#i could listen to smash mouth and still be stricken down in some way

[tamagotchikgs]

why does listening 2 music have to emotionally harm me so

[pmak2002]

Dhani Harrison’s account of the Attack on his mom and dad. December 30th 1999

Dhani’s account of George’s stabbing in 1999:

MY FIGHT TO KEEP DAD ALIVE

EXCLUSIVE: BEATLE’S SON DHANI HARRISON’S STORY IN HIS OWN WORDS

The devoted son of Beatle George Harrison has revealed for the first time how he held his blood-soaked father in his arms – and pleaded with him not to die. Desperate Dhani Harrison battled to save the critically-injured rock legend moments after he was stabbed by maniac Michael Abram.

In a horrifically vivid account of his nightmare, Dhani, 22, revealed how he thought George had died four times before reaching the ambulance. And he told how he, supported his father’s body as he writhed and moaned in agony. Was drenched in George’s blood as he knelt at his side. Heard blood and air bubbling from the stab wounds in his chest. Gazed deep into his eyes as he slipped into unconsciousness begging over and over: “Stay with me Dad!”

As he waited for paramedics to arrive at the secluded Oxfordshire mansion, panic-stricken Dhani was convinced his father had died in his arms. He said:

“He was drifting, he looked even paler in the face and he was groaning and saying, `I’m going out’. He made little sense and I knew he was losing consciousness. It was about 10 to 12 minutes, although it seemed like a lifetime, before the paramedics arrived. When they did, I felt that my father had already passed away.”

Dark-haired Dhani revealed the full horror of his ordeal after George was attacked in December 1999 in a statement. His harrowing experience was not revealed at Abram’s trial last week, but after the deranged former heroin addict was sent to a mental hospital, Harrison’s family asked the Sunday People to publish Dhani’s words. The family, who believe Abram should have gone to prison, want the world to know what he put them through.

Dhani, who bears a striking resemblance to his dad, lives in a lodge on the Harrison’s 30-acre estate, Friar Park, near Henley-on-Thames, Oxon. He was fast asleep when Abram broke into the main house and attacked George with a knife – puncturing his lung and narrowly missing his heart. The ex-Beatle was saved only by the bravery of his wife Olivia who struck Abram over the head with a poker and a table lamp.

Dhani said:

“I was woken by Rachel, our housekeeper shouting, ‘Get up, get up! Something has happened.’ I have always been aware that something could happen to my parents, due to their fame and fortune. I am also aware of past circumstances involving other members of the Beatles. I got dressed immediately and I remember asking, `Are my parents OK?’ Rachel said nothing.

“At the front door I was aware of the pace of my own heart beating. As I went into the main hall my mother was lying at the bottom of the stairs. I recall one of the brass fire sets, from her bedroom, was in close proximity to her. I ran up to her and she said, ‘It’s OK, Dhani. It’s OK, honey.’ I noticed her lips and mouth were very dry and I shouted at one of the police officers, ‘Please–get her some water.’ I then asked, ‘What happened?’ She said, ‘Daddy is upstairs, he is badly hurt’ or something similar. She then said, ‘I’m OK. Go to him.’ I knew that what was upstairs was much worse. I put my hand on my mother and said repeatedly, ‘I love you.’ She replied, ‘Go!’ I began to run up the stairs. I cannot remember getting up the stairs. I was carried by adrenaline.”

“On the landing I saw two police officers kneeling over a body and a police officer standing. I was not sure then if the person on the ground was the attacker being detained or my father. I then realised it was the attacker. He looked up at me and I looked straight into his eyes. I made direct eye contact. I was immediately guided from him towards my father. I could see my father down the landing just inside the bedroom door. I went up to him, entering the bedroom and kneeling to assist him. Due to the amount of blood, which I find hard to describe, I was immediately covered in it. There were two pools of blood on the floor, blood on the walls and lots of broken glass. I saw small fragments of glass on my father’s face and around the floor. It took me some time to realise it was ruby-coloured glass and not flesh or bones. The ruby glass was the remnants of a smashed lamp base. My father said something like, ‘It’s bad Dhan, it’s bad. He stabbed me up a lot.’

“I supported him with one hand on his back and the other on his stomach. I could hear blood and air bubbling from his chest. He was moaning and trying to get into a more comfortable position, which obviously was not possible. I rendered first aid as best I could and with a bottle of water wetted his lips and tried to clean him up. I used a white towel and numerous tissues. I was trying to avoid the tissues sticking to his wounds. His head was bleeding heavily – his lips and teeth were covered in blood. He had multiple stab wounds to his chest and clearly other injuries which I could not see. He was clearly in an extremely bad way and he was in agony.”

“I recall the police officer saying we had got to find the knife. He started looking around the room. He asked for my assistance and so I helped. But after a brief look around the room I realised that I had my father there in the room at death’s door. I had said to him that I would be two seconds but the stupidity of looking for the knife rather than being at my father’s side, had dawned on me and I returned to him. I honestly believed he was going to die. He was so pale. I looked into his eyes and saw the pain. Dad kept saying, ‘Oh Dhan, oh Dhan.’ When I gave him first aid I had opened his jacket and pyjama top to inspect the wounds. At one point the police officer was trying to help my father to move. I took control of that situation. I told the police officer to leave him. I said, ‘Sit still, you must stay still.’ My whole thought process was to keep my father alive. I have experience of a collapsing lung myself. My father was still bleeding heavily and he kept closing his eyes and drifting. I kept flicking my fingers and saying loudly, `Listen to my voice.’

“I held his hand and the police officer held the other. He kept saying, ‘Open your eyes Mr. Harrison.’ He was now drifting, he looked even paler in the face, and was groaning and saying, ‘I’m going out.’ He made little sense and I knew he was losing consciousness. It seemed like a lifetime – before the paramedics arrived. When they did, I felt that my father had already passed away. When the paramedics arrived, he seemed to perk up, but drifted away again and complained of being cold. The paramedics and I lifted him into a stretcher-type chair. He was clearly in agony.”

“He lifted his head, but it made him dizzy and he said, ‘Dhani, I’m going, I’m going.’ His eyes were rolling. I could only see the whites of them and he said, ‘I love you Dhan.’ He was strapped in and covered in blankets and we manoeuvred him towards the stairs. By this time the attacker had been removed. We got to the top of the stairs and at that point my father looked at me. He said, ‘I love you Dhan.’ One of his eyes rolled back independently of the other eye. Throughout his ordeal, my father’s words were broken with coughing and spluttering. Then he said, ‘Hare Krishna’and he closed his eyes.

“At this point he drew a very strange, deep breath. His mouth puckered, he drew his cheeks in and he sucked in his bottom lip. This breath made me react immediately. I shouted, ‘Dad, you’re with me, listen to my voice. It is going to be OK. Stay with me.’ His face was contorted and he had not taken a breath for some seconds – an alarmingly long period. As I finished shouting he breathed out and opened his eyes. I have never seen another human being dead or alive – and I have seen my grandfather in his coffin – look so bad. My father was now back with us and I kept up the encouragement, hoping he would stay conscious.”

“We were nearly halfway down the stairs when he went again. I again screamed at him, ‘Dad, stay with me and listen to my voice.’ I vividly remember saying, ‘This is the worst it gets. From now on, it’s only getting better.’ ‘I want you to focus on getting better. We have hit rock bottom, it is only getting better.’ I kept repeating this so he could focus on my voice. At the bottom of the stairs it happened again and again I repeated the process and thankfully he came back. My mother was still at the bottom of the stairs with a blanket wrapped around her. She was covered in blood and had a very nasty head wound. She was saying, ‘I’m cold, I’m cold.’ She said to my father, ‘It’s OK, honey. You are going to be all right.’

“We got to an ambulance. The paramedics put my father inside and I was not allowed in while they treated him. I wanted to see him, so I pulled myself on a bumper. Gripping with my finger nails I could see my father. I did not want to let him out of my sight.”

Taken from the Beatles bible

[shingia]

hihi hello, can you do akaashi with angst prompt 14 please💕🤲 @almalckd i read thru all the prompts and all i can say is that i’ll cry reading a few of them🤠

❝𝐜𝐨𝐚𝐥 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝���𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐝 - 𝐚𝐤𝐚𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐢 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫❞

a/n : if you have anxiety then please keep in mind that what’s written in this fic are not just words i’ve invented for the story’s sake, i consider them to be important things to keep in mind. so from the bottom of my heart : please listen to what akaashi says below <33 (we all know he’s the voice of reason)

prompt 14 : “there used to be such a pretty light in your eyes”

⤷ timeskip! akaashi x reader | angst, comfort ending | word count : 2.4k

(for all my burnt out gifted kids out there <3)

nights had always been the worst. in the darkness of the bedroom, the sobs you were so desperately holding in tore your throat apart every second a little bit more. and the pain did not not stop until you finally allowed yourself to let a sob out, just one before aggressively covering your mouth with a shaky hand. it would have been so much easier to let all this bottled-up sorrow pour out of your body freely. to let the familiar coldness of your tears stream down your cheeks until they let your skin dry and itchy.

but there was a reason why you were forcing sobs down your throat. And that reason was sound asleep next to you. 

akaashi’s peaceful features probably offered an intriguing contract with your anxiety-stricken face. every twenty minutes or so, you felt his arm reach for your side of the bed, eager to find your familiar warmth again, the one he had embraced so tenderly before going to sleep. but you wouldn’t let him, because when your body was not shaken by a series of sobs, your nervous quivering took over ; and either way, you’d wake him up. which was the last thing you wanted.

you turned around in bed for the hundredth time that night, the feeling of your drenched pillow against your cheek like a mocking reminder you of how miserable you were feeling.

« the pride of the family », « the prodigy »… you loathed these ridiculous nicknames. because the pride of the family had fallen off its pedestal years ago. and it had been a long time since the prodigy had not fallen asleep with dry eyes.

you were destined to achieve great things, at least that was what everyone had always told you, and expected you to do. drawing, painting, playing the piano, dancing : you were the best at everything... until you weren’t. your body simply could not take it anymore, and your mind had given up a long time ago.

failing at everything you used to be good at was the first crack. and it deepened at the mere thought of how much of a disappointment you were becoming. the wheels were in motion, full speed towards the abyss.

the second crack appeared when you started med school in kyoto last year. it was the last thing you wanted to do with your life, but you were considered clever enough to succeed. and who wouldn’t want a doctor in the family, right ? right...

« are you sure about that ? » akaashi had asked you the day before you moved.

he had been the only one to notice that something was off. and you knew he would have held you back if you had just been honest about the crippling fear and anxiety that was keeping you up at night. but you didn’t. and you stayed there for almost a year before dropping out.

your parents had welcomed you at the tokyo station. they were smiling when you got off the train, but a voice kept hammering your head you that all you represented now was a waste of talent, time and money. the golden child who had boarded the train had nothing to do with the one who got off. little did they know that the shell you had built around you your whole life had very recently been smashed to pieces.

however, disappointing your family and yourself was one thing, but disappointing the one and only person whose support had never faltered ? that was beyond you. so you thought it was better to try and take some time away from akaashi, because the last thing you wanted was for him to see you for who you were now. he had fallen in love with your talented self, the cheerful bundle of joy that he met on the first day of high school. And that was not yourself anymore.

but letting go did not seem to be in akaashi keiji’s vocabulary. and thank god it wasn’t. he came to visit you the day after you came back. you had spent the entire afternoon bawling your eyes out on your bed. the same bed that you used to happily jump on as a kid, medals shining around your neck. his firm knock on the door pulled your mind away from your misery for a short instant.

« please, open the door » akaashi asked as softly as he could, « i need to see your face »

his voice felt like home, much more than your parent’s house, and they seemed to be the first thing that calmed the racing and painful thoughts which had been invading your head mercilessly for the past weeks.

hand shaking, you turned the keys in the lock before pulling the doorknob down slowly. akaashi did not even have time to look at your swollen eyes and wet cheeks that his arms were already wrapped around your quivering figure. he almost leaped on you like he was afraid you might disappear in a cloud of smoke before his skin could touch yours. 

it had been a year since someone had held you like that. and so you begged him to take you to his apartment, to take you away from between these walls that made you feel like like you didn’t belong.

and there you were, spending your first night with akaashi after more than a year apart, and you were spending it it sobbing in his sheets. how long will it take him to realize he doesn’t love me anymore ? you kept asking yourself. just thinking about this made you break out in cold sweat. you felt like you were about to throw up.

as silently as you could, you got out of bed and walked to his kitchen, shivering at the contact between the cold tiling and your bare feet. you put him in an uncomfortable position, the voice in your head kept whispering. you forced him to accept you here, now he’s stuck with a burden.

shaking the thought away, you poured yourself a glass of water that you drank in one go. you slammed in down on the sink, out of breath, and closed your eyes to take a deep breath in.

but you opened them back as soon as you felt the feeling of a soft blanket slowly wrapping around your shoulders. in the reflection of the window, you could not guess his face, but you could recognize akaashi’s touch better than anything.

« i’m sorry » he whispered, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder. « i shouldn’t have let you go »

you turned around slowly, his hands now resting on your lower back, and hugged him back hesitantly, like he was made of glass. ever so gently, he grabbed your hand in his and led you back to the bedroom where he tucked you in securely before laying next to you, never breaking the contact between your skin and his

you still hadn’t uttered a single sound, yet there were a thousand words you wanted to say, and they were all battling in your mind. his slender fingers began to brush your hair absentmindedly, and you felt his chest rise a few times before he spoke again :

« there used to be such a pretty light in your eyes »

his voice was different. imbued with melancholy. it would have been more than enough to make you cry, yet for some obscure reason, your eyes stayed completely dry and you didn’t dare to breathe until he talked again. but he didn’t. akaashi wanted to hear your answer, and he was ready to wait for it.

« i’m exhausted » you said hoarsely « i hate that i let myself fall apart, i should get up on my feet like I always did. but i’m so fucking terrified of failing again. it’s like i put a sword over my own head, and next time i fail, i just know it’ll fall and tear me in half »

as you spoke, your muscles began tensing up once again. You reached for Akaashi’s hand desperately fast and held it in yours as tight as you could just to find the courage of talking again :

« what if i’m not the one you fell in love with anymore ? just look at you, you’re successful, you’re thriving and the only thing i do is to stain your life with my worries. i don’t even expect you to understand, i know they’re stupid... »

these words were barely out of your mouth that he immediately lifted your chin with index and looked into your eyes with the most serious face.

« i understand. everything. because i’m terrified of fucking up, too » he said bluntly « you think I’ve never cried myself to sleep ? everyone has, and it’s perfectly normal, as long as you promise yourself to get back up again. little by little, day by day, because the only thing that matters is right now. and right now you’re safe with me. »

and there they were. the tears. you knew he had obviously seen them as soon as they had prickled the corner of your eyes, but out of habit, you still buried your head in his chest, just because you knew it would hurt him to see you cry.

but Akaashi was having none of that and he kept his finger below your chin to lift it up again.

« you’re hiding yourself because you’re so desperately trying not to worry anyone. but not being alright is fine, and it’s not something to be ashamed of. especially not with me » he told you with kindest eyes you had ever seen. now listen closely : all your thoughts are not facts. you matter, you always have and you always will. and i’ll keep telling you that until you start to believe it. »

« but aren’t you disappointed ? i was holding all the cards but i still fucked it up. and i can’t stop beating myself up over the fact that you wasted time and energy on me »

his thumb carefully wiped the tear that was about to meet your upper lip while the rest of his fingers kept gently stroking the side of your face. you craved his touch and found yourself praying that he’d never let go of you.

« i fell in love with you for what you are, and not what you do. i fell in love with how you’re always bringing the best out of people, starting with me » he answered before placing a kiss on your forehead.

he pulled you closer to his chest once again, and you heard his soothing heartbeat right against your ear.

« remember when all my volleyball team used to make fun of me because i spent hours talking about you ? » he asked, his fingers finding their way back to your hair, « that’s because I wanted everyone to know how great you are. and you know what would make me really happy ? that you’d know it too »

gripping his t-shirt in the palm of your hand, you closed your eyes and took a deep breath in, letting his comforting smell overwhelm your senses.

« i wish i knew it too » you sighed, realizing that the tears had stopped. « maybe it’s weird but... i feel like a piece of coal that people desperately wanted to turn into diamond. but nobody ever talks about coal that doesn’t do well under pressure. what do you do with it ? »

as you spoke, your voice became lower and lower until it completely faded in the night. akaashi’s heartbeat sounded farther away the more your thoughts started to wander. for the first time in a long time, the goosebumps on your arms had disappeared. lying in the soft silence of his love, it felt safe to surrender to sleep.

the next day, you woke up alone, still wrapped in the warm sheets that still carried the faint smell of akaashi’s perfume. the blinds were closed but you only had to follow the light that came from the kitchen to find your boyfriend sat at the table, his eyes fixed on the lines of the book opened in front of him.

« good morning » you told him with a faint smile.

« good morning. remember what you said last night ? » he asked you out of the blue, sounding like he had been waiting to ask you this for a few hours now. « about what people did with coal ? »

you raised an eyebrow, confused yet melting in front of the obvious excitement he was trying to conceal. you nodded your head yes, you had vague memories of asking him that before drifting off. he stood up and walked to the counter, you watched him grab a piece of paper that he put on the table, right in front of you.

it was a sketch. and it was hard not to recognize that the intersecting black lines looked very much like you, sound asleep. your chin started trembling as your eyes lingered on how every stroke of the pen fell into place to depict your peaceful features. you knew it had been more than a year since you had such an expression on your face.

when your gaze fell again on akaashi, he was getting something out of his hoodie’s pocket, which you recognized to be a jet black charcoal pencil - right before noticing that the tip of his fingers were, indeed, stained with black.

« i didn’t have coal, but I thought charcoal was close enough » he told you with a shy smile.

you bit your lower lip to prevent your eyes from getting teary, because right now you didn’t want anything to blur your vision, you wanted to be able to see every inch of his face before giving him the tightest hug you had ever given. his voice reached your ear :

« hey, i think I just saw the pretty light »

[boxboysandotherwhump]

Things only whispered about

taglist: @finder-of-rings @salamancialilypad @albino-whumpee @comfy-whumpee @haro-whumps @vickytokio@ashintheairlikesnow @orchidscript @yet-another-heathen @finder-of-rings

side note: Chapter 13 is not yet written. It will contain the first day of Sahar’s and Charlottes training for their entry exam. The current chapter (chapter 14) takes place during their last day of training.

Chapter 14

Charlotte had always considered herself disciplined and in good shape from years of intense dancing, but those post training runs would be her undoing if Sahar wasn't going to slow down soon.

The woods thick undergrowth cut up her calves and every heavy breath she heaved with burning lungs hurt all the more since Sahar's fist had smashed into her sternum earlier today.

His huge eyes had been filled with terror as he helped Charlotte to regain her breath, rubbing soothing circles over her back with hands that wouldn't stop trembling. Stuttered apologies spilling from his lips.

“The risk of training, I suppose.” She had grinned and hidden a wince.

Charlotte wasn't grinning now, too focused not to lose Sahar’s back in the midst of giant roots and flower stems.

Just how did he make jumping over those slippery moss covered hurdles look this easy?

She was just about to call out to him when a faint high pitched beeping echoed through the heavy lavender scented air made her stop.

Coming to an abrupt halt a few meters in front of her, Sahar asked: “Did you you you hear that, too?”

“Yeah. It comes from the border, doesn’t it?”

He paused, canting his head to better hear the whisper silent ‘beep… beep… beep’ over the rustle of leaves and the ever present hiss of their defence units, spraying insecticide into the air to form the invisible barrier of thin mist that kept them all safe.

“Yes.” Uncertainty flickered in his eyes, lingered in the quick tap tap tap of fingers over thighs.”Do do do do you think one of- one of the the the units- that one of the units is is is is…”

“No. That sounds way too quiet to come from a unit.” A sunbeam broke through the canopy, danced over Sahar’s arm and dipped golden light into the divods of his scars. Charlotte turned towards the sound. “But let's go and make sure.”

They creeped through the underwood, careful not to snap a twig underfoot or rustle the leaves that brushed their arms and legs and faces in unwelcome ghostly caresses. Every breath was a quietly, carefully measured micromovement of lungs.

One of the defence units hissed high above their heads now, the big chunky device securely fixed on the halfway point of a giant steel pipe tower whose top broke through the thick canopy. Charlotte had never seen the large solar panels mounted up there, or the giant canisters filled with insecticide, safely hidden in the foliage.

None of the village kids had ever dared to climb up the towers to take a peek. No one wanted to be responsible for damaging a unit and dooming them all to hell.

The steady ‘beep… beep… beep’ had gotten louder and was very clearly not coming from the unit overhead. Whatever made that sound was just behind the bushes Charlotte and Sahar were crouching under. Right in front of them.

“Sahar?” Charlotte whispered and turned to him, only to find the space beside her empty.

Sahar had vanished in between the softly swaying goutwort stems.

“Char- Char-Charlotte.” His hoarse trembling whisper barely carried past the large leaves.

Charlotte's palms prickled as she broke through the last barrier of leaves between her and the four meter wide stripe of self-healing concrete the village founders had poured around their border. Four meters of clear view in an endlessly growing forest, before the soft, second border of lavender, lemon balm and peppermint sprouted high into the air right on the other side.

No matter how often Charlotte and the other orphanage kids had sneaked onto the strip on one stupid dare or another, she simply couldnt shake the feeling of unease that creeped up her spine as soon as she left the certain safety of the units radius.

“Look.” Sahar stood with his back pressed against the bushes behind him, ready to vanish back into their cover even though the bright smile that danced over his face betrayed his excitement. Pointing towards a sad looking lavender bush, he whispered: “A a a a a a a- Charlotte, it’s it’s it’s it’s- It's an old, old gardening bot.”

