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casspurrjoybell-25 · 4 months ago

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Cold as Ice - Chapter 39 - Part 2

*Warning - Adult Content*

Landon Reilly

"Now where have you been?" James asked him in a teasing tone.

"We have a guest here who has been waiting for you."

Wren looked up from the floor and his eyes landed on me.

"Oh, hello," he said, shutting the door behind him.

I stood up from the desk chair but I didn't move toward him.

He seemed more closed off than usual and he was clearly unprepared for me to be here waiting for him.

I didn't want him to feel ambushed but I needed to see him, to talk to him even if I was nervous about what the outcome would be.

For all I knew, Wren could tell me he wanted nothing to do with me.

He could, and probably would, deny what Fox had told me about him to save his pride and to keep me in the dark.

He was never one to open up.

"Well, I'm going to head out," James said, giving me a look.

"I'll see you guys later."

Wren stepped aside to let James out but he didn't come any closer to me.

The two of us stood in silence for a few moments until Wren finally spoke up.

"What happened to your face?" he asked, his eyes catching on my bruise.

"We can talk about that after," I said, starting toward him.

"Wren, I..." my breath caught for a moment.

I was so caught up in trying to get to him, I didn't think about what I was going to say.

What could I say, really?

'Sorry for pushing you away and causing you to be depressed, please take me back?'

That was stupid.

He was looking at me expectantly, waiting for the rest of my sentence.

"I... um... I talked to Fox while I was in Boston," I finished.

Wren looked shocked and it was a look that I had never seen on him before.

He was always good at hiding his surprise, though that could have been because not much surprised him.

"Did he hit you?" Wren asked in a low voice, his eyes narrowed and his hands in fists at his sides.

"No, we just talked and with Elijah as well," I assured him.

"Fox said something about Stella and James reaching out to him."

Wren rolled his eyes and came closer to me, setting his bag down beside mine under the bed.

"They were just being dramatic and so was he," Wren said.

He was a liar.

I could tell he was acting strange.

He could barely look at me when he usually had no problem with eye contact and giving me his full attention.

His expression was strange like he was focusing too hard on keeping it neutral.

"Look, I want to... I want to talk about us," I said, stuttering a bit.

I had no idea how to say what needed to be said, to make him want me back.

Wren was always better at talking and he wasn't saying much.

"Us? What about us?" he asked.

"Well, I guess I wanna say I'm sorry for the way I reacted to what went down over Thanksgiving weekend," I started.

"For pushing you away and for avoiding you."

He just stared at me, saying nothing.

"I guess just a lot goes on in my head and it's so overwhelming sometimes," I continued, running my hand through my hair nervously.

"I didn't want to cause shit between you and your family because you actually have a family that gives a shit about you. It just made me feel bad thinking about it. I felt like I wasn't good for you, I didn't know if you were actually serious about me."

I was laying it all out there and he was saying nothing.

It made my nerves overbearing.

"Can you say something?" I asked, breathless. "Please."

"I suppose that's my fault," Wren finally said.

"No, it's not."

"Yes, it is," he interjected.

"I made you feel that way. I made you feel insecure when I should have been clearer about my feelings."

It shocked me that he was admitting fault for this.

"I heard you tell Elijah we weren't serious," I said.

I wanted him to know that I'd heard.

"I was lying," Wren admitted.

"Sometimes lies are easier than the truth. They're easier to grapple with, they make you feel like you're actually in control of a situation even when you're not."

"Yeah," I agreed.

I could understand that.

"But you mustn't apologize for the way you reacted," Wren said, finally looking at me with a soft gaze, with affection.

"I was never angry at you for that."

"But you were upset," I replied.

I had heard that he was more than upset, that he was heartbroken.

He shrugged.

"I suppose I was. It seems you have taken a spot in my heart and I was wholly unprepared for you leaving me."

It seemed I was always caught between wanting to strangle him and wanting to hold him.

He was always so infuriating, speaking in a way like he was trying to confuse me or speak around the subject so that he wouldn't have to say exactly the way he was feeling but this wasn't confusing and I knew what he meant.

Wren cared for me more than he ever wanted to and me leaving him affected him more than he cared to admit.

"Landon," Wren said, my name melodic coming from his voice.

"When you said you're not good enough for me or for anyone, that you're still the same person you were before, I need you to know that's not true."

My mouth opened in disbelief at his words.

I didn't know what I expected him to say but it wasn't that.

"You are gentle and kind and sensitive," he continued, my shock increasing at every word.

"You don't need to be alone to punish yourself."

Tears welled in my eyes before I could stop them.

No one had ever said anything like this to me and I never expected it from Wren.

It was overwhelming to hear.

I felt like I was undeserving of his words, like they were lies he was trying to sell to me but he looked so serious and sincere as he said them.

Wren came over to me as my tears were about to fall and caught them with his thumbs under my eyes.

We looked into each other's eyes for a moment, soaking each other in.

There was so much said between us with no words exchanged.

Most of it being 'I'm sorry. Forgive me. I want you. I need you.'

Then I threw my arms around Wren and hugged him close to me.

It took him a moment to respond but he wrapped his arms around me and tightened them to hold me close.

I rested my head on his shoulder.

He leaned his head against mine and the two of us stood there in each other's embrace for an indeterminate amount of time.

The two of us had never hugged like this.

I didn't even know if the two of us had hugged ever but I wished we had.

I felt warm and cared for in his embrace.

It felt like we were perfectly shaped for each other to hold.

Wren pulled back slightly, keeping his arms around me.

I picked my head up to look at him, and he stared at the bruise on my face with a hard expression.

He brought his hand up to my face and I flinched away.

"Let me look at it," he said softly, his touch light as a feather on my injured skin.

"Are you going to tell me how this happened?"

"One of my teammates came at me in the locker room on Saturday," I told him.

His eyes narrowed, his mouth turned down in a frown.

"Who?"

"Just some asshole. It's fine."

"It's not fine and I asked who?"

I sighed.

"Do you remember that guy we saw outside the coffee shop one day?"

Wren nodded.

"The same one I saw with you at the bar who left you there."

I barely even remembered that but Wren had a sharp memory.

Of course, he would remember something like that.

"Why did he do this?"

"He has it out for me. A while back I saw him one night when he was leaving a party, totally drunk off his ass and he came onto me, actually kissed me and now I guess he's all worried I'm going to out him to everyone, so he's been telling the whole team that I kissed him. He's just trying to look all tough in front of the team."

Wren's frown deepened, the hand not touching my face tightly gripped the back of my shirt.

"So, are we... are we good?" I asked him, starting to feel self-conscious.

"Do you mean 'are we good' as in are we back together?" he asked.

"Um... yeah... I guess."

"That's what I would like," Wren replied.

"Okay, that's what I would like too."

"Well, that's settled then," Wren said and then he kissed me and at that moment, kissing him felt as essential, as breathing.

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husbandohunter · 3 years ago

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Dear Father [Genshin Impact/Diluc x Reader]

Synopsis: Wherever you are wherever you may be, even if you are beyond my reach, I only wish to see you again. -from a letter lost in the wind.

(A story where you and Diluc somehow managed to meet Crepus)

Genre: all fluff

"I know how late I am to father's day but here's my father's day take on Genshin Impact! Just let Diluc be happy for once T_T Mihoyo pls."

============================

Discovering Master Crepus' old belongings was like wandering in a domain surrounded by ancient artifacts. Each piece holding the memory of someone you've never met.

The paintings. Master Crepus loved to paint. Typically birds were the main muse of this portraits since they deeply embodied Mondstadt's values for freedom which shows you how much he cherished this city just like his son did. In almost every hallway you walked through there was a collection of his paintings, some belonged to another artist but the majority was an original work. Diluc didn't have the heart to sell them.

Elzer. He was one of the oldest workers who served under the Ragnvindr name, ever since Master Crepus had appointed him during his earlier days. You were told that he treated everyone, both staff and noble, with equal respect. Almost all the denizens of Mondstadt knew this man for he was not only noble in riches but also in the soul.

"I'm sure he would have loved to meet you in person. Now that I think about it, you and Master Crepus are quite similar. Haha, it seems that Master Diluc was selective in terms of who he wanted for his future bride."

Elzer adds with a light chuckle but the statement only made you more curious. A man who affected the lives of so many others, he must have been a wonderful person.

Diluc. The bloodline Master Crepus left behind after his death, a piece of himself and the heir to the whole wine industry, his son Diluc. Although you could see the resemblance in appearance, both of them were men of prinicples and values, putting Mondstadt first before anything else and you suddenly realized if that was the reason why Diluc was so protective of this city. As if, it were everything he had? You could tell he loved Master Crepus very much, not because he said so, rather the painful expression buried deep within his crimson glare whenever someone brought up the topic. Diluc was skilled in hiding himself, it's something he practiced over the years of working alone, though he lowered his guard as long as you were the only one present.

Even so, he had many conflicts still wringing him internally and you didn't want to push him until the day he felt ready to personally tell you himself.

But it would be nice if he opened up, just a little bit.

There were times when you would worry since Diluc had the tendency to hide his feelings for the sake of not troubling you. He wanted to keep life simple and bright, bringing the best to the table while making sure that you lived safely out of harm's way. You couldn't seem to get him to understand that as lovers, you would be happy to help him, in anything. Unconditionally. It was natural for you to feel the need to force yourself in every once in a while and there was nothing more you wanted to know than the story of the man who raised him.

You would even jest on the idea of what it fel like to meet Master Crepus in person. Were you able to reach his standards by any chance? Would he have liked you just as everyone claimed? Of course, they were only silly indulgent thoughts so you quickly dismissed them in the end. Bringing back the past was impossible no matter how badly you wanted it. You closed your heart on that possibility.

On a lovely evening, while you and Diluc were taking your time off Angel's Share to make a stroll around Mondstadt's quiet streets, a strange merchant called over to you. She displayed various antiques ranging from different sizes to designs, none of them seemed to haven been carved in the same place but distinct cultures throughout Teyvat. The only thing they had in common was that they were all equally beautiful to the eye.

However a particular item of what looks like to be a heart locket snatches your attention and you instantly became mesmerized, allured by it's mysterious charm.

"Ah, the locked heart caught your fancy, my lady? It's said once you open it, you will be set free."

"It's magnificent..." you muttered, staring unabashed at the shining surface.

Diluc who was observing from behind folded his arms and tilts his head, "How much is that?"

Although you intended to simply inspect the choices, your lover immediately offers to pay. They all already gave the impression of a hefty price and you didn't want him to spend his fortune on things that deemed unecessary. Still, this wasn't the first time it happened. Diluc would always insist whenever you protested against him from buying anything, it was just a way of expressing his affections towards you. Mora was never a problem and you were priceless. That's how he sees things. You had to remind yourself to be careful when stumbling upon a bustling area full of salesmen next time.

"Five hundred thousand mora."

He purchased it without hesitation.

On your way home, Diluc noticed that something was amiss. You couldn't tear your gaze from the locket as if it had hypnotized you by the golden smooth surface. He had to ensure you didn't run into anyone by accident, tugging your arm closer so that it gave him an opportunity to lead you where you yourself could not. Surely it must have been the appearance but instead of being drawn by, you were drawn in. Completely.

I wonder...what will happen if I open it?

"(Y/n)?" Diluc narrows his eyebrows together. Did you like it that much? No, he knew you weren't the type to be so etranced by jewelry, this was certainly different. Even the merchant seemed a little suspicious when she approached you and Diluc couldn't ignore the heavy sense of aminosity that was emitted around her aura. He couldn't think within her presence but now that his mind was much clearer, he was able to use his skillful judgements.

"Wait...! Don't open it yet-"

However, he was too late.

The wind picks up at an alarming speed and you both brought up your arms to block the debris that had flown in the way. They swirled in non-stop motion until your worlds were engulfed with not even the sky in sight. Amidst the turmoil Diluc latchest onto you and holds your body close his chest as he was determined to protect against any force that dared to hurt you. Something heavy knocks his head and he winces, tighting his hold even further. Your voice could hardly be heard with all the noise that rung around and eventually you discovered the the world wasn't disappearing. You both were.

The last thought you had was the image of Master Crepus and you didn't know why.

---

"Diluc? Diluc?"

He faintly heard his name through a series of echoes. Diluc fights to regaind concousness, feeling your grip upon his shoulder while trying to urge him awake.

"Diluc are you alright?"

Your worried face was the first thing he sees other than the fog that looms above. Diluc blinks a few times in an attempt to ease his migraine, using one arm to force his body into a seating position as he allowed himself to be supported by you at the same time.

"Does your head hurt?" You ask, palming gently against his forehead to feel the heat. Even if her was usually very warm, there was no unusual rise in tempurature, something must have hit him instead, "Here, maybe this will help."

Bringing out your hand you concentrated on generating the water through your fingertips. Having a hydro vision meant you were capable of healing magic which Diluc appreciated since he often came home late at night with injuries hidden behind his sleeves. But nothing came out and he became even more suspicious of the situation.

"Eh? What's going on?" You blurted out, patting down your clothes and your pockets, "My Vision, it's gone too!"

"Mine as well," Diluc flexes his fingers to test his own element, "It seems that our powers were sealed once we entered this domain."

"A domain that prevents you from using a Vision? That doesn't sound very comforting," you scratched your head, suddenly remembering the cause of your current problem, "The locket...it's all starting to make sense now. Ugh, I should have listened to you earlier, I'm sorry Diluc."

"No (Y/n), you don't have to apologize," he interjects and you returned a curious glance, "I should have stopped you the minute I discovered there was something strange. I was too careless."

"You felt that too? I thought I was the only one," your tone and face mimics one of surprise. The fog continues to dance around, enclosing the two of you to the small area. You lifted your head and looked above in deep contemplation, "When I saw the locket I couldn't tear my eyes off of it, like something was pulling me in. Like...there was a spell casted on it."

"What do you mean?" he asked in an inquisitive manner.

You nod, "I can't put my finger on it bit Ifel that the locket wanted me to..." balling your fist upon your lap, you stared intensely at the floor as if drilling holes into them while digging into the depths of your mind for any specific clues. Initially you thought the locket was so captivating that you were simply charmed by it's craftmanship. But tere was more than that, you began deciphering, there was also a need for fulfillment. A yearning desire, "to know. The locket was calling me to know."

'Once you open it, you will be set free.'

"To know..." you trailed off. How strange. No matter how much you tried to rationalize, you were always brought back to the same square as if the locket knew exactly what you wanted. What you were lacking. Because the one thing you wanted to know most about was the person you've never met, "Someone very important to you."

The fog dispersed.

Diluc instinctively puts an arm in front of you defensively as he scanned his quick and thorough eyes around the area. It didn't take long for him to know exactly where everything was. In fact, the abrupt change isn't what puts him on high alert, but it was how familiar everything looked to the point he evaluates if there was any reason to be skeptical or if he should be breathtaken.

"What a beautiful house," However you didn't recognize it. Diluc knew because he had yet to meet you during the time he lived in this estate, "I wonder who does it belong to?"

"Father's old mansion...how?" Diluc breatlessly mutters, as if seeing the supremecy of Celestia for the first time. When years passed after his father died, he chose to sell off the majority of his belongings, the mansion being on for example. Currently it was in the possession of a well-known business associate that used to be a friend of Crepus. The mansion would likely have looked much different due to the renovations it gone through but Diluc remembers the picture as if this were yesterday. Everything was in tact. The vine yard, the gazebo where they drank tea, the hill that he and Kaeya used to race on when they were kids-

Revelation burns in his pupils as his eyes expanded.

"Welcome home, my son."

Both you and Diluc fall wordless at the sight that appeared like a miracle's blessing. Crepus stands at a distance, the graceful smile complimenting his warm features. He looked exactly how the court artists portrayed him in the Ragnvindr's family picture. Sharp face with gentle eyes and an aura that was as pleasant as what Elzer described.

"So this is why the locket was calling to us," you whispered, "I guess the mora really was worth it after all."

"...Fa...ther...."

You snuck a glance at Diluc. From behind the resemblance was as clear as dawn, like you were staring at a carbon copy of Master Crepus himself. Almost. He was a less hardened version of Diluc during uncommon situations. It made you think just how much you didn't know before his father passed away. What kind of person was this man during his days as a knight? You never had the chance to know.

"Father is that really you?" Diluc couldn't help his voice from trembling, paralyzed in place when he could hardly make sense of what stands in front of him. The person he longed to hear from, the person who left the world too quick, Diluc was afraid to get his hopes up in case his father suddenly disappeared and everything was just an illusion conjured by his mind. He was already used to being betrayed and dealt with disappointment too often. Which is why he learned to trust only himself. But, right now, can he really trust himself?

Feeling your hand gently on his shoulders, Diluc was brought back to reality. You smiled with warm reassurance that bled into your voice, "It's okay Diluc. Go, I'm here for you."

There was the faintest light shining in his eyes as emotions swell in his chest. Ever since you came Diluc never had to feel alone anymore, truly, you were the light that was brought back into his eyes, to his life when he gave up the thought of seeing it again. If he couldn't trust himself then at the very least, he could trust you.

"Thank you," he embraces you wholly like you were everything, and you were, before letting go and taking off to the otherside.

The air hits him in a rush and knocks the ones out of his lungs, "Father!" Diluc yells with tearful eyes. For the first time in a long while he was finally letting his feelings run free, "Father!" A name that felt foreign upon words that is pushes him forward, wanting to claim the truth that was smiling from afar.

