#many nights I have spent lying in agony | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

flowersandskeletons526 · 1 day ago

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"When We All Come Home Alive" - Ajax/Rembrandt fic for the Warriors Concept Album

Okay so this is my first fic in two years so please be nice to me. This was written in a night because I absolutely could not get this out of my head. Enjoy!

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“Rembrandt, you gotta get up.”

Rembrandt did not want to get up. Lying on Cleon’s couch with her back to the room, she barely had the strength to shake her head. It had been two months since that awful night fleeing through the city, two months since Ajax was arrested, two months since they lost Fox and a little over a month since her funeral. Rembrandt found the strength to make her way to the service and give her eulogy but that was it. Cleon had been taking all the calls from Ajax. She ran messages between them like a long-suffering mediator because Rembrandt loved Ajax and everyone knew that but she was still so fucking mad. No matter how many times she tried to convince herself that she knew why Ajax went after the undercover cop, she couldn’t excuse what an absolute braindead decision it was.

She’d been furious and devastated and grief stricken and once all that anger finally faded, she was left like this: catatonic on the couch while the remaining six Warriors tried desperately to break her out of it.

Cleon alternated between being the mother hen that she was at heart and trying to pull rank, but everyone knew all her threats of extra chores and dealing with new recruits were only attempts to get Rembrandt’s attention. Cochise and Cowgirl went the route of using her art, trying to get her to draw, asking if they could steal a few pages from her sketchbook which had always been a hard no. They dropped it as a lost cause when she actually said “go ahead.” Swan did nothing but sit beside her and make it clear she was there to talk when Rembrandt was ready. Rembrandt appreciated that.

To everyone’s surprise, it was Mercy that got the most reaction. After Fox’s funeral, Rembrandt had refused to eat for almost a week. Cochise and Cowgirl were at their own apartment. Cleon and Swan were out on gang business, dealing with the Gramercy Riffs from what Rembrandt understood. Mercy came home - still such a weird thing for Rembrandt to think about - from her day job Cleon had secured for her. She went straight to her and Swan’s room like Rembrandt knew Swan had asked her to do. Let the rest of the crew deal with Rembrandt, she never took kindly to strangers, just let them handle it.

Rembrandt heard the door open, close, and then open again. She forced herself to turn halfway over to see Mercy kneeling behind her with a takeout container of soup in her hands. “I know it’s not Nathan’s,” she had said gently, “but Swan told me it was one of your favorites.” Rembrandt liked her a lot more after that.

“Rembrandt!” Cleon said more forcefully, dragging Rembrandt back into reality. She rolled onto her back to look up at her leader. “Get up. Seriously. We’re going out.”

“Cleon, for the love of god,” Rembrandt whispered, her voice hoarse from disuse. “Don’t make me go anywhere.”

“You have to. This is non-negotiable.”

“Cleon-”

“Put on your vest and let’s go.”

--------

Ajax got herself stuck in solitary within five minutes of being on her cell block. She did it on purpose, jumping some girl she knew wasn’t affiliated just for giving her a sideways look. She knew Rembrandt would kill her for it but Rembrandt was probably planning on doing that anyway and she would rather be completely alone than deal with all the bullshit she was guaranteed in general population.

Cleon had spent almost an entire phone call chewing her out for that. “Are you serious?” she shouted over the receiver. ��We can’t come visit you when you’re in fucking solitary! Dammit, Ajax, what were you thinking!” Ajax was just happy she still got to hear Cleon’s voice at all.

But Fox…

She could conquer any physical pain. None of that fazed her anymore. But the agony of hearing that Fox was gone and never coming back, that was something she didn’t know how to handle. Cleon had had the sense to immediately assure her it wasn’t her fault. She knew her too well. Ajax could only mumble one word answers for the rest of the call until an officer finally brought her back to her cell. She didn’t let herself fall apart until she was safe behind the solid concrete and steel, and the next morning, they had to bring her to medical to make sure she hadn’t broken both hands punching the wall. Cleon gave her shit for that, too.

The very first thing Cleon told her in their first call was who had made it home. She knew about Fox. She knew about that Orphan girl apparently being initiated into the gang and, honestly, fine. Ajax wasn’t thrilled but she could respect that. Above all, Rembrandt was alive. Rembrandt was safe. Rembrandt survived the night.

And Rembrandt refused to speak to her.

