.

You were leaning against the door post, arms crossed over your chest, watching him writing, watching him throwing the pen on the desk, the paper feeling his frustration as it ended up crumbled on the ground. The way his head fell in his hands and the deep groan that slipped past his lips told you he was irritated.

Deciding to end his suffering, you silently walked over him. Once you were standing behind him, you glided your hands over his shoulders, down the papers on the desk to shove it away out of his sight. Namjoon’s head instantly shot up when he felt your presence behind him, his eyes following the movement of your hands.

‘‘You know, most humans are sleeping right now to let their body’s and mind rest. You can see it as a thank you for keeping you healthy.’‘ you spoke, your hands now wandering back to his chest and keeping it there. Your head was buried in the crook between his shoulders and neck. Hearing him sigh deeply, you felt him leaning back in the chair, the back of his head now touching your chest.

‘‘I know baby but those lyrics doesn’t write itself.’‘ He answered you, going against your words. ‘‘I know they don’t but don’t you think that if you’re sleep deprived that it is harder to come up with words. We all know you’re good with words but if you are well rested you can come up with something so magical, something so taking, something so heartwarming. You don’t have to work all night long. Army doesn’t want you to work all night long. Army wants to see you healthy and happy and if they know you’re siting here, pulling your hair out at 3 a.m. Oh boy they wouldn’t happy at all.’’

‘‘you’re right. I’m sorry.’‘ He looked up at you as you peeked down at him. ‘‘Now come to bed.’‘ grabbing his hand, you pulled him off the chair, dragged him to the bedroom and tucked him under the warm blankets.

Jimin

Our (not) innocent charming boy needs someone to tell him it is going to be allright and who could do it better than his own s/o.

It was awfully quiet in your apartment. Most of the times when you got home from work (or school) you could always hear where Jimin was sitting but now you weren’t sure if he even was there.

Throwing the keys on the cabinet, after you’d taken off your shoes you called his name, making your presence known. Not getting any response you bit your lip in worry. Something was not right and so you tip-toed over to the bedroom across the hall. You softly knocked on the door, opened it slighty and peeked in the room. The sight that you found, his stiffled sobs made your heart bleed. The thought that he didn’t want you to hear him crying was so immense hurtful that tears sprung in your own eyes. Shaking your head, you quickly swallowed the lump that formed in your throat, shuffeled towards the bed and laid down behind him.

With one arm draped over him, your chin resting on his head, you had pulled him closer to your chest as the other arm slid under his neck, using your arm as a pillow for him. His silent sobs instantly stopped when he felt the bed dip down under your weight.

‘‘Please Jimin. Don’t feel embarassed. It’s okay. Crying is okay. It’s good for you too. did you know that?’‘ you whispered. ‘‘It’s like cleaning your soul, emptying your heart with all those junk you don’t have to carry with you. Please don’t hide your feelings. I’m not only there for you in the sunny days. I’m here for you in the foggy days, in the rainy days and the stormy days. You know why I like rainy days so much?’‘ you stopped talking for a minute and could feel the shake of his head, so you continued. ‘‘The earthy scent after rain, smells refreshing right? It’s like the universe are telling us that we need to release our worries, so we can feel refreshed again, feel relieved. The rain that feeds the plants so they can grow taller and beautiful. Don’t ever ever think that crying is a sign of weakness. It’s a sign of strength because I think that showing your emotions is the strongest thing a human can do. Understood?’‘ you finished.

‘‘Understood.’‘ he replied in his soft voice, still a bit shaky from crying.

‘‘Good, now turn around so we can cuddle’‘ you giggled, sliding down your arm from his neck while he turned around to face you. Wiping away his last tears, you showered his face in little pecks which made him shriek out in delight, trying to push you away but you did not butch.

‘‘No Jimin, You can’t escape my kisses now’‘ you laughed fake-evilly

He looked at you with so much adoration and love, trying to understand how he got so lucky.

Taehyung

Oh no, another one who tries to smile throughout the pain. It’s heartbreaking really. Why do people do that?

Seeing Taehyung cry openly infront of you, you knew there was something completely wrong. It got you so of guard that you at first just stood there, watching how the tears roll over his cheeks, how they kissed his lips in sorrow. But the moment his broken voice called out to you, you snapped back to reality and held him in your arms.