"Father!"

Crepus lifted his arms and openly catches Diluc when he crashed into him. Here. He was here. He certainly was.

"Haha its been a while hasn't it my son?" He begins, encasing Diluc in a hug like he did the day he turned eighteen. Crepus was a tall man and his genes seemed to have went through. Back when they were younger, Diluc managed to only reach the blade of his shoulders, just barely. Now they were practically the same height, "Look how much you've grown over the years. There were so many things I planned to say but I don't know where to start."

Seven years. That was how long Crepus spent alone with his thoughts. He saw what happened through that time span, the truth about the Knights and Kaeya's origins. To say that none of that bothered him would be a lie. Especially when his son was the most impacted throughout all the events.

"Father I...I-" Diluc tries to speak but the words dissolved the moment it reached his tongue. He wasn't the type to be very good at expressing emotions. None of it could simply be communicated by sentences. For him, actions spoke louder yet somehow, they still wouldn't be enough. Nothing can comprehend the weight of seven years.

Crepus seemed to have understood and fills in the gap instead, "I have also missed you and Kaeya. More than I can even say. It must have been so hard for you both to endure it all by yourselves. Life hits us when we least expect it but despite that, you still chose to persevere."

Diluc clenches his hold, face buried in his shoulders and mouth quivering as he barely answers, "Yeah."

"You're both my pride and joy no matter what happens, as a father I cannot be more proud," before knowing, everything that was said came out naturally from his spirit. Crepus may have his own set of things to share but he knew what Diluc needed the most, "So please don't stop relying on one another, don't always think that you have to do everything alone. Stength is a virtue. However, its okay to let go and allow new people to come into your life. I don't need to be avenged, as long as you and Kaeya are happy, its all I ask for."

As if the world had been lifted from his shoulders, Diluc allows himself to break just this once. On the outside, he was known to be an unstoppable force, the Mondstadt tycoon, the uncrowned king and a hero who serves at night. But here you saw only a boy who dearly missed his father as he hugs him tightly. Although you couldn't hear their conversation clearly, just watching them from where you stood was enough to make your eyes glisten from pure happiness.

"You finally chose to open your heart, right Diluc?" You quietly note to yourself, "You don't have to carry everything by yourself anymore, you're free."

'Once you open it, you will be set free.'

He was able to dwell in this one in a lifetime experience, all because you unlocked the heart and dispersed the fog inside.

They spent a good amount of minutes bringing the distance back together after being seperated for so many years. You made sure to make minimal movements in the consideration of their time. It was only temporary until Crepus noticed you standing in the distance and he gave you a quick glance. Your whole body tenses in response, suddenly feeling guilty as if you were a third wheel who didn't belong in the moment between two family members.

He's staring at me. Diluc's father is staring at me! Your thoughts panicked along with your thrumming heart. What should I do?!!

"I see you've brought someone along with you," He comments, the playfulness rising in his tone, "She seems to have been waiting for quite a while already. If you don't mind, may you do the honours of introducing her to me?"

Diluc turns to see you stiffened in place with your hands tightly clasped below your stomach and heat pooling from your ear to your cheeks as you dipped your head down. His father was a kind man and he couldn't understand there the discomfort came from, yet found it endearing nonetheless. Diluc walks over to you and extends his hand, silently urging you to come with him. You complied, albeit hesitantly at first.

"It'll be okay my love," he whispered softly, causing you to be taken aback by the nickname he called you by. Diluc often reserves them for special instances and this was one of them, "Whatever the staff told you about my father, they're the truth. Trust in their judgement. Trust in me."

"Diluc..." you say, voice fading. You knew him to be someone who always kept his word and someone who would never lie to you. Taking in a short breath, you nodded, "Alright, I will," and followed his lead.

There was once a time where you indulged in the idea of facing Master Crepus in person. But never did you prepare yourself for the amount of pressure it came with. Now that you were together with his son, there was a high chance that he would also become part of his family too, sooner or later. You weren't just meeting Master Crepus. You were also meeting your future father-in-law.

"Father, this is (Y/n)," Diluc starts the welcoming exchanges. You felt his hand squeeze yours gently. He turns to you so that you caught glimpse of his face, seeing the reverance in his gaze that was hinted among his handsome features, "She's the woman I fell in love with and I would do anything to make her happy. I cherish her more than anything else."

"D-Diluc!" you flushed, your embarassment as red as his own hair. But he wasn't bothered by it in the slightest.

"I only speak the truth."

Master Crepus lets out a content chuckle, drawing both of your attentions back to him, "He can be surprising poetic sometimes but I'm sure that he got it from me. Even my wife reacted the same way," he reminisced shortly before sighing, "In truth I already knew that you were together. Staying in the after life gave me the chances to watch things from an omniscient standpoint, I was sincerely worried how Diluc would handle things when I suddenly left, I hope you don't mind. If you do, I apologize for making you uncomfortable."

"N-Not at all!"

"Haha, you're very kind. Thank you. I'm glad that my son was able to find a woman like you to be his fated partner. As a parent, it brings me great reassurance," Crepus remarked, "I know he can be stubborn and a little too headstrong when it comes to making decisions. It really must be a handful for you to deal with at times but I promise you that he means well. So please continue to watch over him in my stead, take care of my son while I'm gone."

"You can count on me," you beamed, "I'll give it my all."

"You have my gratitude (Y/n)," Crepus replies and turned to Diluc, "And listen to her every once in a while. I may have been the previous owner of our wine industry but even I always make sure to get me sufficient amount of rest. Son you know its bad to get two to three hours of sleep every day."

You blinked, "Two to three hours?"

Diluc clears his throat, "I understand Father. You don't have to say it."

Oh I think he does.

With a satisfied grin, Crepus took both of your hands together in his and gave you his blessings. The man once considered to be an artifact through the vast mansion was going to be part of the memories in your life. All of your expressions held as much happiness as the future can become now that he gave you the closure you both needed.

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realperson022 · 3 years ago

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As Sonic had said in my other post, “Sharing is caring.” So, here’s another little piece I started working on this early morning while it rained :)

Title: The Blue Hour

Rating: TBD

Typically, the hero of Mobius slept in every morning he could, his days of adventuring and socializing eventually making him crash at the end, so it came as no surprise when he awoke a few minutes before afternoon to an empty bed but a homemade breakfast at the kitchen table, lovingly prepared by his husband. Unlike Sonic, the dark hedgehog was an early bird, preparing for work on a weekday before the first light broke out, and as for on a weekend, well that remained a mystery to the hero - one that he never bothered to investigate.

Still, there were a few rare times when the blue hedgehog awoke at surprisingly an early hour, partially conscious since he usually went to the bathroom or kitchen for a quick glass of water during this time. He would head straight back to bed and cuddle up against Shadow until sleep would take him away again.

Then, there was today.

Upon waking up, the first thing he caught was the rain landing on the glass window over his head. Having had a big part in the construction of their home, Sonic went crazy with the planning of the house's windows. They were everywhere. Big and small, wide and narrow, on every wall in the living room and high above in their bedroom; there was just no way that a single spot in their household would be devoid of natural sunlight and the breath-taking view of Mother Nature. Therefore, it was only right that the first thing emerald eyes saw was the strong sapphire blue tone of the sky with grey clouds scattered across its canvas through the roof light. A drizzle was showering this part of Mobius, the fine raindrops falling across the vast glass with muffled rhythmic thumps.

The second thing he felt rather than saw was the light breeze that danced across his exposed skin. Shifting his head to the side, he learned that it was because the balcony doors were parted open, the only barrier between the inside and outside was the white sheer curtains that gently swayed, seeming to follow the beat of the rain hitting the balcony floor. The soothing sound now clearer to his blue ears with being fully awake. Perhaps if he matched his breathing to the light shower sprinkling outside, he could persuade himself into another nap.

Slow blinking was the first sign of his idea working, but an arm coming to wrap itself around his waist halted the process. It was at that moment that Sonic realized it was Sunday morning, guessing around five or something close to that. Being careful to not wake the other, the hero carefully moved his head to look over to his other side, silently surprised by meeting a pair of shining rubies.

And lastly, he found out he wasn't the only one awake.

"Shadow."

Sounding less of a question and more of a statement, the hybrid still answered him, his gaze steady on his husband. "Sonic."

The hero released a wistful sigh at hearing the mellow tone of the agent's voice, nuzzling a tan muzzle and to his delight, the gesture was reciprocated with a delicate kiss to the crown of his head. One of many. Balancing his weight on his arm, Shadow leaned over for his face to directly hover over the younger hedgehog, trailing a path of chaste kisses down to fawn lips; meanwhile, his other hand started at Sonic's cheek, caressing it with his thumb, and steadily, it traveled down his jaw, neck, and shoulder. Tattooing his touch onto every curve and crevice, the black hedgehog treaded his fingers down peach fur, knowing he evoked a path of goosebumps from his husband in his wake, but it wasn't until he secured his hand on the blue waist again that the pleasurable sighs turned to a stuttering gasp.

With a last kiss to the speedster's collarbone, Shadow pulled away to stare down at his lover's eyes, noting how they were blown wide and radiating nothing but fondness and love for the hybrid. He was more than happy to drown in them forever.

A peach hand came to tangle itself in striped quills, the other rested at the elbow of Shadow's outstretched arm that didn't move from its place on his waist. Whatever the hybrid was thinking, it had a smile breaking across his face and his ruby eyes softening. It was a gorgeous sight, and what made it a million times better was that this expression, the tenderness exuding from the smallest details, was only ever unveiled from the usual stoic confines of the agent's face for him.

For Sonic - the person that Shadow profusely loved and would always do so for the rest of their lives.

"I love you."

And by chaos, whenever he spoke them out loud yet so quietly, especially in the middle of an embrace like right now, it made the hero want nothing more than to cry, permanently stay in this moment and cherish his lover for eternity because even time wouldn't stop them from being together.

Instead of becoming tearful, the blue hedgehog mirrored his partner's smile, gingerly bringing his face down for their noses to brush against each other, and whispered his undying confession, too. "And I love you."

In the next beat, their lips met, both of them fluttering their eyes close to memorize how their mouths tasted, how they felt, how they moved perfectly in tandem, and how they were made for each other, no one else just them.

#sonadow #wip #my writing #my sweet and awesome favorite hedgehogs #they live for each other <3 #they're married in this one bc I said so >:)

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hotwings0203 · 3 years ago

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fighter kirishima who doesn't like it when other people even stare for one second at his partner, so then he just kills anyone who dares to stand less than 2ft from his darling 😌👍

Tw:noncon implication, implied murder

“Why’re you standing so far away babe?”

You’re not, he’s got his arms wrapped around your waist to the point of crushing your hips.

“‘M not, just couldn’t breathe.”

“Oh good, for a moment there I was worried you were looking at that guy again.

That guy referring to the blond haired weirdo who kept laughing and pointing at the losers of the ring like a maniac.

Right, like you were totally head over heels for the one weirdo in the entire basement.

Except your “boyfriend “ maybe. He could definitely take that title.

Well, maybe not weirdo. Maybe Possessive Controling Freak would be a better name for him, instead of Kirishima.

And just to drive the point home, he soothingly rubs his calloused hand up and down your arm while the next match rages on in front of you both.

It’s not soothing, on the contrary it seems like a threat.

He just amps it up from then on any time he feels like your attention is elsewhere or if he feels like other men are looking at you for a second too long.

First it’s taking on arm and tightly squeezing it. Then, he puts one leg of yours over his thigh much to your embarrassment.

Eventually he just picks you up and plops you on his lap. While he thinks he’s keeping other men at bay with this tactic, it’s doing the complete opposite.

Because these testosterone filled savages are quite enjoying the scene with your limbs being toyed with and thrown over a man like the rest of them, your ragdoll-maneuvered body a promise of something they might be able to one day get a taste of.

The entirety of the fight goes by dreadfully slow because all you can focus on is how long Kiri’s hands dip in and out of the crevice of your legs way too casually. His hands settle comfortably under your shirt and across your boobs, which can be seen by literally everyone when they catch a glimpse of an evident hand on your chest.

He prevents you from squirming too much with his limbs tightening around you and disapproving grunts to your discomfort. So you sit there, stewing with rage and humiliation.

Until a distraction appears.

In the midst of the next match brawling in the ring, a smaller fight breaks out amongst the raging spectators.

It only catches both your attention when the yelling starts getting close to your area and men start throwing fists and yelling until their faces tie beet-red.

Kirishima and you both crane your heads around to see the source of the commotion, but you realize quickly that it’s getting way too intense around you, so much so that men begin lifting chairs and falling over themselves in their own battles.

You try to get up but Kiri’s hands are wrapped so tightly around your midriff that you barely manage to dislodge his arm. He’s distracted and looking around curiously at the dangerous setting and you have to frantically tap his arm to indicate it’s time to go.

But he snaps out of it too late, and a body gets punched your way, his large mass descending on your weaker frame.

You shriek and try to lift your hands up to protect yourself, but it doesn’t work. You’re slammed into and knocked clean off Kirishima’s lap onto the floor laced with blood and bits of torn clothes.

There’s a loud ringing in your ears as you blearily get up and take in your surrounds, which seem to love in slow motion around you. You belatedly think that you must’ve hit your head on the concrete floor when you fell.

Your arms ache as you groan and lift yourself up on shaky elbows, the sounds around you swim in and out of your aching head when suddenly an open hand is thrust in front of your face.

“Are you alright? I’m so sorry!”

Grimacing, you tilt your head up and see the same man who knocked you down. You’re in no condition to refuse help in such a volatile area however, so you gingerly lift your hand and grasp onto his open palm.

You find yourself being pulled up easily and crushed into the man’s body. It’s hard to push back but when you see how many bloody faces and broken limbs windmill around you decide it’s best to keep close to a safe space.

The man gently starts stepping over writhing bodies and lifting you up under your arms to ensure that you don’t trip and fall again while on your way to a clearer area.

You don’t resist, only looking up at him helplessly like a kitten being dragged by its mom from the scruff. His body is warm and toned, yet plush and comfortable to lean against when you need to. Your cranium still pounds, but your head clears a bit when you look into his surprisingly concerned grey eyes.

“You alright? Hit your head a little hard, huh? My bad.”

He sets you on a perch near the office and looks around, deeming it a less loud and crowded area for your health.

He says nothing, but you don’t sense any malice from him. He doesn’t move either though, he just leans an arm on the extension and puts another hand on his hip, scanning the screaming men and casualties as if he were looking out in a snowy field.

He might be protecting you, or looking for a good place to jump in and start swinging himself, you’re not sure.

But you’re grateful for his helpful presence, nonetheless.

And then suddenly your moment of reprieve is dismantled when you hear him frantically calling your name.

You see his head hair sticking up, spiky as ever while the top of his head bobs left and right, in circles and backwards as he tries finding you.

Your head starts to hurt again.

“Y/N! Where the hell are you?”

Eventually and unfortunately he sees your figure above the fray, and he swears you look like an angel-siting above this rifraff, your body perfectly intact unlike the rest of these thugs, your expression dazed and vulnerable like it did when you were choking on his co-

He sees the man next to you, and his vision shatters like glass when he takes in the proximity of him next to you.

Kirishima sees red.

“Hey, there you are cutie! I got scared I lost you for a sec’ there. Thanks for looking out for her man,” he smiles and shakes his hand with the steel-haired guy, crushing his grip a little too hard to be deemed grateful.

“No problem. The name’s Tetsutetsu. ‘Think I’ve seen you around here, you fight pretty good not gonna lie! When’s it gonna be my turn to match that strength in the rink?” He smiles deviously and knocks shoulders with you in jest.

While you smile uncomfortably and rub your now-bruising shoulder, Kirishima’s eye twitches at the contact and his smile starts straining as well.

But this is too easy to give up.

“Hey, that’s actually a really good idea. Why don’t we have our own little practice match after the shit here clears up?” He nods around to the ongoing pandemonium.

You look at him stricken, unsure of what he’s playing at. You’re not stupid, you can tell by his off body language that he’s not at rest or relaxed at all by this conversation.

The expression he’s making, while it might fool the himbo next to you, is extremely reminiscent of the faces he pulls when he chides gently in your ear to stop moving so fucking far away from him and soothes a hand over your head.

“Sounds good, and don’t worry, I’ll take it easy on you.” The other man laughs heartily and kicks away a stray rolling body.

Kirishima merely grins gently. “For your sake, is give it my best.”

*************

He’s strapped you to the bed-check.

You’ve been spanked black and blue-check.

A lecture has been given to your sobbing body-check.

Ointment has been slathered on the bruises-double check.

And he’s out the door at exactly 9pm, jogging his way to the bar and down the steps to the basement as a light warm up. He considers calling an ambulance before-hand, but that would mean he’d give enough mercy to leave Tetsutetsu intact…and alive.

When he bounds down the rickety steps he finds that Tetsu is already there and lightly boxing a body bag that the newbies use for practice.

He has to hold back his snort and paint his usual cheery face on, but something tells him even the dim yellow light in this room would still show the dark emotion swirling in his ruby eyes.

“What’s up bro, you made it?”

“No, I’m still at home.”

Tetsutetsu laughs heartily and doesn’t catch onto the cold bite Kirishima’s words hold.