“I’m not going to tell you what she said,” Cleon said during those first few weeks. “You know I stay out of your relationship if it’s not affecting business but you don’t need to hear the words she has for you right now.”

“She hates me now, doesn’t she,” Ajax mumbled.

“No, no, she doesn’t, but I know she’s speaking out of anger and hurt right now and that’s why I’m not repeating it. Listen, to be honest, she’s not doing great mentally right now. We’re all trying to help but she doesn’t seem to want help.”

“She’s not staying-”

“No, she’s not staying at your guys’ apartment. She’s staying with Swan and me. I don’t trust her to be alone right now.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah,” Cleon sighed. “We need to get you home.”

Now, Ajax lay on the rock hard mattress and stared at the dirty ceiling of her cell. She could never be sure of the time in there, but it felt like a while since they threw her lunch through the slot in the door, so she should get the chance to call home soon. She didn’t make any more trouble after that first fight that put her in isolation. She didn’t argue, she didn’t even talk to anyone during her one hour outside, she was polite and, hell, even downright nice to the guards, no matter how much it made her want to puke. She was smart enough to know she couldn’t lose the one privilege keeping her sane.

She just had to hold on until she got out. She just had to hold on until Rembrandt forgave her, if she ever did.

“Inmate 718929!” a guard barked from outside her cell. “Get up, face the corner.”

Ajax did as she was told. Her mind raced as the guard came in and slapped cuffs on her wrists. She went through every little thing she’d done since she got put in here. She couldn’t think of anything that would possibly get her in trouble. She’d done everything right this time! They couldn’t be transferring her. She knew they wouldn’t tell the Warriors where they stuck her because they weren’t technically her next of kin. How would Cleon know how to get in touch with her? How would Rembrandt?

They brought her to the small room where normally she would have been able to meet visitors but she wasn’t allowed in-person visits so long as she was in solitary confinement. They sat her down at the metal table and undid her cuffs just to chain them to a loop on the tabletop in front of her. The guard left. She heard a short indistinct conversation through the door. It opened, and a well dressed woman with a briefcase and an easy smile stepped inside and sat across from her.

“Good afternoon, Ajax,” she said.

What the fuck?

“Uh, hi,” Ajax said hesitantly.

“How are you doing today?”

“Who are you?”

“My name is Lauryn. I’m a defense attorney and I’ll be representing you.”

“I didn’t ask for a public defender.”

The woman laughed. “Oh, please, I don’t work for the state. You have friends in high places.”

“But the W- I mean, my friends don’t-”

“Your friends have friends,” Lauryn amended, in a way that said shut the fuck up, the guards can hear you. “I’ll make this quick. Suffice to say I talked to a few people, called in a few favors, I waived your right to a trial and simply pushed through the plea bargain, hope you don’t mind.”

“You what?”

“They dropped the assault charges-”

“The what?”

“-and I argued them down to criminal mischief. You’ll have to check in with a probation officer every month for the next six months and, y’know, not get arrested again, but you won’t be serving any jail time.”

“Stop! Stop, stop, stop.” Ajax waved her hands as much as she could with them chained to the table. Her head was spinning. “What the actual fuck are you talking about? Who called you in? How were you able to do any of this?”

“Don’t worry about how I got it done, only that you got out of something you shouldn’t have been able to get out of. Do you recognize the name Masai?”

“Masai? No, I… oh, shit.”

The second-in-command of the Gramercy Riffs. Cyrus’s number two. The man who sent out a fucking hit on all their heads and kidnapped Cleon and put the entire city on a warpath with them as the prize. Why was he calling her a lawyer?

“Don’t worry about how we got here,” said Lauryn. Could this woman read her mind? “This meeting is really just to get you up to speed. Once we’re done here, the guards will get you your personal effects and release you. I’ll be in touch to go over your parole meetings with you in the future. Sounds good?”

“I-I, I mean, y-yeah! Yeah! Get me out of here!”

“Perfect! Wait for my call.”

Lauryn stood, shook Ajax’s hand, and left just as quickly as she came in. Ajax didn’t even have the time to get her wits about her before a guard came in and whisked her off to be released. It went by in a blur. She just did as she was told, signing whatever they put in front of her, and followed the guard out to the front office of the jail. She knew enough to keep her Warriors vest folded under her arm until she was safely off the premises.