And it had heard them.

The bots head turned towards Sahar with a mechanical whirr, fixing him with a face full of glowing visual sensors. It had an uncanny resemblance to an insect, with its unreadable expression and the two many spindly legs twitching and whirring under its green roundish body.

“Human identified.” The pleasant voice of a human woman coming from a tiny speaker in the center of its round head made the fine hairs on Charlotte's neck rise. “Requesting help.”

“Oh. Oh, oh, oh Charlotte look. It it it it’s arm is stuck, stuck in the roots.”

Charlotte considered the bot as it struggled fruitlessly against the yarn thick, twisted roots it undoubtedly had tried to entangle and reburry in an effort to preserve the plant's health.

“Let’s free it and take it to the mechanic. That thing must have some heavy-duty solar batteries built in, if it's still operating.”

“But-” Frowning, Sahar dug a short sturdy knife from his belt bag and unsheathed it. “Isn’t he go-go go, isn’t he going to,to kill it?”

Charlotte sighed. All surrogate keeper weariness, revealing the big impatient sister of too many siblings related by circumstance instead of blood. “Sahar. You can’t kill something that has never been alive in the first place.”

The whirring of struggling metal limbs picked up anew, accompanied by the plaintive soft beep… beep… beep that had led them here. “Requesting help. Requesting help. Help.”

Sahar sank to his knees beside the bot,shushing it with a little pat to its mud crusted head before he started to carefully cut into the knot of entangled roots. “Don’t, don’t worry. We we we have, we have you out of this in no time.”

That the bots' distressed beeping stopped was solely its programing, Charlotte told herself, as she listened to Sahar’s affectionate hums.

Something rustled the leaves of a lavender bush nearby, and all three of them froze.

Charlotte scanned the sea of gently swaying greens all around them, eyes flitting restlessly over large leaves. Every dancing shadow they cast had her heart stutter stop in her chest.

The knife quivered in Sahar's grip as he frantically resumed cutting.

They could feel it before they heard it. An awful rhythmic tremor that made the ground vibrate under their feet.

“Danger detected. Initiate protocol 34217.” The bot announced and shut down with a high pitched double ding, retracting its still free limbs into itself before the red glow of his eyes expired in all but one.

Charlotte's breath caught in her throat. Her eyes snappet to Sahar, crouched low under lavender leaves on the wrong side of the strip. Three meters too far from safety, if the creature marching towards them really was what Charlotte feared it might be.

The thud, thud, thud of too many legs in lockstep drowned out the quiet sounds of the forest. Stole away the whispering wind.

She had never encountered one of them, but the horror stricken tales, whispered over the steaming brim of mead-filled mugs by two surviving scouts, matched to a tea. It’s name had only ever been a murmur in midnight hours, a cold shiver down her neck.

Centipede.

Sahar gestured for her to leave, to take five steps back into the safety behind their border, hands clutched around the knife in a steady, white knuckled grip.

The bush right next to him moved. Charlotte did not. And the creature broke through.

Its long black body glistened in the sunlight.

A twitching antenna brushed Sahar’s shin and his legs gave out. Crumpling to the ground, a choked off laugh spilled from his lips. “A fuck- fuck- fucking millipede.”

Its hundred pointy feet clicked over the concrete as it scuttled onto the strip and Charlotte wanted to kick its stupid, round, pincerless head. A wave of relief imploded inside her, burst against her ribcage and sent shockwaves down her limbs. Her legs trembled, deadweight heavy and feather light and she wondered if that's what weightlessness felt like. That elusive disorientation inside your own skin, as an astronaut had described it in one of the many books that were recovered from the ruins of a world she’ll never know.

The millipede jerked its head to the side, all of a sudden, thrashing its body in invisible agony.

Charlotte dodged the mighty arthropod by a hair's breadth and stumbled backwards into the unit's radius of protection, nearly tripping on the edge where hard concrete, smooth and bare of any fissures, gave way to soft earth. Tiny droplets of fine mist caught in her curls and dampened her skin, tickled the tip of her nose.

Jerking and thrashing, the millipede fought against it’s formless prison of disorientating discomfort. It’s body segments rattled and chirped, rubbing together as it made a beeline for the bushes and burst past Sahar, who dove underneath the bot. Just so avoiding getting his foot pierced by one of the creature's many clawed legs.

He stared up at Charlotte, eyes comically round and lips twitching into a smile. The barest flash of teeth. The bot’s underside pressed against the crown of his head and pushed a few short curls down over his forehead.

The corners of Charlotte’s mouth twitched. Warmth prickled over her lips and trickled down her throat, like a swallowed sunbeam kiss. Too hot and too sudden not to burn.

“Danger passed.” The bot announced, all eyes flashing red in unison as it reactivated with a cheerful chime. “Requesting help.”

Sahar flinched, startled as a mouse caught by Mr. Mittens the orphanage’s cat, and hit his head on the bot with a dull metallic thud.

Charlotte winced in sympathie. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, uhm, yes I, I am.”

“Good. Then let’s hurry and get out of here. That rustbucket is not worth ending up as insect foder for.”

A few more frantic cuts, almost devoid of Sahar’s previous gentleness, finally freed the bot from its botanical contraption. Sensory scanners already focused on the next plant to tend to, the bot got ready to stalk off when Sahar grabbed him by an arm. Long fingers wrapped around mud stained metal.

“Way- way- wait. We have some fields you can, can can- that you can tend to.”

Twelve glowing eyes seemed to consider him for awfully long, silent three seconds.

A ‘for fucks sake, Sahar, just move’ burned on the tip of Charlotte's tongue and she was just about to cross the concrete and drag him back behind their border, when the bot chimed.

“Friend identified.”

A soft smile blossomed on Sahar's face. All half hidden teeth and tenderness and Charlotte knew; they would not rake in any rewards today.

[angstyaches]

Roommate’s Girl

This is a jump back in time for Payton and Autumn, back when she was dating Donnacha! It takes place about a year and a half before the hunger fic/”modern day” (if such a thing even exists in my fics anymore).

It’s very long and disgustingly self-indulgent because, well, it’s my blog and I’ll do what I like. 

CW: stomach ache caused by stress, brief nausea, not much comfort, teasing objectification, brief nude moment (but no details are given), anxiety, having a crush, guilt. Donnacha (sort of) genders Payton by calling them a “dude” (Payton is he/they and is fine with most masculine terms). ALSO, it has a sad/inconclusive ending, but don’t worry, everything works out!

 ___

Over the past week or so, Lucy and Payton had made a habit of play-flirting any time there was a moment of silence between them. Payton walked past while Lucy happened to be sitting at the kitchen table? A wolf whistle. Lucy carried the printer all the way from from the cupboard to the table? Oh, Lucy, you’re ever so strong. Payton had a feeling it would die out pretty soon, but they were enjoying it while it lasted. Their self-esteem had been low lately - for reasons they’d rather not focus on - and joking around with Lucy was starting to have a positive effect.

So when they were standing, dripping wet, in the bathroom without their towel, and heard soft footsteps come through the hallway, Payton thought opportunity had come knocking. Donnacha was not light-footed at all, and Henry always made a point of sighing and huffing the entire way through the flat when he first got home, so that meant the person in the hallway must have been Lucy.

Payton stopped short of rubbing their hands together with devious intent, but then remembered they were alone, with no one watching, so they rubbed them together anyway. They crept across the tiles and cracked open the door slightly, careful to duck behind it in case Lucy caught them at an unfortunate viewing angle.

“Wife?” they called gently through the opening. “Wifey darling, could you and that cute little ass of yours grab my towel from the chair?”

There was a beat of silence that shook Payton’s confidence somewhat. They held their breath for a moment, finally hearing footsteps coming closer to the door. A grin crept across their face, though part of them was wondering why Lucy hadn’t made some snarky response yet.

“Here,” a soft voice said. A voice that was not Lucy’s.

A smooth hand touched Payton’s, just before they felt the rough towel fabric against their palm. Payton yanked it through the gap in the door, feeling the colour drain from their face as quickly as their stomach dropped.

“Autumn?” they croaked.

“Yeah.”

“Oh!” Payton shut the door, heart thumping as they pressed their back against the wood. Their reflection stared back at them from the bathroom mirror, stricken with horror.  “Autumn, I’m – oh my god. I’m so sorry, I thought you were Lucy!”

“No worries, Payton,” Autumn said sincerely from behind the door. “Donnacha’s running late so I let myself in. Sorry to scare you.”

Payton pressed the towel against their face and let out a voiceless scream. They wished the towel would swallow them and then drop to the floor, empty. It took their mind a full ten seconds to calm itself down enough to process Autumn’s apology.

Their lips shook as they parted them to reply, “You – you didn’t...”

It was a little late. There was only silence behind the door. Autumn must have gone back to wherever she’d been when Payton had starting yelling nonsense throughout the flat.

Payton quickly got dry and pulled on the tracksuit pants and t-shirt they’d brought into the bathroom with them. Damn, if they’d known Autumn was going to show up, they would have picked something nicer to wear. They would have planned to do something with their hair. Maybe they had time to stop by their room for a spritz of something that smelled good?

There was a dull thump in the pit of Payton’s stomach, which didn’t so much cut off their train of thought as smash it into oblivion. No, they thought, no, no, no, you’re not supposed to think things like that. Don’t think things like that about Donnacha’s girlfriend.

They scrubbed at their hair in the mirror, trying to introduce some volume while it was dripping wet. The weird feeling in their belly didn’t dissipate, and they rubbed at it gently for a moment before headed for the door.

The smell of coffee and baked goods lingered in the tiny hallway between the bathroom and the kitchen-living room. Payton couldn’t see her yet, but they could feel Autumn’s presence on the other side of the wall as they crept up to the door and laid their head against the doorframe.

She was wearing a dark blue blouse and black pinafore, legs crossed as she read from a well-thumbed script printed on A4 paper and stapled together. She was also sipping on something in a to-go cup. Her eyes flicked up at the movement in the doorway, her cheeks dimpling with a smile.

“Hey, Payton.” Autumn’s voice was quiet and painfully kind, like she’d lowered it to try to coax a cat to come to her. They weren’t exactly close friends, but wasn’t as though the two of them were complete strangers either. They were certainly too close for her smile to be this polite.

“Hi,” Payton mumbled, too nervous to even step into the room, yet knowing it would be weird to duck back out again.

Autumn sat forward on the sofa and scooped up another paper cup that she’d left waiting on the floor by her feet. “I brought donuts and coffee for me and Donnacha, but his latte’s going to be cold by the time he gets here.” She extended the spare cup towards Payton. “You want it?”

No, they thought, no, say no.

But her hazel eyes and freckles were far too endearing, meaning that Payton couldn’t help smiling back at her, despite the nerves and embarrassment.

“I’d love to. It.” What?! Payton rubbed at the still-damp back of their neck. “I’d – I’d love to, um, join you.”

Another tight smile crossed Autumn’s face as Payton took the cup from her and sat at the far end of the couch, putting as much space between them as possible, without making it seem too weird. Hopefully. Then again, couldn’t this already be classified as weird? Payton certainly felt weird, particularly in the pit of their stomach, where it seemed an entire swarm of butterflies had decided to move in.

“Hey, um…” Payton cleared their throat and jabbed a thumb in the direction of the bathroom door. “That – that thing I said before, it was a joke.”

Autumn blinked, giving another flash of that polite, nervous smile.

“Yeah, it’s a – a private joke kind of thing. Lucy’s been teasing me all week, and I thought I’d – I was joking.”

“It’s okay, Payton,” Autumn said, though her cheeks seemed to flush at the subject of the conversation. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

But I do, Payton thought miserably, sinking back into the sofa cushions, because I want you to know I’m not attracted to her.

In place of those words, Payton just mumbled another apology and took a couple of long, focused mouthfuls of the latte. It had cooled to the perfect temperature for gulping down, which was bad news for any insects still trying to flutter about in their belly and muddle up their thoughts. Payton tried to picture them getting drowned and washed away, leaving them in peace.

They inhaled deeply through their nose and focused on eliminating the buzzing nerves, when a whiff of something unusual made them look down at the box of donuts next to Autumn. Could the smell have been from them? It was sweet, but – but it wasn’t just sweet; it was light, and bordered on floral. It smelled like taking a walk after rainfall during early spring. It smelled like waking up with a smile on your face. It smelled like…

Payton gulped when they realised it wasn’t the donuts they were smelling. The butterflies made one last attempt at turning their stomach over as they glanced shyly at Autumn, who was most definitely the source of the beautiful smell. She was already the source of all of the radiance in the room, so why not this too?

No, no, no. This was Autumn. Donnacha’s girlfriend. Everything about this was wrong; indulging these thoughts, these feelings, even for a second, was wrong.

Payton sank further into the sofa curtains, staring past the paper cup they were holding in their lap. Their stomach was beginning to ache, no longer full of butterflies, but full of stone-cold guilt.

“No work today?” Autumn asked lightly.

“I – no. No – no rehearsals?” Payton asked, nodding to the script in her lap. They wished they could think of the name of the play she was currently part of, but their brain seemed to have slowed down to a crawling pace.

“Not until this afternoon.” Autumn ran a hand over her hair and glanced down at the paper. “God, you know, I’m really nervous about this one. I’ve got so many long lines. I need all the practice I can get.”

Payton could barely sit still, both from the discomfort in their stomach and the frustration of seeing Autumn’s confidence deflate. Had Payton done that? Had they reminded her of something she’d been trying not to think about?

“I’ll listen to you practice, if you want.”

Autumn’s eyes widened. “Wait, really? You wouldn’t mind?”

“Love to.” Payton felt a little breathless as Autumn leaned over to put her coffee cup away and settled into a more comfortable position on the couch. They quickly relaxed just as Autumn did, watching her melt away into the role even as she sat here in the living room on a dull Saturday morning. She could have gone on for hours, and Payton could have just watched her lips forming the words.

She stopped after a while, and Payton snapped out of it, butterflies making a momentary comeback at the soft, watchful way she was looking at them.

“What?” they half-laughed.

“You’re so good,” she said.

Payton blinked, and the fluttery feeling intensified. They barely managed to find their voice. “At – at listening and being quiet?”

“Oh – well, yes.” Autumn rolled her eyes and laughed. “But what I meant was that it’s really nice of you to help me out.”

“No, really, I – I enjoy listening to you. You’re incredible.” Reddening at their own words, Payton rubbed a hand across their own stomach, subconsciously working at the achy spot that had, for a moment, been filled with warmth and excitement. “And, I mean, I had to make it up to you, after mixing you up with Lucy earlier.”

“Hey! We moved past that, remember?” Autumn laughed, tugging at the end of her skirt. “I probably shouldn’t be letting myself in when Donnacha isn’t here, anyway. It’s kind of weird, I suppose.”

Payton shifted, turning onto their side to face her a little more. “Um… no, you don’t have to feel bad about letting yourself in. I’m just an idiot and didn’t think.”

Autumn laughed and reached across to smack Payton’s knee. She did it so gently too, as though she was somehow afraid of hurting them with the playful gesture. Payton wanted to grab hold of her hand before it could slip away across the sofa again.

“You’re not an idiot, okay?” she said. “So stop that.”

Yeah, please stop it, they pleaded with themselves, leaning over to rest their latte on the floor. Their stomach was hurting too much to keep drinking it. They were starting to feel hot too, impossibly uncomfortable and nervous. As they leaned into the sofa cushions again, they held their forehead in their hands for a moment. This was so, so bad.

Autumn was undoing the lid of the donut box, distracted long enough not to notice Payton cradling their head. “You want first pick, before Donnacha gets here?”

Payton sighed weakly, barely hearing the question as they shifted yet again, so that one leg was slightly curled across the sofa and the side of the head was nuzzled against the cushions. They slipped one arm around themself, subtly trying to cradle their stomach.

Autumn looked up from peering at the donuts, holding the box closer to Payton. A whole host of smells overpowered the soft, warming Autumn smell, and the flurry of colours made Payton’s vision blur a little. There was a vague hollow pang that reminded them that they hadn’t eaten breakfast yet, and that they should be hungry, but the feeling just didn’t stick.

“Cookies-and-cream is your favourite, right?” Autumn asked, pointing to the single cream-frosted, cookie-crumb adorned donut in the corner of the box.

She was right, and the fact – and everything else – made Payton ache all over. They shook their head at the box, heart sinking as Autumn took it back with a sagging expression.

“You were right, that is my favourite. Sorry,” Payton said weakly, gaze dropping to the sofa cushion that marked out the space between their bodies, which wasn’t all that much. “I’m just not hungry right now.”

Autumn closed the box and stowed it next to her feet, her attention snagged by the drop in Payton’s voice. “Are you okay?”

Resolve weakened all too easily by her concerned eyes and gentle voice, Payton tried to smile but ended up curling their lip in discomfort. Amidst a mixture of the pain, and a fresh wave of tearfulness, their voice came out sounding small, and a little bit like a pout.

“I’ve just got, like, a stomach ache.”

Autumn’s eyes dropped down towards Payton’s waist, where their arms were folded loosely around their belly. “Oh. I’m sorry, I – I wouldn’t have kept you here listening to me, if I’d known you weren’t feeling well…”

“No, no, it’s okay, it started after I first sat down,” Payton said quickly, more and more heat building in his neck. They nodded towards their paper cup on the floor. “Maybe the milk was bad or something.”

“I drank it too though, and I feel fine.” Autumn’s gentle features were clenched in worry as she leaned forward, grasping for the cup that Payton had abandoned. “Are you lactose intolerant or anything?”

“Mmm, I don’t really know,” Payton mumbled, though they knew for sure that they weren’t. With all of the cheese-drenched pasta and flat whites they consumed weekly, they’d have figured it out by now if they were intolerant to dairy.

Autumn sniffed at the contents of Payton’s cup, frowned inconclusively, and placed it next to her own empty one.

Payton parted their lips to say something reassuring – they weren’t quite sure what yet – but closed them again when Autumn’s hand returned to their side of the sofa, rubbing gently against the outside of their arm. The motion made Payton’s hair lift, starting with where she was touching and then sweeping over their entire body.

“Can I do anything to help?” Autumn asked, and Payton wondered if there was something deeper than just sympathy in her hazel-green eyes as she waited for an answer.

Hold me and don’t let go?

“I’ll be fine,” they grimaced, not sure if they were trying to convince Autumn or themself. There was a twist of jealousy and guilt and sadness in their gut that made them wriggle in their seat again, part of them hoping Autumn’s hand would be shaken off in the process. They couldn’t quite bring themself to ask her to stop touching them, because it felt good, but it also felt intimate, and they wanted to lean into it, lean into her, let her make everything better –

A low groan made Payton shift a hand over the middle of their stomach. The clenched organ rolled around, churning the milky coffee and making their mouth water with nausea for a moment, before everything settled with yet another gurgle. They gingerly rubbed their tummy back and forth, hyper-aware of Autumn’s eyes watching them do it.

“I’m going to feel so bad if I’ve poisoned you,” she said, half-laughing even though the sound was forced and brittle. She was already feeling bad; that much was clear. It was probably why she was being so nice, why it felt as though she cared so much.

Payton knew the smart thing to do was to bite their tongue and leave things as they were, but the words were on the tip of their tongue and their heart felt so lonely, holding onto words that only it knew to be true.

“A-actually, Autumn, I – I’ve been feeling…”

The click of the front door and the jangling of keys falling into the bowl made Payton’s heart seize up and their insides quiver. Autumn felt the urgency too, and seemed to remember where she was and what she was doing. She sank back a little, towards the opposite side of the couch, hand slipping off Payton’s arm.

“Hey!” Donnacha called out, poking his head around the door and kicking off his runners in the hallway. “Finally made it. Sorry about that.”

“Yeah, that’s fine.” Autumn ran her hand over her hair as she observed her boyfriend. “How was practice?”

“Great, but I’m really fucking sore.” Donnacha rolled his neck as he came into the living area. “I think only donuts and cuddles can cure me at this rate.”

Autumn giggled as Donnacha sank down on the couch between her and Payton, leaning his weight into her as she curled her arms around him. Donnacha hummed in response and turned his head to place a quiet kiss on her forehead. Payton knew they shouldn’t be watching this intently, both because it was weird and it hurt. Autumn was Donnacha’s girlfriend, had always been his girlfriend for as long as Payton knew her, so why was seeing them casually show each other affection so fucking painful now? The way her eyes closed when he kissed her was beautiful, yet to Payton, it felt like a punch to an already-aching gut.

Payton blinked and looked away as Donnacha looked at them, shifting into a more relaxed position where just one of Autumn’s arms was looped around him.

“Everything okay, P?” Donnacha asked.

“Yep,” Payton chirped.

Autumn threw them a confused look before turning to Donnacha again. “Actually, Payton’s not really feeling well. We just had lattes, so we were wondering if they’re lactose intolerant.”

“What?” The look on Donnacha’s face made Payton’s heart drop, letting them know that they were about to get hung out to dry. “Come on, haven’t you seen this dude destroy a quattro-cheese pizza? If Payton had lactose intolerance, they’d have died on a toilet somewhere a long time ago.”

“Thanks, man,” Payton sighed, absentmindedly running their fingers back and forth across their stomach as it was hit with a deep, dull ache.

“Huh, okay,” Autumn said, skimming over the toilet comment, much to Payton’s relief. “Well, I hope it’s not a bug or something like that.”

“Yeah, hope not.” Now that Donnacha had cracked his joke, he leaned forward on his knees, peering at Payton with something closer to concern than teasing. Payton’s skin crawled under the scrutiny, the sympathy they definitely didn’t deserve. Would he be looking at them that way if he knew what had been going through Payton’s mind just a few minutes ago?