“You’re funny. ‘Wanna warm up-“

“-Nah, actually, ‘think I’m good. Let’s just get started, I’ve been waiting for this.”

“You got it boss.”

And without further ado they both shrug off their shirts in the hot basement and ready their fists in a protective stance, circling each other.

“Y’know, when I saw you next to my girl I fantasized about caving your face in,” a punch is thrown suddenly and Tetsu is thrown off guard by the surprising agility of the bully opponent and his words.

He practically eats the hit square in the nose, his head snapping back and immediately pouring blood from his nostrils.

He coughs and staggers before realigning himself the opposite end of the fighting circle. “Wha-? Why?” The victim sounds congested from the leaking blood but his focus is only on Kirishima’s change in expression.

“Yeah, and then I saw you knock shoulders with her too…maybe I’ll cut yours off and sell ‘em for a couple hundred, whaddaya think bro?”

This time when Kirishima aims for his face again he’s ready, and he quickly dodges and strikes his face fist out.

But what he doesn’t expect is the redhead to actually catch the fist in his own larger hand and hold it in midair. He also doesn’t react in time to pull his hand out and move back when Kiri’s other fist swings low and punches so hard into his stomach that he falls to the ground, hand still captivated by Kirishima’s.

He’s never seen a man with that kinda of face on while fighting. His eyes are narrowed and dark, his mouth is set in a thin like and his whole body is taut, as if holding back his own strength.

For the first time since he’s ever been in the basement, Tetsutetsu doesn’t to fight anymore.

“Look Kirishima,” he hacks and looks wildly at him. “I don’t know if you’re upset at me for something but you gotta chill out. You can’t catch my hands like that, that’s not how you’re supposed to fight-“

“You still think I give a shit how we’re supposed to fight? No ones gonna care about strategy or sportsmanship when you’re dead, Tetsutetsu.”

His last scream is so loud and so shrill that Kirishima thinks it’s a shame it wasn’t witnessed in a real match by paying spectators.

#bully kirishima #yandere kirishima x reader #yandere kirishima #tw: implied noncon #tw: implied death #yandere mha #bnha #mha #yandere bnha #kirishima #mha kirishima #bnha kirishima

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henqtic · 4 years ago

Text

𝘈𝘳𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦 𝘔𝘦 𝘈 𝘋𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦

pairing: draco malfoy x fem!reader

word count: 2.3k

summary: Draco Malfoy. His name was registered in your mind as your enemy, plain and simple. A platinum blonde idiot who you’d find much more likable if he’s just shut up everyone in a while. But what would happen if your parents arranged for you both to attend the yule ball together- would some hidden feeling shine their way out?

warnings: mentions of arranged marriages, mentions of feeling anxious, feelings of self doubt, kissing, angry love confession, crying, a little angst, please contact me if theres more !

a/n: Also this is an au where the yuleball is in seventh year and no Voldemort <3

masterlist. // gif creds // taglist form.

When Dumbledore announced the yule ball to the school in the middle of the dinner, you were a bit excited. Excited at the idea that you’d have the chance to be asked to the dance by some nice boy and that could potentially lead to a relationship.

But being born into a family like yours, you couldn’t hope for much. Not even a week after they got the news, your mother and father made an arrangement with the Malfoy’s that you would have to attend the ball with their son Draco.

You could've sworn they had been trying to set you both up for some kind of arranged marriage. Maybe them pushing you together was a way to soften a blow when it finally happened? But still, out of any one they just had to choose him.

You had grown up with him, Draco, and if you hadn't already known— he was what you called a... bitch boy. He’d tattle about small things, throw a few temper tantrums, and cry to get his way. This is why even though your families had been so closely connected for years, centuries even— he was your enemy and nothing could change that.

That fact wasn’t hidden from your parents, not in the slightest. They saw the numerous dirty looks you’d throw at each other when you thought no one looking, not to mention the childish pulling of hairs and elbowing with shoulders.

But they also saw the good things about your relationship, how'd you do little things for each other that made a bigger impact than you thought, like it was second nature.

Like whenever another dinner party would come up where there were random families of investors, business owners or, just more snooty rich people— Draco would always make sure you were seated right next to him in the case that both of you had to show up.

It honestly wasn’t that much of a big deal from his view point. Only an idiot couldn’t tell that you found yourself uncomfortable around new people and him saving you a seat was just common decency.

And there was always little moments where they’d find you both curled into each other after one of the tense meetings you had to attend seeing as you’d be graduating soon and still had the responsibility of up keeping your family names once you were adults.

Draco would be there tenderly playing with your hands and venting. Because while he did come off as confident about everything in his life, how he had both the Malfoy and Black fortuned to fall back onto, you could tell he was still scared of the future— of growing up.

That fear is also what led to the very rushed apology he had offered to the golden trio for his past behavior. You did have to physically push him into them and he did choke up on the words of kindness that were supposed to make the apology sincere but he still did it.

They hadn't forgiven him of course, they just sort of stared like some one had cast an unforgivable curse on the boy seconds before, but at least they were now, they were civil towards each other.

And even though you did do those things for him, that didn’t stop you from not wanting to do this and neither did it stop you from impatiently waiting outside of the great hall doors.

Your dress was made out of nothing less of the finest fabrics and silks you could get your hands onto. You knew it wouldn't make a single dent into your families Gringotts account but you felt that the purchase would make some sort of statement.

“You’re five minutes late,” you seethed, watching as a head of white-blonde hair finally round the corner. His hands brushed his jacket in a smug manor, getting rid of the invisible dust particles.

It really wasn’t that much time, many other students could still be found wither waiting for their dates or just standing around to show up ‘fashionably late’.

But you knew Draco had spent those minutes staring at himself in the mirror and fixing his oh so perfect hair.

“Some of us like to look good when showing up to these things,” he sneered before eyeing you in disgust.

“Oh please, this dress cost more than the gel you have piled in your hair.” His eyes narrowed at you along with a scrunch of his nose as he offered you the junction between his folded arm to lead you down the steps.

The night had gone pretty well so far, both of you somehow never finding the right time to leave the others side as you had planned. It seemed as if your friends had all decided to hide themselves away from you both— like they were planning something. Of course, they were.

Blaise fucking Zabini

That idiot talked Professor Flitwick into playing a slow song, one that every couple had to join in on. And while that did sound good at eye view, you had to sign a paper at the begging saying if you coming as a couple or single. And the only people who had signed single to not face embarrassment were the staff—not counting Filch and Mrs. Norris.

Was this real, you being the living cliche of dancing with your enemy?

“If you step on my shoes one more time, I’ll leave you,” he growled into your, tightening his grip on your waist. Yeah, it was.

“What do you think I’ll do? Cry?” You asked in a mocking tone, sticking out your stuck your bottom lip out in a pout to taunt him even further.

Suddenly your front was pressed up against his back— your attention had been else where. Else where being reaching the goal of getting on his last nerve so when a husky voice whispered in your ear, you were shocked.

“Oh don’t act like I haven’t made you cry before.” He turned you back around swiftly, the only thing indicating what had just happened being the proud smirk on his face.

“Says you. Weren’t you the one who cried over a guy asking me out in fifth year?” You challenged, bringing up the incident that happened two years ago.

He hadn’t cried but he might as well have and you just needed something to tick him off for the moment. Whatever he had just did caused something to happened within you, and you weren’t sure if you liked it or not yet.

It was a situation that the blonde deeply wanted to regret—George Weasley asking you out. You and Draco had been finishing up on your work in the courtyard when he had invited himself to sit in between you and Draco and then proceeded to ask you out on a date.

Draco hadn't given you the chance to answer, a new found jealously fueling him to gather both of your things and drag you away from the scene.

He knew the chances were slim that you would reject the boy, and deep down tucked inside of him, Draco knew that the Weasleys were better than him— in some aspects.

Over the years Draco had found himself growing into a separate person from his parents, a person who had could think on their own and didn’t have to rely solely on his parents' truths.

And through that process, he realized that maybe his ideals were not the best out there. Including the way he treated many of his pears even if he was too proud to say it out loud.

That being said, he always stayed up wondering while you stayed. Why’d you even stick with him in the first place. And that’s what Brough him to find out his second greatest fear, loosing you.

Yes, you were insufferable at times, but you were still you. Someone that he liked having around and talking too. And someone that listened to him even if it was something as stupid as why gingers exist and why they shouldn't.

Yes that was an actual conversation that you had. In conclusion, you were a person he loved. But he never did think to tell you that because, why risk losing you over something that was most likely unrequited.

“I was protecting your future y/n. Would you like for your children to come out as gingers,” he spat as if what he had just made complete sense.

“Draco I was fifteen and he was sixteen at the time and we barely ever talked before that because you were always bad-mouthing his family.”

Now that you think of it, he had always been this way about you and boys. It was an ongoing thing where it didn't matter what blood type, what house, which people they associated themselves with, they were always ‘below you and you could find better’.

“Why do you always meddle in my relationships?” You were irritated. Maybe it was the close proximity of your bodies or maybe it was how oblivious he was.

“Meddle? You’ve never even been in a relationship,” he snorted making your point clearer than day.

“Exactly. Why are you so jealous of me wanting to break out of whatever shell we have enclosed over each other? What if I want to branch out and you know, talk to new people?”

Ouch.

It didn’t hurt that you considered him to be somewhat of an enemy, it was your thing—but you didn’t even consider him to be a friend?

“Alright then when about Pansy? I tried to break out of our ‘shell’ as you call it when I started talking to her.”

“Parkinson was not good for you then and now even more. We both know that.”

You weren’t a person who used the word hate. In most times it was used out of anger and would be regretted later on. But Pansy Parkinson? She was very deserving of the title of someone that you hated.

Commenting on someone else’s hair when she had been walking around with a bowl cut for the last last five years? It didn’t make sense to you how she always found a way to put her input in places where it truly wasn’t needed.

“Yeah alright. Then who is good enough for me y/n?”

“Oh I don’t know me,” you mumbled under your breath not expecting him to hear it— but he did.

That’s how you found yourself once again getting dragged away. But this time it was form the great hall to a more private place where none of the ears of Hogwarts could hear you both.

“What do you mean you’re good enough for me?” He asked with more disgust in his tone than wanted, and it crushed you.

You scoffed before going on, “Well I’ve known you since we were in diapers. Would it be so horrible to consider me good enough for you?” You asked watching as some emotion flickered past his eyes.

“I mean I know so many dumb things about you like how you hate the feeling of those sweaters that your mother always buys you and you turn them inside out. And then when she ask if you're wearing them you aren't lying to her face. Do you know how cute that is, that you don’t even harbor the ability to lie to your mum about something as small as that?”

Cute?

“And don’t get me started on how your favorite food is not that ridiculously priced stake that you try convincing people- even me. I know that it’s that tomato soup that your mum makes when you’re sick because it reminds you of being a kid. And guess what? I don’t even let the house elves make it for you when I say that they do—”

“Then who does y/n?” He asked softly while slowly bringing you to be trapped between his arms by one of the thick walls. He always had the suspicion be never thought you’d actually—

“Well I uh- I do it myself because I want it to have the same feeling of home as it always does and I sort of asked your mum the exact details on how to cook it like she does,” you explained peering up to look into his eyes.

“You hate the smell of tomatoes,” he said with a light laugh, it wasn’t out of amusement but pure adoration. Never did he think that you’d actually do that for him— of course, you were there when he was sick but it was more of making fun of his ‘weak immune system’ and throwing tissues at him.

“Well I love you more and don’t pretend like you don’t slip those house elves thank you letter—” You were once again cut off but instead it was by his hand reaching the side of your jaw to look up at him fully.

“Repeat that,” he whispered with a small smirk.

oh no

Tears started to cloud your vision, the realization hitting that you had may just ruin your relationship with your childhood- enemy- friend- frenemy?

“Don’t cry I’m not- I’m not mad at you. I’m happy, unbelievably so. I just need you to repeat exactly what you just said to me,” he said moving both hands to cup your face giving his thumbs access to wipe the liquid from under your eyes.

“I love you Draco and I’m sorry that I ruined this. We could honestly just forget it if you’d like.”

“I don’t want to forget anything. Would it be a surprise if I told you that I loved you back and that I have for a long time?”

Your eyebrows raised in surprise. Was he serious, or was this some sort of sick joke?

Noticing the worries floating around in your head, he gave you a look, one that wordlessly asked that if the next move he was going to make was the right one and that you would both be fine after.

And it was

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#draco angst #draco malfoy x reader #draco x yn #draco x y/n #draco malfoy #draco #malfoy #draco malfoy imagine #draco fanfiction #draco x slytherin!reader #draco x ravenclaw!reader #draco x gryffindor!reader #draco x hufflepuff!reader

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joshslater · 3 years ago

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Matt and Liam

This is a rewrite of scallylads89's untitled story that I had sitting forgotten in a folder for two years. Similar stories and bonus material on my Patreon.

It was Thursday again already and Matt had been dreading this afternoon all day. It wasn't the best sixth form college, but he was more than happy to finish his diploma in IT there. He'd always been into computers and programming, and his parents had always encouraged it. The problem was the way the college ran its classes. Despite running completely separate courses and qualifications, they ran a set of mandatory mixed classes throughout the week. All students had their normal lessons in their program specific classes, but subjects like art, PE, and social studies were taught in cross qualification classes, practically making you have two different sets of classmates. It was supposed to promote integration and team building among the students.

In theory Matt didn't mind. He could see the value of it, and even enjoyed some of the classmates in his mixed classes. In practice though there was Liam. Liam studied for his builder qualification and came from a different background to Matt, and spent most of his childhood running free on the estate away from his mum who was usually sat in front of the TV or down the local with her mates drinking. He was lacking respect for others and didn't mind punching up, but positively relished punching down or sideways with Matt as a frequent target of his bullying. PE had never been a strong subject for Matt, so he knew that every Thursday Liam would be there taking the piss out of him and embarrassing him in front of all of the other students. Students that came from all over various classes at the college.

They hadn’t long kicked off the game when out of nowhere Matt felt a jolt in his back and a stomp on his foot as he flew forward onto the ground being shoved by Liam. Liam smirked chuckling to himself. He had timed it just right, the tutor was looking the other way and hadn’t seen a thing. The thud of Matt's face planting the pitch immediately drew the attention of the tutor. Liam wasn’t in the least bit worried. He knew Matt was too chicken to dob him in. The tutor asked Matt if he was ok, and Matt a bit shaken stuttered “Yes sir, I’m ok I just tripped and I think I’ve done my ankle.” The tutor quickly inspected Matt’s ankle and suggested he go back to the changing rooms and sit this week out. Despite his thankfully only minor injury and the way Liam had treated him he was actually kind of pleased, at least it meant he got to skip PE this week. The pain was almost worth it.

He sat down in the changing room and took a deep breath as he slowly pulled his shoe off, his ankle was a little swollen. He continued to get undressed taking his kit off and folding everything up neatly when out of the corner of his eye he saw the pile of clothes on the opposite bench loosely laid out. It was Liam’s tracksuit. He didn’t know why but he really had the urge to try them on. Matt was about as far from a chav as you could think but he kind of liked the style of Liam’s clothes. He justified the idea to himself as if it would be a big fuck you to Liam knowing he had dressed up in his clothes and pretended to be a dick like him and Liam would have no idea. Besides there were ages yet before anyone would be coming back to get changed. Matt began dressing himself in Liam’s clothes.

To Matt’s surprise Liam’s boxer briefs were also in the pile of clothes, that must mean he was commando in his football shorts out there! The thought actually turned Matt on a little. He wasn’t gay but he couldn’t get the image out of his head. Matt thought to himself that if he was going to dress up as Liam he may as well do it properly. As he picked up Liam's boxers he froze. He could feel his heart racing. Off in the distance he could hear the rest of the class cheering a goal or something. According to the wall clock he still had plenty of time. It was now or never.

He slipped on Liam’s boxers and joggers, and felt a bit of a rush as he looked down on the somewhat baggy clothes on his frame. The socks were a bit discolored from the inside of the sneakers, by having been worn a bit too long between washes. He put them on and then slipped his feet into Liam’s 95’s. They were a little big for him. Liam was a size 11 and Matt only a size 8. Slopping around in Liam’s trainers, Matt hastily pulled the T-shirt over his head, putting on the hoody and zipping it up. Wafts of stale cigarette smoke and Lynx body spray came off the clothes. He was as excited as he was nervous.

He finished the look by taking off his glasses and putting on Liam’s cap, tucking his hair into it to make it look short like Liam’s. Matt could see the growing bulge beginning to poke through Liam’s joggers. Either it was the fear of being caught or his growing attraction to Liam he was finding it harder and harder to ignore how turned on he had begun to feel.

Matt paraded around the changing room pretending to be Liam, walking around with an over exaggerated swag in his step and a cocky stance of self importance. Matt’s boner was really starting to become a pain. He lowered his hand to his crotch to try and adjust himself from outside Liam’s joggers, grabbing a handful of his package. To Matt’s horror he hadn’t realized how close to the edge he was. All it took was just the extra bit of movement for him to lose control and pass the point of no return “SHIT SHIT SHIT!” Matt blew a huge load into Liam’s boxers! Fuck! How the hell was he going to get away with this? Liam was going to notice this! And it couldn’t be anyone else! He sat back down on the bench in a panic, lifting his foot he tried to slip off one of Liam’s trainers. Something wasn’t quite right, they didn’t fit this snug before! Surely they hadn’t shrunk, and both his feet couldn’t have swollen up that much so quickly for no reason. He slipped his foot back in and paused for a moment aware that everything seemed clearer, he felt his face in disbelief checking if he had forgotten to put his glasses back on, but there was nothing there.