She clenched her fists to keep them from shaking. Was Rembrandt going to be there waiting for her? Was the whole gang? This couldn’t just be a dream, right? There was no reason for the Gramercy Riffs to do all this for her. Maybe this was all just a hallucination, the light in the tunnel at the end of a nightmare. For all she knew, this was just a fever dream and she was still rotting in that cell.

The Warriors were not waiting for her in the front office. Instead, Masai stood by the door flanked by two Riffs, an unlit cigarette hanging from his lips. He straightened as she approached him.

“Sorry for the wait,” he said. “The legal system takes a while to work. I’m sure you know.”

“Why are you here?” she growled before she could stop herself.

“Cyrus wanted peace. I’m trying to make that happen.” He jerked his head towards the door. “Let’s go, Warrior.”

----------

Rembrandt kept her hood up and her head down as they left the subway station. A cold wind cut through the city, blowing her hair into her eyes. She lagged behind the rest of the gang as they made their way through Lower Manhattan. No one would tell her where they were going or what was happening, and every time she tried to ask they would tiptoe around the subject until they could find a way to change it. The closest thing she got to an answer was Mercy reaching over to quickly squeeze her hand and offer a tiny smile.

As they walked, Swan dropped back through the group and put an arm around Rembrandt’s shoulders. “Chin up,” she whispered, and that was all she needed to say. Rembrandt let herself lean into Swan’s side just for a moment before the war chief returned to her place beside Cleon in front.

They stopped before a massive dystopian-looking brick building. Police cars surrounded the place. Flanking the steel front doors were three Riffs on each side, still in their black mourning clothes, and Rembrandt bristled. What the fuck were they doing here?

Cleon waved Rembrandt forward and rested a comforting hand on her back. “Don’t worry,” she said gently.

“Cleon,” she began, but the warlord cut her off.

“We’re safe. We’re in good company.”

The doors opened…

And out stepped Ajax.

Rembrandt heard nothing beyond the hammering of her pulse in her ears. She took a shaky step forward. Ajax’s mouth was moving but Rembrandt couldn’t understand what she was saying. Her hands were bandaged and she looked exhausted and pale and underweight and… scared. Rembrandt had never seen her so terrified. Ajax was always strong and brave, often to the point of recklessness, larger than life, but standing before Rembrandt now, she looked an inch tall. Rembrandt watched Ajax’s mouth round out her name, and every emotion that had been building up over the past months suddenly exploded.

She broke into a run and launched herself in Ajax’s open arms.

She was a sobbing mess within seconds. Ajax had to keep her on her feet, arms wrapped in a tight fortress around her as she buried her face against Ajax’s neck. “It’s okay,” she heard her whisper. “You’re okay, baby, I’ve got you. I’m right here. We’re okay. We’re okay.”

For the first time since that horrible night, Rembrandt let herself believe it.

It seemed like an eternity of Ajax just holding her before she found her voice: “You’re a fucking idiot.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Never do that again!”

“I won’t,” Ajax promised, and it was a promise she’d made a thousand times before but Rembrandt could forget about that for now.

“I missed you so much.”

“I missed you, too. I love you.”

“I love you.”

Rembrandt finally untangled herself from Ajax’s embrace and turned to face the others, but she stayed clinging to Ajax’s arm, afraid she might disappear if Rembrandt fully let go. Hugs were exchanged, the repeated sentiments of “we’re so glad you’re safe” and “good to finally have you on your way home” between all the smiles and jokes. Ajax didn’t hug Mercy, which everyone understood, but she did offer a fistbump. From the grin on Mercy’s face, you’d think it was the highest honor in the city. Rembrandt supposed that, in part, it was. She only let go of Ajax when the enforcer went to hug Swan.

The two of them whispered something to each other, holding one another by the shoulder as they pulled back, both stony faced with downturned eyes. Everyone paused for a moment. Mercy gave Rembrandt a troubled look that said they’re not going to fight, are they? But Ajax cracked a smile and gave Swan a playful bap on the arm, and the war chief returned it with a wide grin. A light shoving match ensued with both participants laughing their asses off as they went.

“Kids, no fighting,” Cleon jeered from near the jail doors. Masai stood beside her, watching them, and Rembrandt swore the man… smiled? She wasn’t sure you could even call it a smile but then again, who knew if the Riff was even capable of showing joy like that. He shook Cleon’s hand, nodded to the Warriors, barked, “Riffs!” and the gang was gone, headed back to the Bronx to continue their queen’s mission from there.