“Hey, is something bothering you?” Donnacha asked. “Is it like that time when you were interviewing for jobs?”

Donnacha nodded towards the bedrooms, frowning a little harder as his eyes saddened. Autumn tilted her head and sat forward too, watching Donnacha with curiosity.

“You were curled up on your bed all day, remember? You said you were feeling sick to your stomach over the interviews,” Donnacha went on, though for the sake of Payton’s memory or Autumn’s ignorance, who could tell? “We didn’t know you very well then, but me and Henry were worried about you.”

“You were? You… god, you remember that?” Payton felt the guilt writhing a little deeper in their belly. Tears pricked the backs of their eyes, tears that hopefully wouldn’t fall until they were alone. Or not at all, if it could be helped. Why, why did Donnacha have to be such a nice person on top of everything else? Why did he have to be a sweet boyfriend and a thoughtful friend?

“Oh. Payton,” Autumn sighed, looking up at them with so much sympathy it almost made them break. “If something’s bothering you, you can always talk to us. You know that, right?”

Us. Meaning me and Donnacha. Donnacha and I. The happy, beautiful couple, of which Payton was not a part.

Payton couldn’t contain the whimper that escaped from deep in their chest. They leaned forward on their knees and rubbed their hands against their face. It was like having an out-of-body experience, seeing themself having this dramatic reaction through another pair of eyes. The panic was making them feel reckless, irrational, stifled.

“Hey,” Donnacha said, and Payton felt his hand on their shoulder. “P, what is it?”

“I can’t.” Payton flinched at the sharpness in their own voice, which made Donnacha take his hand back. Payton stood up from the couch, just about managing to hold in a wince as their stomach muscles cramped from the sudden movement.

“Can’t what?”

“I can’t talk about it with you guys.” Cold sweat tingled all along Payton’s hairline as they heard the words you guys emphasised in their own sentence. They cleared their throat. “I mean, I – I can’t talk about it. It’s…”

On the couch, Autumn laid the side of her head against Donnacha’s shoulder as she peered up at Payton, that same emotion lingering in her eyes again. The emotion was probably just sympathy, but it seemed like so much more, if you were looking for it. And although they hated themself for doing so, Payton was looking for more.

Payton swallowed, shuddering at a queasy roll in their stomach, and pushed themself up from the sofa. Their hand hovered over their gut as they tried to bury the panic. “I’ll be fine, I’m – I’m sorting it out. You guys don’t have to worry about me.”

Donnacha sighed lightly. “You sure?”

Payton nodded, allowing their hand to press a little harder against the ache in their belly, palm working gently at the tightness. They felt absolutely awful. “Um, I think I’m gonna go lie down. See if that helps…”

They didn’t see how Autumn or Donnacha reacted to that, because they lowered their gaze and walked to the hallway like that. It probably looked rude and weird, but seeing the closeness between the two of them just hurt too much, and Payton was already on the verge of breaking down. Or maybe throwing up. They didn’t want to find out which.

“Payton,” a soft voice said just before Payton got to their bedroom door.

They turned and breathed in the smell of Autumn’s hair just before she wrapped them in a hug, her arms looping around their waist. The two of them had only ever hugged once before, when Donnacha had first introduced them, and neither had known what to do or say. This felt very different though. Payton could tell they were being hugged by Autumn on purpose, and they quite liked how that felt.

Payton rested their chin against her shoulder and hugged her back. Their stomachs pressed together as they embraced, and the knots in Payton’s loosened and tightened again repeatedly, torn between relief and longing.

“Let us know if you need anything, okay?” Autumn whispered, and the longing won out at another mention of us, of Autumn and Donnacha as a unit.

“Thanks,” Payton choked out, pulling away from her with a swirl of nausea.

She gave a sad smile before turning back towards the living area, her swishy, shoulder-length brown hair disappearing from view. Payton blew out a deep breath they hadn’t realised they’d been holding, and slinked into their bedroom.

The bed was still unmade from last night, so they crawled back in with minimum effort, flipping onto their back and working a hand in slow circles over their stomach. Now that they were alone in silence, they could hear their own belly quietly gurgling and rumbling away, protesting all the tension. Payton closed their eyes as they filled with bitter tears, hoping to fall asleep before overhearing any voices or movement from the living room.

[greenninjagal-blog]

The Rumor Mill Game (pt2)

You guys asked, and I have no self control at all. Have some more Intrulogical, now with Plot(tm). If you missed part one you can find it [here!]

Summary: If he thought himself a king of the office, then Logan was honored to be the guillotine. [aka When his coworker, Remus, decides to play a game, Logan is going to make sure he regrets it. Even if its the last thing he does.]

Words: 3506

Quick taglist: @chelsvans @faithfulcat111 @felicianoromano @holliberries @jemthebookworm @killerfangirl3 @silverflame-wc @stricken-with-clairvoyancy @thenaiads @treasureofpriam @midnightmagi @shadowjag @residentanchor

Read on Ao3 || My General Writing Masterlist

When Logan had first put on the ring, he hadn’t expected it to end like this.

But that was mostly his own folly: Logan should have realized that based on his (lack of) knowledge concerning the behaviors of Remus Prince, his imagined plan of action would be....upended. After all, he had barely known the man beyond the occasional sight of  him in the break room where he teetered on the edge of the counter sitting much like a king as his subjects bowed before him.

Logan was of the sound impression that absolutely everyone who had been hired for his company was of the particularly stupid brand. Often times he had imagined his boss had sat down in the interviews and hired the first person who walked in and smiled, because clearly Beatrice from Accounting did not know what she was doing and her inability to use Excel spreadsheets had led him to far too many late nights correcting her work.

It was one such night that had lead to this...this ludicrous situation: Logan had been in his office all day practically tearing his hair out over his coworkers inability to count (what did you do with the decimal point, Kyle? Where did this five come from? Why are you all so inept?) and his coffee had gone cold, and he should have been leaving an hour ago, but these pages had been due two weeks ago and Logan hated leaving things unfinished.

He had a headache brewing from staring at his screen for so long. He peeled off his glasses and rubbed his eyes until they watered before glancing at the clock in the bottom of his screen. After a quick and efficiently ruthless curse towards Janet for being so late to turn in any of her sheets, he scooted back in his chair and had left to refill in coffee mug.

The office floor had been deserted for the most part. Logan should have been grateful, because that meant less possible nonsense to distract him from his work.

But unfortunately, he was quite familiar with Jen’s hair in a loose-but-still-formal bun and Quin’s scarf that they wore like a talisman to ward off bad omens. They clutched it the second they noticed Logan approaching the two of them, as if he had been coming to deliver an upsetting diagnosis and not to use the coffee machine they were standing in front of.

And because Logan was absolutely not in the mood to talk to either of them, Jen had caught sight of him and puffed her cheeks in anger, like some sort of puffer fish. She tuned to face him fully with her arms on her hips and gave him some equivalent to a “death glare”, as Logan assumed people would call it.

“What are you doing here?” She asked.

“I work here,” Logan said, perhaps a little snappish, “Now, might I get to the coffee machine?”

She had huffed, tapped her foot thrice, and then shuffled to the side just enough that Logan could get to the coffee machine.

Thankfully, just enough was still technically enough. He placed his mug beside the coffee maker and checked the cartridge for leftover used grinds because-- once again-- all of his coworkers were extremely disappointing when it came to using their brains.

Jen huffed again and she was close enough that absolutely all of Logan’s internal alarms started ringing. He snapped the cartridge --thankfully clean, Logan ideally wondered if maybe it was possible they were learning. Oh wouldn’t that be a miracle?-- closed and debated giving up on the coffee all together. But he could still see grid patterns when he closed his eyes, so he dug out his preferred coffee brand and set up the maker.

Quin opened their mouth and closed it again several times. It was clear from the way they shifted on their feet and and looked anywhere but at Jen or him that they were uncomfortable. Logan found himself praying to gods that he didn’t believe in that they would hold off until he had his coffee and was safely back in his office.

“I see Remus cleaned your mug.” Quin mumbled softly because the gods that Logan didn’t believe in don’t exist and he was on this planet purely to suffer.

But they had made a semi-valid point. Remus had cleaned his cup just as Logan had requested--just as was basic human politeness when using something of someone else’s possession, regardless of the fact that Remus Prince had not asked permission to use it in the first place. Logan felt his nose twitch in irritation at the memory of the other day.

“Yes,” Logan said between his gritted teeth. Had the coffee machine always been this slow? Or perhaps it was showing its age by taking longer to make his miserable coffee. He was sure that he could move some funds around to get them a new machine by Thursday if he could just make it back to his office--

“That’s all you have to say?” Jen sniped, “Just “Yes”? Unbelievable!”

“If you have an issue,” Logan said to her, “Please keep it to yourself.”

She slammed a hand on the counter, “I cannot believe you! Perfect Logan Ackroyd! You’re just like all the rest of them!”

“Curious how this sounds very much like you are not keeping your issue to yourself,” Logan commented.

“Jen--” Quin said, but she acted much like puddle of gasoline after a match dropped on it.

She got red in the face and her neat eyebrows smashed together as she stared down him with a snarl that most certainly did not belong in the workplace. She stamped her foot like some sort of child-- honestly? Logan shouldn’t have been surprised seeing how he had been able to hear the meltdown that happened after her messy breakup with Kyle. It had been so loud that Remus had even had the gall to look moderately shocked when everything had gone down.

“Where do you guys get off on taking advantage of your significant other’s trust in you?” Jen growled, “Is it fun for you? Do you not care about our feelings? Maybe we weren’t so far off when we said you were a robot, Mr. Ackroyd! You’re cold and cruel and I hope that when your affair comes to light--”

“Jennifer,” Logan hissed, “choose your next words extremely carefully, because I have spent eleven hours going over spreadsheets that have been done wrong and am not in the mood to listen to you prattle about lost love. In case you have forgotten, I very much have control over your sector and it will only take three emails to have you demoted and-or removed from this company.”

Jen’s mouth snapped shut.

Logan thought that was the first merciful thing that had happened all day. He picked up his coffee, holding it tightly in his hand despite the heat radiating off it and headed out of the breakroom.

He stopped at the door, as the dregs of the conversation spun through his brain. “Did you imply that I was having an affair?”

Quin was wringing their hands and Jen was clawing her nails into the counter. Still, they nodded.

“Who told you that?”

And really, Logan should have expected the answer. Of course it was Remus Prince, the advertising privateer who had turned the entire company into some sort of drama circus with his half truths and his lack of a mouth filter.

The Robot Extravaganza had stolen the peace and quiet of Logan’s work atmosphere and driven him up the figurative walls. That week alone had eight times more people rapping on his door frame than he had had in the entire year previously. And of course that ridiculous white board they had put up in the far wall as if Logan was incapable of reading and comprehending words. It was unprofessional and childish and Logan had barely gotten any work done when he had been constantly interrupted with mundane questions of “Logan do you need to eat?”, “Logan how do you shower without rusting?”, “Logan do you have batteries or do you plug yourself in at night?”, “Logan!”, “Logan!”, “Logan!”.

Not to mention the way that Remus had laughed the entire time as if he found the idea of Logan being harassed particularly amusing. And Logan hated that laugh. It was terrible and awful and grating, and it made Logan want to tear out his hair because it sounded so much like---

“Is that so,” Logan said absently to Jen and Quin. “Remus Prince told you I was having an affair.”

He shifted to hold his mug with both hands, his eyes slipping over to that counter where Remus had been sitting before, with that same mug between his legs daring suggestive thoughts. How many times had Logan seen him sitting there looking like he could control the whole world with a few crass comments?

It was a game to him, wasn’t it? A game that Remus loved to play because he always won.

And who better to fix that than Logan who had been craving for revenge like it was a figurative itch under his very skin?

“Ah, well then,” Logan said and then because he was very much not the type to let people misinterpret him, he added, “I hadn’t realized my husband’s antics would upset you so much, Jen. I apologize on his behalf.”

That got their attentions real quick. Quin’s neck cracked with the force of which they turned their head to look him in the eye. Jen blinked several times as if she was having trouble processing things.

“Husband?” Jen repeats, as if she hadn’t heard the term before.

Logan straightened his back, “I’ll repeat myself slower since this seems to be overwhelming for your small brain. Remus Prince and I are married.”

“You’re a real asshole!” She covered her mouth and then fluttered her hands in a bootless waste of motions. “You’re serious? Wait of course you are! How could I forget, necktie! Oh my god, you’re serious. You and Remus?”

Logan took a sip of his coffee. “I have spreadsheets to amend.”

“Wait wait wait! I want details! Logan get back, here!” Jen screeched after him.

Logan wondered vaguely if this was the reason why Remus spread these rumors so often: the short zappy thrill that had ignited his neurons was much more effective than his coffee could ever hope to be. And Jen had believed him without a hesitance-- which truly was revealing of her hot headed nature. It was, dare he say, exciting. He hadn’t felt this way since his college lab days when he had tackled the creation of experiments with unbridled vigour.

Just how much was she willing to accept just because Logan had been the one to tell her? Just how wild of an accusation could Logan offer up before she wisened up? How quickly would this get back to Remus?

Logan itched to set up an experiment to test it all out. After all he would only get one chance to do this: most certainly when Remus gathered wind of how Logan had turned his false information back on him, Remus would come clean and admit that they had never even seen each other.

It would ruin both of their reputations. Remus as someone who spread truths, and Logan as someone who could be believed in every instance.

But Remus would still choose it over allowing anyone in the work area to think they were married. Logan knew this easily, obviously, irrefutably. They were strangers, not even acquaintances.

“Janet! Janet!” Jen screeched surprisingly loud for someone of her stature. “Janet did you know that Remus and Logan are married?” 

Logan hadn’t realized Janet was still there at all, but at the accusation she flung backwards from her cubical in her rolling office chair and nearly crashed into Logan on just feet from his private office door.

“Run that by me again!” She demanded, “Remus and Logan?”

Logan opened his door and let himself in but before he could close it, Janet wedged her foot in the way.

“No way! Remus doesn’t wear a ring!”

“Allergic to metals,” Logan listed off the top of his head.

“You don’t wear a ring, either!” Janet said grabbing at his hand and nearly causing him to spill his coffee.

And well….

Quin, Jen, and Janet were all standing at his door, ready to believe whatever he said. He could have just said he was also allergic to metals too, but there was dubious gleam in Janet’s eyes, because yes, this is the sole thing she seemed to be knowledgeable about.

If Janet didn’t believe him now, then Jen would get even more upset at him than before and that would ruin the surprise for Remus tomorrow. A half baked revenge wouldn’t be nearly as good as the one he was expecting.

So he needed a ring.

His eyes slipped over his shoulder to the dinner jacket slumped on the chair in the corner of the room, crumpled and abandoned and gathering dust with the filing cabinet and the box of records that Logan had arranged his first week on the job. 

He needed a ring.

And really it was just for one night.

He could pretend.

So Logan swallowed the sudden unexpected lump in his throat and tracked the three steps to the chair to dig the silver band from the pocket. He tried to remember how long it had been there, how long he had tried shoving it from his mind, and pretending like it and the jacket and that night had never existed. 

It had been a reminder for so long now: like a flashing sign in the night had warned him that a relationship would never be worth that again, that romantic pursuits were frivolous and fleeting and meaningless.

Regardless, it felt like putting on one of his favorite ties, like slipping into his shoes that were broken in perfectly, like it was made for him.

(It hadn’t been and wasn’t that the most ridiculous part of the story?)

It was only for one night, so he let Jen and Janet and Quin ogle over it and answered their questions efficiently. He tore into Remus’s reputation as subtly as he could, making Quin flee the room and Janet fan her face and Jen cackle. He made up a story about a summer wedding, about a honeymoon he thought was just ridiculous, about late night activities he could never imagine doing with anyone.

And when they left, Logan had stared at the band engraved so delicately for another ten minutes. 

“A robot,” Logan said to himself.

Is that what he had thought, too? 

Logan shook his head to clear his mind. He tossed the ring in his pencil cup and gathered his bag and car keys.

If he allowed himself to ignore the lapse in reality, he could even pretend like using the ring in this fashion was the same as saying “Fuck you” to the man he had almost married a year ago.

It was just one night, and an hour or so tomorrow morning after all.

Logan arrived the next day earlier than normal, which was an unexpected surprise. He got to flick on the lights and watch the floor illuminate itself. His shoes made a lovely type of clack on the tiling.

It used to feel lonely, being this early to work, but Logan found himself distracted by the anticipation of the days promised events.

He finished correcting Janet's spreadsheets and sent them off for proper filing, reorganized his desk, slipped on his ring, and managed to get his coffee brewed before most of the office had come alive. 

"Holy shit," he heard Kyle whisper to Max, "Is Logan smiling?"

Curious. It seemed that he was. Logan settled himself against the wall of the break room, Remus’s preferred cup in hand, where he had an excellent view of the cubical where Remus came up with his schemes. Jen, Janet, and Beatrice were already huddling around the entrance, much like a committee of domesticated vultures preparing for a feast.

By the time that Remus showed up to the office, running three minutes late, Logan was nearly giddy. Perhaps he could understand why Remus did what he did, if this was the sort of feeling that he experienced every time he opened his mouth.

Logan had seen many beautiful things in his lifetime; one of his hobbies was visiting art museums, art galleries, movie premieres and the likes while on his mandatory three weeks of time off from work. Still nothing could quite capture the glee that was invoked directly into Logan when Remus’s eyes had widened and his jaw dropped and his face flushed with embarrassment when Quinn squeaked at the sight of him. 

Remus Prince looked like a work of art when the world dumped him on the floor and left him too shocked to speak.

If he thought himself a king of the office, then Logan was honored to be the guillotine. 

Except.

“Logie!” Remus whined, throwing his arms up, “I thought we agreed to keep it a secret!”

Logan’s smile vaporized, almost instantly, “Wait--”

“You Mischievous Mathematician, You!” Remus giggled crossing the area far quicker than a person should be able to cross that distance. Logan blinked and suddenly Remus was right in front of him, a foot, half a foot, a handful of inches. And his voice only seemed to get louder, bolder, more excited with every step. Logan had a hypothesis that all twenty eight of the workers on the floor were watching them with baited breath.

“Well I’m happy!” Remus said loudly for Kyle and Jen and Janet and Beatrice and, and, and-- “I’ve missed getting lunch together! Let’s go to the sandwich shop down the street!”

“Absolutely not--”

“Or we could do that Thai restaurant that’s your favorite!” Remus said, which tripped Logan up because Remus had noticed he preferred Thai? Logan couldn’t even remember the last time he had Thai! How could Remus have possibly known he liked Thai? 

“I’ll pay!” Remus said when Logan hadn’t responded quick enough to turn down the lunch proposal. “Oh this is going to be so much fun, Lolo!”

And Remus came in far too close, closer than anyone has been to him in a year. His eyes were brown with flecks of green dark enough to seem like a swamp at Twilight. They gleamed as he fluttered his lashes at Logan and his mouth curls into a pointed smile.

“Let’s play,” Remus said so softly that Logan himself could barely hear it. And then he pulled back, and stepped away with Logan’s coffee in his hands. He took a long sip and licked his lip afterwards. “Mmm! Just how I like it Lo! You’re so good to me!”

Logan knew for a fact that Remus did not like black coffee. He’d seen the numbers that went into buying creamer for the break room.

Just what did Remus think he was doing? Playing along with Logan’s rumor reversal? Encouraging it? 

Remus smiled at him. “Lunch it is!” He said and waved Logan goodbye with his fingers.

Of course Logan could out him right there, right then. All he had to say was that it was a lie and that he and Remus were in no way married and he had no intentions of having lunch together. But for some reason the words seemed to be figuratively jammed in his throat, leaving him with nothing more than splutterings to vocalize his frustration.

Fine. Logan inhaled through his nose, curled his lip, and twisted his watch on his left hand to center his thoughts. Remus would like to play a game?

Fine. Logan could play a game with him. 

“Aren’t you forgetting something, dearest?” Logan said before Remus could get too far away.

He could see the way Remus’s eyes light up at the nickname, the twitch of his mustache where he was struggling not to laugh too boldly. “Am I?”

“I did make you coffee. Do you not tip your barista?” 

“Ah,” Remus swirled the mug, “And how does my “barista” like his tips then?”

When Logan had put on the ring, he had not expected to end up with Remus’s lips on his.

And yet.

Remus kissed like he was dying and wanted to make every second last, like he was living for the moment, like he had nothing left too lose. Logan thought it was ridiculous that he tasted like pickles this early in the morning.

“I think you’ll find I won’t fold that easily, Specs,” Remus breathed when he pulled back.

Logan replied, “May the best man win.”

And then he took his coffee back out of Remus’s hands and headed back to his office with that ring firmly on his hand. It appeared that he would need it for just a bit longer.

Part Three

[bnha-mha-imagines]

Todoroki angst...? 👉👈 Like maybe the reader has a crush on him and he gets into a relationship with someone else bc he's super dense and he and reader get into an argument bc he doesn't understand why she's been avoiding him?- 🍓

Todoroki x Reader

-

Word Count: 1358

Warnings: Angst, unrequited love, lost friendship

Summary: Todoroki confronts you when you mysteriously begin to avoid him after he enters a relationship with Momo…

FUCK my heart, this one hits hard for me ugh T^T

    You’d known Todoroki for longer than you could remember. All through elementary and middle school, you’d grown to be close friends; and when you both made it into U.A., you two were ecstatic. Admittedly, you had developed a large crush, if you could even call it that anymore, on Todoroki back in middle school. You always imagined that after you graduated U.A., you would date, and marry even. Your parents loved him like a son anyways, and they always said you both would probably get engaged when you were older. 