Matt stood back up and walked over to the mirror. He couldn’t help but notice the way he involuntarily walked with a similar stride to that he had before whilst mimicking Liam. Matt gasped at his reflection, the strands of hair that he had tucked up into Liam’s cap had gone, rubbing the side of his head with the tips of his fingers the sides of his head were shaved to almost nothing. Taking his cap off Matt revealed the exact same haircut Liam had, shaved back and sides with a short trim on top combed forward to a short straight cut fringe. As Matt continued to examine his hair his attention was drawn to his face, his jawline was narrowing, his facial features growing sharper like Liam’s, Matt’s nose also narrowed to the same shape as Liam’s. Matt in his disbelief looking at himself in the mirror said to himself “holy shit! What the hell is happening to me?” This only made things more confusing as he uttered the words in Liam’s voice and accent. The final physical changes taking place as his arms, legs, and torso stretched making him as tall as Liam.

Liam had continued playing football with the lads while Matt had been gone, something wasn’t right though, he just couldn’t seem to get into the game. Liam was making all sorts of mistakes and getting a bit of stick for it too. To make matters worse he had started to get an awkward boner, he usually liked to go commando in his kit but this suddenly felt like a bad idea. It was getting harder to conceal his erection which only further distracted him from the game, then without warning he blew his load into his shorts! Liam suddenly thought to himself “shit! I have to get out of here before it shows and starts dribbling down his leg!”. He was so embarrassed which was unlike him. Liam made an excuse that he was desperate for the toilet, so he could go clean himself up in the changing rooms.

On his way back Liam was oblivious to the changes he was going through. He had lost the swagger in his walk, his slim, toned body was softening as were his facial features, he was beginning to look more and more like Matt with every step. Liam’s hair had grown so much he had to sweep his fringe across his face. Approaching the changing rooms Liam was finding it harder to focus on his surroundings, his eyesight was so bad. Liam looked up at the door frame as he walked into the changing rooms, he was sure it wasn’t that tall before.

Once inside the changing room door the transformation was so far along that Liam started to have trouble walking in the now slightly too large shoes and loose clothes. If it hadn't been for that he would have spotted Matt right away, instead of stumbling upon him mere steps away. Matt too had been too absorbed in his own changes to notice Liam, so it was a surprise to both of them when they saw each other.

Matt looked at Liam, now looking like Matt, in amazement. They hadn't switched bodies in the consciousness transfer way, but rather both of their bodies had independently transformed into each other. He tried to look for small imperfections he knew all too well, and found them. He kept racking up question after question. How? Why? What now?

Liam had no such subtle thoughts. "You fucking, thieving body snatcher! Give it back!", he shouted and hit Matt hard in the guts. Matt took a step back and tried to shield himself. "Mate, this isn't proper innit. Yous gotsa stop." But Liam kept attacking. Matt, realizing that he was now the larger and stronger of the two grabbed hold of Liam. Liam, much more street-wise, kicked out Matt's legs from under him, so he went down on his back with a thud. "Have it fucking your way!" Liam shouted and threw his kit shirt in Matt's face.

In a few swift motions Liam was out the rest of his ill-fitting football kit, grabbed Matt's backpack and bundle of clothes, and rushed out of the changing room naked with Matt's stuff in his arms. "If you come anywhere near your old house I'll call the police and hit you with an ASBO so hard you'll pick trash for a year," he shouted as he exited.

Matt sat on the floor, still confused about exactly what had happened. All his belongings were gone and he was wearing Liams clothes. And body. He got up and collected Liam's kit from the floor. When he got to the shorts he saw that Liam too had shot a load. He stuffed all of the clothes into Liam's bag and left.

Where to though? Liam had made it clear that he shouldn't go home. Matt had no idea how ASBOs actually worked. He'd never even spoken to a police officer, but he was pretty sure that Liam knew what to say to make problems for him. Did Liam's body have any records? He didn't know, but Liam did. Fuck. He would have to go to Liam's home, wherever the fuck that was.

He searched his pockets. Some coins and a key with "E" stamped on it. Not very helpful. He made a guess that someone like Liam would live at a council estate, and King's Gardens was the closest, though not really that close. He immediately felt bad for making such a conclusion based on stereotypes, but it was all he got.

Matt looked at the route map at the bus stop and took the next bus towards King's Garden. Why does such shitty complex always have nice names? As he sat down on the bus and watched the neighborhoods getting worse it suddenly hit him what a fucking crazy awful day it was. He saw his own reflection superimposed over the brick buildings outside the window. What if he stayed like this? How could he prove to his parents he was he? He couldn't even speak properly anymore.

The smell was coming from him, he realized and snapped out of thoughts. Mingled in smell of Lynx, sweat, and smoke was the unmistakable aroma of his hour-old cum drying in his underwear. That he sat so wide with his legs probably didn't help. He really needed to smoke a fag. He'd never smoked anything before in his life. Is his stop soon? His mind was wandering. That in itself annoyed him too.

The bus stopped very close to the estate, and helpfully there was a map of the complex. Buildings numbered 1 through 15, but also the six tall, ugly buildings named A through F. Perhaps he had some luck today. Was his surname Calder? If so he lived on floor 6.

The key did fit in the door of Cindy Calder. Matt stared in disbelief when he opened the door. His mother was upset if he didn't vacuum the floor once a week. Here he could hardly see the floor. Newspapers, ads, shoes, a bike wheel, and other crap cluttered the entrance.

"Orite!" No answer. From the small hallway one door led into an even messier living room with a big sofa in front of the TV, and a bed by the window. Straight ahead was a small bathroom. On the other side of the hallway was a small kitchen, and the room he assumed was his. There was a desk, a bed, a cheap workout bench, and a mess of clothes and bicycle parts strewn all over the room. A laptop was lying in the messy bed, charging.

He put down the bag and picked up a dumbbell. Never before had Matt even touched one, but now holding one in his hand, moving it up and down comes naturally. Liam's body of course would have done this hundreds of times, so Matt wasn't surprised he could do it more or less with muscle memory.

He had barely done a few curls when someone knocked on the door. It was a black man, a few years older than him, with long rasta hair, and matching track top and joggers. "Oi. Got you text. I can take it right now." Having no idea what this was about Matt stepped aside and answered "Ok". The black man entered and walked into Liam's room as if he has been there many times, and quickly returned with the laptop. "Two days tops. Cash or products, your choice. See you bruv" and walked out.

Wait. Did he just sell his laptop? Or rather did Liam just sell his laptop? Matt realized that he didn't have either of their cell phones, not that having Liam's cell phone without the PIN would do him any good. Was Liam messing with him? Why would he do that? Matt walked back into the kitchen and sat down at the table, lit a cigarette from the packet on the table, and let his eyes wander in the room. It was in need of a good scrubbing. There were grey marks around all knobs and handles. Matt decided he needed to know more about Liam, and then it became clear to him. Without a phone or a computer he was useless. There was nothing he could do besides digging through the trash in the apartment, or leave and randomly talk to people. The latter was a horrible concept to him. He lacked both confidence and social skills to strike up conversations with strangers, or people that were strangers to him at least.

The black man had talked about getting products as payment. Did he mean drugs? Did that meant Liam had a stash somewhere in the apartment. Matt decided to hunt for it. Perhaps he could use it to blackmail Matt into meeting and sorting this out. Liam's room was such a mess you had to shift things around, move things from one pile to the next. Bicycle parts, dirty clothes, old comics, machine parts, clothes with anti-theft tags still on, an overall, empty cans. After almost an hour of work he had just uncovered Liam's stack of porn magazines.

Then it hit him that of course Liam would hide any drugs in a different room for some sort of deniability. He was just about to search the bathroom when another thought crept up on him. If he did find any drugs he was in no position to use it against Liam while he was in his body. At best he could get rid of them to prevent Liam from blackmailing him! He would have to know about something about himself to use it against Liam, but there really wasn't any.

Matt had a chilling though. If Liam and he had swapped bodies, did that mean that he is now as stupid as Liam was? Was Liam stupid to begin with? Matt didn't feel stupid, but all decisions he had made so far had all been pretty bad. Or had they? Fuck! He threw himself at the bed and glanced at the bag on the floor.

This all started when he cummed while wearing Liam's clothes. Perhaps he could do something like that again and set everything straight. He slowly removed all his clothes and dropped them in a pile on the floor. Then he unzipped the bag. There in a big, moist, wrinkled bundle is the football kit. He shook it all out on the floor. Damp football jersey, cum-sticky shorts, knee-socks, and boots.

He stepped into the sorts and pulled them up. The damp cloth feet cold against him. Then the socks and the football boots, also cold. All he could smell was lingering cigarette smoke, but he imagined this would smell at least as much as when he got dressed in Liam's street clothes in the changing room. After having tied both boots he was surprised to notice his hard on had come back. Surprised but pleased. He put on the jersey and went to the bathroom to have a look.

He was taken aback as he looked in the mirror. For some reason he hadn't really expected to see Liam looking back. He knew that was what he was going to see, but it was still jarring to see it. He did a bit of acting, trying different faces. It just turned him on more. With nothing under the shorts there was plenty tenting.

He went back to his bed and lied down on it, grabbed his dick through the glossy shorts fabric, and begun to slowly jack off. It felt amazingly good, and in his mind he struggled with both feeling incredibly sexy as Liam, but also hated almost everything about his life. As he exploded with a second load of cum in the shorts he felt a sharp pain in his head and yelped out loud.

The drug stash was in the boots just inside the door. His mother wasn't coming home until nine, probably. Darell picked up his laptop. Suddenly he remembered everything about Liam's life. As the pain subsided he slowly came to realize he couldn't remember anything of his own life. He could remember both trying out Liam's clothes and running in from the field at the same time, somehow, but nothing prior to that.

As Matt showed up for metal shop class the next morning Mr. Fox told him to go to the headmaster's office. He was quickly shown into the headmaster himself, someone he had never met before, at least not as Liam. "I've been informed of yesterday's incident. I'm always willing to give people a second chance if they are willing to take responsibility for their actions. Are you willing to do that, Liam?"

"Sound, mate."

"I've only heard the other side. You assaulted Matt on the soccer field during yesterday's practice, then went after him again in the changing room so he had to flee without any clothes on him. Is that what happened?"

"Mate, I didn't..."

"I'm gonna stop you there before you make a mistake. Matt has graciously asked for no punishment as long as you two are separated from now on. So I'll ask again, is that what happened."

"Yes. Whatev."

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slippinmickeys · 3 years ago

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A Sequel: Amazon Archeologist/Scientist AU, Part 2:

You can read on AO3 here.

1. “How does it feel to have cured cancer?” asked Kathy Lee. Scully couldn’t take her eyes off the rim of the host’s wine glass; it was smeared with lipstick, and the wine contained therein had legs, running down the bell curve of the glass in thin amber stripes.

It was oddly, surreally quiet on the unnaturally blazing stage -- multiple cameras pointing at them, a team of professionals sitting in dead silence in the dark spread out below.

“I only wish I’d done it sooner,” Scully said, going off script a bit. “I think of the people that died while we were still searching, still researching, while the studies were being checked and… I just wish I’d found it sooner.”

The host’s face softened, and she reached forward and put her hand over Scully’s on the arm of the chair where it was resting. She gave it a squeeze and Hoda took over, “Up next, the group BTS is going to sing us their latest single!”

There was a dull bell that rang off to Scully’s right and the stage manager stepped forward, headphones clomped over his ears, his mic slung low around his jaw.

“We’re clear!” he called, “Sixty seconds!”

The show would be cutting to a co-host standing at a stage set-up outside 30 Rockefeller Center. Scully reached up to unhook the mic attached to her lapel, and a trio of sound technicians descended on her. In ten seconds, she was relieved of all equipment, and she was left swaying in the funnel of the Fresnels on the too bright stage.

“You did great,” she heard from her left, and the show’s host winked at her, and retook her hand, leading her to the dim cool just off stage.

She found Mulder standing before her once her eyes adjusted, just outside the reach of the stage lights, looking nervous and out of place, his hands clasped behind his back. He was wearing a turtleneck and a suit coat, looking every inch the tenured professor.

“And who’s this?” Kathie Lee asked, looking at Mulder brightly.

Scully shook herself, trying to remember her manners. It wasn’t always easy, having spent so much time in the field.

“Uh, this is Mulder,” she said, “Dr. Fox Mulder. My, um… my fiancé.”

The television host smiled warmly at Mulder and clasped his hand.

“I’ve heard the story of your meeting,” Kathie Lee said, “It’s a real pleasure.”

“I’m a big Giants fan,” Mulder said, giving her hand a firm shake, “the pleasure’s all mine.”

The host winked at him and then stalked off, and Scully exhaled, falling a little into Mulder’s side.

“I’m glad that’s over,” she said.

“The price you pay for changing the course of human history,” Mulder mumbled, squeezing her into his side and kissing her hairline. He led her off the soundstage and into a waiting limo.

2. It had been a whirlwind since the Nobel Prize Award ceremony in Stockholm. It was cold in Sweden in December — especially to a person who’d spent years in the humid jungles off the beaten paths of the world, and she and Mulder both felt out of place and perpetually in the clasp of a bone-clutching chill.

“I just want to be back in the field,” she’d whisper to him, and he would kiss her hand. With the prize money, they could buy a house, start a family — but they both would rather be in a jungle somewhere, sweating into the other’s skin on a too-narrow cot, in a too-hot clime. There was no science when they were in the cradle of the other’s hips, there was just each other. Sex made life more simple. Sex made life more fun. But sex didn’t cure cancer. Pleurotus Mulderatus did that, and the world wanted to hear about it.

3.She had a free ticket. Any university, any assignment.

“I feel pressure,” she told him, her nose pressed into his ear. “What do you do after you’ve cured cancer?” she asked, earnestly, “there’s nowhere to go but down.”

He’d taken her to Rhode Island, to his family’s cottage in Quonochontaug, creaky and drafty and smelling of mildew and old pine. No one had visited in decades and everything needed to be cleaned and aired out.

They kayaked and frolicked in the waves, drank coffee in adirondack chairs and listened to the pinched squawks of hovering sea birds. They’d find a place in the dune grass, down low where the wind wouldn’t catch them. They’d soak up the sun and then go into the cottage and make love between the knotty pine walls, their moans absorbed by the thick shag carpet laced with the grit of sand, faded drunkards path quilts nailed to the walls.

“Down is a state of mind,” Mulder would murmur into her ear, “Up is fighting gravity. You have nowhere to be but here. You have no one to impress but me.”

He would catch her lips with his own and they would sink into each other gratefully.

4.Mulder was burning pancakes in the kitchen when there was a dull knock on the screen door.

Scully was laughing at Mulder’s culinary ineptitudes when she turned toward the sound, her laugh fading when a well-done-up woman appeared on the stoop, holding her hand up to shield her eyes from the sun’s glare, trying to see into the murky depths of the house.

“Are you press?” Scully asked through the screen door glumly, her mood taking a nose dive.

“I’m Samantha,” the woman said, and it took Scully a full five seconds for her synapses to fire, to figure out the identity of the visitor.

“Oh my god,” Scully said, swinging the door open to admit the polished woman waiting on the other side. The door itself was swollen with humidity and didn’t shut all the way -- it caught like there was a second latch. “Come in, come in!”

Samantha had a full head of thick hair just like her brother, but it was curled and tawny, streaks of not-quite-blonde highlights running from the roots. She was wearing Lily Pulitzer pastels, and would have looked at home in a sun hat or on the pages of Coastal Living.

“You must be Dana,” she breathed, smiling widely. Scully nodded and looked around self-consciously. “God, this place hasn’t changed in thirty years,” Samantha finished, shaking her head ruefully. “Where’s Fox?”

“Kitchen,” Scully said, inclining her head toward the cooking space, though she knew Samantha knew right where to go.

“You’re using the cast iron?” Samantha said boldly and apropos of nothing, stepping into the sunny kitchen, “God, I hope you seasoned that thing.”

Mulder’s face brightened at seeing his sister, and he turned to her fully, enveloping her in a hug, a greasy spatula in one hand, held out so as not to soil her clothes.

“Like you can cook,” he drawled, turning back to the smoking pan.

“I know enough to hire a caterer,” she said, plunking down in an olive green vinyl kitchen chair, looking at ease but totally out of place in the dated decor of the cottage. “So. Who do I have to fuck to get a mimosa around here?”

“Me,” said a voice from the entryway. The screen door slammed ineffectually shut and Scully’s own sister Melissa stood awkwardly in the slant of sun showing through it, holding several plastic bags laden with glass bottles and juices, a hopeful, nervous smile on her face.

“Missy?!” Scully squeaked, and Mulder looked to the door, his face chagrined and pleased as Scully launched herself at her sister, wrapping herself in the earthy patchouli smell of the woman, the plastic bags clunking to the floor at their feet.

XxXxXxXxXxX

“I got ordained online,” Melissa said, drinking a Bellini from a yellow smiley-face mug, her feet tucked under her on a rough-hewn dining chair. “It’s perfectly legal.”