Cleon rejoined them with Ajax’s vest in her hand. Rembrandt cringed a bit, realizing she must have knocked it out of Ajax’s grip when she tackled her. Swan and Ajax ended their playfight, and Ajax stood before their leader, tall and strong and brave as ever.

Cleon passed her the vest. “Welcome home, soldier,” she said.

“It’s good to be back outside,” said Ajax as she slipped into her colors. “Masai’s lawyer said-”

“She’ll be in touch. Right. I just talked to him about it.”

“Wait,” Rembrandt interjected. “Masai’s lawyer?”

“You thought they were letting Ajax out because of her charming personality?” Cowgirl teased. Cochise pushed her hat down over her eyes with a smirk. “Wha- hey! Come on!”

“He said he owed us a favor,” Cleon explained. “I wasn’t going to decline.”

Ajax put an arm around Rembrandt. The artist leaned into the warm touch, wrapping her arms around Ajax’s waist as she kissed the top of her head. “Let’s go home,” she said quietly, and then, raising her voice, “And can we please get some Nathan’s? I’m sick of that fucking prison food!”

The Warriors whooped hollered in delight, arm in arm, hand in hand, following Cleon back towards the subway station and back towards Coney Island. Back towards home.

With the others turned away from them, Rembrandt pulled Ajax down into a light, lingering kiss, clinging to the feeling of Ajax’s body solidly beneath her hands as she finally let herself believe it wasn’t all a dream. “We’re going to talk more about this at home,” she murmured. Ajax grimaced and nodded sheepishly. “But let’s go home first.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Ajax’s grimace flipped into a mischievous grin. Quick as a punch, she swept Rembrandt off her feet and into her arms, cackling as Rembrandt yelped in surprise before wrapping her arms around her neck and laughing along with her. Ajax carried her away from the jail, jogging to catch up to the others. Rembrandt closed her eyes and laid her head on Ajax’s shoulder. She was still angry and the memories all still hurt so, so much, but Ajax was back and she knew was finally secure in the belief that in the end, they would all be alright.

“Hey, do you have your cans? Maybe we could-”

“Don’t push it.”

----

The End! Thank you so much for reading!

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hugsandchaos · 7 months ago

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Full Moon Curse

Summary: Every full moon night, since Arthur was young, was spent in self isolation, often outside. It was a routine everyone who’s spent at least one full month in the castle knew. Yet very, very few knew the reason why. Arthur often wished that even fewer knew, but little does he know, this evening is going to go the opposite of how he wanted. Is the moonlight night really going to end as badly as he fears?

Notes: Arthadow Club, I’ve read y’all’s fanfics and seen your fanart and it’s amazing, but you seem to have forgotten a little concept. Eat up. Oh, and here’s your tag, @teamxdark! I hope you all like it!

Word count: 4,525

With the last bit of the sun’s comforting and powerful light gone, Arthur was left in complete darkness. He’d be lying if he said it didn’t scare him at all, being all alone in the dark, but he’d spent too many nights like this to be so fearful as to turn around and walk back to the castle. His crown had been left behind, along with much of his armor. He felt a little undressed without them, despite still wearing clothes. They were left behind for a good reason when he left just before sunset, though.

Arthur tilted his head up and searched the sky. Any minute now, the full moon would appear through the rolling clouds.

Before he left, the king made sure that every worker there knew he was not to be followed tonight. The newest knight had asked why, but luckily, Gwaine was there to tell him that it was a routine that had gone on for a long time and was simply not to be questioned. The badger seemed a little flustered and apologized. Arthur accepted it easily. Being worried about the king was practically part of the job, so it was reasonable a seemingly risky decision would raise questions.

An owl hooted somewhere to the right. Without thinking, Arthur turned to where it came from, only to relax his shoulders just as quickly as they raised up. The warm summer nights were more teeming with life now that the snow was gone and the animals had returned in the spring. Soon, fireflies started flickering their lights to the world and crickets began to sing and chirp. Combined with the pleasantly cool wind blowing through the trees, it was all a sort of quiet melody that soothed his mind when he paid attention to it, even if just for a while.