    Maybe it was their encouragement that blinded you. Of course you had never told Todoroki about your feelings for him…but you thought you didn’t have to. No one did the things you two did. He was only ever physical with you: holding your hand, cuddling under blankets on the couch, giving you hugs. You told each other everything, shared every secret and every fear. You were closer than close. You thought he had realized your feelings long ago; you thought he may have even felt the same way with how he acted.

    But then came his big secret, and it hit you harder than All Might’s smash. “I think I’m going to ask Momo out on a date,” he said quietly to you as you sat on his bed. You felt numb, and your throat tightened. You flopped backward, your back hitting his bed so you could stare at the ceiling and hide your expression. 

    “Really? You like her?” you asked, forcing your voice to stay even despite the deep pit in your stomach. You heard Todoroki make an affirmative noise as he shuffled some things from his seat at his desk. “You never mentioned it before.”

    Todoroki made another small noise. “I wanted to make sure that my feelings were authentic before I tried anything,” he started. “It started when we were paired for the exam. My feelings grew over the past month, and…though I’m not good at these things, I think she might be interested in me as well.” His words, as much as they stung, held some truth. Momo was rather close with Todoroki, though you never felt as though their relationship was something more than yours and Shoto’s. “Do you think I should ask her out?”

    You swallowed, the ceiling blurring slightly as your eyes watered. You forced yourself to hold them in, listening to Todoroki continue to work at his desk. “Y-Yeah, of course, if that’s what you want. Follow what your heart tells you. She’s a really great girl, Sho!” The words seemed to strangle you with each syllable. 

    Why did you say that? Deep down you wanted him to realize that, no, he didn’t want to ask out Momo. Why would he when he already had you? You wanted him to realize that he loved you, not her. Maybe you should have just told him that outfront. But how could you? You knew he would have listened to you–he trusted your judgment without question–but he would have been miserable. You couldn’t do that to him. 

    Needless to say, when the heart-throb of 1A asks you out, you say yes. He and Momo went on a date and became an item not long after. You tried to be happy for them, you really did! You loved Shoto with every fiber in your being, and you wanted him to be happy and in love, even if it wasn’t with you… but now you found that whenever you were around him, your chest tightened and you felt nauseous. 

    You still loved him.

    And seeing them together was the ruin of you. The mere sight of him kissing Momo and whispering sweet nothings into her ear against the wall was enough to send you over the edge. They didn’t see you turn and run to your dorm in tears. They didn’t even know you had seen them, they were so preoccupied with one another. You pounded your fists against your mattress and sobbed so hard that you were left retching in the toilet. 

You couldn’t take it anymore. As much as you fought it in the beginning, you started to distance yourself from him. At first, it was so subtle that he didn’t even notice. You slowly stopped eating lunch with him and Momo, you would take hours to respond to his texts if at all, and you would make up excuses when he invited you to hang out with them. Before he knew it, you were avoiding him completely. He almost never saw you, and by the time he realized it, it had already been two weeks. He completely lost sight as to why this divide could have happened.

You often caught him staring at you with furrowed eyebrows from across the classroom, or him talking to Momo, no doubt asking her why you were avoiding him. He always was such a daft idiot. An adorable, daft idiot. He would send you texts, asking what he did wrong. When you ignored those, he tried catching you after class, but you literally grabbed your things and ran from him. Didn’t he know how much it pained you to see him? 

Eventually came the day where you couldn’t run from him any longer. He had you cornered with no escape, and his gaze was cold and narrowed. He wanted answers, and you knew he wasn’t going to stop until he got them. “Why are you avoiding me, (Y/n)!?” his voice was harsh, hurt evident in it. “You can’t even tell me why?”

You screwed your eyes closed, unable to bear looking at him. “N-No!” you croaked out, your eyes already beginning to sting. “I can’t tell you it’s… you wouldn’t understand!”

“Try me!” Shoto raised his voice at you, something he had never done before. As if realizing this, his voice softened, low and vulnerable. It cracked as he spoke. “(Y-Y/n), I feel like I’m losing you. And I…I don’t even know what I did wrong.” He looked up at you, and he seemed small. “(Y/n), please look at me.” The hurt painted his voice. “(Y/n), god damn it LOOK at me!”

You lifted your head suddenly, tears staining your cheeks. “Shoto, I love you!” you cried out, burying your face in your hands. There it was, out in the open for him to see. “Fuck, I’ve loved you for years. I’ve loved you with every hug, every conversation, every moment. Did you…did you really never realize?” The thought of him completely unaffected by you giving your heart to him for years nearly hurt as much as it did losing him to Momo. 

The air was thick and silent. You lifted your watery gaze from your hands to stare at him. You wanted him to respond. You wanted a reaction, yet all he did was stare at you silently with wide eyes. “Say something,” you prompted him, his silence more condemning than any harsh words he could have said. “P-Please, Sho, say something, anything!” 

Shoto seemed to tremble slightly, his lips parting and closing as he struggled to find the right words to say, the words that could fix this. But no such words existed. He knew there was nothing he could do or say to fix any of it. He loved Momo, but he loved you too…just not in the same way. He knew he could never remedy his relationship with you. He couldn’t give you what you wanted, and forcing you to stay would kill you. So finally, he closed his mouth, eyes glassy as he saw your eyelids close in an expression he could only describe as grief-stricken acceptance.

He watched your lip tremble as you bit into it deeply. The corners of your mouth twisted, a sob raking through you before you shoved your way around him. He made no move to stop you, head hanging toward the floor as his fists shook tightly at his sides. He couldn’t give you the love you deserve, so he did the only good thing he could and let you go.  

_________________________

Part two (x Bakugo)

[tmabutlesbian]

This one wasn’t requested bUT! i went on a random chooser thing and put the ships in and the two A girls came first! 

This is like. An example of what a request will look like. In any case, this one shot happens when Agnes is about 14 years old. If you’ve read my other post about this AU, you’ll know that shit goes down when she’s 14 so. yeah.

Summary: Annabelle and Gerry have kept secrets from Agnes and Martin. Agnes’ too busy running away from a ghost lady and dealing with cult stuff to be properly mad about it. (Agnes and Annabelle)

(this got long so. sorry. also its 2am so if theres any errors, tell me pls thx)

(TW: Agnes is a bit of an unreliable narrator. She refers to the cult as her ‘family’ a lot, so if that’s not up to your league, here’s your warning. She does realize her situation by the end, btw. If you’re still interested in reading, I’ll link you an edited version. Not right now, but I’ll do it, no worries.)

(edit: I’m fixing some errors and fining some stuff. i don’t want to change much, my progress will show better in other future works. yh thats it)

------

The rain kept pouring, hard, heavy. There wasn’t much wind and yet when the three ran they felt as if the air itself was in their favor, pushing them forward, faster, scrambling their way into the manor before she could catch them.

Ah, yes, she. The lady of the lake apparently. Gerry hadn’t explained himself well enough. And even if he did it would never be enough. Through the trees and the front garden, Agnes can hear Martin’s anger and hurt and betrayal between the fear. She feels it too, somewhere.

Their feet pound in harmony with the rain and they stop in sync when the big main doors close behind them, dripping all over the main entrance like wet dogs. God, she hates the rain.

Annabelle has heard them by now for sure. Does she know more than Gerry does? What do they know, entirely? Does it matter anyways? She can hear the voice of her family, all the way back in town. ‘The world will end anyways, Agnes,’ the reverence and want in their voices makes her want to smash her head into a wall and end, ‘you’ll bring it to us, not them.’ This may be the perfect opportunity to end it. To end her stay at Magnus Manor, to leave, and cry, and hurt, and end-

“Okay-” the broken silence grounds into dust when Gerry speaks up, and yet she’s glad for it, in some far away part of hers. “She can- fuck- open the... main doors even if they’re locked so-” Martin doesn’t look like he’s listening but he’s good at appearing non-existent. It would be more effective if he didn’t end every harsh breath with a growl. 

Gerry takes longer to continue, and Martin snaps his head up, eyes golden around the edges. “She can... the-” he swallows around his dry throat. “The ghost lady. That comes- from the lake. She can just... open the main doors...?” Agnes feels his disbelief, somewhere, far. He’s indignant too. She can relate. “And you were just- just going to- to not tell us about it?!” masking hurt under anger is more of a Gerry move, but Martin spends so much time with him, he’s prone to pick up some habits. “How is this protecting us! How?! What-”

“Listen, I know this is bad and I’m sorry,” she hears faint running steps from deep within the manor. Annabelle’s coming, “but we have to get away from the- the doors.” when he grabs and drags her away she goes limply. Martin just pushes him away. Gerry falters; he’s shaking. “Martin, please-”

Oh, how Agnes aches when she sees the tears forming in Martin’s brown- golden eyes. “No, fuck off! How dare you! You, Annabelle,” he turns to Agnes and frowns, teeth bared but she can’t be sure, why is everything so unclear, is she crying-? “even Agnes- you all lied to me! Hid from me!” Gerry tried to butt in but Martin didn’t let him, “No- you- the ghosts! The fears! The magic! You hid everything from us, and you call that ‘protecting us’ but in reality it just puts us in more danger!” where’s Annabelle? She takes her sweet time in the worst moments. Gerry’s shaking but she’s sure it’s not all cold. “You wanted to study us. Right? You bloody-”

The rain drones everything out when the lady opens the main doors, even Annabelle’s hurried entrance. The lady’s so close, too close, they’re too close to the door-

Suddenly she’s farther away and Martin’s right next to Agnes, both of them behind Gerry, arms out to hide them away from her, from the lady. But she ignores everyone and ascends the stairs, Annabelle scurrying out of her way, and then the ghost turns a corner, and vanishes from view. And all is quiet.

Annabelle descends the stairs in a much quicker but staggered pace than the ghost, looking stricken while the lady had no face at all. “What were you doing out there? Are you all alright? Gerry-”

“They know.” it was surprising how his voice didn’t shake when the rest of his body did. Annabelle froze. “Annabelle-”

“Were you ever going to tell us?!” she hears Martin’s voice break and the tears spill, and they glisten the gold in his eyes, but she needs to get out, she needs to go, she’s going- she can’t-

“I,” she speaks so quietly these days. While she grows hotter, scalding and perfect for her family, to them- Martin, Gerry, Annabelle- she’s ice cold. She’s dying away, just like the world will, one day, she will burn it, whatever else is she made for but to destroy? “I want to leave.” even quietly, they stop and listen to her. Gerry frowns, mouth hanging open. Annabelle goes still but her eyes are set; she knows something Agnes knows too, but she can’t reach it, she’s so far away. And Martin. He’s breathing hard again but it’s the tears’ work this time, not the running. He can only let out a ‘what?’, soft and weak and fragile and too much when they all hear the footsteps of a fourth entity coming down. 

They swivel around and back away but the lady’s in her own world, roaming out of the manor slowly, resigned. Agnes can relate to that too.

The doors shut out the rain as they close, and Martin’s sniffs are the only thing more broken than the quiet she left behind. Annabelle turns around, facing Agnes head on. Many don’t respect Miss Cane, and she never understood why. Is it her height? Her lisp? The fact that she needs a cane to help her walk? All Agnes has ever felt for her was respect. Reverence, but different from the one her family in town have for Agnes. Behind her pursed brow and hard set lips lies the mother Agnes never had. Really, is she crying? She feels like she should be. Can a messiah cry? Agnes’ too far away to know, probably.

If Agnes had been shorter than Annabelle she would’ve knelt down to her knees. As it is, she only places her steady shaking hands on Agnes’ shoulders, hard. “Agnes, I need you to listen to me very carefully.” Martin’s shoulders bunch up to his ears and Gerry’s nearby, hesitant to help lest he makes it all worse, and she should look back to Annabelle now, let the boys fade to the background. “I know who your ‘family’ is, alright? The ones who have been stealing you away from us,” Agnes wouldn’t call it stealing. It just made sense. What’s the point of friends if everything’s going to burn anyways. “us, Agnes, and do you know why? The real reason why?” the twitch in her brow will have to be answer enough. She feels lightheaded. Annabelle’s hands are the only thing keeping her upright. “Because we are your warmth, Agnes.

“Those people you go back to, they want you to burn. But you don’t want that do you? Not really. I can see it, y’know? When it’s snowing and they come to pick you up sooner than you were expecting and- you hate the snow, the cold, and yet you hesitate at the front doors when it’s time to go.” Agnes remembers. She- she wants to go, surely, it’s her home, with her family. Her- she- it’s her destiny. She can’t stay. There’s nothing else to do but to go. “They tell you big words, about ‘destiny’ and ‘fate’, but they’re wrong. The only destiny you have it’s the one you make for yourself, not what others have carved out for you.” her hand flies to her face and it comes back wet. Oh, there’s the tears. She hiccups around Annabelle’s words. “I will never tell you lies ever again. I will never show you a path while hiding the millions of others and claiming it’s the only way. I will never hurt you by making you do it yourself and believing it’s the right thing to do. And,” here her voice shakes, and Agnes can’t remember any other time when Miss Cane wasn’t steady and yet, here they are, “I will never give up on you, Agnes.” her thin body, like dry sticks ready to be lit, shakes when she sobs but she doesn’t dare break eye contact with her mother.

“There’s no soft way to say this, and I won’t sugarcoat anything else, or hide anything from either of you again.” she looks briefly at Martin, who’s in a very much similar state to Agnes, grabbing Gerry’s sleeve. Agnes’ closer now, and the thought of ‘I’m going to tease about that later’ almost makes her laugh out loud. “You are being raised in a cult, Agnes.” well, there goes the laughter.

Something she knew but couldn’t reach. It’s like- well, not a slap, a slap’s surprising. More... a wave crashing all around her; she saw it coming, and she let it emerge her in the messy, icy depths of it.

Annabelle takes it away, explains their plans, the plans for her, teaches Agnes about all the painful things she knew deep down but couldn’t reach. She’s lucky, she realizes, to have someone take her by the hand and pull her closer, however jarring it is.

She takes Agnes’ face in her hands, smearing them with tears, and when she promises, “I’ll make this right, we’ll do it, just tell me how and we’ll make it true.” she believes her. Truly, so raw it burns her chest, and it hurts, but she’s closer than she’s been in years, and the most she can do now is throw herself at Annabelle and let herself be hugged.

There’s so many things to do. They need to get her family- the cul- her- them out of her hair until she can find herself again. Or for the first time. They took all the years she’s had until now after all. 

Martin all but runs to her arms, wetting her sleep clothes. Gerry wraps an arm around her shoulders, slowly, and rests his head on top of hers, his mutter barely audible when his mouth is in her hair. “I’m sorry. Please don’t go.” she reaches for the wrist resting on her free shoulder and squeezes, and Gerry sighs a broken little thing that has her shaking harder again. But she’s closer now, again. She’s here. She wants to stay in here.

Her hand meets Annabelle’s and she feels herself breathe, again. Finally.

[prismatic-starstuff]

take the ring to mordor. chapter ii

Word Count: 1,507 Pairing: (Eventual) Sauron x Reader Warnings: None

In which you meet some strange new ‘guards.’

chapter i can be found right here!

The brightness of the morning doesn’t do a thing to brighten your mood; as you step through the forest, you can’t help but glance around left and right, turning behind yourself and looking every which way to ensure there’s no danger around. You’d never seen anything like that-- that thing that broke into your house before in all your days, and you hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it since... Knowing that there were things like that in the world, and nearby to you at that, you cannot shake the feeling that you are in grave danger.

The village, quaint and humble, begins to come into view before you. You draw a deep breath; you’re absolutely not in the mood to see any of the residents right now, you don’t feel as though you could handle conversation...

But your tension is soon replaced by confusion, and it shows on your face, a deep frown creasing your eyebrows.

As you draw closer, you begin to notice something quite unmistakable: the village is... quiet. In fact, the village is near enough silent; there are no people milling about, there are no faces in the windows, there is... nothing.

“Oh no.” Your eyes widen, and you stop in your tracks. What if that thing had gotten to them, too? What if it had killed them all? What if there was no-one left alive?! “Oh please, please no...”

Your breathing quickens, and you’re stricken stock still by dread. You can’t face the thought of going in there and seeing the carnage; you couldn’t bear to see the kind locals of the village with no light in their eyes, no life in their bodies... The ground suddenly rushes to meet you, and although you didn’t even realise it had been happening, you’ve fallen to your knees on the dirt.

And there you stay, because you cannot think clearly enough to even try to move. You try to tell yourself that you need to go on: if you don’t get the ring in your hands to Mordor, that thing will end you, will hurt you, will punish you; he hadn’t said it, but something in your soul knows it to be true...

But you can’t move.

You’re panicking.

You’re almost crying.

It’s hopeless.

The odd warmth of the ring in your hand is all you can feel aside from fear and despair, and absently, you bring it to your heart and clasp your other shaking hand atop it. You find yourself trying to focus on the warmth, since it is the only tangible feeling around you that isn’t unpleasant... and as you latch onto it tightly, squeezing your palm rhythmically around the metal as a way of bringing your racing mind back down to Arda, you find yourself very surprised by the outcome.

It actually works.

Slowly, you find your panic abating, rational thought beginning to shine through the fog of your fears. There will be other reasons for the quiet in the village, you tell yourself. The people may not be dead. Everything may be completely fine...

...and you realise, whether you like it or not, that the only way you will know is if you get up and investigate.

Blinking past the blurriness of your unfallen tears, you slowly push yourself to your feet, feeling an unusual swell of pride in yourself as you get yourself upright once more. Eyes fixed ahead on the village, you draw a deep breath, opening your hands and glancing down at the ring.

“Looks like there’s no way but forward, little guy,” you murmur wryly, a slightly shaky smile crossing your lips before you clasp your hand closed once more and continue on your way.

...You do not notice the faint orange glow of the script that circles the ring, nor do you understand the angry prickling sensation that seems to emanate from it.

~*~

The good news: the people are still alive, and they seem to be safe in their houses.

The bad news? The village has overrun by bizarre creatures, and as soon as one of them caught sight of you, suddenly they were all rushing in to crowd around you as though you’re the best thing to happen to them all year.

“The ringbearer!” one of them cries in a deep and rough voice, a grin stretching his green-coloured face and exposing his... teeth? Tusks? You weren’t sure...

“You sure?” another questions, turning his head to look your way; and when he sees you, he raises his mace in what seems to be joy. “It is! It’s the ringbearer! Praise be to the Lidless Eye!”

They run to join the others who have circled around you, and as you look around in utter confusion, you decide to get to the bottom of this and ask who they are. Opening your mouth, you say--

“Kneel.”

--Oh. That... that was not what you’d meant to say, not at all. Where had that come from?

Before you can correct yourself or explain, the creatures immediately fall down before you; some kneeling, some pressing their heads to the ground, some still gazing in awe.

“N-No,” you begin, looking around frantically, “you don’t have to...” Drawing a deep breath, you sigh, using your free hand to wipe at your brow. Things were just going to keep getting more and more bizarre, weren’t they...? “Listen, can one of you please tell me what’s going on here? Who are you all?”

“We’re the Orcs!” one of them, who seems to be a bit bigger and a bit wiser than some of the rest, proudly informs with a bright, sharp-toothed grin. “Sent ‘ere by the Witch-king to ‘elp you in yer quest to get the Ring to Mordor!”

“The Witch-king...?” you question, head tilting. All at once, a flash of your door being smashed down comes into your mind’s eye, and your physical eyes widen in response. “Oh... right... that Witch-king...” Blinking the thought from your mind, you look down at the squad of assembled orcs. There had to be over twenty of them, at least... not that you had the time to count. “So, you’re... my guards, basically?”

Snickering, the orc - who you decide to call Lead Orc until you get the chance to ask his name - shrugs his massively broad shoulders. “Somethin’ like that,” he responds dismissively. “We’re in charge of keepin’ you outta danger; and especially keepin’ the Ring outta danger. We’re at yer service until you’ve done what you gotta do.”

In a way, you find yourself comforted by the fact that all these strong warrior-looking creatures are claiming to be at your service; but in a way, you simply find yourself even more confused. How important is this piece of jewellery? It isn’t exactly normal to send a platoon of creatures to guard a thing purely because it’s pretty and gold... unless it is? Your little home is quite far away from anyone and anything, apart from the village which is fairly remote in itself... “I have so many questions,” you sigh again, your hand now pressing against your forehead since you’re sure you have a headache coming on.

“‘m sure you do,” Lead Orc nods, lips stretched into an amused grin. “And we’ll do what we can to fill you in. But fer the time bein’? We ain’t got time to waste. We don’t wanna risk makin’ Him impatient.”

“Him who?” you frown deeply, head tilting a bit. “The Witch-king?”

“Oh-ho, trust me, the Witch-king’s got nothin’ on Him.” Lead Orc stands, and he motions a hand covered in a heavy iron gauntlet to his fellow orcs, leading them to rise to their feet alongside him. “Now c’mon, ringbearer. Mordor’s waitin’, an’ it’s a long journey ahead.”

Before you can say anything, he grabs onto your wrist and jostles you along with a firm tug, almost causing you to trip over your own feet. Your eyes narrow and you huff a little, but you choose not to argue with him... All things considered, if these orcs really are your ‘guards,’ you don’t really want to burn the only alliance you currently have in this strange endeavour.

“Wait,” you finally find your voice, though the orcs don’t stop their stride at your command, and you don’t stop either; you don’t think it would be a wise idea. “The people in this village--”

“--are fine!” Lead Orc interrupts, giving you what was perhaps supposed to be a comforting pat on the back, though it kind of knocked the wind out of you. “We just told ‘em to stay inside until we got ya. Didn’t want anyone seein’ ya an’ rattin’ you out to anyone who might try an’ stop ya.”