“But it’s--” Scully started, then abandoned her argument. She looked to Mulder desperately, who smiled and plunked a cup of hot coffee in front of her.

“It was only an idea,” he said, squeezing her hand and sliding an ancient sugar dish in front of her. The crinkles around his eyes had hardened in the ocean-reflected sun, lending him an air of easy humor she hadn’t witnessed much of in the jungle.

“Don’t you need two witnesses?” she asked, realizing how lame it sounded the second the words were out of her mouth.

Samantha leaned over and grabbed her hand, squeezing her fingers in such a way that made her feel bolstered and secure. “Not in Rhode Island,” Mulder’s sister told her, looking her square in the eye.

“We don’t have to do it,” Mulder said, still standing at her side, “but I thought…”

She felt overwhelmed with emotion, thinking of her father, who hadn’t lived long enough to witness her greatest achievement, which would have saved his life.

“Mom sent her wedding dress,” Melissa said, holding up a garment bag -- it was a yellowed ivory in the kitchen sun, the zipper up its middle aged and brittle.

XxXxXxXxXxX

They exchanged vows on the beach in front of the old cottage in a whipping Atlantic wind. Gulls hovered overhead and the sun was as bright as a brass doorknob, the air clearer than glass.

Samantha had read a poem by an amateur poet named Tim Pratt called Scientific Romance (Mulder having confessed to her later that night that it only seemed right to have had a reading replete with scientific notation for a wedding between two people such as themselves). Melissa had read words as old as the institution of marriage itself and they exchanged simple rings and had eyes only for each other. Scully handed her bouquet -- a small posy of wild swamp azalea and yellow flag that Melissa had picked the hour before -- to her new sister in law as she strode up the peeling wooden steps of the house. Mulder had insisted upon carrying her over the threshold and Melissa and Samantha had stood back thoughtfully, and were now sitting closely on the beach, heads bent together, talking in hushed tones.

Scully didn’t know quite what to do with herself, dressed in old lace in the heavy salt air, her left ring finger feeling as heavy and pendulous as an old bell. Mulder wrapped his arms around her from behind and told her they never had to leave.

“Nobel Laureates live in Rhode Island, too, you know,” he whispered into the hair behind her ear.

“Mmm,” she said happily, watching her sister and his dig their feet in the gritty sand.

He kissed the skin where her shoulder met her neck. “Life can be as simple as the state motto.”

“Which is?” she asked.

“Hope.”

5. She stood above the riverbank, the grass a trampled, muddy squelch. A monkey called from overhead, a high primate shriek that echoed through the canopy. Its compatriots soon joined in, the welcoming committee announcing the rare arrival of a visitor.

He sat in the back of the approaching hollowed-out canoe, his knees practically to his neck, the lanky bones of him jutting out at all angles. He wore jeans and chambray, all wrong for the climate, but the blue set off the dark mink of his hair, and his eyes -- as green as the river upon which his boat perched -- caught hers from twenty yards away -- they held her gaze as the craft glided to shore, and he leapt off with the galumphing grace of a power forward.

“Dr. Scully I presume,” he said, finding his balance on the slippery shore and reaching a hand forward. She clasped it gratefully, then brought it to her belly, which was protruding out like a carved fertility statue, a life-sized goddess, gravid and full. “I thank God, doctor, that I have been permitted to see you,” he finished, and they embraced on the shores of the jungle river, perspiring and damp and finally, finally feeling at home.

#fanfic #msr #my fic #the x-files #au #prompts #drabble ish

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one-boring-person · 4 years ago

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Hi! I love your blog, you could do a Fem! Reader x Eric (Divergent) where they argue about something, but he goes too far and the reader leaves him but then they make up?

Hey! Thank you, I'm glad you like my stuff!😊💛 I hope you like this!

Stiffs, Huh?

Eric Coulter x reader

Warnings: swearing, implied sexual themes (quite vague though)

Masterlist

A glare is etched onto Eric's face as he slams the door behind us, body tense as he stops in the middle of our joint apartment. Meeting his angered expression with a scowl of my own, I cross my arms and stare him down, my pulse racing from the frustration rife inside me.

"What is your problem?!" I finally snap, narrowing my eyes even as he does the same.

"I think it's pretty fucking clear what my problem is, (Y/n)." He growls, warningly, his voice low yet laced with fury.

"Well I don't. Feel like clarifying?" I argue, clenching my jaw.

"You want clarification? Fine! Maybe I should bring Four in here, hm? Maybe I should ask the two of you together, seeing as you're suddenly so close. Would that help make things clearer for you? Would it?" He sneers, stalking towards me threateningly as realisation dawns on me.

"What are you implying, Eric? Because I think I can say with full certainty that if it's what I think that you're wrong." I bite back, standing my ground.

"I'm not blind, (Y/n), I've seen you two together, training the initiates, all close and friendly. Your attention is on him, you never look at me, your boyfriend, for fuck's sake. I think it's pretty fucking obvious what's really going on, but neither of you have the guts to admit it to me!" Eric practically spits in my face, voice raising now as his anger heightens.

"You seriously think I'm cheating on you? With Four?" I scoff, shaking my head in disbelief, "I can't believe this."

"You haven't denied it, have you?"

I snap at this, my volume increasing.

"No, I haven't, because I think it should be very obvious that the crap coming from your mouth right now is absolute bullshit! You really think I'd cheat on you? What kind of a person do you take me for?!" My voice reverberates around the room, my anger palpable in my tone.

"Someone who is very bad at lying, if you think I'm going to believe that crap!" Eric snarls, "I should've known two stiffs would be drawn to each other."

At this, I stiffen, my blood running cold as I recognise the slur I'd made him swear not to use about Four or I falling naturally from his tongue.

"Stiffs, huh?" I say quietly, stepping away from him.

His face falls as he realises what he's said, his eyes softening as he steps forwards, reaching out to me.

"(Y/n), I'm sorry, I didn't mean it-" He starts, only for me to cut him off abruptly.

"No, you meant exactly what you said." I interrupt him, turning away from him to go into the bedroom, where I instantly grab a bag from the floor and start shoving essentials and clothes into it.

"What are you doing? (Y/n) Please stop, let me apologise-" Eric questions, panicked now as he comes and starts trying to halt my movements.

Shaking him off, I shoot him an angry look and continue what I'm doing.

"No, I'm clearly not up to your standard, being a stiff and all, so I'm not welcome here." I shrug, though I'm doing my best to force back the tears picking at my eyes.

"I didn't mean it like that…"

"No? Then how did you mean it? In a "nice" way?" I turn to look at him, fighting off the emotion threatening to overwhelm me.

Helplessly, Eric stumbles for words, his blue eyes fixed on mine as he silently pleads with me, the Dauntless leader left unable to speak for once in his life.

"Exactly." Is all I say, before I spin on my heel and go to leave.

"No, please stay, (Y/n), I need you! Please! I made a mistake, and I'm really sorry! Fuck, you don't know how sorry I am. Please don't go!" The leader begs suddenly, taking my wrist in his hand, halting me in my tracks, "You mean everything to me and I was just...I just got the wrong idea about you and Four. I'm so sorry, I should never have said what I did, it was wrong of me."

Facing him, I take in his desperate face, noticing his wet eyes as they make contact with mine.

"You're right, you jumped to conclusions too quickly, and what you said was wrong and offensive." I say carefully, feeling my heart yearn to return to him, to let myself get swept up into his muscular arms and never leave them.

"I know, and I promise I'll never do it again! Please, (Y/n), don't go! I need you too much, please!" He pleads, imploring me with his eyes.

After a long moment of silence, I drop my bag to the ground and turn back to face him, watching as relief floods his features, the leader hesitantly releasing my wrist so he can step forwards.

"Swear to me that we won't have to repeat this conversation, Eric. Swear to me." I say firmly, not quite touching him yet.

"I swear, I swear to you that I will never do anything that means we have to repeat this! Please, I'll do anything, just stay with me!" He swears, staring at me in hopes that I will believe him.

Swallowing, I look at him briefly, before letting a smile cross my features, throwing myself into his arms. Instantly, he wraps them around me, pinning me to his body as he embraces me tightly, breathing heavily into my hair, his scent enveloping me. Relishing in the feeling of safety I get from being within his arms, I hug him back, only to pull away momentarily and press our lips together instead. Groaning in surprised pleasure, Eric kisses back, holding me close as our lips smooth against each other, mouths moving in sync as our hands start to roam. Quickly, the kiss becomes heated, the leader swiftly moving to push me back onto the bed, grinning at the breathless giggle that escapes me.

"I'm gonna show you just how sorry I am." He promises, before returning to me, crashing his lips into mine once more.

#eric coulter divergent #eric coulter #divergent #Eric Coulter imagine #jai courtney #Eric Coulter x reader

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hirikka · 4 years ago

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twisted thrice about the tree

For @mikkeneko! Written for @thewitchersecretsanta

Rating: G Relationship: Geralt/Jaskier Summary: Jaskier finds Ciri just after a sorcerer from Nilfgaard has cursed Geralt—together they need to find a way to break the curse.

on AO3

Jaskier had been doing his best to avoid danger. It was a new thing for him, and he didn’t think he was a huge fan. He felt that he had to give it a fair shake, after his near-crippling incident with Reince—which had been particularly galling, as he hadn’t even sung any of the White Wolf cycle in months, but that was not the point. The point is that he is avoiding danger, so he should absolutely not run into the dark woods towards the sound of an explosion.

His legs do not seem to have gotten that memo. He curses under his breath but keeps running. It doesn’t take him long to find the source of the explosion—an area of flattened trees that stretched into the distance. Jaskier stops at the edge and thinks very hard about turning around. Until he sees a dragon lift off the ground from just over a ridge and take off into the sky with a flash of silver wings. The dragon circles high above and lets out an earth-shaking roar. A high pitched scream comes from over the hill and Jaskier runs in that direction. He crests the hill just in time to see a portal flash open—there is a man in Nilfgaardian armor holding the arm of a child, pulling them towards the portal. The dragon roars again and Jaskier feels a sudden chill as the creature's shadow blocks out the sun. He has only a moment to act so he springs forward and whispers a blessing on his dagger before he throws it. It flies straight and true—striking the Nilfgaardian in an eye. The man stumbles, releases his grip on the child, and falls. The portal blinks out as he lands. For a moment the clearing is silent. Then the dragon lets out a high keening noise and flaps upwards, the winds buffeting Jaskier and whipping up debris from the destroyed trees.

“No! Wait!” he hears the child scream.

When the dust settles enough that Jaskier can see again, the dragon is gone. A single silver scale lies by Jaskier’s feet. He picks it up and then moves down the slope towards the child. They’ve fallen to their knees in the dirt.

“Are you injured?” Jaskier asks when he is close enough. The child startles to her feet at his approach, watching him with wary green eyes.

“No,” she answers after a moment.

“Good,” Jaskier says. He moves over to the soldier to retrieve his dagger. “Are you traveling alone?” He can’t see any sign of other people—but the destruction around makes it impossible to tell for sure.

The girl hesitates. “I wasn’t.”

“Did he…” Jaskier trails off pointing at the soldier, hoping his point is clear.

The girl nods, a little tentative.

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier says. She’s not the first orphan he’s seen in the first few months of the war, and she’s unlikely to be the last. “I would be happy to help you to wherever you were heading.” He can see the suspicion in her gaze at his offer. “My name is Jaskier.” He hopes that she’ll recognize the name at least, a famous bard will hopefully feel like a safer traveling companion than a strange man.

The girl’s eyes widen. “The bard? You traveled with”—she hesitates for a moment—“with the White Wolf?”

Jaskier is about to respond when he spots a flash of silver on the ground near their feet. He kneels to pick it up and it feels as though his heart stutters to a stop. It’s a wolf witcher medallion—the chain has been snapped but the sight is so familiar and it hums softly under his touch. He looks at the girl, she’s gone tense and still in front of him. “Yes, I traveled with the White Wolf,” he says. “What happened here?”

The girl gulps, glancing towards the sorcerer. “He cursed Geralt. He wanted to separate us, make it so Geralt wouldn’t be able to protect me.”

“Oh,” Jaskier gasps. “You’re Cirilla!”

“Ciri,” the girl corrects. “Or Fiona in public.”

Jaskier thinks of the silver scale in his pocket. “And he turned Geralt into a dragon?”

Ciri nods. “I don’t think he knew me, after he transformed, it didn’t seem… didn’t seem like him.”

Jaskier hums, considering what he knows about transformation magic. Wonders exactly how different the reality is from the songs. “Well, we ought to start by figuring out where he would have gone. Where were you heading?”

“The coast.”

Jaskier blinks. “The coast? Why?”

“He didn’t say exactly,” Ciri admits.

“I suppose that shouldn’t surprise me.” Jaskier sighs. “But I’m not sure if he would have carried on that way, or if he would have gone somewhere familiar…” he trails off, trying to think of any reason he could avoid going to the one person who might know where he was. Unfortunately— “I know someone who should be able to track him for us.”

Ciri brightens. “Who?”

“Yennefer.”

“I don’t want to get involved in whatever scheme you’ve gotten tangled up in.” Yennefer doesn’t even bother looking up from her book.

“Oh well, Ciri, let's go. We’ll have to see if there’s someone else who can help us.” Jaskier says.

Yennefer looks up at that, narrowing her eyes at Jaskier and Ciri. “Why do you have a child?” The disdain in her tone made Ciri press closer to Jaskier. “Nobody in their right mind would trust you with a child.”

Jaskier scoffs. “Please, I’m perfectly responsible.”

Yennefer just raises an eyebrow.

“Alright, fine.” Jaskier huffs. “You’re correct in a way, her true guardian is very much not in his right mind. That’s why we’re here.”

Yennefer sighs and then stands. “Alright, you better come in and sit down. I have a feeling I’m going to need a drink.”

As she leads them into her apartment behind the shop, Ciri tugs on Jaskier’s sleeve. “Will she be able to help us?”

“Of course, poppet,” Jaskier assures her. “She might not be my biggest fan, but she won’t turn you away.”

“Alright, explain,” Yennefer says. “And keep it simple, please, bard.”

“Right. Simple.” Jaskier has heard that before, fine, if she wants just the bare bones of the story: “Geralt’s been cursed into a dragon and we need to find him.”

Yennefer takes a moment to process that. She takes a long sip of her wine. “Why?”

“Why was he cursed, or why do we need to find him?” Jaskier asks. “Although, I suppose it's the same answer either way. This is Cirilla, Geralt’s child surprise.”

Yen’s eyes widen. “His child surprise is the lion cub of Cintra?”

“Yes, so you can see why he didn’t exactly feel like he could snatch her away at any time, the lioness was a bit touchy about the whole thing.” Jaskier’s voice is cool, remembering the words he had overheard on the mountain.

“He was cursed because he was trying to protect me.” Ciri cuts in. Her hand is clenched around the wolf medallion. “I need to help him.”

Yen turns her attention to the girl and softens. “I can create a tracking spell for you.” Ciri lets out a relieved breath but Yen continues. “That will be the easy part. Once you find him you’ll need to find a way to break the curse.”

“I have one of his scales,” Jaskier says. “Would that help in figuring out the details of the curse? How to break it?”

Yen nods, reaching out a hand. Jaskier reluctantly passes the silver scale to her. “The tracking spell will take a few hours to prepare, and I’ll need some time with this to see what I can find out. You can stay here for the night, I have a spare room.”

“Thank you, Yennefer,” Jaskier says, hoping she’ll sense how sincere he is.

She gives a curt nod before pointing down a hall. “And take a bath before you track any more filth into my house.”

“I have good news and bad news,” Yennefer announces over breakfast. “Geralt’s not far, you should be able to reach him in three days on horseback.” She pauses. “I’m not sure how to undo the curse. It’s a mess, they mucked something up rather badly and now it’s too twisted up to have an easy cure.”

“Fuck.” Jaskier and Ciri say at the same time.

Yen glances between them with a bemused look. “It’s not hopeless. The curse got twisted, you’ll need to remind him who he is first.”

“How?” Jaskier asks.

Yennefer gives him a pointed look. “You know him better than anyone, Jaskier, you’ll have to figure that out.” She softens slightly. “Three things. There’s a reason the tales always call for three things, three tasks. There’s a real magic there—three things that remind him who he is and then—”

“Then?” Jaskier prompts.

“Then, you should be able to break the curse,” Yennefer says. Jaskier can sense there is more to it than she’s saying.

“What if we choose the wrong things?” Ciri asks.

Yennefer frowns. “I’m not sure—you might be able to try again but it could also cause the spell to warp again. I wish I could give you a clearer answer.”

“You’ve given us enough,” Jaskier says, hoping to reassure Ciri even as he starts running through ideas, trying to figure out what options they have. “Ciri, can you go and get Roach ready?” Jaskier asks. Ciri gives him a look that makes it very clear she knows exactly what he’s trying to do but she does head outside. Once she’s gone, Jaskier turns to Yennefer. “Alright, what’s the rest of it?”

Yennefer sighs. “If the curse didn’t break when the caster was killed… then the only sure way to break it is the, well, traditional method.”

“Traditional method?” Jaskier asks. He has a feeling he knows what that is, but he needs to hear her say it.

“True love,” Yennefer says, as if it is such a simple thing.