His emerald eyes found the moon when its light finally shined through the clouds. In the past, he would’ve looked at it and dreaded what would follow. Now, Arthur looked at with both a resigned sadness and some remaining fear for the painful transformation.

It started in his chest. It always started in his chest. Arthur gasped and brought a hand up to clutch the shirt he was wearing. His heart slowly, but surely began to beat almost painfully fast in his chest. Like it was knocking on it from inside. His ribcage felt as if it was starting to expand underneath his skin. At the same time, the flesh around began to grow to keep up with it. Arthur squeezed his eyes shut and started panting. He released his grip on his shirt, only to try to grip at his chest.

The pain only grew worse as it spread to his arms and legs. Arthur cried in intense agony as his leg bones began to change and shift, unable to handle it while they supported his weight at the same time, no matter how many time he’s gone through it. It always hurt too much for him to keep standing. Arthur used his aching arms to catch himself on the ground, which shot a spark of pain through them. He inhaled sharply through his teeth, which sounded a lot like a hiss.

Knowing how the next few seconds would go, the king grunted and laid onto his side on the grass. He hated it. It was his own body, and yet the best Arthur could do for himself right now was to just lay there and let it happen. His face scrunched up in extreme discomfort as he grew too big for the clothes he was wearing until they tore apart. At the same time, he had to remove his hand from his chest because of the claws starting to grow. It hadn’t exactly brought him any comfort, but not doing it somehow felt worse than doing it.

‘It’ll be over soon.’ Arthur told himself.

He gritted his teeth as they started to ache and felt them starting to grow sharper. His tail stretched and grew blue fur out of it, the same blue fur that started spreading all over his body until it was longer than his quills. He cried out as his arms and legs grew bigger, his ankles shifting and readjusting to take on a different shape. Everything suddenly seemed much louder, much brighter, and his nose stung a little as Arthur became more aware of the different scents in the air.

Every muscle was tense and his fingers that now ended with sharp claws flexed as if to grab something. Everything hurt, everything ached, it was all so bad that he wanted to rip off his own skin to make it stop.

Then, almost as fast as it came, it stopped. The king breathed out a heavy sigh of relief. The pain would fade away soon enough, but now, the transformation was done. He began taking deep breaths to try to even out his breathing and calm his heartbeat. Arthur didn’t bother getting back up yet and simply laid there, listening to the sounds of the forest surrounding the clearing he frequented for the transformation. His head was spinning a little, but he knew that would fade as well.

Slowly, but surely, the pain subsided. When Arthur opened his eyes again and looked up at the sky, the moon had barely moved an inch from the position he’d first seen it in. He put his now furry arms on the ground and began to stand up. He moved slowly, not because of balancing issues, but because his legs often suddenly ached when he stood on them after and made it harder to stay up. Luckily, this wasn’t one of those times and the king was able to properly look around, the shreds of the clothes he’d been wearing now discarded onto the grass.

The fireflies were still there, but not as many remained. The crickets had sensed the new presence of a predator in the area and gone quiet, but Arthur’s now advanced senses hadn’t yet detected anything that could be a threat. That meant it was him that startled them. Arthur despised this form, along with the urges that came with it. The hunger for raw meat, for example.

Most of his mind was disgusted by it, but the rest that felt as if it belonged to the beast he’d turn into every month salivated at the mere thought of it. Another example is that on the rare occasion he was happy during these nights, he’d catch his tail wagging. The cursed king would also eventually come to the realization that when he thought of something that made him happy enough to make his tail wag, he’d feel more excited about whatever it was than when he was back in his much more comfortable and normal hedgehog body.

However, that small boost of happiness did next to nothing for Arthur when he remembered his circumstances. It was like trying to put out a large fire with only one bucket of water. He took in a deep breath and let out a heavy sigh. Now he had to figure out what he could do next for the remainder of the night, because no matter how exhausted he might’ve been the day before, the beast was wide awake more often than not. One thing was for sure, though; Arthur had to stay away from civilization and the people who lived there.

“This is unexpected.”

Arthur’s ears and tail perked up hearing the voice, and upon realizing who it was, he was briefly overcome with nothing but sheer excitement at the thought of his beloved being there. He felt his now longer and fluffier tail move side to side rapidly, and for a few seconds, he didn’t care at all. Then that beautiful feeling was crushed by a sense of dread.

Shadow was there, and judging by his words, he was looking right at him. He saw Arthur. He could see him right now, as this... this beast.