You frown up at him. “’Try and stop me?’ Why would anyone do that?”

Lead Orc just laughs at you, shaking his head and turning to face forward. It wasn’t a comforting laugh. Actually, none of this is comforting.

Well, at least the ring isn’t prickling in your hand anymore.

That’s a plus... right?

[silavut-the-wizard]

Silavut the Wizard, Chapter 5

Okay, so this one turned out way longer than I thought it would. It just kept going and going.

The Apprentice

“No! No! This can’t be happening! It’s not supposed to happen this way!”

Silavut woke in a cold sweat, shooting bolt upright and breathing heavily. The events replayed in his mind over and over. The nightmare had become reality.

His breathing calmed and he realized he wasn’t in his own bed. He glanced around and took stock of his surroundings. Nothing was familiar. He was a stranger in a strange place. Though he did see his belongings on the table across the room which was bare save for the bed and table.

“Mom! Dad!” He tried calling for his parents, but no answer came. He really was alone.

Footsteps came from outside the room. Then a small knock. “Hello? I heard you calling for your parents. Is it all right if I come in?” It was a soft but firm voice.

Silavut was frightened, but the voice had a calming effect. “Ye–yeah. I–I guess so.”

The door slowly opened and Silvaut braced himself for the worst, scooting back up against the corner, ready to pounce. Through the doorway peeked a wizened man’s head, his whole face seeming to smile.

“Hehe. Hello there. I’m not going to hurt you. I know you’re scared and have been through quite a horrifying ordeal.” His voice was even more pleasant and soothing without being muffled through the door.

“Who are you? Where are my parents? How did I get here? What—”

Silavut was interrupted by the old man who had now crossed the threshold and was standing just inside the doorway. “Hold on there, lad. So many questions. Let’s start at the beginning. My name is Vorin Tremdal. I was actually a friend of your parents. As for them… Well… I…” He almost couldn’t bring himself to say it, but the boy needed to know. “I’m sorry. They didn’t make it.”

Vorin paused and there was a long, uncomfortable silence. Silavut shifted away from the corner and sat back down on the bed. He looked at Vorin who now seemed tired and worn out. There was no mistaking his sincerity. Vorin gestured to the bed and Silavut nodded. The old man sat down with a heavy sigh.

“I’m so, so very sorry, young man. Your parents were good people. They told me you were practicing the arts, even though you thought you were doing it in secret. They knew everything.” Silavut opened his mouth to reply, but Vorin stopped him. “Uhp, no, don’t speak. I was the one who gave them the elemental vessels. Once they heard you were interested in the arts, I had to know exactly how you would develop your gift.” He looked over at Silavut who was watching and listening with more curiosity than anything else. “You were quite adept, I soon discovered, thanks to your parents’ reports. They said you were coming along quite well and wonderfully quick. Unfortunately, a little too well and too quick without guidance. That is why the…why it happened.” Vorin sighed again. “So now you know the truth.”

Silavut sat in silence for another moment before speaking. “So…everything that I’ve done…”

“Yes, it was never a secret.”

“Then how did I get here?”

“I heard the explosion and commotion and came to see what happened. Then I saw the destruction and you lying in the center of it all. I knew I had to get you out of there, lest you succumb to the fate of death yourself. Eldren was destroyed, and soon you would be, too. I could not let that happen. Thinking only of your survival, I ran into the inferno and hauled you over my shoulder and brought you back here. You were out for several days.”

Silavut mulled this over in silence.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” Vorin said mostly to himself with tones of disgust and anger, a fist banging his thigh. His voice got just a notch louder, but still quiet. “You were supposed to become my apprentice once you were older. I guess the fates have decided for us.”

They looked at each other, Vorin grief-stricken and Silavut still reeling trying to process everything. Vorin stood up and walked towards the door. He looked back at Silavut, sighed, and walked out, slowly and quietly shutting the door.

With a sudden burst of anger and grief, Silavut leapt up off the bed and started tearing it apart, throwing the pillows and sheets all over the room. Then he flipped the mattress and stomped and jumped all over it. He threw his satchel against the wall. Picked up and smashed the little table on the floor. There was nothing else to take his emotions out on so all he could do was sit in a corner and scream and cry and pound on the walls and floor.

Downstairs, Vorin could only listen, his heart aching for the lad. Tears welled up in his eyes. There was nothing he could say or do right now to help. Silavut just had to let it out. He was glad, though. Better the boy do it now than let it build up and eat him up from the inside. He knew Silavut would grieve for a while yet, but at least he was able to let out the brunt of his emotions. Sure, the room would be a mess, but things were easily mended and replaced. People, not so much.

It was now late and Vorin decided to retire for the night. He went to check in on Silavut and found him slumped over in the corner with a pillow between his knees and head. Looking around the room, he took in the mess and decided he would take care of it in the morning. He arranged the pillows and sheets so Silavut could sleep more comfortably. His face was tear-stained and there were still tears falling, but the boy would sleep at least.

Vorin retired to his own room after getting Silavut settled and wept for the boy’s family and the people of Eldren. It was a tragedy that could have been avoided if Silavut’s parents had just listened to him. He knew the boy was special and he told them so. They argued to the point where Vorin almost gave up on him. Then he proposed a compromise. If he showed any signs of the gift, they would let Silavut become Vorin’s apprentice. They agreed, but only once he was a certain age. They did not anticipate him becoming so adept so quickly. Vorin tried pleading with them to let him become his apprentice once they saw what he could do. They still wouldn’t budge as he wasn’t yet the age agreed upon. Vorin begged and pleaded, but no matter what he did, there was no changing their minds.

Then it happened. What he feared had come to pass. That Silavut had become too powerful too quickly thus causing the destruction of Eldren. He had hoped against hope that it wouldn’t happen, but it did. Despite that, he still made a vow to take Silavut as his apprentice and help him learn to control his powers. If not for himself, then for the promise he made Silavut’s parents—that if anything were to happen to them, he would care for the boy. Vorin fell asleep with the promise on his mind. He dreamed, but would remember none of it come morning.

Silavut awoke with a start and looked around then remembered where he was. Getting up off the floor, he examined the room and groaned, remembering what he did last night. He would have to apologize to Vorin and pay him back in some way for the damages. Then he thought back to their conversation. I am to be his apprentice…? I wish my parents would have told me. Then he started weeping again for their loss.

Vorin lightly knocked on the door. Silavut bid him enter between sniffles. Vorin made his way over to Silavut who wrapped his arms around Vorin’s waist and wept into him. Vorin put his arms around the boy’s shoulders and held him. For several moments they stayed like this, unmoving. Finally Silavut broke the embrace.

“I’m sorry for the mess I made,” he said between sniffles.

“It’s all right. Nothing that can’t be taken care of. Things can be fixed or replaced. Though I must say, you really did a number on that table.” Vorin chuckled lightly.

“Yeah.” Silavut gave a half-hearted laugh.

“OK, let’s go downstairs and get some breakfast. Whaddya say?”

“OK.” At the mention of food, his stomach very loudly protested being empty. Silavut didn’t realize how hungry he was since he hadn’t eaten for being unconscious for several days.

Downstairs at breakfast, Vorin explained how being an apprentice worked. Of course, Silavut already knew most of it, but he didn’t have the heart to say so.

“So, what do you think, then? Ready to become my apprentice and learn about being a true wizard?”

Silavut shrugged. “I guess.” Though the food had made him feel better, the loss of his parents, and Eldren itself, had weighed heavily on him.

“I understand. Tell you what, you tell me when you’re ready. Take your time. Tomorrow, next week, next year… It’s up to you. I won’t push you.”

“Thanks, Vorin.” Silavut finished eating and set his dishes in the sink. “I still can’t believe you and my parents…wow. It’ll take some getting used to. Should I call you ‘Uncle’ Vorin?” He gave Vorin a sideways smirk.

“Haha. No, just Vorin. I’m not into the whole ‘Uncle’ thing.”

“OK. I’ll go clean up the mess I made.”

“Oh no you don’t. Go do whatever it is you want to do. I’ll clean up.”

“If you insist. Thanks, ‘Uncle’ Vorin.” Silavut chuckled on his way out the door.

Vorin just shook his head and headed upstairs to clean up. Looking around at the mess, he decided he would need to get a new table and just use the broken one for scrap. As he was cleaning up, he noticed the book of spells among Silavut’s things. He hadn’t seen a spell book in years! Opening it up, he nearly dropped it. Where did he get this? He shouldn’t have this! This is not good. He would have to talk with Silavut later.

After cleaning up and putting everything right, he went back downstairs with Silavut’s satchel. Everything but the fire elemental vessel was there. Of course, he knew what happened to that. There was no denying it. Silavut was definitely gifted. Though if left unchecked, he could become extremely dangerous. Which is exactly why he needed to learn to control his powers.

Silavut returned that evening feeling better. He had gone out for a stroll and found a perfect spot for him to take out some more emotional stress without damaging anything. It was almost like it was set up specifically for that purpose. He wondered if Vorin had created that spot.

“Ah, Silavut, you’re back. We need to talk. Please, have a seat.”

Silavut looked at Vorin suspiciously. “Talk about what? I’m still going to be your apprentice, right?”

“Yes, of course. Please, sit.”

Silavut sat in the chair next to the fireplace, wary of Vorin’s gaze upon him.

“I have discovered something rather unpleasant. You see, upon cleaning your room, I came across a very curious item.” He held out the spell book. “This.”

Silavut sat up straight and nearly snatched it out of Vorin’s hand, but held himself back. “That’s mine. What about it? Where’s my stuff?”

“Your things are safe; I’ve put them away for now. I will show you where they are later. For now, we must discuss this book. Where did you get it? I must know.”

“I thought you knew everything…?”

“I didn’t say that. I only said your parents told me you were very well gifted. They mentioned nothing about what you were using to practice, save the elemental pieces. Now please, where did you get this book?”

“I…” Silavut hesitated. He couldn’t lie to the man who saved him. He sighed and explained, “It was given to me by one of the merchants where I got some of my magic tricks. He said to consider it a ‘free gift’.”

“I see. What did this merchant look like? If you can recall.”

Silavut described the man in great detail.

“Well, an excellent memory. One of the traits of being gifted as we are. You see, this is a very dangerous spell book. It’s a good thing you hadn’t actually used it.”

“Um…well…actually…I…kind of did.”

“What?”

“It was just once! I swear!”

Vorin pinched his nose between his fingers and sighed. “What was the spell, and when?”

“It was after I learned all the basic stuff, I wanted to see what I could do with some more advanced stuff. It was just a conjure spell.”

“Just a—” Vorin had to get himself under control. “Listen to me very carefully. You are to never use this again as of right now. Once you’ve become a true wizard, then you may be able to properly use this book, but not until then. As I said, this is a very dangerous book. It should only be used with proper training. You were lucky nothing more than the conjure spell happened. If it had gotten out of control, you would’ve been in very deep trouble.” Vorin’s look softened. “I don’t know what would’ve happened if I had lost you. It’s bad enough that…” He couldn’t finish.

“I’m sorry,” Silavut said softly. “I didn’t know. I thought it was just a basic book of spells. I had no idea it was dangerous.”

“Any spell book is dangerous in the wrong hands, especially this one. I’m just glad it wasn’t this time. Just be careful what you do in the future. I will be here to guide you, so if anything happens, I can help. I’m going to put this away for safe keeping. Here, let me show you where your things are.”

Vorin led Silavut to the place where his things were kept and explained everything has its place. If Silavut wanted to use something, he should put it back after use, and this was his spot for his things if he wanted it. Silavut agreed and said it was perfect.

From that day on, Vorin taught Silavut everything he could about being a wizard. As his parents said, Silavut learned quickly, and advanced faster than Vorin ever had. Silavut still grieved for his parents and the pain of their loss lessened over the years but it would never completely go away.

One day as they were out practicing nature magic, Vorin had suddenly fallen. Silavut caught him just before he hit the ground and in a panicked voice asked what was wrong. Vorin told him it was nothing, just his old age. Silavut didn’t believe him but let him think he did. With Vorin leaning on Silavut for support, they made their way back to the house. Silavut helped Vorin into bed and told him to get some rest. Vorin tried speaking but Silavut hushed him and got him some water. Almost immediately after, Vorin was asleep.

Silavut had gone to bed that night worried about Vorin. Would he be OK? What happened? He obviously knew it wasn’t old age, but stubborn old Vorin wouldn’t admit it. He didn’t want to worry Silavut, but that made Silavut worry even more than if Vorin told him what was really wrong.

The next morning, Vorin called Silavut to his side. “My boy,” he wheezed, “I have taught you everything I can. I can no longer stay with you.” His breathing grew ragged. “My time has come. Remember what I told you about the spell book.”

“No…Vorin…no. Stay with me.” Silavut couldn’t help but start weeping.

“I’m sorry, son. There’s no saving me. It is the will of the Powers. I have been sick for a long time. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to worry you. I’m sorry.” Vorin coughed and Silavut tried to help him sit up but he waved him away. “There is nothing you can do for me. You’ll be on your own from now on. You’ve learned well. Keep it up and you’ll really be a true wizard. Just remember everything I’ve taught you, and remember what I said about the book. You must not let it fall into the wrong hands.” Vorin’s breathing slowed.

“Vorin, please, don’t do this. Please stay with me,” Silavut pleaded, but he knew it was in vain.

Vorin struggled to speak. “You know I cannot. It is time. Goodbye, my boy.” With that, he took his last breath and was gone.

Silavut cursed the Powers and wept. Though he knew the cycle of life, the pain was no less when someone one loves passes on. For days he hardly slept or ate, cursing his life, the Powers, the universe. Then one day he went to the spot he first found to release his emotions and let everything out at once. Had there been something to destroy, it would have been totally obliterated.

Upon returning home, he gave Vorin a traditional wizard’s burial as he was taught. It included a ritual for the protection of the spirit and a returning to the earth. Once it was done, he retrieved his belongings, his satchel and the spell book and with one last look at the place he called home for these many years, set off alone on an unknown journey.

[vincevanbro]

heaven couldn’t wait for you ✘ bell brothers & vanessa

TAGGING → Tiny Bell, Vanessa Montgomery, Vince Bell

TIMEFRAME →  Saturday, April 11th

LOCATION → Maple Street Park

NOTES → The Bells and Vanessa gather at their childhood park to pay respects to Rocky. However, an unexpected guest causes things to go awry. 

Tiny: remembered that this was his idea in the first place as he arrived to the park where he'd spent a good chuck of his childhood. This brought back all sorts of memories, some good, some not so good, but the one thing he knew was that this was a place that meant something to Rocky. And in turn, it meant something to Vanessa as well. He didn't want tonight to be about crying, being sad, somber music like a funeral. It was a celebration of life, regardless of how short it was, and what that life meant to the people that were coming. "Yo." He greeted with a head nod as he was finishing putting a large gathering of balloons on the pole near the gate of the park. "Just wanted to get a head start. This was his favorite color..I know I kinda went overboard..but I just wanted to make this place look a little nicer." He shrugged his shoulders. "This place looks nicer than it did back then.."

Vanessa: was clutching her portrait of Rocky against her chest as she made her way to the once familiar park. She had so many memories of running around, scraping her knees up, and kicking up dirt around here; the same memories she tried to give back to Rocky whenever he wanted to be out for the day. Vanessa couldn't decide yet if this was a good idea or not, but she needed something like to celebrate her son––with people who knew it was her son and not just another Montgomery brother. "Hey," she replied softly, approaching Tiny. It was far more than she imagined, and Vanessa felt herself becoming a little choked up looking over the scene. "It's perfect, T," she grinned. "Back then there was graffiti all over the slides and only one of the swings had a set," she joked lightly.

Vince: despite being the younger bell brother, tiny has always been the voice of reason. where vince was planning on handling things with rocky in his own way, a vigil was a far thought. it took his younger brother’s persistence to remind him that the little boy deserved to be remembered, not just avenged. “yeah, it is” he nods in agreement as he approaches the pair, an aluminum foil pan of food in tow. he smiles a tiny smile at vanessa, less full with regret like the ones he’s been sending her lately, more familiar, more warm. he thinks for a second as the wind swipes at her blonde locks that he’ll feel bonded to her forever, and no matter who he’s with, what he’s doing, or whether their child was here to witness it they’ll be family till the end of time. all of them. “crazy how shit changes—“ he tacks on his two cents, can’t help the way his voice sounds just a little nostalgic.

Tiny: "I remember. I hung upside down on the top of the swing set while ya'll used to swing. Fell off it and lost 3 baby teeth at once. Good times." He joked lightly with her, able to feel happy about the memories they shared together. When Vince arrives, he's worried slightly at first, unsure of how these two would react to everything, especially around each other. But his brother is..warm, which is new for him, and he can sense he's trying to reflect and think of the good times just like they were. "hopefully by the time i bring my own kid here, this place isn't a strip mall with a hair salon tacked on." he added as he walked over to the two of them, standing between the two of them as he lets out a small sigh. "thanks for saving my ass back then, both of you guys. i was a short kid with a smart mouth. not a good combo.", he pointed out with a light laugh.

Vanessa: was thrown off seeing Vince approach them. Of course he'd be there, but she wasn't expecting him to see so not menacing? Vanessa offered a smile back in his direction, not knowing what their dynamic would be now, but for today that wasn't something to worry about. "You used to tease me for wanting to do nothing but swing the entire time," she replied, a playful laughing coming out. "And I was a quiet kid who couldn't fight. Ya'll've bailed me out more than once too," she smiled back between the boys. Once Tiny was standing between them, Vanessa moved forward, putting the portrait of Rocky on the sidewalk near all the balloons. Her smiling baby with bright hazel eyes like hers and (the more Vanessa looked at it) Vince's smile? Looking at the picture brought a tears to her eyes, sitting down completely in front of the display.

Vince: “well i’m pretty sure we’ve always known who the muscle of this operation is” he jokes, cocky, but good-natured as they all reminisce on a time where their biggest trouble was whether or not the ice cream man had enough blue raspberry icees. and despite their neighborhood not being crime-stricken, and constant feature in the nightly news, he was comfortable here. it was home. dark hues focus intently on the picture of the little boy that vanessa places on the ground, and all he can visualize is the way he found him. and he knows now is a moment for grief, remembrance, not brewing, bubbling, inconsolable anger. so he stays quiet, despite the clench of his fist. “so how do we kick this off? he murmurs, at somewhat of a loss. “i’m following your lead t”

Tiny: is glad that he's able to look at their time as children fondly, despite their circumstances. This was their home, and they'd made it out for better or for worse. His eyes go to the picture, and he frowns, letting out a huff as he looks at the picture. He swears he can spot his mother a bit in the boy for the first time, and it sends a chill up his spine he can't shake. Still, he knows that he's the one who put this together, and he knows he has to be strong for the both of them. "Rocky..liked ice cream." he said as he wanted over to vanessa, kneeling down next to her as he placed a hand on her shoulder. "i used to bring over a carton of cookie dough for him, kai, and me to split. split lines down the middle three ways, you know?. kai would get up and go to the bathroom and i'd try to steal some of his, but rocky would be like 'no no teeny!' and smack my hand with his spoon." he smiled sadly, blinking rapidly to fight off tears. "so whenever i start to mess up, he's always gonna be in my head smacking me for it. thanks, nephew." he finishes, and lets one of the balloons go free as a symbolic gesture. "v, i know you're got a ton of stories." he encouraged as he patted her shoulder.

Vanessa: "Muscles, brains, beauty," Vanessa teased, pointing between each word at Vince, Tiny, and herself. She looked to Tiny's hand, a sense of comfort washing over her. Instead of letting his hand relax on her shoulder, Vanessa took his hand in hers. Just trying to use some of this strength for herself. "No wonder when I'd come back from practice he'd be geeked up and running up walls," Vanessa replied shaking her head. She didn't know what she expected this to be, but it was better than whatever sorrowful thing her father planned, that her father didn't invite her to. "i remember when he first learned how to walk. all he was able to do for a long time was just stand in place and then he'd immediately fall straight on his butt or cry for someone to help him," she started wiping her face. "I think i had went to get groceries or something. He looked at me with those big hazel eyes and took off running. Didn't take a test walk, lap or nothing. Just ran straight into my arms and spilled coffee all over my hair and I didn't care one bit. Because that boy's hugs could cure everything," Vanessa called back, hope returning to her voice.

Vince: a smile breaks on otherwise stern features as the pair share their stories of the little man, and he stares as the balloons ascend so far up into the clear blue that they look like they might touch heaven itself. in fact, he hopes they do. because if heaven is real, he knows rocky’s there, that he can see how much he’s missed, how many people he touched in his unrightfully short time on this earth. suddenly there’s silence, and he knows it’s his turn. and he’s never been much of a wordsmith, has the d in english to show for it. but knows, if only for once in his life, he has to try. “i uh—I remember I used to come over and for the longest the little man would just stare at me and not say a word, like he was scared shitless, like he aint never seen something so tall and black before—“ a dry chuckle leaves his lips, “til one day i remember one time I facetimed you and I heard the littlest voice in the background say “that’s bince!” and you were telling me about some shit the girls at school were doing but all I could think was damn, maybe he fucks with me afterall—“ he still can’t help but grin at the memory as he lets go of his green balloon to join the others. “you aint deserve this little man—“ he says, words hushed and threaded between a deep, regretful sigh.