Jaskier stares at her. “Will you—?”

Yennefer shakes her head. “The bond created by the djinn warped whatever Geralt and I have—could have had. I care for him, and I know he cares for me—but it’s not true in the way it would need to be to break the curse.”

Jaskier sighs. “Does true love have to go both ways?”

Yennefer gives him a look that, in another person, he might have mistaken for sympathy. “There’s only one way to find out.”

Jaskier nods in thanks and moves towards the door.

“Jaskier—” Yennefer calls. “Try to do it before the season changes or it may be too late.”

Jaskier grimaces—there are so many ways for this to go wrong and such a narrow path to save Geralt. “Thank you, Yennefer.”

“Good luck.” Yennefer says.

Jaskier steps outside and prepares to save his witcher.

“What are the three things?” Ciri asks once they’ve set out. Yennefer had given them a map, Geralt’s location marked with ink she had infused with a piece of the scale so that it would track Geralt if he moved. He is currently on a stretch of coast between Gors Velen and Oxenfurt—the cliffs of the area mean that it is mostly unpopulated which hopefully means they won’t have to contend with any dragon hunters.

Jaskier considers. “I’m guessing that just his swords and medallion won’t be enough for this. The medallion is certainly one of the things, though.” He runs his hand absently along Roach’s neck. “Unfortunately, he was never a big fan of sharing so I’m not completely sure what else we can use.”

“What about a song?” Ciri suggests. “One of the ones you wrote for him?”

Jaskier glances up at the princess—she looks so hopeful and he hates that he has to admit that he is probably not actually well-suited to help with this. She doesn’t have anyone else to turn to. “He wasn’t a fan of my music, to tell the truth.”

Ciri gives him a skeptical look. “He used to hum them, sometimes, when he was trying to help me sleep. He never sang the words but I recognized the tunes.”

“He did?” Jaskier can’t hide his surprise.

“Yes,” Ciri says, as if it should have been obvious. “He talked about you, about how you helped him.”

Jaskier snorts.

“I’m serious!” Ciri says with a huff. “You were the only person besides his brothers he ever really talked about.” She has an intense look. “I know you’ll be able to figure out what we need to bring him back.”

“Ah, well.” Jaskier is at a loss for words. He wishes he had as much faith that his knowledge of Geralt would be enough. “I’ll certainly do my best.”

“A song, the medallion…” He taps his quill against the page, trying to think. “Ciri, I think you might be the last thing we need.”

“What?”

“Material possessions have never been that important to him,” Jaskier says. “His medallion is a symbol of his profession, his purpose. The song to remind him that he’s more than the monster people claim he is, and you—you’re his destiny. His future.”

Ciri tilts her head. “Really? It's been such a short time… are you sure it wouldn’t be his swords?”

“No,” Jaskier says, he’s as certain that she is part of this as she is that his song will help. “The swords are just tools, he’s lost them before. Gotten replacements. They’re important to him, certainly, but not, I think, in the same way that you are.”

Ciri ducks her head to hide a pleased smile and Jaskier hopes to all the gods that he is right. That they both are. They’ll reach the coast and Geralt tomorrow and he needs this to work. Jaskier lets out a long breath as he watches the dragon disappear from sight. Tries to calm the racing of his heart. He’s so desperate for this to work, so scared that it won’t. He makes sure he is steady enough to pretend at confidence before he returns to where Ciri is waiting a little way back from the cliff edge.

They can smell the salt in the air long before they see the ocean. As Jaskier had suspected, the area the dragon has led them too is at least a day's walk from any villages. Remote enough that nobody is likely to stumble upon him. Of course, if he’s spotted in the air that’s another matter, but hopefully they’ll have Geralt cured before anyone decides to muster up another dragon hunting expedition. The cliffside they approach is empty except for a single great hawthorn tree. The dragon is resting underneath the tree. Jaskier stops their approach to study him. His scales are the color of a stormy sky, silver and grey with tinges of blue and black. He has several horns on his head but is otherwise sleek and sinuous.

He lifts his head and fixes them with a piercing look. His eyes are still golden but they seem so much colder than Geralt’s. “You shouldn’t be here.” The dragon rumbles.

“Geralt!” Ciri cries, taking a step towards the dragon but he lifts his head higher and bares his fangs.

The dragon’s tail lashes—the end seems almost feathered and it stirs up a cold wind as it moves. “Leave this place.”

Jaskier places his hand on Ciri’s shoulder and stares at the dragon’s huge golden eyes. “We need you to come back to yourself, Geralt.” He thanks his years of vocal training for allowing him to keep his voice steady.

The dragon says nothing.

Jaskier squeezes Ciri’s shoulder. “Wait here,” he whispers as he takes Geralt’s medallion out of his pocket and slowly walks towards the dragon. In response, the dragon bares his fangs.

Jaskier stands before the dragon and holds out the medallion. “Here is your medallion, the symbol of your trade, your life. While you wear it, you shall always have your purpose.”

The dragon extends his head towards Jaskier cautiously. “If you touch me, tail or fin, I swear my medallion your death shall be.” The dragon’s words are said in an almost song-like chant—it’s an odd touch, but the whole spell is odd. With the dragon this close, Jaskier can sense the magic; it feels ancient and he wonders exactly what the Nilfgaardians thought they were doing.

Jaskier places the medallion on the ground and steps back with his hand raised to show that he will not touch the dragon. He watches the dragon extend one clawed foot to pull the medallion in close, holding it close to his face. He is still for a long moment before he launches himself up into the air and over the edge of the cliff.

“Is he leaving?” Ciri asks, rushing to stand by Jaskier’s side.

“Hunting perhaps,” Jaskier suggests. “I imagine we’re meant to come back tomorrow, and the day after—three days and three items.”

Ciri makes a face. “Why does magic have to be so complicated?”

Jaskier huffs a laugh. “I’ve often wondered the same thing. Come on, let's see if we can find a decent spot to set up camp.

They had set up camp in a copse of trees far enough back from the cliff edge that the wind was not quite so biting. They eat a quick breakfast and then head back towards the hawthorn tree. When they arrive, Geralt has not returned. Ciri, needing something to burn off her nervous energy, starts running through her training drills. She practices with a sword that Geralt must have had made for her—it is finely made, well balanced, and she is clearly comfortable with it.

Jaskier watches for a while before he settles down with his lute, trying to figure out what song might work to bring Geralt back. It’s a daunting task whe he’s still not entirely sure that one of his songs will even help, but they hadn’t been able to come up with any better ideas, so he’ll have to hope that destiny is on their side.

The sun is high in the sky when they hear the rushing sound of the dragon’s wings. They watch as it lands lightly on the edge of the cliff, water slides off his scales, sparkling in the sunlight. He coils himself around the tree. He regards them with clear interest. The medallion hangs around his neck.

“You’ve come again.” The dragon observes. “To offer another trinket?”

“Ah, not an item this time but a song!” Jaskier says, walking as close to the dragon as he dares before he adjusts his lute. “The medallion was to remind you that you are a witcher,” Jaskier explains. “The reason you walk the path. The song is to show you how important that is, how despite the difficulties, you remain good. A hero.”

The dragon rumbles something that sounds vaguely like disagreement.

“You can’t argue that you aren’t a hero when you don’t remember who you are.” Jaskier snaps. He’s had this fight enough times with Geralt when he does know himself.

The dragon snorts but he doesn’t protest beyond that. He lays his head on the ground gestures for Jaskier to proceed with a flick of his tail.

Jaskier takes a deep breath and starts to play the familiar notes of ‘The stars above the path’. It is not quite as popular as ‘toss a coin’ but it has more truth to it, written after Jaskier and Geralt had traveled together for almost a decade. Geralt is still heroic, of course, but the story is more complex—not meant to merely please a crowd at a tavern. Jaskier had tried to show the truth of Geralt—his compassion and bravery, his humanity. It’s the closest to a love song that Jaskier has ever written so obviously about Geralt, not that the witcher noticed.

The dragon seems intrigued at least, his focus never wavering from Jaskier as he sings, and by the final chorus his tail is twitching in time with the music. When the song ends the dragon moves slightly closer.

“He is your friend? Geralt?”

“He is,” Jaskier says easily. It has been almost two years since he had left Geralt in the Kestrel Mountains, but he still considers the witcher his friend.

“Then I hope your plan works.” The dragon says before he takes off, flying out over the open water.

The third day dawns blustery and cool, the scent of frost in the air reminding them they do not have much time left. Jaskier tries to keep himself calm and steady, he can see how frightened Ciri is and doesn’t want to do anything that might make it worse.

They still don’t know exactly what will happen if they have chosen wrong and they are not able to restore Geralt to himself, but Jaskier cannot imagine they will be allowed a second chance. He fears that the dragon will turn on them, but cannot do more than pray that if that happens he will be strong enough to hold it off long enough for Ciri to flee.

They wait in silence for the dragon to return—watching as he crests the cliffside and curls through the air above them. He spirals down until he is once again on the cliffside facing them, the long line of his body looped around the tree.

“Ready?” Jaskier asks, rising to his feet and offering Ciri a hand up.

“What if it doesn’t work?” Ciri asks.

“Then we go back to Yennefer and see if she has any other ideas,” Jaskier says, hoping that will reassure Ciri.

Ciri doesn’t look convinced but she lifts her chin, shifting to stand at her full height. “Let’s go.”

Jaskier nods and together they walk towards the dragon. The dragon watches, tail twitching like a cat preparing to spring.

“You’ve returned.” The dragon rumbles. “What will you try today?”

Jaskier takes a deep breath. “Today, your destiny”—he steps back and Ciri steps forward to take his place—”Cirilla, your daughter.”

“Daughter?” The dragon rumbles the question, eyes narrowed.

“Fate brought us together,” Ciri says, voice fierce and determined. “You swore that we would always find each other, that you wouldn’t leave me!”

The dragon moves his head closer and Jaskier holds his breath.

“Geralt, I need you. Your destiny is more than this.” Ciri says.

The dragon withdraws rapidly, coiling tighter on himself until the tree within his coils creaks a protest. “Destiny is cruel, child.”

Jaskier steps closer, placing a hand on Ciri’s trembling shoulder. “Destiny may have taken much from you, Geralt, but it has given you a gift. A chance for happiness. To have a family.” He takes a deep breath. “Would you abandon your child the way you were abandoned? Do not let this curse turn you into a monster.”

“I am a monster.” the dragon growls.

“You aren’t,” Jaskier says. “You are a witcher, a hero, a protector, a father. You are so much more than they say you are. More than you think you are.”

The dragon darts forward until he is so close to Jaskier that his breath ruffles the bard’s clothing. Jaskier stands still, resisting the urge to push Ciri behind him as the dragon examines them. His golden eyes seem different, warmer than they had before and Jaskier holds his breath—hardly daring to hope.

“You are so sure?” the dragon asks. “Even after the Kestrel Mountains?”

Jaskier sucks in a breath, if the dragon can reference past events then perhaps Geralt’s mind is becoming his own again. “Even after that,” Jaskier says. “Anger doesn’t make you a monster.”

“I hurt you.” the dragon says.

“You did.” Jaskier agrees. “That doesn’t change who you are. You are still a good man, Geralt. You’ve made mistakes but that doesn’t make you a monster. It makes you human.”

The dragon, Geralt, gives a slow blink. He doesn’t speak but he doesn’t move away either.

“What now?” Ciri whispers.

Jaskier gives her what he hopes is a reassuring smile. “Classic curse-breaking,” he says. “The traditional ways always work best. Hopefully.” He takes a step closer to the dragon who is still not moving—just watching with an intense focus.

“Gods, please let this work,” Jaskier whispers, and then he leans in and presses a kiss to the dragon’s snout.

For a long breathless moment, absolutely nothing happens. Then everything goes white.

Jaskier comes back to awareness slowly. His ears are ringing. He feels a small hand holding his own. With a great deal of effort, he opens his eyes, blinking away bright white spots. For a moment he is staring up at the empty sky and then Geralt is there, warm golden eyes scanning his face. Jaskier reaches his free hand up and touches the loose hair falling around Geralt’s face.

“It worked.” Jaskier hears himself say, voice breathless and awed. He touches Geralt’s cheek and marvels at the way Geralt presses into his hand.

“It did.” Geralt agrees. “Thank you, Jaskier.”

“Oh, well. It was no trouble.” Jaskier lies cheerfully. He’s not certain how to act, how to deal with the fact that Geralt is his true love. “I ju—”

The rest of what he was going to say is silenced and then forgotten completely as Geralt leans in and kisses him. It is soft, gentle and so tender Jaskier almost wants to scream. After a long moment, Geralt pulls back, just slightly, so that he can press his forehead against Jaskier’s.

“I missed you.” Geralt says.

“Oh,” Jaskier murmurs, at a loss for words. Any anger he felt fades away in the face of Geralt’s little smile. He looks radiant with happiness.

“Um. I hate to interrupt,” Ciri says. “But we should probably find somewhere to spend the night?”

Geralt moves away with a great deal of reluctance. He rises fluidly to his feet, looking no worse for his time as a dragon. He reaches out a hand to Jaskier and pulls him to his feet. He doesn’t drop Jaskier’s hand.

“What now?” Jaskier asks, trying not to appear as nervous as he feels.

“We’ll find a place to camp tonight.” Geralt says. “And then… would you come with us?”

“What?” Jaskier asks. “Where?”

“We’re going to Kaer Morhen for the winter. Will you come?” Geralt actually looks nervous as if the answer isn’t blatantly obvious.

“Geralt,” Jaskier says softly. “I’d follow you anywhere. All you had to do was ask.”

“Hm.” Geralt’s mouth tilts into a tiny smile. “Good.”

#geraskier #geralt #jaskier #geraskier fic #fairy tale inspired #my writing #my fics #mine #txp

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diary-of-an-onliner · 4 years ago

Text

feet on the ground [f.w.]

word count: 3381

warnings: none

a/n: this is based on, and a counterpart/continuation of @ickle-ronniekins 's head in the clouds — thanks for the inspo babe, this one is for you

Fred Weasley was not happy. Sure, he had made a lot of questionable, or as other people like to say 'bad', decisions in his life, but taking Care of Magical Creatures was one of the worst. Yes, it made Hagrid ecstatic, and that's always a good thing to see; yes, it's useful for his future business. However a hellfire-cracken the size of a shoebox was making him rethink his choices.

For the lack of a better distraction, he focused on digging a hole in the grass with his trainer as Hagrid’s rumbled instructiones flew over his head, missing both ears and zooming away into an indifferent oblivion. George is taking this already, he looked to George, who was quite enchanted with his partner, and thoroughly enjoying it, couldn't we have split up? He kicked the dirt lightly, startling the girl next to him.

Neither Fred nor his Slytherin partner were thrilled with each other,but misery loves company, so it might be for the best.

"How's the weather up there?" said his partner, who was crouching eye — er, shell-level, with the creature, but keeping her distance nonetheless. Her hair waved and flickered on her shoulder as she bounced on her heels.

"Immaculate, thanks for asking." he said, not wanting to get closer to the scorpion-lobster lovechild from the asshole of hell. "Y'know Hagrid said those things burn, bite, and sting, right?"

"So do I.” she said sarcastically, still keeping her gaze tied to the monster. “I'm not going to touch it, I'm just looking. You're aware we need to sketch it, label its parts and write an essay about it later?" Fred shifted his weight from foot to foot restlessly.

"Yes." his nostrils flared.

She pursed her lips and, after a moment of silence, said: "I dare you to touch it."

He crossed his arms. "I am not taking dares from you. We met three minutes ago and I haven't enjoyed a second of it."

"What's up your ass?" she turned to him, still crouching. "Actually, I don't care. Just don't take it out on me." The creature clicked their — tail? — pincers? — their something.

"I wasn't—" she raised an eyebrow and he fell silent, and looked away.

"'m not very thrilled to be here." he mumbled. "And that ugly death trap isn't making it better. Can we start over?" he asked, sighing and tiredly sweeping his left hand through his hair, and offering his right to her.

She took it and pulled herself up, then promptly smoothed out her skirt, shook his still proffered hand, and introduced herself.

Unlike his messy untucked shirt, her uniform was pressed down to the socks and her shoes held no traces of mud. It gave her a calculating, and slightly cold aura, as if she was drawn with a set of rulers and a compass. She was probably more geometrical than anyone who had ever taken Care of Magical Creatures.

"Fred." he said, even though she knew.

"Well Fred, we will be working together on this Blast-Ended Skrewt for the next few weeks, so that 'ugly death trap’ is our son you're talking about." she chided with a smile that better belonged on a sly fox rather than a girl.

"You sound very attached to it." he shot back. An idea, a thought, a silver of a notion that this might be fun slithered along the floor of his skull.

"Him.” She corrected with her pointer finger in the air. “And it's called being a good parent." she lightly jabbed him in the chest.

"Okay then. Go pet your son." Fred smirked.

They turned toward the beast which was playing in the grass like a puppy. It seemed to be wiggling its tails.

Her eyes narrowed: "Which part is the head?"

"I don't know. We should probably figure it out, since the other side shoots flames." he said in an amused tone.

"It's supposed to be a sucker, so it might be the penis-looking side." he chuckled, but when she turned to stare at him expectantly, his red eyebrow jumped in question. A breeze ruffled their hair.