Arthur turned to where the voice came from and his heart sank to his stomach. Shadow’s glowing red stripes and eyes, familiar and mysterious at the same time, cut through the darkness from where he was standing amongst the trees. As he walked into the clearing, the glow disappeared and the moonlight was granted permission to shine on him. The king’s beloved looked undeniably gorgeous under the soft, pale light, but he (unfortunately) couldn’t focus on that at the moment.

“What are you doing out here?! It’s late!” Arthur asked. He hadn’t meant to sound so surprised and fearful, but it was already out before he knew it. For some reason, Shadow had yet to show any signs of fear. Arthur knew how fearless he could be, but wasn’t he at least a little disgusted right now?

“Well, I was going to find a good place for stargazing, but who would’ve thought that I’d find you out here too.” Shadow replied. He shrugged his shoulders.”I thought you’d be asleep by now.” He added.

Arthur hardly processed the explanation. His mind was busy trying to prepare itself for the inevitable disaster that would be Shadow, the one who lit up his day just by being there and filled a place in his heart he didn’t even know was empty, was about to leave him. Arthur should’ve told him sooner. Maybe the heartbreak wouldn’t have been this awful. He could feel the tears starting to form behind his eyes and his throat begin to tighten already. He fought the urge to start crying down as far as he could so he could speak.

Arthur took in a deep breath.”Yes, it is... a curse I’ve had for a very long time now.” He said. He wanted to turn around and run so badly. Run from his home, run from his curse, and run from his beloved’s rejection.”I... suppose that you no longer want to be with me now that you know?” Arthur asked, fighting to keep his words above a whisper.

Shadow blinked and tilted his head slightly.“What are you talking about?” He asked. He started to come closer, but Arthur took a step back.

“Look at me! I look like a beast! A monster! I’m the very thing young children would run from in terror!” Arthur exclaimed. His voice strained a little as he spoke.”I’m the creature that hunters would go after to mount my head on their wall, believing that they’re protecting their loved ones!” He said. The dam holding his cries back was starting to break, a single tear was already rolling down his face. It almost hurt to speak.

He hung his head down and looked at the grass. He didn’t want to meet his lover’s eyes, which were probably full of hate by now.“I look like... like a demon, don’t I?” Arthur asked, sadness dripping from his words. He bit the inside of his lip to prevent it from quivering like he was a child.

A few minutes of heavy silence followed. Arthur didn’t see it, but Shadow raised an eyebrow at him.”Does me being only part hedgehog make me disgusting?” He asked. Arthur briefly forgot all about the circumstances and snapped his head up to look at Shadow.

“What?! No!” He exclaimed. He was shocked that his beloved would even suggest such a thing. Shadow’s tail may be far too long and easily manipulated for a hedgehog’s, and both of his sets of retractable teeth and forked tongue would startle many people, and of course the fact that he could make his red stripes glow was a surprise, but Arthur could only see them as what they are. An important part of Shadow that made him who he is.

He was hardly ever scared of his alien features, and even when he was, it was short lived and replaced with fascination. The lungs of a scorpion to hold his breath for seven days, the ability to find his way through sound alone like a bat, the eyes of a cat’s or reptile’s to see in the dark, and more! Every bit of Shadow’s biological and genetic makeup, as the hybrid himself called it, that Arthur learned about seemed to further prove his self proclaimed title as the ultimate life form and leave the king wondering why and how he was created in such a way.

It was simply amazing how he always seemed to have a way to handle situations. Why — No, how would someone look at him and be disgusted by the simple fact that he wasn’t a “proper” hedgehog?

Shadow tried again to walk closer, and this time, Arthur let him.��There’s your answer. You don’t look much like a beast to me anyways.” Shadow said as he took Arthur’s clawed hand into his own. It was a little surprising how much easier Shadow’s hand was to hold now, but Arthur hardly processed it. He was busy hearing his beloved’s words repeat in his mind over and over.

It was something that he wanted to hear the moment he first wondered what would happen if Shadow learned of his curse. He needed to hear it. He just didn’t think it was very likely. In fact, it was one of the reasons he gave up seeking a lover long ago. And now, after hearing those words, it felt like a weight he’d been carrying for so long that he often didn’t notice its heaviness anymore was starting to lift off his shoulders. Arthur could feel the tears that were ready to be released start to vanish, and his throat began to open up again.