You were speechless, unable to form those comforting needed words. You just stood there, holding him tightly while your eyes looked out of the window, focusing on the bright moon hanging in the night sky and suddenly you got it.

‘‘Taehyung? Do you think it’s okay to go outside? Are you comfortable with going outside?’‘ You knew it was weird to say something like that in this kind of situation but this was certainly going to make him feel better, so much better. Taehyung leaned back, his face no longer buried in your shirt as he looked at you and finally nodded what to you seemed like eternity.

‘‘Great! You can trust me Tae.’‘ Intertwining your fingers, you guided him out of the house and walked to your favourite spot. The pure scent of the night seemed to do Taehyung good as he already had calmed down abit. After a short walk you stopped infront of the swings, motioning Taehyung to sit. He at first, shot you a weird look but did what you told him to. Quickly jogging to stand behind him, you began to push making him go higher and higher up in the air and once you thought he was high enough, you walked back, hoping to see his face filled with joy and boy the sight that you saw caused your heart to pump faster.

The way his face was titled to the sky, the way the wind played with his hair and especially his smile that graced his face so beautifully that your breath got caught in your throat for a minute The moon casted an angelic glow around him and you just looked at him with a big smile on your face. Seeing him so care-free and free from tears and worries for awhile warmed your heart.

Taehyung tackled you to the ground after his feet touched the sand and kissed you. ‘’Woa Taehyung!’’ you laughed heartly when he pulled back but still hovered above you. ‘’Thank you y/n. Thank you so much. I didn’t know I needed this but I’m glad you brought me here. I feel so alive again. You did not even have to say anything. you just know how to comfort me. I love you.’’

‘‘I love you too Tae.’‘ You confessed, lifting your head up a little so you could give him your eskimo kiss.

Jungkook

Standing in the kitchen, you were busy cooking dinner for Kookie and you. He was about to get home and you wanted that he could dive in the food you made since he would be hungry after practicing all day long.

Just as you were about to set the food on the table, you suddenly felt two arms around your waist and someone breathing down your neck. Gosh this boy really. Always sneaking up on you. Scoffing, you wanted to turn around but he quickly tightened his hold on you making it impossible for you to turn.

‘‘Uhm Jungkook... is something wrong?’‘ you asked him worried, clasping your hands around his. You got no answer, alarm bells instantly going off. ‘‘Jungkook please... what’s going on? Are you tired is that it?’’ You asked once again still facing the kitchen tiles, already knowing it wasn’t just tiredness

‘’Just... just let’s stay like this for awhile okay?’’ He finally said something although you could detect some pain in his voice you did not aks him further. ‘’If that’s what you want.’’ you hummed. You knew him well enough not to ask to many questions in this situation. He prefered the physical comfort more since he wouldn’t have to say anything and just bask in your presence but he knew that you were going to ask questions later and he was okay with that but for know he just needed to feel your warmth.

‘‘This is all very nice and all but.. Can I see you? I want to see my lovely boyfriend.’‘ you spoke up after a while.

Chuckling, he turned you around, your back leaning against the kitchen counter as you finally could see his face. The look in his eyes told you everything. Shooting him a tiny smile, your hands circled around his neck.

‘‘Kooks?’‘

He hummed, smiling down at you. ‘’Can you like, bend down a bit?’’ you told him more than asking. ‘’Why?’’

‘‘Because I want to do something but you’re too tall.’‘ you whined, sending some pressure to his neck. ‘’Fine.’’ Jungkook laughed and bend down now facing you at the same height. Before he could you ask why again, you were already rubbing his cheek with yours, your hands still holding onto his neck tightly so he couldn’t break away so easily.

‘‘Gosh y/n!’‘ His delightful laugh hugged your heart and a laugh escaped your lips aswell. ‘‘No Kooks, no. Let me!’‘ you jokinly wailed when you felt he wanted to break away. ‘‘But the food is getting cold!’‘

‘‘Oh shit!’‘ you totally forgot about the food. Pushing him away, you snatched the pans from the stove and jogged to the table. ‘‘Don’t think you get off so easily though!’‘ you giggled back at him.

#bts reacts #bts reactions #bts #jeon jungkook #jung hoseok #kim namjoon #kim seokjin #min yoongi #park jimin #kim taehyung #bangtan #bangtan sonyeondan

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