Tiny: feels some comfort in their words as his listens to both of their stories, though he knows that their the ones that need it the most. He hoped in his life that he wouldn't ever have to go through the pain of losing a child, his child, to something so senseless, and he could only hope they wouldn't in their lives either. He squeezes Vanessa's hand, reluctantly pulling himself, along with her, back to their feet. "We'll see you again, Rock." He says, giving the picture one last little lookover. He's not the most religious kid, but he believed in God enough to say a silent prayer, just with the hope he could see his nephew when his days are done. He lets out one last deep huff, before his attention turns to the food in his brother's hands. "So, don't know about you guys. But I wanna smash that food over there. Let's go back to our house and-" He starts to say, but he's cut off by the sound of footsteps behind him. He turned around, his brows knitted in..confusion? Relief? An older man in a dark suit, black tie, dress shoes. His hair is short and tapered, eyes like his sons. He isn't sure..but he knows this isn't what he was expecting today. "Dad? What are you doing here?"

Papa Bell: remembered this place all too well. This playground, this block..this entire neighborhood was his kingdom. From his father's petty criminal days, to himself, and now to his sons. But prison has a way of changing the way you approach things, makes you think and remember the big picture. His red Ferrari is parked a block away, his men patrolling the area so no one gets any ideas, and his bodyguard is near the entrance just in cause someone old head feels brave. He brushes his lapel slightly as he walks up to the younger people, getting a good look at the three of them. "You said you were paying respects to your kin, it's why we couldn't catch that Raptors game." He told his youngest, his face gentle and kind like his mother, before turning his attention to Vanessa and Vince. "I'm sorry to hear about Rocky, Vanessa. I hear my grandson was a handful, but a loved kid." He tells her, his eyes noticing just how different the girl looked. No longer that same little girl his kids would talk about, she was all woman, and apparently his oldest knew a thing or two about it. "You look amazing..guess I taught you something right." He says finally to his oldest, who he hasn't seen face to face in almost 8 years, but knows he's his spitting image. The temper, the attitude..himself in a time machine 20 years ago with a little more edge to it. "Sorry about your boy, son."

Vanessa: nodded, smiling as Vince attempted his shot at storytelling. He was always a man of few words, but at least he was trying. Vanessa rested her head on Vince's shoulder, though much taller than her, feeling that same safety and security with the Bells that she felt as a little girl. "He loved you, you know... Both of you," Vanessa said softly, eyes fixated on her son's picture. "My beautiful baby boy," she whispered, more-so to herself than to either of the boys in particular. Never in her life did she think she that she'd have to say goodbye to her child. Parents weren't supposed to bury their children, but then again burying her mother wasn't easier either. She came out of her thoughts once she felt Tiny squeezing her hand. "Rock Bell would have been a really cool stage name for an indie DJ," she added, trying to bring some light to their situation. She was so in some bliss from the moment that she didn't even notice the figure before them until he said her name. Vanessa popped her head off Vince's shoulder, instead moving behind him as a sort of protection. She didn't say anything, just watched with cautious eyes between the Bell men.

Vince: “hell yeah I could kill some ribs right now” vince agrees, rubbing his hands together greedily. he feels like it’ll do them all some good, a family dinner to tie a bow on what had been an emotional, albeit cathartic day. but guess who’s coming to dinner? he senses him before he sees him, little kids on the blacktop temporarily cease their game of h.o.r.s.e. to ogle the strange man in a dapper suit, jays and dope boys alike clear the walkway to make room for the maple street legend. if looks could kill the hard stare vince casts would have the kingpin six feet under, regardless of how much the face he glares into resembles his own. the way he sees it this man is the root of much of their turmoil, the reason why their mother was the way she was, why tiny and vince have had to fend for themselves for so long, why he witnessed things kids his age shouldn’t have. “yeah what the fuck are you doing here?” he makes sure his distaste his apparent, wants him to know he’s unwelcome. and if vanessa hadn’t taken the liberty to step behind him he would’ve done it himself, doesn’t even want the man to breathe in her direction, let alone speak to her. “you don’t talk to her” he doesn’t care what he knows, or what he thinks he knows, or who he’s supposed to be to the streets. to him he ain’t shit. ain’t never gonna be shit, and it’s this festering anger that pushes him to take it even further. “and he ain’t your grandson, cuz you aint my pops, just some nothing ass nigga that don’t know shit about responsibility”

Tiny: can barely even registered the weight of this entire thing. He didn't specifically mention that they were coming here, just that he was busy doing a memorial of sorts. Did he just assume the location? Were they followed and they didn't know it? Tiny looked around, spotting his father's longtime security guard, 'Uncle' Tito near the gate, so he suspected his father came here with a purpose. He glaces to Vanessa, unsure of a lot, but he knows he doesn't want her in the middle of whatever this is. He lets Vince say his peace, he knows that whatever issues these two have are something he doesn't know every little detail about. "Relax bro.." He says, stepping next to his brother, feeling he has the strength to keep cool heads calm even today. "Pop, I get it, but can we talk tomorrow or something? This is kinda..our thing." He motions to the picture, trying to keep what this was about today in mind. Not their mother or their issues. "Please?"

Papa Bell: can't say he's too surprised by the looks on the group's faces. To them, he was just something of a boogeyman, someone to be feared, a cautious warning story of what would happen if you stayed in the lifestyle for too long. "You saying all that, but who taught you how to use a pistol? Who kept a roof over your head? Me. Who made sure you had the keys to the kingdom when I got locked up? Stick you chest out for your girl all you want, you know it's true. But I didn't come here for all that." His voice was slightly loud to match Vince's tone, but he quickly corrects himself, straightening up his tie as he looks at his two sons once more. "I just came to pay my respects. Nothing more than that." He responds, raising his hands in surrender to make sure they knew he meant no harm today. He looks around the neighborhood, his streets, a final time before he pulls out 10 bands, tucking it into Tiny's jacket pocket. "For y'all and Nessa. Tell your mother I'm looking for her if you see her too.", he tells him before he snaps his fingers, and his car is by the entrance within seconds. "When you to get these niggas and talk some real shit." He mentions, handing Vince a piece of paper with his name and his new warehouse on it.

Vanessa: had heard stories all throughout her childhood about the eldest Bell. He was their modern day Candyman and was feared among the majority of the block. He was one of the biggest reasons Vanessa's family moved out of the hood in the first place, it wasn't safe anymore for anyone. Vanessa was thankful hearing Vince taking up for her, but the second she heard their father's thunderous voice, Vanessa clenched onto Vince's hand. He was scarier than what she remembered from the stories and Vanessa could never wrap her head around how Tiny could come from someone like that. Tiny as always coming in as the voice of reason she hoped could alleviate the situation, but Bells weren't known for peacekeeping. They were known for their very short tempers. She watch the interaction, once the father walked away, Vanessa could still feel the tightness still in her chest as she stood there motionless. It felt like all her childhood fears just came flushing back by getting one look in Mr. Bell's eyes.

Vince: his face contorts, a clear cross of disgust and anger apparent on his features as his father makes himself out to be some kind of hero. he might have given them the blueprint, laid the foundation, but when he went in it was on him to pick up the slack. “you ain’t give me no keys nigga we had to get this shit out the mud when you left. niggas was clowning you, talking bout how you had fell off and shit the only reason the bell name still good out here is cuz of me and don’t you ever get that fucked up” he might’ve left behind a boy when he went of to prison, but vince was a man now. a breadwinner. with people that depended on him, the slight squeeze of vanessa’s hand reminding him of that fact. he watches him hand tiny some money and say something about his mother, and when he hands him the paper he’s quick to crumple it up. let’s it fall to the ground and crushes it underneath his sneaker. “come on y’all, we out”

Tiny: once again, just lets both males say their piece. Whatever this was, this wasn't something that could be solved by locking two people in a room, and he's glad that he never took Becky's advice on the matter. He looks at the money, brows furrowed as he tries to think of the last time he's seen his mother, the contempt he has for her probably as much as Vince has for their father. He can't understand it, whatever bond they have (is it a bond or a hustle to sell some more crack?), and he doesn't want to know. But he's the glue, so he nods slowly at his words as he sees his father walk off. He was getting used to figuring out what kind of man he was, but now he was more that aware of the switch that could flick in an instant. His attention turned back to his family..his people, ready for this to be over. "Yeah, um, I'm hungry.." he says simply, brain still buzzing about what this meant.

Papa Bell: "I can tell your emotional." He reply simply, pulling out a cigar from his lapel and lighting it. He can tell when he's not wanted, and he knows it'll take some time. But Tiny had already come around, slowly, letting him back into his life. In his eyes, Vince would do the same. But he needed that fire to stay lit, that firecracker attitude that could get him locked up but take over a city overnight at the same time. But he had all the time in the world for them to break bread, and he was a patient man. "Enjoy your night, kids." He says as he bows out, blowing a kiss in Vanessa's direction. "Hey lil baby. When you're done with messing with little boys, ask my boy Tiny for my number. Just to catch up." He says, bellowing out a small chuckle as he puts the cigar to his lips, turning to walk away in the direction of his car.

Vanessa: Vanessa's eyes grew wide hearing Mr. Bell's goodbye to her. He wasn't... hitting on her was he? "Uh, yeah I'll keep that in mind," Vanessa replied weakly. She was still perched behind Vince, her grip on his hand tightening. In the moment of time, Vanessa didn't know if she was tightening her grip for safety for herself or safety for the older man. Though Vince and her didn't date anymore and he had a new girlfriend, that didn't change the fact that Vince still saw her as /his/. She turned to Tiny, hoping for some kind of help to deescalate the incoming conflict. "Y-yeah, T's right... Let's go back to your guys' place," she struggle through her first words through their interactions.

Vince: he looks disgusted at his father’s lewd commentary, looks at vanessa for even responding. and a bitter smirk crosses his features because it only proves him right. this man hadn’t changed, despite the fancy get-up, and calm demeanor. he was still vindictive and low as the day he disappeared. he can feel vanessa tugging him away, can sense tiny’s discomfort, but rage clouds his judgement, his vision, all he can see is red. “aye pops!” he calls after him, and the minute the man can turn around he decks him across the face with unrelenting force.

Tiny: 's brows furrow at his father's words to Vanessa. That's..not what he wants to hear at all, his own feelings about the girl aside, today wasn't supposed to be about any of that. How could he say something like that? Tiny considered himself lucky he only remembered vague stories about his father from Vince and his dad's runners, the hero of the block, something mythical he couldn't quite reach. But now? All those stories meant jack, and he wasn't sure what he was getting himself into getting involved with the man again. Before he can say his peace though, his sees Vince run up and punch him, and he charges into action. "Dude chill!" He says pulling his brother back. He knows Vince can fight, but he can see Tito running to them fast, like a NFL linebacker ready to pounce. And that's not even considering the car he sees rounding the park every minute. He can analyze a situation in an instant, and he knows this won't end well if Vince keeps this up. "We need to get out of here unless you want that big guy to toss you off a roof. This isn't it. And you!" He calls out to his father as he gathers himself. "You need to leave. NOW."

Papa Bell: before he can even realize it, he feels his son clock him in his jaw, knocking him to the ground. He'd been hit more than a million times before, smoked a ton of fools for crossing him in dice games and deals gone wrong. And while this one hurts just like those, he feels a sense of pride. He collects himself, putting his hand to his lip as he sees the blood his oldest has drawn, and he bellows out another dark chuckle, spitting out blood on the concrete. "That's my boy. You alright, kid." He says with pride, waving off his bodyguard as he runs over, quick as the wind for somebody so large. He sees his brother holding him back, always the cool head and smart, and he's proud..but he knows he can be just as useful as his brother in other ways. In time, he'll find a way to get both allegiances he thinks, but he knows today isn't the day. But at least he's given them something to stew over. "Come on, Tito. We out." He says as he gives the young group a head nod before turning around, back in his car with his flunkie and gone in an instant.

[qhostqizmo]

Running Home

My last piece was a month ago??? Shit. You see what happens when people occupy my writing space? I have a designated writing area in this house, and when people are here, I can’t use it because there’s people in that room. Fuck off and let me have my room!!

Luckily, I was desperate to write.

- - - - - - - - - -

Spacing out had been an idiotic decision, Essätha realized with a hiss. It had been the most obvious solution to avoid them all being struck in the inferno of fireballs hurled their way by, but it left them each vulnerable to the sheer number of cultists. The Whispered Shadow agents were willing to die; or at least become horrible causality, to their own spellcaster where needed. They did not care for their each other and their own lives. The word of the Raven Lord came first, and by any means necessary, they would accomplish his goals.

It was far easier for individuals like Sulhadur and Pri’cha to stand their ground against being flanked; standing the clash of maces and axes against their hides and armor, less so for individual’s like her. Hearing the sharp cry of Adela’s pain somewhere to her right, Essie realized she was not the only one suffering the consequences.

Stepping hastily back from the man swinging before her, the first attempt at his attack missed. The second swing did not, slicing the sword along her side as she tried to stumble the other way. She drew out a hissing breath of pain and hurled her hand up to send a mist of poisonous spray into their face. They cried out in agony, red-tinted tears running down their face and out of their eyes.

The next arcing weapon embedded itself deeply into her thigh from an unseen force. She wailed in agony, feeling it tear away from muscle. Blood splattered the ground. Fire erupted in her leg, and what remained of her slacks around the now-gaping hole left embedded strands in the mess of gore.

Panic-stricken, Essie gripped the hilt of a dagger along her other thigh, and twisted to bury it into the throat of the person who’d come up beside her. The woman choked; her eyes wide.

Someone kicked her in the side painfully, igniting a radiating ache in her ribs. Gagging for air; unable to cast if she wanted to, Essie flailed desperately in her retreat, swatting and slashing at empty air with another dagger.

Another advanced, carrying no weapon. She swatted at them, but their arm was almost a blur, knocking aside her knife. Their fist connected with her shoulder, missed her windpipe, struck her chin in an uppercut, and followed up by an unpleasant blow to the cheek.

A haze of black webbing entered the edges of her vision. Sore was not even an expression she could begin to explain how she was feeling. This was unbearable.

Terror rose up in her eyes, snuffing out the flames of confidence as she backed up sloppily in a few short steps. Her vision was wobbly; seeing multiple figures surrounding her at once.

Run.

Listening to the small, frightened voice in the back of her mind, Essätha rasped out clipped words of an incantation, and the area around her exploded into a field of hellish night. Darkness sprang out from the tip of the blade of the individual hovering closest, and closed in on them all.

Shrieks and angry cries filled the area. They could not see her, but she could see all of them.

She didn’t have a choice. She wasn’t strong enough for this.

Falling back, Essie crashed into one blinded by the inky blackness, who yelped and went tumbling in a clatter of armor behind her. She swiveled, and met the unfortunate menacing crescent of a grinning sickle to her cheekbone. It sliced off ribbons of her hair as she hurled herself away, feeling the impact of someone’s limbs hit her bruised side. She winced, attempted to dodge, and felt the curl of fingers grab her clothing and consequently, a gaping wound.

A sob escaped her. The pain was excruciating.

Peeling herself away; feeling the agonizing rip of her own flesh pulled off with shreds of her clothing, the sorceress yanked free. Her legs fumbled from the blood-loss. There were people everywhere, making it nearly impassable to break free of the throng without taking a few elbows to the side at the bare minimum.

As she ran forth out of the spell of Darkness she’d cast, a flash of light captured her attention overhead.

Oh, fuck.

Springing forward, Essätha ran as hard and fast as her legs could carry her, the explosive nature of the fireball striking within the walls of Darkness and sending a scolding inferno out in every direction. Waves of flames licked at her heels, and captured the tail-ends of her cape on fire before they were whipped out. Cinders scorched her bare shoulders, and made her wince.

Running through the mass, a surprised individual swung their mace, and missed. Another she passed curved their sword, and jabbed forth, driving it into her arm as she stumbled, and kept running.

Refuge. Her heart leaped in her throat.

A bullish roar announced itself. Craning her neck as she ran, the Yuan-Ti faltered and tripped, nearly stumbling as she charging figure came at her. They expressed a hateful snarl, and their jagged saw of a blade was stained with rust and blood, ready to cut into her like a butcher.

With a thunderous bark, a barreling flash of fur clashed into the man’s side, sending them sprawling. Their horror of a blade was sent flying, and before they could raise an arm to defend themselves, teeth clamped down on their throat and shook them like a ragdoll. The mammoth of the dog whose exterior she knew more as being gentle and carefree, now showed every bit of the warning of ‘hunting dog’ in his dominance over his prey.

The last few feet felt like a mile to the throbbing of her joints, not used to pushing herself so hard. Her safe-haven raised their head to the sound of his companion’s battle-cry, his sword at the ready to defend and end her, but it quickly lowered as he met her eyes.

If she could, she would have jumped into his arms then and there.

Essie barely lurched behind him, gasping for air, and he brought his shield up, grunting at the force of something striking it.

“Stay behind me!”

Gladly, she thought, still trying to catch her breath.

A series of feral, almost animalistic snarls and curses fell out of the nobleman’s mouth; spinning to round on each opponent who stood against him, or tried to press past him to her; the vulnerable hunt to which the vultures swarmed. Turning to face the coming adversaries, she was grateful to see that Sulhadur had made his way over to protect Adela, and Ravamora and Pri’cha were guarding Penimra, who appeared to be in as bad if not worse shape then she was.

Croaking out an enchantment, a conjuring of serpent-like bolts sprang forth close to her palms, darting out to slam into their lone, unprotected mage. Gaping after the first two, they collapsed to the ground as a third and fourth joined in, motionless. What remained of their fires were, thankfully, nearly extinguished by the foot-traffic in the dirt. The ground looked more scorched then they did, at least; with the exception of Sul who appeared as though he’d been walking through flames.

Knocking aside a blow of a mace intended to smash into Caesar’s skull Amon swung his sword with a furious cry, completely beheading the masked figure and sending their head hurling across the ground.

Good Lord. May no one ever try to hurt that dog ever again.

As the tide of the fight began to change, the remaining pickings began to turn tail. They were not given the chance to retreat far; picked off by the tendrils of an Eldritch Blast and Adela’s faithfully returned fireball for their troubles. A few of them were cooked alive inside their armor. The smell alone was nauseating.

Panting heavily, Essie wiped her sweaty brow; staining the brownish-red of blood across her forehead. Her groggy gaze tried to comprehend and seek any stranglers to pick off they may have missed. She didn’t even notice as the nobleman wiped his blade off against the clothes off a cultist, to sheathe it. He gave his faithful mastiff a pat on the head for good measure; who ‘woofed’ in answer, before turning with a heavy sigh of his own to look at her.

His sharp exhale caught her attention. She raised a hand defensively, looking around.

“Where’s it-”

“Essie.”

The worry in her own name was alarmingly new to her, and her eyes went from searching for the new enemy to Amon.

Sanctuary.

Horrified, he stepped closer towards her. His hands hung in the air near her waist, not daring to touch her. His eyes were wide, and his breathing harder then it had been a minute ago; lined with panic.

Inconsiderate to think of his clothes and how she was about to ruin them, Essätha launched herself into his arms with a weak cry. He grabbed her; tentative and careful, to hold her against his chest. He smelled like sweat, and burned skin, and fire, and dirt. He felt like iron; a strong wall. She could see the char of skin along his neck where he’d been burned, and the dark of his eyes when she leaned back to bury her face into his chest, even as he winced from his own aches. A grunt escaped him, quietly.

But he did not reject her, and he did not let her go. He embraced her cautiously in return.

Oh Jubata, she was home.

“Essie.”

She shivered at the sound of her name, whispered softly and close to her ear. It was… beautiful. The way he said her name; breathless, delicate, endearing. It reminded her of the way she’d heard some people say…

Her eyelids fluttered open as she was pulled closer. Her wounds stung. A hissing breath escaped her as Amon lowered his stance, and slid an arm beneath her knees to scoop her up and cradle her against her chest.

“I’ve got you,” he soothed, his breath wafting softly against her cheek.

She rested her cheek against his shoulder. What she wanted to do; really wanted to do, was cry. Give up. Tantrum; scream, say it wasn’t fair, yell, and howl, and tear at her hair and at every wretched body on the ground. She was exhausted, and she hurt. She hurt a lot; down to her bones.

But none of that was going to solve anything.

Sniveling, she tucked her face into his shoulder. Even without looking at him, she reached up to press her palm against his cheek. Her fingers grazed through his beard softly, and there was no mistaking the sound that escaped him as he leaned his face into her touch. It was sigh both dreamy and fond; affection and wanting as he tenderly curled his arms inward, bringing her closer. You’re safe here, the gesture said without saying it.

Dropping her hand, she placed it gingerly to his other shoulder for support as her Lord Amon carried her across the carnage towards their cleric, with Caesar’s lamented whining chorusing just behind them with concern.

There was no where she’d rather run to, then to him, right into his arms.

[teleroboxingclub]

Arietta

It’s too hot for me to draw so here I go writing again. I blame @bluedrawin for this because they put the idea of PhosMac in my head and I can’t get it out

“Phosphora is a young, beautiful, fierce commander of the Forces of Nature. She also has control over electricity, letting her move at shockingly high speed. When I write it out like that, it sounds like she has everything! Well, I did hear she isn't a great singer...” (Phosphora trophy description, Super Smash Bros. 4)

***

It was raining in the place between worlds.

Phosphora wasn’t sure where the rain came from. Some of the smaller islands had lakes on them, sure, but rain came from the evaporation of large bodies of water. And this was the Battlefield, a land of floating islands and crumbling ruins, where the waterfalls fell down into, she guessed, infinity.

But still, it was raining in the place between worlds. Maybe there was some sort of arrangement.

In the sound of the rain, she could still hear the concert.

That was another mystery. She didn’t know who suggested it, but some of the grounds of the mansion had been cleared for the Squid Sisters to hold a concert.

She didn’t mean to get angry about it, but singing was...well, that was a sore spot. She’d tried it so many times, but she couldn’t get the sound of it right. Back in Angel Land, the more polite nymphs and fear stricken lackeys said that she was quite good, but just needed practice. Arlon had told her flat out that she sounded like a cat in heat. In a bag. Rolling down a flight of stairs.