"Go on then, don't be shy, we need to compare." she said flatly.

He burst out laughing so hard, a few people around them turned to stare - quite a dangerous thing to do at the moment seeing as some of the beasts started snipping. A yelp sounded from afar, and Fred laughed even harder.

At least his partner is funny.

"Seriously though, this thing is going to fire-fart on us soon and we need to figure it out."

“You don’t feel better in nature?” her tone piqued as she turned the pages of a book. Their desk was covered with them, during the first of their many study meetings.

“No.” Fred played with his quill, spinning it through his fingers. “You do?”

“I feel clearer, especially near water.”, thump, she shut her book and discarded it.

“How come?” he balanced on the back legs of his chair, eyes darting around.

“I don’t know. It’s not a thing I question.”, flip, flip, flip, “It just lures me out of my head, and makes me feel a little more real, like I’m aware of my own existence. Sharper, yknow?”

Fred shook his head.

“I don’t have a need to get out of my head, it’s great in there.” he joked. She snorted and passed him a book with a piece of paper sticking out.

“Don’t you? You seem to be in there a lot though. I think you think too much.” Fred chukled, “That’s something I've never been told.”

“Then it’s about time.” she threw his way, but she had yet to look at him, Fred noted. The idea of her as geometrical played around in his head. “Try it next time. People exist a little sharper sometimes. It stops you from feeling like you’re going to float away.” her eyes finally flickered to him like two needles of her compasses, and shot him down. His chair hit the ground.

Before Fred had a chance to say something else or roll her idea around in his brain, she passed him a piece of parchment with a soft order to, “Write.”

His diagram of their unnamed child was much neater than hers, but his illegible handwriting distracted from it perfectly.

"That is not a t."she said, her hair almost electrified from stress-combing it with her hands.

"It's obviously a g." he chirped, but his tone sounded worn down all the same. She squinted at the paper with her mouth open for a moment, then gave up.

"How are you still this peppy?" she asked as her gaze lazily rolled itself away from the books. His tie was completely undone and being used as a bookmark, his shirt unbuttoned and ruffled like his hair, ha, carrot head!, but he took no note of it as he balanced on the back legs of his chair again. Every so often, a clank would sound amid their conversation when the chair struck against the stone floor and his feet hit the ground, before he leaned back again.

"What are you talking about? I'm knackered." he yawned.

She looked up, and her thoughts leaked out of her head. The scenery through the window behind him was gorgeous, lit on fire by the dusk— oversaturated reds and pinks which lined the dark purple clouds.

With a loud tap on the library floor, the front legs of Fred's chair touched the ground and his head covered the sun perfectly, giving him a golden lining and making his orange hair melt into the background. The clear lines of his face looked almost chiseled in contrast to the haziness behind him.

A weight settled in the center of her torso, an iron bowling ball rolling between her stomach and her heart. He was handsome. She knew this. But she used to know it the way one knows they should drink water when they’re thirsty. Knowing you needed it after you drink him in, swallow, and sign, is another story.

She felt a warm metal line grow out of her chest, like a vine towards the sunlight, enter his chest and settle.

For a few moments she imagined it. She tried to note the dragging sensation of warm iron and let herself be pulled to him. She imagined the ball rolling in his center, and all his squirming being in an attempt to adjust it instead of just staying awake.

Then she blinked. Took in the real scene. Despite being exhausted, she felt tranquil in their little corner filled with books and a few very ugly sketches. She picked one up.

“Are we allowed to call his head a dick?” She questioned, but Fred just yawned and shrugged. His chair tipped back again.

“You’ll hurt yourself.” She said flatly, words moving from line to line like trains with the shittiest track designs ever.

“The thrill keeps me awake.” he closed his eyes, hair still a burning red. She didn’t dare look at the Sun for too long. Her eyes tried to follow the words. The ball rolled.

He slid another sketch towards her. “I think we should use this one.”

She put the first one aside, their hands brushing as she took the new parchment. She heard the scraping of his chair on the floor as he moved closer until his collarbone pressed against her shoulder as he leaned over to point. The body heat he was emitting only reminded her of the weariness her body carried. It also refashioned her bowling ball into an anchor slowly sinking through her stomach, tickling her insides on the way down.

The sketch was neater and much simpler than others, no more than a handful of black lines on a yellowing parchment.

“This part is the head.” Fred pointed out. “I think. It looks weird and there isn’t exactly a good reference for a randomly cross-bred demon.” He seemed so focused on his drawing that she got the feeling he was avoiding her eyes intentionally. Stupid, really. They’re both just tired and have a lot of work.

Look at me.

He didn’t.

She banished all her stupid silly thoughts, and tried to turn to the books for the next few hours.

Fred stayed circling warmly on the edge of her orbit, moving around her but never looking, never acknowledging her as anything other than a voice and a pair of friendly working hands. The silly stupid thread she felt earlier vibrated. She didn't bring it up for fear they wouldn't finish all their work if she were to derail the conversation, so she waited until the end of their study session.

However, when the anticipated end neared, his chair hit the stone the last time and when she turned to him, Fred was lying on his arms on the table, asleep. His outline was as bright and as sharp as ever, but his face was soft and smooth from relaxation, like a marble statue melting. The anchor in her stomach lurch up at the sight, but she swallowed it down, smiled, and laid her head on the table too.

Another sunny afternoon had George almost skipping to his quirky partner. And Fred was glad, he liked to see his brother happy and loved teasing him for being in love even more — but he still hated the bloody beasts. He was thankful for George's efforts to cheer him up, but Fred refused to move out from under his personal gloomy cloud, choosing to carry it alone instead, the way one would an umbrella.

As soon as George mentions his partner, he knows it's time to leave him to his beloved, as he does, with minimal mocking involved (—but come on!).

As Fred approached her, he saw her roll her eyes. Funny. Something about knowing she's as un-excited as he is made his chest swell up with what can only be described as the sudden understanding of the real depth of companionship between you and a stranger, an acquaintance, a friend. I might not like this, but I am not alone.

"They're four feet long already. Your future sister-in-law," said his partner, gesturing to George's love with her head, at which Fred smiled warmly, "said we only get to work with them for another class. I think she might cry." His clouds stopped thundering.

"Don't be rude." he replied but did not sound angry in the least.

"I'm not. She's a nice girl and God bless her for being passionate about this. We need people like her, otherwise the rest of us would have to care as well." she reasoned.

"There's that warm and welcoming Slytherin care I've heard all about." he said sarcastically.

"Rude. Gingers truly are soulless." Fred got nudged in the ribs.

"Oi!"

"Oi yourself!" she flipped her hair and flashed her foxy smile. No, it's fox-like. "Don't start things you can't finish."

"Well, I'm ready to be done with this thing." he looked pointedly at the snapping creature reaching out to them like a baby in a cot.

They received their instructions from Hagrid to feed, entertain, and check the health of the creature and set off to work. After a few minutes of silence, Fred spoke.

"I think there's something wrong with this thing." he squinted.

"Him." She corrected, "He's our son."

"Well I think our son is pregnant." Fred’s face soured.

“No way." she replied, kneeling closer to the beast than she'd ever dared before. "How do you know?"

"A hunch?" Fred shrugged his very nicely shaped shoulders. No! "I'm not sure. It did eat three times as much as the others. It should be a lot fatter."

"He." She absent-mindedly corrected, trying to get a good enough look.

"He doesn't look sick but he's being weird." he squatted next to her, bouncing on his heels.

"Maybe he's lonely. We both ditched a few times." She bumped her knee into his. "I dare you to touch him."

Fred laughed as he turned to her. "I'm not that commited of a father. You do it."

"Why me? You need to do something too!" she whined as their son approached in a rather puppy-like gait, as if he was going to rub against their legs, and Fred's gaze slipped off her, like that day in the library.

"I'll do whatever you want.” he paused "Within reason, of course."

"Touch him."

"Within reason."

"Fine." their dark-shelled son stood before them now, but they were not as hesitant this time. The beast looked at Fred with either his head or his stinger (how is it still not clear?).

Slowly and shakily, her hand reached out. She almost withdrew it, but it already made contact with their son's back and he made a sound similar to purring, which was both surprising and unsettling. Her face bent in disgust as her entire palm pressed against his black shell, gleaming maroon in the sunlight.

"Ew. He's slimy." she detached her hand to see a catran-like substance coating it. "How is he slimy?"

Fred's nose was scrunched as well but an amused gleam flickered on his face nonetheless. “Disgusting.”

"Well, I did it." she complained, trying to wipe her hand on his arm, but he rose to his feet quickly, laughing.

“Keep that to yourself.” Fred warned, trying to avoid her swift attempts to use him as a rag.

“Come on!” She whined. “We’re in this together. If I have to be gross then so do you.” she jumped up after Fred.

He felt weightless as he maneuvered around her and the clawing beast that still purred by their feet, and he realized how warm the sunlight was. His little cloud was gone. In that distracted second of their impromptu three-creature quickstep, she wrapped her clean hand around his hand and pulled herself closer to him.

She grinned from ear to ear, and Fred felt her wet, cold hand sliding down his shoulder. She wiped a few times down his arm and chest with a wickedly satisfied look in her face as he wondered why he didn’t mind it so much. His eyes danced over her face the way his trainers had over the grass mere seconds ago.

“What?” she asked. Wait, she was speaking.

“Um, nothing.” his face rearranged itself from a goofy smile (What?) and he looked at his stained shirt. Before he even had time to comment, her voice made the center of his stomach tighten.

“Do you think he'd lick one if she asked?” Fred followed her gaze to George, looking as dreamy as his partner who was purring back at their Blast-Ended Skrewt. Sunlight covered them too.

Her hand still held onto him.

Fred sighed, both amused and lightheaded from a new discovery threatening to unveil its face in his mind. George laughed so loudly it reached Fred’s ears, and he responded, “Yes.”

“Would you lick one for me?” she batted her eyelashes.

“Absolutely not.” he said without missing a beat.

“What kind of a father won't even lick his own son?” she put a hand on her chest, faux-horrified.

“I still think our son is pregnant.” he said, grinning at her.

“What kind of a father won't lick his own pregnant son?” she humored.

“You're making this worse than it has to be.”

Her eyebrow rose as she offered: “You can always do this alone?”

“No.” something ugly and covered in spikes spun in Fred's stomach.

“Well then,” she said smugly, as if she knew, “you need to start cooperating.” She tugged on his arm with her hand that was there the whole time. Her arm slid around his as she pulled him along, and Fred adjusted his collar with his fingers. When did they get so far away from the group?

“You don’t pet him, you don’t groom him with your tongue like a cat, what do you do? I haven’t seen you change a single diaper!” she over-exaggerated. “I’m basically a single mother!”

He laughed and apologized, feeling lighter and sharper than he had all day.

His future sister-in-law was wrong. They worked on their loving, puppy-like hell scorpions for three more classes, and had another one in a classroom, correcting their essays. During that class, they found out that their son really was pregnant, at which they laughed all the way to the Great Hall.

Fred felt something heavy rolling over his intestines when he thought of the end. It wound itself around his organs until his lips dropped. Nevertheless, he grinned at George (who definitely saw through him), and, with his chin up like a proud lion, departed from him to sit next to his partner, one last time.

He thought about her more often than he expected to, and he feared he might have to stop soon.

As he slid next to her, his metaphorical tail curled closer to him. She beamed brightly at him, and offered her closed fist.

“You ready, partner?”

No, he curled his fingers with a smile, I don’t think I am, and bumped their hands together.

“Doesn’t have to end? Didn't you listen?” she asked him incredulously as he caught up with her. He couldn’t say he has, as his ears buzzed deafeningly loudly since they received their O.

Maybe she had a point when she said there were moments when people felt more defined as he was more sure than ever that he existed in the corridor leading to the Care of Magical Creatures classroom, as his limbs filled with lead at the way she spoke.

“I just thought if you—” his mouth shit on its own. “You know—”

“Holy shit, you really didn’t listen?” but this time she laughed. “Hagrid said we can pick our own partners for the next project.” Her arm curled around his own, “So unless you want to dump me, we march on.”

Whatever heavy thing has been making his stomach a winter home the past week flew off to their summer residence.

She definitely had a point about grounded moments, because when her hand squeezed his arm, the lead leaked out and the awareness of every part of his body slammed into focus.

And Fred smiled back.

She smiled promisingly at him, his heart stuttered, and his sneakers sunk into the stone beneath him.

#fred weasley #fanfic #fred weasley x reader #hp fanfic

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thebrownssociety · 3 years ago

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Across The Serververse, Chapter 10

Hey! thanks to @thatsalotoftoons and @shipping-queen-fay-blog [thank you for your nice comments, but the way] for following this story.

*Approximately 5 and a half hours later*

“There.” Marvin removed himself from the underside of Sam’s newly-fixed car, with an of someone reaching the end of his tether. “You will not find a more ready-to-go car than that, Yosemite.”

Wile.E closed the bonnet of the car and, handing a tool of some kind to Raodie, gave a thumbs up.

The others all hopped down/stood away from the bits of the car that they were working on, revealing the whole thing in it’s shiny, gold-painted glory to Sam.

It was beautiful, the pirate thought while staring at it in amazement. It had been good before, but now it was great! The two canon muzzles that stuck out the end of the car had been modified so they were now ready to hold anything and Wile.E had done something with the amount of stuff the car could hold so it was, in a word, better.

Sam smiled and ran his hands over the paintwork. “It’s as good as new.” He said, trying not to get to emotional. “I-I don’t know how ta thank ya all.”

“You know...” Pepe said, coming over to stand next to Sam and putting his hand on the car door in what could only be described as a seductive manner. “We technically still have ze time? You could probably still run ze race if you wanted...?”

Sam gave it serious consideration, but then shook his head reluctantly. “Nah. I ah couldn’t do that. Not when we’re missing several relatives. I mean...if it all ends up coming down to the last couple of hours ah don’t wanna be thinkin’ ‘if only I hadn’t run that race!’ Ya know wha’ ah mean? Besides. The track do darn go on forever. Nah, les leave it.”

Just at that exact moment day turned into night, as it tended to do. There were no sunsets or sunrises in the serververse [unless you lived in a live-action world, such as Harry Potter] the sun just went up and down without any warning.

With a cry of alarm Bugs signalled to Marvin and the Martian sped-walked towards him with a placating: “Do not worry yourself, my furry brother, I have a torch somewhere in my hammerspa-”

“What?” Bugs looked at him like he’d lost the plot. “Oi’m not scared of de dark, Marvin. Oi scurry me little hide through pitch-black tunnels most of the time, how can I be scared of de dark? No, I want ta plan wit’ ya where we’re going next as - and you may not have noticed this - IT’S DE MIDDLE OF DE NIGHT!”

Marvin's eyes narrowed and he put his hands on his hips. “I appreciate this is a stressful time for us all, Bugs, but if you would kindly refrain from shouting at me-”

“Who’s shouting?” Bugs yelled.

Marvin’s eyes narrowed even further so they were practically one eye and he said, with dignity. “I shall attribute your attitude to both your concern about our siblings and lack of sleep. Now-” Marvin began, his tone, bearing and general attitude reminding everyone why he was in charge of a planet and they were not. “-Listen to me and listen well. We are nearly out of both water and fuel. We forgot to bring food with us, although I am willing to take responsibility for that as it is my ship, and we now have a car to transport. So I propose we go back to Warner Brothers Central for 12 hours exactly. I shall stock the ship with supplies and fill it up with fuel, Sam can take his car somewhere it won’t be a nuisance and we can all get some rest. We’ll then head straight off and decide who to get next after we all have clearer minds.” There was a pause during which Marvin looked at Bugs like he was expecting a reply.

Bugs blinked back at him, trying to process what he’d just said. His head felt foggy. He ran a hand across his forehead and smiled in what he hoped was a nice smile and not a deranged one.

Marvin cleared his throat and said, slowly and clearly. “I propose we do that right this minute as - as you keep reminding us - time is off the essence. Is anyone against that plan?” He asked, looking round at the rest of the group.

If Bugs had been thinking clearly he’d have seen that everyone else was completely cool with Marvin’s idea, even Tweety who had been on edge for about the last 10 hours, seemed happy with it.

As he was not thinking clearly, however - far from it, he was tired, hungry, stressed and worried - Bugs said with the kind of ferocity you might expect from a wolf, should you ever meet one. “Okay, Oi get it. Ya want ta leave our family alone to fight for dere lives!” Voice rising, he spat. “Granny an’ Speedy are in ‘The Matrix’! Dey could be dead-!”

“Bugs!” Penelope cut in, with an urgent head nod at Tweety, who had gone ashen.

Not even noticing her Bugs steamrolled on. “-Or bein’ attacked or somethin’! Sentient A.I’s who knows what damage dey cahn do! An’ Porky and Daffy are in DC World! An Lola’s dere as well! Villains! Superhero’s! Oi mean sure-” Bugs rambled, his voice becoming progressively higher-pitched as his body also started to shake. “All de times we’ve been dere it’s been fine, bit who knows now? Acid vaults! Incineration rays! Plants! That...” Here Bugs struggled for a few seconds to find the words, then managed to grasp them. “...weird egg man...what was his name? - Humpty Dumpty! I mean-” At this point Bugs found himself unable to talk properly and made motions with his arms that, to him, represented sewing and to everyone else represented a nervous breakdown. “Oi mean...” He repeated. Slowing down now he looked at his family with wide eyes and a trembling frame, saying in a small voice. “...Oi don’t know what I mean.” Before bursting into tears.