And the look on Mac’s face as he listened to them - Mac, who had been really getting into Inkling pop since he started hanging out with the Inkling kids - had been the final straw. She hoped she’d left gracefully, but she was sure she didn’t. It’s hard to turn into a bolt of lightning and streak out of a concert without looking like she was making a statement.

She sat on a flat bit of stone on the edge of the island, put her face in her hands, and felt the warm embarrassment flush across her face.

It was raining in the place between worlds. No lightning, no distant rumble, just the heavy patter of falling rain.

Phosphora thought about it and shrugged. Oh why not. It’d make her feel better at least.

She opened her mouth and sang the thunder.

She sang the distant, warning rumble. She sang the soprano shuddering crack, the baritone rolling notes. She sang the song that sent sheep scattering across the fields, the song that made children huddle under their blankets and appreciate the warmth they found there. Sailors knew the song, and learned to fear and respect it, but in all of Angel Land she was the only one who could sing it.

It was the only song she knew, but she knew it note for note. She sang it perfectly.

“How are you doing that with your mouth?”

She slipped off the wet stone and fell for quite a while before she remembered herself. Mac had the decency to look sorry when she hovered back.

“How long have you been standing there?!”

He waved his hands. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I just wanted to check on you. You left the concert angry, and I just-”

She huffed. “Well, I’m fine. You should go back.”

The sound of falling rain filled the space between them. Mac took a few careful steps forward. “Were you making thunder?”

“I was singing thunder,” she said before cringing. “Ugh, that sounds so stupid to say out loud, but there’s really no human way to say it.”

“It’s not stupid,” Mac said.

Phosphora felt a shiver crawl across her neck. He’d said it in a tone that left no room for argument. Heat crawled back across her cheeks, the tingle of static as she pulled the scarf tighter. “Thanks,” she muttered.

The patter of falling rain. The Squid Sisters were singing Calamari Inkantation. Petrichor was driving her sense of smell wild.

“Can you do it again?” Mac asked.

Phosphora smiled. “Oh boy, my first audience,” she said. She cleared her throat and sang.

He was a good audience, too. He listened with interest to every arietta, eyes shining. When she sang the last few vibrato notes, he stood up from the bit of fallen column he was using as a seat and clapped.

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, please, stop. You should hear me sing human.”

A wince flashed across his face. “Uh,” he said.

“What?”

Mac put his hands together with a little awkward clap. “Um. So. Pit showed me this thing called DiviniTube?”

“What, the video...streaming…”

Her mind ran ahead of the conversation with dread. “Oh no.”

Mac nodded miserably. “And there was one of you.”

“Oh gods no.”

“In your war room.”

“Please don’t tell me.” Phosphora put her face in her hands again and for the first time in her immortal life longed for death. “Who uploaded it.”

“I can’t remember, the username was like - Moonman, I think? Moonman13?”

Phosphora made a mental note to murder Arlon. What she said out loud was, “Well someday, I’d like to hear you sing.”

Mac turned red and stammered something. Phosphora smiled. “Oh come on, it’s only fair.”

“I don’t - I don’t really sing-”

“I’ll have to ask Doc if he has any embarrassing videos.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“I see you as the kind of guy who sings Eye of the Tiger in the shower.”

Mac glowed red. She kissed his cheek and grinned. “You’re cute,” she said. “Come on.”

The rain was letting up in the place between worlds. Somewhere, a concert was ending. And back to the grounds of the mansion, a boxer and a goddess walked side by side.

[writingrei]

fragmented memories | chapter 12

chapter 1 | chapter 2 | chapter 3 | chapter 4 | chapter 5 | chapter 6 | chapter 7 | chapter 8 | chapter 9 | chapter 10 | chapter 11

Kouga's mouth gaped in terror, the only thing he could choke out was, “H-holy shit.”

Sango, Miroku, and Shippo watched in horror, all paralyzed with fear on how to act.

Kagome staggered backwards, her fingers trembling up onto her face to touch the blood that was splattered on it. Her brown eyes stared into fear-stricken gold irises that looked down at her in shock. As he gasped for air, the red in his sclera slowly faded to a white as blood poured out of him. They could both hear the quiet chuckle of Naraku from behind Inuyasha.

Blood spilled from between Inuyasha’s teeth as he choked on his own breath, coughing to sputter some blood from his mouth. He craned his neck back to glare daggers into Naraku, wishing he could brutally murder him where he stood.

“Inuyasha, your insubordination is very disappointing,” Naraku said.

Inuyasha choked again before saying, “I’ve got… a feeling I’ve dealt… with something… like this before.”

“No, Inuyasha. What you are about to experience will be much worse than anything you have ever lived through.”

Naraku was cut off when a flash of purple light severed the bony tendril stuck in Inuyasha. The half demon collapsed to the ground on his face, dropping his Tessaiga next to him. The grass and dirt underneath him sucked up his blood as his wound tried to heal itself. Kouga dashed up to Inuyasha, but was forced to step back as more protrusions exited from underneath Naraku’s cloak that separated the half demon from the wolf demon.

“Naraku…!” Kagome growled, pulling on her drawstring again as hard as she could. Her right arm throbbed from the tension and she let go, letting the arrow fly at Naraku. It flew in a sharp path before harshly bouncing off of a pink barrier surrounding her enemy.

“Damn it!” Kagome hissed, the bitter words falling off of her tongue in an uncharacteristic manner, though it sounded strangled with a cry.

Naraku laughed, letting another sharp appendage swing itself at Kagome and missed her narrowly. Her heightened agility from the adrenaline pumping through her blood saved her from another injury to recover from.

More appendages flew outside of the barrier at Kouga, making him step back further and further from Inuyasha before Sango’s Hiraikotsu smashed into some of them, allowing Kouga to push forward again. Miroku accompanied them by hurling sacred sutras to try and light Naraku’s body ablaze. Naraku growled, his frustration by the team's interferences become more and more apparent. Kouga and Sango had almost reached Inuyasha again before Naraku’s murderous intent multiply tenfold.

His body erupted into an amalgamation demon’s body parts, his legs transforming and disfiguring into a multitude of thick tentacles that granted him height to loom above the group of his enemies. Naraku did not hold back as he shot more expendable body parts at the group, almost shooting Sango down who blocked the attack with a grunt. Naraku sprayed out miasma from underneath his cloak, the noxious gas purposefully avoiding Inuyasha while pushing the team further and further away again. Kouga had gone over to Kagome, holding her by the shoulder and arm to stop her from running straight into the miasma and getting herself killed.

“Kouga! Let go! Kouga!!”

“Kagome, you’re just gonna run headfirst into that miasma! I promised myself I wasn’t gonna let you get hurt!”

She tried to yank herself away, but his demonic grip kept her in place and out of harm's way.

“Inuyasha!” she cried.

Kouga gritted his teeth before yelling, “DAMMIT MUTT, YOU’D BETTER GET OUTTA THERE! YOU’RE MAKING KAGOME CRY BY GETTING YOUR ASS KICKED!” Kouga yelled, his voice booming louder than Kagome’s.

Inuyasha struggled to get to his feet again, caught off guard when smaller tentacles from Naraku wrapped itself around his arms, legs, and neck to pull him off the ground and up to Naraku’s level. He pulled his arms apart, making Inuyasha unable to fight back with his claws.

All everyone could do was watch. No effort could break through Naraku’s barrier without Inuyasha’s red Tessaiga.

Naraku pulled up his white cloak above his head to toss it down to the ground below. Inuyasha growled, face to face with Naraku.

"Inuyasha, have you any last words?"

Inuyasha spat on Naraku’s face with a wad of blood. Naraku did not respond, only stared Inuyasha in the face as he wiped the blood mixed with spit off of his face. No more words were exchanged as the subtle sound of ribs cracking from underneath Naraku’s clothes became louder. Suddenly, the cracking bones ripped through Naraku’s robes and surrounded Inuyasha like a cage’s doors opening around him. In between the open ribs was a black void, that emanated some dark and heavy pressure.

“You will become part of me. Jewel shard and all.”

Inuyasha gasped, immediately feeling the need to struggle more. He grunted, trying to break free of his restraints as the cage slowly began to close around him.

Kagome shrieked at an ear-piercing volume, thrashing around in Kouga’s arms more.

Inuyasha took a deep breath, focusing all of his strength into freeing one of his arms. He yanked as hard and as fast as he could multiple times until the tentacle wrapped around his arm snapped. He gripped one of the exposed ribs and tried to use it as leverage and to pull off of it, spreading a bit of distance between him and the welcoming void.

He howled from his struggle and did his best to look down at Kagome.

“Gah…! Damn it all to hell. Kagome! Listen to me!”

Her face lit up and her eyes widened.

“I don’t know who you are, but every damn thing I’ve had to deal with keeps pointing back to you! I’ll remember you.”

“Inuyasha! You can do it!” she cheered.

“I’ll come back for you,” he said, cracking a weak smirk for her.

“Enough senseless chatter,” Naraku interrupted.

Naraku wasted no more time wrapping Inuyasha’s wrist again and tearing his hand off of his rib. More tentacles protruded, pulling Inuyasha down into the void by any means necessary. He shouted and resisted as much as possible, but he kept getting closer and closer to the void. The rib cage behind him intertwined together, marking that there would be nowhere to turn.

Kagome’s heart sunk once more, tears spilling from her eyes as she cried Inuyasha’s name. Kouga hissed underneath his breath, letting Kagome go for a brief second to turn her around and hold her facing him. She covered her ears to block out Inuyasha’s screams, but could still hear the dampened noise through her fists.

Shippo covered his eyes and turned away, whimpering.

Inuyasha cursed loudly as he kept getting drawn closer into Naraku’s body, his heart pounding in his throat as he slowly came to realize that there truly was no escape. His distressed noises persisted until it was suddenly silent, followed by the faint cracking of Naraku’s bones back into place. The bystanders all wanted to throw up. Kagome dryly sobbed onto Kouga, the wolf demon holding her tightly to him. His own lips quivered as his brain struggled to process the sight that had occurred before them.

Naraku’s body soon reverted back to its prior state, hastily covering himself with his cloak to obscure his body. He looked down upon the group, his face covered in satisfaction.

“How unfortunate for you to have witnessed this. I do apologize for the unfortunate sight,” Naraku said sarcastically, though the group was too shocked to be able to respond to his condescending tone.

“Damn you to hell Naraku!” Kouga said, squeezing Kagome tighter. “You’ll pay for this!”

“Oh? Showing sympathy for your rival now, Kouga? How admirable of you.”

Kouga gritted his teeth and growled, wanting to kill Naraku there and then on behalf of both Kagome and Inuyasha.

“Have any of you nothing to say? If so, then I shall take my leave,” he said, wasting no time to float away, protected by his impenetrable barrier.

They all watched him float away, with the exception of Kagome, who kept her head buried in Kouga’s chest. Slowly processing the situation, Miroku ran his hand through his hair and dropped his staff to the side. Sango leaned against a tree and slid down to sit on the ground, resting a hand on her forehead.

Kouga’s grip was iron tight, getting lost in his own aggressive thoughts as he tried to cope with the sight that had just passed. He quickly loosened up, remembering that he was still holding someone.

“Kagome?” Kouga asked, quietly, hearing that her crying had stopped.

Suddenly, Kouga hissed in pain as touching Kagome made his skin start to burn, jumping away from her in bewilderment.

“Kouga, are you alright?” Sango asked.

“I ain’t the one you should be asking that to,” he said.

Everyone’s attention directed to Kagome, whose head hung low. Her hair floated around her, a soft purple glow surrounding her body.

"Kagome, your spiritual energy is multiplying tremendously!" Miroku said, almost alarmed.

Kagome turned around towards the misama. She took a staggering step towards it, and everyone's eyebrows raised, unsure of what to do. Was she trying to kill herself?

Taking another step directly in front of the miasma, Kouga reached out for her again, only to be bounced off by a strong barrier surrounding her, knocking him onto the ground. Her allies gasped, anxiety crawling up their backs as they watched Kagome. She took another step, her shoe making contact with the miasma. In an instant as she made contact, the dark purple gas lit up in a bright lavender light then dissipated immediately.

Everyone gasped as the land around them was cleared.

A few feet away on the ground lay the lonesome Tessaiga, shrunken and dull and without its wielder. Kagome stared down at it, her face welling up. It was getting annoying to be crying so often, so she kept her tears down. Reaching down for the handle, she gripped it with a weak hand and held it up. She then hugged it weakly, as if she were trying to hug Inuyasha.

“This is the only thing I have left of him.”

Kouga’s eyes softened at her and his mouth loosened from its tight and aggressive position, drooping into a genuine frown.

“Kagome—”

“It’s fine, I really just need some time,” Kagome said quietly.

The silence lingered in the air for a while, everyone moving away to grant Kagome the space she desired. The young priestess remained in that spot for what seemed like an hour before moving to lean on a tree, catching her friends' attention. Nothing about her movement sparked them as something that required their attention, and they all figured that they should leave her be.

After a while, and the sun began to set, chatter slowly began to spring up in the group away from Kagome.

“I really wanted to be mad at that mutt. Mad that he got his dumbass into this in the first place,” Kouga started, his usual hostile and cocky tone towards everything not currently in his voice. “But right now— damn. It makes me feel…”

“Guilty,” Sango added.

“...Yeah.”

“You wouldn’t want to be in his place.”

“Mhm… Just seeing Kagome…” he turned around to see Kagome still curled up on the tree away from them, Shippo and Kirara hovering near her. “Inuyasha wouldn’t do that to her on purpose… would he?” Kouga asked unsurely, not used to talking so in depth about Inuyasha.

“Of course he wouldn’t! Who do you think he is?!” Sango snapped in defense of Inuyasha before recollecting herself. She ran a hand through her hair before saying, “To me, it was always something obvious that they lov— cared about one another a lot. Even if Inuyasha could be a senseless jerk at times to her, and even… the other way around at times, Inuyasha would never have purposefully thrown himself into the hands of the enemy to hurt Kagome!”

“You weren’t there the first time, but when this had all first started, Inuyasha hadn’t given up so easily. Just like this time. Naraku had really just stacked the odds against him tremendously,” Miroku added.

“I coulda guessed that. But—,” Kouga took in a deep breath, and knocked the back of his head on the tree and sighed. “It’s a bad feeling in my stomach.”

“It’s sympathy, of course,” Miroku said.

“Sym…..pathy? For the mutt?”

“Yes, just as Naraku said. You don’t think Inuyasha deserved this fate, do you?”

Kouga stayed silent, but let out a huff.

"My point exactly. Even if you don't say it, I know your answer is no."

“AND SO WHAT IF IT IS?! HUH?! IT DON’T MEAN NOTHIN’!” Kouga barked, his voice rattling the trees around them.

Miroku closed his eyes and smiled. “Well, it must mean you’re warming up to him like we have.”

Kouga took a swing for Miroku’s head, but Miroku ducked, anticipating the harsh reaction. He didn’t anticipate Kouga swinging again, slamming his other fist down on the back of Miroku’s head.

“Ow!” he cried.

“Cut it out!” Sango snapped at them both.

Kouga hissed his teeth repeatedly, stepping away from Miroku, who rubbed his head pitifully.

“If you think I’d ever like that damned mutt, you’ve got another thing comin’ for ya. Geh, just thinkin’ about his stench makes me wanna gag,” Kouga groaned with his tongue hanging out of his mouth dramatically.

“Or it makes you want to swoon,” Miroku said jokingly, but smugly.

“Why I oughta…”

“Miroku!” Sango yelled, getting up this time to block Kouga from heading back over to Miroku and clobbering him where he sat.

They ceased their squabbling when Shippo and Kirara returned to the group.

“How’s Kagome?” Miroku asked.

“I dunno if I can say ‘fine’... I think she just wants to be left alone…"

"She's still awake?"

"Yeah… Also guys, I think we should find a village! We’ve been out for days and I think Kagome’s food is really running out! She has to be hungry by now."

"You're right. I believe Kagome still has a little bit of food left, so we should just give it to her. Are you alright with that, Sango?” Miroku said, standing up to go near her.

Sango nodded. “Anything for her.”

“Yaknow, for a pervert freak like you, you can be… whatcha call it? Noble,” Kouga said, folding his arms and slightly tilting his hips to the side.

“A pervert freak? I have no idea what you mean,” Miroku said with a chuckle.

“Miroku…” Sango growled, veins popping off of her forehead as her face flushed red.

She slapped Miroku’s hand off of her butt, swiveling on her heel and used the momentum to slap Miroku as hard as she could, slapping him multiple times on both cheeks. Kouga and Shippo watched the confrontation, not at all surprised by Miroku’s predictable actions.

“You’re depraved! I could kill you!” Sango screamed, reaching for her Hiraikotsu.

“Gah! Sango, sometimes you just need to find something that calms you down!!” Miroku cried, backing away from her.

“You’re one to talk!” she growled, charging at Miroku and tried to hit him with the large boomerang.

“Are they… always like this?” Kouga asked, slowly getting a bit more concerned by Sango chasing around Miroku with murderous intent.

“Pretty much,” Shippo responded with a sigh. “This is worse than Kagome and Inu-- oops! Than… Inuyasha’s bickering….” he said, whispering Inuyasha’s name.

“Why are you whisperin’? Too chicken to say Inutrasha’s name?”

“Hey! You should be more respectful!”

“Or what? The mutt’s gonna bust outta Naraku’s guts and beat the crap outta me?”

“Hi,” Kagome said from behind Kouga.

Kouga raised his arms and screeched from the surprise, jumping away. He could still see the splatter of Inuyasha’s dried blood on her cheek. He wondered if she forgot about it.

“Told ya you should be more respectful…” Shippo huffed.

“Kagome! You’re up!” Miroku chimed, dodging swipes of the Hiraikotsu.

Kagome nodded silently, looking down at the ground.

“Are you feeling any better?” Sango asked, getting in one slam onto Miroku’s back then rested her Hiraikotsu back down on a tree to go up to her friend.

“No… not really. But I can’t sit around moping forever.”

“Kagome, don’t forget to think about yourself.”

“I am! I promise. And I realize that the longer I do nothing the worse I’m gonna feel about this. I can cope with the situation as we’re moving. It’s better to make progress like that,” Kagome said, holding the Tessaiga close to her.

Sango looked back at Miroku and sighed, looking back at Kagome.

“Do you want to leave in the morning?”

Kagome nodded.

———

Kagura rested along the hallway walls of the castle, enjoying the darkness and quiet to herself. Her eyes were closed, taking in deep breaths to ward off the anxiety she always faced when dealing with Naraku. Her red eyes then flashed open, feeling the unfriendly presence of the original body she had been born from.

Her eyes stayed locked on the door, until the hallway was engulfed in light from the outside before quickly being shut off from it again.

A familiar face locked eyes with hers as he entered his castle, a grin spreading from his lips.

“Kagura,” Naraku said.

“...Naraku. You’re back already.”

“Indeed. I’m quite surprised that you’re not out roaming again. Sick of the sights, are you?”

Kagura hissed her teeth, seeing Naraku begin to approach her.

“Kagura, I’m curious as to how Kagome and her group was able to find Inuyasha and I so easily? You wouldn’t be familiar with this, now would you?”

“...I wouldn’t know,” she said, looking away from him. “Where is Inuyasha?” she asked quietly.

“Inuyasha is settled inside of my body as punishment for his rebellion.”

“You… ate him?”

“That I did, and surprisingly I've been granted a great deal of power from his pathetic half demon body,” he said, beginning to walk past Kagura. Stopping next to her, he said, “If Inuyasha can succumb to this fate, then by all means you can as well.”

Kagura tensed up, hearing Naraku’s light chuckle as he continued to walk past her. He entered the room he normally occupied, leaving Kagura in the silence and solitude that she was no longer comfortable in.

previous chapter | next chapter...

[jawllines]

Gang Harry blurb???

oKAY IM SORRY I FELL ASLEEP LAST NIGHT BUT YETH HERE SHE IS, THIS IS WHAT WAS GOING ON IN THE TIME BETWEEN Y/N PASSING OUT IN THE CLUB AND WAKING UP IN THE HOSPITAL IN GANG HARRY! 

Harry has never felt such an immense, looming feeling of regret in his life. Like a two ton elephant sat on his chest, suffocating him, keeping him from relaxing at all. Though, even if it hadn’t been his fault, he doesn’t think he’d ever relax. Who could be when they’re rushing their person to the hospital, with a car full of her confused friends wondering what happened as Harry sits in the backseat, gnawing harshly at his lip. He answers none of their questions though, and he won’t for the time being, until he can conjure up a proper story that’s not, “I’m the leader of a gang, and your friend here accidentally got caught up in a ton of shit so now I’m keeping her at my safe house, and she pleaded with me to come out with you guys -- which I was reluctant to let happen in the first place -- but I caved, and we came out, and the man who has a bone to pick with me and subsequently her found her, grabbed hold of her, I saw and beat the shit out of the fucker, but when I turned around she was on the ground.”

That’d surely go over well, wouldn’t it?

So he just kept his mouth shut, letting them theorize as his heart was racing and his chest is twisting with a guilt he’s unable to describe. How could he let this happen? He should have gone with her, walked her to the bathroom despite what it might have looked like. Or better yet, he should have nixed the god damn idea of going out in the first place! But could he really have? That would be fucked -- he couldn’t keep her captive in that way. Couldn’t do that to her, not when she asked so nicely and seemed so excited when he had agreed. But he should have been more careful! God, should have had Grant and Dave scope out the place while Mark kept an eye on Y/N, or just planned it in a way much better than he had.

His thought loop stalls for a moment when they stop outside of bright red EMERGENCY room, and Harry wastes no time in running in. Stops at the front desk, rattles off who he’s here for, and nearly throws a proper fit when they tell him she’s not allowed visitors yet. “What the fuck do you mean she’s not allowed --”

But his phone rings before he can continue, brows furrowed as he stuffs his hand into his pocket to retrieve it, all but smashing it to his ear, “Listen, I don’t have any fucking time for --”

“Harry?” Nick’s voice rings out, “Harry is she okay? Grant called and told me what happened.”

Harry tries desperately to keep his cool, feels the threat of tears prickle at his eyes because despite being his boss, Nick is a few years older and a comforting figure that he can look to often, when things become too much. And right now they're too much -- way too much.

“Fuck, I don’t know Nick,” he walks from the desk, dragging himself to the nook with the vending machines, “I don’t know, she’s -- it’s my fault, innit? She’s never gonna want to see me again.” His voice feels close to wobbling, breathing out a heavy sigh and sucking his bottom lip into his mouth, biting down on it ferociously. Lets his forehead knock against the wall, letting a self-deprecating laugh huff from his chest, “How selfish of me, right? She’s in there unconscious and I’m concerned if she’s ever going to want to see me?” His brows dip in frustration, bumping his head against the wall again, “This is fucked, yeah?”

“Very fucked, Lovie, but listen to me,” he begins, “She’s going to be okay, yeah? Y/N’s a tough girl and a little bonk to the head won’t have her down for the count. And you know she won’t blame you, don’t you? She’ll hear you out.” Harry opens his mouth to tell him that there’s no bleeding way she’s going to even want to hear him speak probably because for all he knows these feelings are completely one-sided. . .Harry has no direct ties to her other than this, there’s no reason for her to want to stay -- but Nick keeps going, “I know you and I know you’re feeling guilt-stricken and think there’s no way she’ll want to speak with you, but if she’s been so understanding up to this point what makes you think she’s going to change tunes when she wakes up?”

Harry twists around, looking along the waiting room and seeing Y/N’s friends all sat in the chairs, looking to him like they’re expecting answers from him and for the first time in a long time Harry has an overwhelming urge to crawl beneath a damn rock. He’s face to face with the roughest, toughest, grizzliest people on a daily but the innocent confusion of his crush’s friend’s faces is enough to have him a damn nervous wreck. “Look, I have to go Nick,” he murmurs, “I’ll message you when I figure out what’s happening.”

He takes one more deep breath, pocketing his phone, straightening out his back and swallowing thickly as he makes his way towards them. They’re just college students. . .stupid college students, who would probably believe whatever bogus story that he fed them and he could only hope they don’t ask too many questions. He’s lied to people before -- has lied to police, to government officials, to opposing gangs and the likes of it. Had he been able to lie to Y/N? No, he hadn’t -- he’d cracked and told her everything at the first word of a question even though she was willing to drop it. So would it be the same with her friends? Did they all carry the same radiating charm that she did? Would he spill an entire load of his story, starting from why him and Y/N were spending so much time together and ending with why his father had pushed this job into his hands in the first place? Would they forbid her from seeing him ever again? Did her friends’ say have enough impact to actually sway her from seeing him?

“Harry,” Greta begins, and he braces himself, “Can I just say, you’re fucking amazing?”

Oh.

Oh?

“Wait, what?” Harry begins, brows dipping in confusion and Greta’s face lights up.

“You fucking rocked him! Right in the face, never seen a guy like that go down with two punches before,” she seems bewildered, giving these eyes that are so similar to Y/N’s -- those wide shocked ones that she gets when something excites her -- and his makes his heart hurt, twisting painfully, “You saved her I bet. She’s always picking fights with people twice her size. Should see her at a frat party when someone gets too handsy; a right devil when she needs to be.”

Adam doesn’t seem as starstruck by what had gone down, looking distraught with glossy eyes swimming with alcohol, popping his bitten nails from his mouth, “Can’t believe someone would just grab her like that. So scary -- m’never taking you lot out to a club again, they’re gross and sticky and have nothing but filth running amuck in there. If you hadn’t been there, I don’t even want to think about what could have happened.”

“Thank you, Harry,” Liam jumps in, “Is what I think they’re trying to say. Thank you for taking care of her.”

This doesn’t make him feel any better. Of course he’s glad that they aren’t trying to dig deeper in what had happened and had settled for Y/N just being a spitfire kind of girl, ready to pick a fight at a moments notice. However, they were thanking him when there was no reason to thank him. He was the one who’d gotten her into the mess, he deserved no thank yous at all.

“I can see why she’s always swooning over you.” Liam then notes and Adam swats him hard in the bicep.

“Shut up! Can’t go around telling her business --”

“But he’s not lying.” Greta notes, and Harry takes the seat from across them, sinking into the uncomfortable fabric chairs.

“Define swooning.” Harry encourages them to continue, his heart sparking, beginning to race.

Liam scoots forward, leaning in, “She’s absolutely head over heels for you,” he tells him, while Greta nods her head in agreement, “Gushes about you whenever she can; goes all starry-eyed when you’re mentioned and tonight -- tonight after seeing you guys together, it just confirmed that she’s gotten struck by cupid’s bow.”

“You feel the same don’t you?” Greta adds, wiggling closer, “You two are so cute together.”

Harry opens his mouth, but he doesn’t have anything to say. Thinks the smile that begins to worm onto his lips might be enough, with a small nod as he agrees. She likes him? Does she? Or are her friends just trying to pawn her off because they thought that she might like him?

He’s not sure of the specifics so he ignores them and decides that this feels too good to question right now.

It looks like there might be more they want to say but a woman walks up with a clipboard, standing before them, says that she’s looking for the group who are here for Y/N and when they all look up she continues, “She’s stable -- there’s no significant damage as of now yet besides a sprained ankle but everything else is fine as of right now.”

“Can we see her?” Harry asks, and the woman looks to him, shaking her head apologetically.

“She’s not awake yet, but visiting hours are over. You’re welcome to wait here but --”

“I’m her husband,” Harry says immediately, standing up, “And I’d like to stay in the room with her until she wakes, if that’s okay.”

She looks at him, brows furrowed, “Sir, I’ll need to see some identification --”

“He is!” Greta nearly shouts, “But Y/N’s new license hasn’t come in yet. All of us went to the wedding. A lovely ceremony, and amazing reception, we all got shit faced and I ended up grinding on his Aunt for the entirety of the Cha Cha slide, sadly -- we have all the pictures of it if you’re interested.”

The nurse still looks skeptical, but she doesn’t care enough to continue any further. “Okay,” she answers, “Follow me.”

And he does -- follows her to Y/N, who is hooked up to an IV with her leg propped up on a few pillows wrapped up in bandages. She looks too small in such a big hospital bed, and his heart wrenches in his chest. Tears beading up in his eyes all over again, as he thanks the nurse and takes his spot besides her. Sits there, wrapped up in all of his guilt, feeling like he’s drowning in it almost, the monitor beeping steadily, in great contrast with the speeding of his heart.

He’s there for a few hours before she begins stirring, a whimper drudging from her chest and he watches as her eyes blink open, looking around her, trying to figure out where she was, “Y/N?” her gaze falls to him, trickling from his face, down to his knuckles, and then a small frown pulls at her mouth, “What’s wrong Baby?”

“Your knuckles,” she answered, her voice all scratchy and deep, reaching for his hand and grazing her thumb over his knuckles that were bruised and bloodied, “You messed ‘em up again. Are you okay?”

Harry’s heart just about bursts.

[asoftervirge]

between the salt water and the sea strands

RATING: PG, may increase as the story goes on PAIRINGS: R. Sanders/P. Sanders (main); T. Sanders/OMC (mentioned)

FIC WARNINGS/KINKS: Near Death, Drowning, mentions of cultural taboos FIC SUMMARY: Patton, a merman and Prince, rescues Roman from the storm.

TAGLIST: @backatthebein, @levy-the-b00kw0rm, @ierindoodles, @rosesandstuff, @notveryglittery, @patchworkofstars (if anybody else wishes to be tagged, please let me know!)

CLICK HERE IF YOU READ IT ON AO3 INSTEAD!

<< Chapter 1 >> Chapter 3 coming soon!

Patton loved the sea.

He loved its vastness, how full of life it is; the way he could swim for miles and miles and be greeted with all sorts of colorful fish, dolphins, whales, turtles, and other aquatic life that he makes friends with; the way its waves seem to comfort him, beckoning him home. He loved the feeling of the sunlight reflecting through its surface and the dazzling light show it would create for him.

Patton loved the sea-- but sometimes that isn't enough.

He wanted more yet he can't have it, for he was destined for the throne, for the power over every reef and sea creature in their parts of the ocean. He comes from the largest kingdom in all the oceans, and is the eldest twin of the great Sea Queen Y’Mera.

The issue was...he was perfectly qualified for the job.

He was everything a king, a leader, should be. He was very passionate, optimistic, and very friendly with all the mermaid and mermen of Atlanna. He spoke when he needed to speak, and when he did, it was always positive feedback and constructive criticisms; he always listened to people's wants and needs and gave them the best advice he could; he held his mother's wisdom, her people-pleasing habits, her gentle voice and guiding hand. But he wasn't a king...he was only Patton, and that was all he wanted to be. Just Patton. If anything, his younger twin, Emile was more suited for the job than he.

He didn't desire such a life: a life that had him constantly sitting on the throne of his forefathers and foremothers, all the previous Kings and Queens of the Seas. He wanted to explore more than just the sea, he wanted to know what it was like from the World Above. He has heard from other mermaids and mermen what the World Above was like, and grew a deep and burning desire to see it for himself.

If only there was a way for him to—

“Patton!"

He quickly whirls around and gave a small smile when he sees who was calling out to him. It seems that where ever he went, his best friend, Virgil, wasn't far away (and he was glad for that, don’t get him wrong! He just…sometimes preferred to have a little piece of mind). He see the deep sea merman swimming towards him.

Despite what Virgil thinks (and Patton would physically fight him on this subject daily), he thinks Virgil was just as lovely in the sunlight as he is in illuminated darkness (as he is a bioluminescent merman). There were small, black and purple scales covering the lower half of his face, especially around the eyes, and crawling up each arm and over his shoulders, where they met and covered most of his back. His gills were matching scars on either side of his neck, and had sharp fins protruding off his elbows, and coming from his forearms to his hands (which had sharp yet dulled claws. Patton believes he gnawed at them with his fangs again) is an ombre of purples ranging from lilac to a grape purple. His tail was sleek and elegant, a dark violet (with a variety of patterns when illuminated) and it tapers and splits off into smaller, forked fins at the bottom. There are sharp, spiny, purple fins jutting out from his spine and tail with a lighter purple webbing in between.

The deep sea merman took a few shaky breaths, the worry that was in his silvery-violet eyes slowly morphed into relief. “Please don’t worry me like that! Do you know how long I’ve been chasing you for?!”

“Oh…I-I’m sorry, Virgil,” Patton smiled at his best friend sheepishly. “You know by know that I can’t help it.”

“Uhm, actually, you can help it, you just don’t want to.” Virgil corrected, giving him a glare that makes Patton swim away guiltily. “Pat, you know I love and care about you, I would literally support you in just about anything…but you can’t keep disrespecting Her Majesty like this. She’s more than a Queen, she’s your mom, and it makes her upset when you rebel against her. And you know I take the fall for you most of the time, not just because I don’t want you or Emile punished, but because you’re my best, and only, friend.”

(Virgil had only became Patton’s friend when the prince was around the age of fifteen. He had actually found Virgil being mistreated by some of his future subjects, the deep sea merman had swan too far from the comforts of his mysterious home and that was how he met Patton. After saving him from his tormentors, Patton tried to befriend the merman, but Virgil was a little on the crueler side. It took a lot of time, patience, and friendliness before the deep sea merman finally warmed up to the Atlanna prince and they began inseparable friends since.)

(Sometime after, Virgil was later summoned to court by Queen Y’Mera. Realizing that her son had a deep connection to the deep sea merman, and Virgil had a strong protective nature towards her eldest twin son, she decided to name him Patton’s bodyguard and personal advisor, which was a very daunting task for him, but he still happily accepted the position.)

The more Virgil spoke, the more ashamed Patton became. He knew that Virgil was right, but like he said, he can’t help himself. Ever since he was young, he was always curious about what life would be like outside of the sea, to be a part of the World Above, and it’s only grown more and more as he got older.

“I know, I just…” Patton begins childishly, sighing quietly. “I just don’t like sitting there and letting them— letting them slowly turn me into something I don’t want to be. Take control of something that I don’t want to take control of.” Not wanting to say anymore, he simply turns and swims away. As he does so, he hears Virgil sigh and groan to himself.

“You know, you are going to have to accept your position sooner than later!” Patton secretly hated how quick Virgil can be (he is an anxiety-filled merman after all) and soon his friend had quickly caught up to him.

As their chase/swim continued, the ocean grew darker around them, signaling that a storm was brewing in the World Above. Lighting flashed overhead and it brought them to a standstill, a giant array of white light clouded their vision for a split second.

“…you know I’m right, Pat.” Virgil said, his voice was that of the prince’s best friend, not of someone who was assigned to him. “You’re the eldest of Y’Mera’s children and the true heir to the throne, even if you wish for that to be Emile.”

Patton bit his lip as thunder continued to rumble; he yearned for this discussion to end early so he could just watch the storm with Virgil and forget all his duties a little while longer. “I-I know…but you know how I feel— I don’t wish to be the King…Emmy would a better one than me.”

“While I can see why you would say that,” Virgil nodded thoughtfully. “You and I, and even your brother, know that you were the one who was properly trained to take the throne.”

“I know but I—” The prince stopped as a shadow fell across the two mermen, their eyebrows furrowed in confusion as they regarded the ship sailing above them. They’ve never seen a ship out in a storm this violently before; they thought the Humans knew to avoid the sea when it was this bad.

The prince was swimming away before Virgil could stop him, breaching the surface to watch the Human ship. As another bolt of lighting flashed above, the silhouettes of the Humans aboard were briefly illuminated, revealing their panicked and terror-stricken faces. One of them stood at the helm of the ship (the captain, Patton thinks?), holding onto the wheel with a vice grip, a look of desperation and determination on his face.

“What’re you thinking?!” Virgil asked as he popped up beside him, his violet hair was flopped down into his face and blended in with the colors of the sea and sky. “Please tell me you’re not going to do what I think you’re about to do!”

“Virgil, they need our help…” Patton replied quietly, never tearing his gaze from the ship.

“I knew you were going to say that!” Virgil groaned, gripping his hair tightly in both fists. “Running away from your duties and risking being near Humans, wanting to actually rescue them?!”

Patton opened his mouth to give an order (the first time he would do such a thing to Virgil), but a third bolt of blinding lightning smashed into the deck of the ship before he could, the screams of the sailors suddenly filled the air. He jerked to move towards the ship but Virgil’s hands were clamped around his arm, firmly holding him back.

“Patton, no!” Virgil yelled, but Patton could barely hear him over the howling of the wind and the rumbling of the thunder. He yanked them back down underneath and turned the prince around so he was facing him, his eyes were wide and filled with panic and the tone of his voice was pleading. “Please don’t! No Human life is worth the punishment you’ll be getting from your mom!”

“It is though!” Patton said, even if he knew Virgil was right once again. Being near Humans, and to even save their lives in a situation like this; it was one of the Atlanna’s greatest taboos, and one that Patton might not escape from.

The prince tore his gaze from Virgil’s (out of guilt or stubbornness he didn’t know, maybe both) and watched the wreckage sink beneath the waves, the sailors struggling to stay alive and afloat. He watched as a majority of the crew made their way back to the surface, clinging onto the broken pieces of the ship, and fight back against the strong currents— but also watched as one didn’t and was drowning near them.

“Virgil—” he began and the deep sea merman’s eyes grew wider (and they would’ve had tears if it was possible for a merman to cry underwater) and tightened his grip on his friend’s arm.

“Please!”

“—I’m so sorry.” With that, he escaped Virgil’s grip and swam away, wrapping his arms securely around the drowned Human. He couldn’t help but take in his features for a small moment— his half-lidded, reddish-brown eyes, the messy and wavy brown locks, the beauty mark underneath his left eye— and then lifted, heaving the Human back to the World Above.

He was desperate to find some sort of land among the churning, storm-tossed sea. He remembered the other mermaids and mermen talking about a cozy-looking village that wasn’t too far from where they were…but he couldn’t remember where it was, so he was forced to get his bearings together.

Patton tightened his grip on the Human, wrapping his fingers tightly around the fabric of his shirt as he tried to swim with the additional weight of another being. The wreckage of the human ship surrounded them, a minefield of burnt and broken wood, and the storm above them continued to rage on, thundering with all the rage the ocean and Mother Nature could muster.

After some searching (and making sure other Humans didn’t see him) he finally found a small, sheltered bay-like cove that was close to the village and set the small Human down on the edge of the shore. He watched the unmoving Human, worried that he wasn’t seeing his chest moving up and down, then he hears him loudly gasping and sputtering, turning away from his tough to cough and throw up all of salt water that he must’ve swallowed as he drowned. He quietly breaths a sigh of relief; he was breathing, he was alive.

“Hey, hey…shhh, shhh…you’re alright, Human, it’s okay.” Patton soothed, rubbing the Human’s back comfortingly (if this helped Virgil during anxiety attacks, this should help a Human too, right? Could the Human even understand his language?)

Once the Human was done coughing and gotten all the salt water out of his lungs, his breathing slowly regulated but was still a little shallow and quiet in sound. Carefully, Patton turned him around and took in their feature a little more than he did when they were still in the water: his face was pale but slowly regaining its tannish color, his hair was a sopping wet mess, and his wet clothing had showed off his muscular chest.

Patton knew, of course, that the Humans were different from them— they had neither scales or tails, their faces were a little rounder, their skin was much softer— but this was the first time he’d ever seen one up close before. He leaned in a little closer, regarding the small constellation of freckles across the human’s cheeks, the soft curvature of his lips, studying each of his strange, scale-less face.

“Yurari yurureri…utakata omoi meguru hakari,” Patton began singing quietly. He knew the Human wouldn’t understand the Ancient Mer Tongue, but he figured it would add some health, healing, and comfort to them.

A small, feeble groan sounded from the Human and it made the prince freeze. “N-Ngh…” He sees him beginning to stir, his face scrunching up in the high sunlight that was peeking through the weakening storm clouds.

Despite this, Patton kept his hand on their face and continued to sing. “Tsutau minasuji…Sono te ga hikaru asu wa.” Once his song was finished, he sees the Human give him a gentle, appreciative smile, slowly opening his mouth to speak to him, but he quickly dashed back into the water.

“W-Wait! Please!” He hears the raspy, broken call of the Human as he reunites with the familiar and beautiful blue of his ocean home. He feels awful for leaving the Human alone like that, but in the distance, he heard a voice calling to them, said voice holding relief and possibly even happiness. Despite this, his curiosity remained as he resurfaced to the World Above and observed the Human a long distance away behind a few sea rocks.

“Roman! Thank the Gods you’re alright! We thought you’d died!” Patton sees another Human in front of the one he saved (Roman…he kept that name in his mind and heart). He looked about the same as Roman, but there was still some uniqueness to them: He had dark brown, almost blackish hair that was pulled away from his face, a sharper, angular face, clothing similar to Roman’s, and he had strange goggles over his eyes.

“Logan…” he sees a hopefully and overly emotional look spread itself across Roman’s face as he regarded the Other Human. “I…I’m so sorry!”

“Shhh,” the Other Human soothed, his voice calm and gentle as he pulled Roman into a protective-looking embrace. Patton smiled at this, perhaps this Logan fellow was his companion like Virgil was to himself. “We believe you drowned. Some of our crew tried to aid you, but the currents were too strong. How did you manage to swim against them, surely your nose and lungs would’ve been filled with water.”

“Someone…someone saved my life.” (Patton’s breath hitched when he realized that he might truly be discovered and Atlanna won’t be a secret to the Humans.)

“Oh? If so, then where are they? And how did they manage such a feat?”

“I don’t know…they’ve gone.”

“I’m sorry?”

“They’ve gone. I woke up to the most gorgeous singing I’ve ever heard— what it was, I don’t know since I couldn’t translate the words— and then I saw them, or almost saw them, but then…they were gone…”

“Roman, I’m sorry…but that doesn’t make much sense. Are you sure you weren’t hallucinating?”

(Even if he felt a little wounded at being called a hallucination, but it really was better that way. If Humans ever found about Atlanna, who knows what they would do to his people, Virgil, his brother, and his beloved mother.)

“Logan, you— you have to understand I’m not making this up!” Patton snaps out of his thoughts as he sees Roman protesting strongly, glaring at Logan fiery eyes. “I saw them, I heard them! I know they’re real!”

“You nearly died from drowning. It’s quite common for seafarers to have hallucinations, especially when they’ve nearly drank themselves to oblivion." Logan placed the back of his hand on Romans’s forehead. (Was that a common practice amongst Humans?) “You also know that we’ve heard similar stories at the drinking houses we’ve been to, sailors saying they’ve been saved by mysterious folk to draw in a crowd.”

All that did was make Roman growl and shake his head violently. Patton couldn’t help but feel a little touched and flattered about a Human believing in his existence even if it was strongly forbidden. He felt his heart swelling, a happy, almost loving feeling bloomed in his chest.

“Come, Roman. Let me take you home. I’m sure Thomas is worried sick about you.” The prince sees Logan wrapping his arm around Roman’s waist as he lead him back to this Thomas Human. He continued to watch them until they were far away from his line of vision.

“I hope I can see you again soon…Roman…”