There was a long pause while the others tried to remember the last time they saw Bugs cry. Genuinely cry I mean, not for a cartoon or the like. Quite a while ago now...

It was Penelope who finally got enough wits about her to go and actually comfort the rabbit. Making soothing noises and reassuring him that Daffy, Porky and Lola would probably be fine as would the rest of the family, she enveloped him in a hug.

One by one the other toons moved in and hugged Bugs as well. It took a while but eventually the rabbits breathing evened out and he started calming down. A little while longer and Bugs said, somewhat shakily. “Okay...Oi’m alright now. Jus’ lost me senses for a few minutes.”

“It’s perfectly logical.” Wile.E said, in what was meant to be a reassuring manner, but came across as lecturing. “This has been a stressful time and the human - or in your case - the rabbit mind can only deal with so much. After a short while-”

It was at this point that Roadie elbowed his twin and held up a sign that said. ‘I don’t think he needs a lecture, Wile.E.’

Wile.E, massaging his arm, saw this and muttered something agreeable.

“Marvin-” Bugs muttered, sounding exhausted. “-take over will ya? Oi don’t feel good.” And he sat down and put his head in his hands.

“Right.” Marvin wasted no time. “Wile.E and Roadie put Bugs up and carry him back to the ship. It’s clear the poor rabbit’s suffering a nervous breakdown of some sort. We’ll do what I said. Hopefully sleep will restore everyone’s minds. Let’s not waste any time now, Wile.E, Roadie?”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Meanwhile, watching all this from the monitors Pete smiled [as much as a blob can smile] and dreamed about what it would be like if he could be so lucky as to be one of the ‘Looney Tunes’. He didn’t see why it couldn’t work. HIs jelly-like body was practically made for squashing under anvils....

After indulging this fantasy for more than a few minutes Pete slapped himself and started checking the other monitors.

Elmer was still fine. No change there then. Still showing a resistance to Mama’s Yak Stew and the like, but that was understandable.

Gossamer and Witch Hazel...Pete zoomed in and grimaced a little. Interesting. Very interesting. Amazing how people will change when you give them a little power...

On the bright side the guards were reacting well to Hazel. Pete had been worried about that...

Granny and Speedy...Pete zoomed in just in time for a fighting scene. Pete winced...he’d never seen a handbag used quite like that before...

Lola...still good. She was certainly improving. All that training must be paying off.

And finally Daffy and Porky. Last time they’d been fine...

Pete zoomed in and - ah. How interesting. He leaned forward and linked his tentacles together. Really, he should have expected this. What was it Rhythm always said? There are ways round everything? How clever...

His last thoughts, before he stopped his monitoring for a few hours, was to wonder how the other toons would react to this?

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ihaveonlymydreams · 3 years ago

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So I had this idea to use the Inktober prompts as topics for ficlets so I could explore my characters and setting for the inklings challenge. I'm definitely not going to do all of them, by a long stretch, but today's prompt was crystal and I started thinking about it and... I think I now have some characters and rough idea of the narrative style I want! The characters have no names yet, though I feel like Ponytail might be a Julie?

If you read this (and you feel like it), can you do me a favor and tell me 1 (one) thing you like and 1 (one) thing you feel could use improvement? I have no objections at all to constructive criticism and it's been far too long since I've tried writing fiction!

Crystal

"Did you know that crystal glassware isn't actually crystalline in structure? It's really just glass. They used to make it with lead, but now they use something else, 'cause lead is poisonous."

Two teens stand on a cobblestoned street in a city in Italy. They're clearly Americans, in sneakers and backpacks, staring in through the window of the shop. The one who was speaking has light brown hair caught up in a ponytail. Her face is turned away from the bright glow of the afternoon sun.

"So what do they use instead of lead?"

Her friend has darker brown hair in a messy bob, glasses, and freckles, and she's staring around the street with the puppy-like curiosity of a first time tourist.

"I don't remember exactly."

Bobbed hair gives her an incredulous look, and ponytail raises her hands in mock appeasance. Her nails are painted black, chipped. The tone of her skin, seen in the sun, is warm. "Hey, I wrote that paper last quarter, give me a break!" She turns from the shop, meandering down the street, kicking a pebble. It rattles over the cobblestones and stops just as her shadow catches up to it. "But anyway can you imagine drinking out of this perfect crystal glass and not knowing it was slowly poisoning you?"

Bob is trotting after her, giving one last glance over her shoulder at the display of glassware in the window. Her smaller shadow joins the first one.

"Would it really poison you? I feel like a lot of people in history would have died from it in that case."

Ponytail's shrug is nearly Italian in its expressiveness, but the way she sticks her hands in her pockets is all American.

"I dunno, maybe it's like that wallpaper with arsenic in it, you just wasted away slowly and nobody knew what you died from."

Bob stops to readjust her backpack. It's a bright cerulean, almost the color of the coastal sea under a summer sky. She's fiddling with the straps. "You know, you watch way too many weird history videos on YouTube."

"No such thing. History is cool." Ponytail stops a few steps further ahead, turns around. She has strong bones, a mobile mouth and expressively quirked eyebrows. "It's so awesome how people just keep making horrible decisions over and over again and never learning from them."

"That's not true." Bob grunts and tries the backpack on again.

It sags, and Ponytail reaches out, twirls her around in a practiced way, and begins tightening straps. "Oh yeah? Prove it."

"I mean, we don't make crystal out of lead anymore, right?" Bob grins over her shoulder and Ponytail swats her lightly on the head. The warm clear light of the afternoon pools around them, over their smiling faces, filling the narrow cobblestoned street, flooding up the sides of the houses and spilling over the gables. It tries to fill them up, too, but their shadows remain solid and impenetrable. Undeterred, the light refracts from them, breaking into vivid hues: rich golden brown, cerulean, pink and rose, dark green, bursting most triumphantly in dazzling pure white. But some of the light is caught, absorbed, hidden away into the absolute mystery that is black, transformed into pure heat.

Such wonders happen daily on the streets, not just in Italy, not just to teenage girls. The two of them are used to it, squinting their eyes against it, turning to follow their solid and reliable shadows down the street.

"So why did they use lead in it in the first place?" Bob asks idly, looking around for the next interesting thing.

"It makes the crystal clearer, or something. Like, you know, the way it glitters when they cut it, like diamonds."

#inklings challenge #team chesterton #Was I inspired by The Light in the Piazza? Possibly.#Also Mark Helprin whom I haven't read in forever but whose style haunts me #fun trivia fact: I wrote all the dialogue first and then put the narrative in #Does it work? Let me know!

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quazartranslates · 4 years ago

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Welcome to the Nightmare Game II - CH2

**This is an edited machine translation. For more information, please [click here]**

[<<< Previous Chapter | Table of Contents | Next Chapter >>>]

-----

Chapter 2: Resurrection Overture (II)

Qi Leren buried his face in Ning Zhou's uniform for a long time as his heart that felt as if it had been fried in oil slowly calmed down. He climbed out of the hollow tree stump with difficulty.

Inexplicably, this weather-beaten old tree stump that should have been dead had a fresh bud emerging from it, which had grown half a meter high in just seven days, swaying its new green leaves in the breeze.

Qi Leren touched the leaves of the new buds and suddenly felt that he had been reborn.

Still not fully recovered, he walked slowly in the Garden of the Holy Tomb and slowly fought sensation back into his body. He didn't know what's going on outside presently, so it was more appropriate to wait for his condition to be better before going out.

While pacing, Qi Leren sorted out his own matters.

Thanks to two dangerous missions in succession, his remaining survival time was an astonishing 162 days, 7 hours and 32 minutes. Usually, one-fifth to one-third of his survival time would be used to buy necessities. Even so, he had more than one hundred days at his disposal, so the training trip he had already planned could be put on the agenda. After returning to the Village of Dusk and meeting with Ning Zhou, he would suspend the task first, exercise his skills well, and at least master the basic usage of guns.

As for the main task’s second step, it was necessary to go to Purgatory in the depths of the Underground Ant City. Qi Leren learned about the situation there while he was undercover as "Red". With his current strength, the risk of going there was too great, and he needed to consider it again.

Item cards and equipment had returned to his item bar, and a new skill card had been added:

[Secretly Observing (binding skill card): When using this skill card, the holder will feel a mysterious power which will enhance your five senses and decrease the perception of your existence. With this, when you observe, others will not observe you. But remember, observe propriety and don't do anything. Skill lasts for 10 minutes and cools down for 24 hours.]

Qi Leren took this skill card and frowned slightly.

Why did he get such a skill card for the achievement of "Deceiving the Devil of Fraud"? Judging from his previous S/L skill and Dr. Lu's skill cards, the achievements should be closely related to the rewards, so the achievement of Deceiving the Devil of Fraud should enable him to obtain a skill card with fraudulent attributes, such as "Devil Etiquette", which could make him appear to be a demon. Was it that the reward had been changed because he already had the same skill? That didn't make sense either...

Did it want him to secretly observe the Devil of Fraud? Qi Leren laughed in his heart and got rid of this absurd idea.

After walking for half an hour he did some stretching exercises, and Qi Leren felt that his physical condition had improved a lot. At least normal running and jumping were no problem. He drank some water, ate some easily digestible food, and equipped skill cards in the card slots: S/L Data, Rain-Day Laundry, Primary Fighting Skills, and he took his dagger out, then walked to the entrance of the Garden of the Holy Tomb.

With his body passed through the thin layer of the enchantment, Qi Leren came out of the Garden of the Holy Tomb.

The whole Holy City was as quiet as a grave. Qi Leren looked around warily and found that there was really no one there. After the Holy Nun’s field was broken, the residents here had already left the city.

That's right, the Holy See couldn't invest a lot of manpower here. For safety reasons, the residents here should also be evacuated. Maybe there were demons wandering in the city...

After thinking about it, Qi Leren changed the skill card of "Primary Fighting Skills" and equipped "Devil Etiquette". The last task had left a lot of succubus crystals, which was convenient for him now. Just consuming a demon crystal could make him pretend to be the demon type to which this crystal belonged for 3 hours. Unfortunately, it was only a shell. If you started to act fully, it would easily be seen through because you didn't have the talent abilities of this kind of demon.

Qi Leren, who had turned into a succubus, walked forward quickly and heard something moving in front of him before went far. Two lower demons were hurriedly running down the stairs of the former site of the Vatican and saw this succubus standing in the middle of the road, looking at them with a smile. The two lower demons looked at each other and hesitated on whether to approach.

There was a strict hierarchy between demons and devils. Once the higher devils released their powers, the lower demons had no resistance. Higher devils often didn't regard the lower demons as their own kind, and cannibalism was a part of the ecology of the underworld.

Therefore, the hesitant attitude of these two lower demons was very strange in Qi Leren’s eyes.

He decided to give it a try.

"What’s happening up there?" the succubus asked in a lazy tone.

"Answering this lord, the Witch of Desperation and the Devil of Suspicion are facing each other and it appears that they’re going to fight." Because they can't figure out which side of the succubus in front of them, the two lower demons have to bow their heads and show deference, so as to avoid not giving him face. Subordinates of the old Devil had often experienced tragedy by not showing courtesy to the Devil of Power.

"Oh? The two Lords are so angry," the succubus said with a smile.

Qi Leren's brain turned very fast. He didn't know what kind of creatures the Devil of Suspicion and Witch of Desperation were. The factions between demons were very complicated. He only had a little foundation thanks to the help of the Court. Demons, such as the Witch of Jealousy, who could clearly possess a kind of original power, were definitely higher devils.

The Devil of Suspicion sounded related to the attribute of "fraud", and he was probably the Devil of Fraud’s men. The orientation of the Witch of Desperation was not easy to judge, but since she would appear here, she must have her reasons... If the two sides were facing each other, she should be in opposition to the Devil of Fraud?

Who would it be? One of Power’s men? No, the Devil Kings of Fraud and Power were not antagonistic. The Devil of Slaughter? It was possible, but the Devil of Slaughter had been missing for a long time and no branch of Slaughter Secret Society, no matter which one, could contact it.

There was another possibility.

Qi Leren narrowed his eyes and made a bold guess that this Witch of Desperation was under the hand of the old Devil.

Although the old Devil has been killed by the Holy Nun, his subordinates were still active in the underworld. It made sense to come for the old Devil at this time.

Two lower demons looked at the succubus with trepidation. They didn't know which side he was from and didn't dare to leave.

The succubus suddenly chuckled and waved at them: "Come on, get out of my way."

The lower demons ran away as if freed and Qi Leren put away his demon form, judged his acting skills, and secretly gave himself a compliment. It was fortunate that he’d put on a disguise in time, otherwise he would have had to fight first which might have disturbed the two great devils above. It was really a situation that the S/L solution couldn't save him from.

Qi Leren wasn’t sure how much these higher devils could perceive. Although it will not be exaggerated for them to cover the entire site of the Vatican, they might be alarmed if he got too close.

However, he has this skill card of "Secretly Observing", which was tantamount to a timely rain. Qi Leren was hooked up and felt that his lucky value seemed to have increased after resurrection.

Go up the mountain first, wait until you get close to the two opposing devils, then hide yourself with your skill card and sneak into the church.

Having made up his mind, Qi Leren walked up quickly. When he reached halfway up the mountain, the top of the mountain was full of wind and rain, and the earth shook. Countless bats flew in the heavy rain, almost covering the sky with solid black. Qi Leren nearly fell down the stairs because of the sudden earthquake. When he looked up suddenly, he saw a huge hole emerging in the sky and lava poured down. Bats sent out the piercing shrieks, as if they were ignited by the lava, burning into a fire cloud in the sky.

This terrible war situation made Qi Leren's heart more pressed, and he almost hesitated whether he wanted to venture into the church at this time.

But Maria's words made him very concerned. His intuition was that this was a very important clue. If you miss it, maybe...

Anyway, I've already died once, and it won't be more difficult than when I faced the Devil of Fraud. After a pause, Qi Leren changed [Rain-Day Laundry] to [Secretly Observing]. At the moment of activation he felt as if his body was engulfed in heavy rain, and the fighting sound in the distance were much clearer than before. When he looked far away, he could even see two figures fighting in midair.

The Witch of Desperation dressed in a black cloak drew a circle and the bats ignited by lava instantly broke free from the flames and returned to her side, pressing into a large group. Her voice was hoarse and tired, and it could be faintly heard in the decreasing rainstorm: "I originally thought that you would continue to wander freely in the demon world, looking for your ‘art’, but I didn't expect you to take refuge in the Devil of Fraud."

The Devil of Suspicion smiled and touched the two carefully trimmed moustaches on his lips. He looked much more energetic than the Witch of Desperation, who was a mess. If he didn't know this devil’s identity, he would say he looked like an artist.

"Isn't it our demonic nature to submit to greater power?" the Devil of Suspicion asked.

"Oh? However, in terms of their source of power, the Devil of Fraud is not as good as Power and Slaughter," the Witch of Desperation said.

The Devil of Suspicion smiled politely: "Is the original power of the Devastator strong enough? Isn't he eversleeping in this church? His power is only a fragment, and those who use this power are the real key."

The Witch of Desperation's empty eyes revealed faint sadness. When the old Devil was still alive, she had the blessing of destructive power. She was far stronger than the Devil of Suspicion. However, with the death of the old Devil, the power of "destruction" had become weak, and the original power of "despair" also declined.

This group of the old Devil’s subordinates had already given up, and when a unless new Devil of Destruction was born they could only gradually weaken.

Until a week ago, when they suddenly felt the new destructive power far away from the underworld.

It was like a meteor, and the light of destruction flashing in the underworld showed them hope that Destruction would never be destroyed, and he would eventually come back!

The short-term recovery of the "destructive" power also made Power and Fraud feel threatened, so the Devil of Suspicion was sent to investigate and he happened to meet the Witch of Desperation who had also come.

"So your Lord is willing to be loyal to that Power lunatic? I heard that he’s handed over 'one third of authority' to Power? But without the last thing, Power can never be crowned." When it came to the "one-third of the authority", a hatred emerged in the Witch of Desperation’s heart, as it was the devil crystal of the Lord of Destruction. Even if it was only one-third, it was strong enough. This group of demon subordinates to the Lord of Destruction had only survived by one-third of a demon crystal left by him, and one-third was still missing. Once all fell into the hands of the Devil of Power and she then found 'that thing', it will not be too far away from the day when she became king of the underworld.

The Devil of Suspicion, who was full of confidence in the Devil of Fraud, smiled and said, "It's up to your Lord to decide everything. Now what we want to 'discuss' is whether you disappear from my eyes or I send you to disappear forever."

The Witch of Desperation smiled coldly: "It depends on which side’s reinforcements come faster."

The two people fighting in midair didn't notice. Under the cover of trees and skill cards, a human actually outweighed their perception and sneaked into the church.

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Editor’s Notes:

There’s some pretty important exposition here and I know I was confused myself when I first read it, so please do let me know if anything is hard to follow and I will explain it as well as I can without spoilers!

One thing to clarify that I don’t think has come up before is that witches and devils (not capitalized unless in a character’s title) are the same form of being, it’s just a distinction of gender. Power is presumably an exception to this simply so that her title matches the other Devil Kings.

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