“You... You do not see me as a monster? You are not worried about what I could do if I’m not in control?” He asked. He’d be lying if he said that he wasn’t worried since even now, there were times he’d acted on the beast’s instincts instead of his own.

Shadow gave a small shake of his head.“No. If anything...” The corners of his mouth turned upwards in a small smile, ”I’m actually a little relieved now that I’ve figured out what’s been causing you to feel weak for so long.” He said.

One bright flash of light and surprisingly brief dizzy headache later, Arthur was in a dark room, but the two windows up ahead made him guess that this was Shadow’s cabin. Shadow’s eyes and quills glowed in the dark with bits of lightning flickering between his red quills, something that the dark hybrid seemed to be able to control for the most part. He brought his other hand up and pressed it against Arthur’s chest. He carefully guided him backwards a few steps and lightly pulled down on his hand. Shadow wanted him to sit down, and Arthur did just that.

He reached an arm behind himself and patted the air as he slowly knelt down until he found the cushion of a couch. Arthur sat down, but Shadow remained standing. The dark hybrid leaned closer and gave Arthur a light kiss on the cheek. The soft peck made his cheeks heat up. It felt like just what the king needed right now.”Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be a while.” Shadow said. He turned around and walked to the other side of the room. He knelt down in front of something and picked up two sharp objects.

Three sharp strikes of stones against each other and a few blows from Shadow, and the fireplace was lit. He waited a little to make sure that it would stay, then walked into the kitchen that was right on the other side of the right wall when he was satisfied.

Arthur couldn’t help but smile at him, even when he left. He heard a light thumping and turned to his right to see his tail wagging against the couch. Arthur’s face felt hotter and he quickly grabbed it, but not too harshly, just to make it stop. Thank goodness Shadow hadn’t seen that. Once the tail stopped moving between his paws, Arthur released it and looked around.

A few steps in front of the couch was a rectangular carpet with a simple striped design and different shades of grays, reds, and browns.

The flames eating away at the replaced firewood sent a warm, orange light dancing across the floor, walls, and ceiling. It chased away the darkness and was slowly heating up Arthur’s front body. The wooden floors looked very clean, which wasn’t much of a surprise since Shadow had an affinity for clean and tidy spaces.

Shadow really valued having his privacy, so much so that he apparently built a cabin not too long after he appeared in Camelot. Arthur wasn’t exactly sure just how far away from the kingdom the cabin was, but Shadow told him that he ran for about three hours before stopping in the general area around the house to search for a good place to start building. Given his incredible speed, Arthur could get a good idea of how far they were.

The isolation ensured the couple’s privacy and brought relief to Arthur. No one else would see him like this. He took this moment to think.

He couldn’t remember how he’d gotten cursed, only what happened after. His mother was the first he told. She was horrified and tried to find a way to reserve or heal it, but unfortunately, it was permanent. His mother would bear the brunt of his actions during the first year. Arthur would wake up the next day with no recollection of the night before and his mother would reassure him that nothing bad happened. She often laughed and told him that he acted like a pup wanting his mother.

There were so many embarrassing stories from that first year that Arthur would often rather forget. Over the next few years, he’d slowly gotten better at regaining control over himself. Now, it was near perfect, but there were still moments that the king would not remember the next day. The lack of recollection often meant that he wasn’t in control. There were so many times in the past where he’d nearly gotten caught by either knights, villagers, or hunters. Those moments taught Arthur what fearing for your life meant.

The king wasn’t sure how long he’d been deep in his own thoughts, staring blankly at the fireplace across the room until he finally noticed something. Something that smelled amazing, coming from the kitchen. He turned to look at the doorway just as Shadow came in holding a plate and fork. As he came closer, Arthur could see that it was a piece of cut up meat on the plate, cooked and seasoned. Shadow held the plate out for Arthur.

“Eat this. It’s cooked rare.” He said. Arthur glanced between the plate and Shadow for a second, then accepted. It was a pleasant surprise when he first learned that Shadow could cook, especially when he tasted it and thought for a minute that his beloved might’ve been a famous chef he’d somehow never heard of. Shadow denied it, but Arthur still had his suspicions. Shadow sat down and stretched his arms up.

The fork was a little harder to hold, but the first bite was amazing. The meat was oddly juice and less tough on the inside, but Arthur wasn’t complaining about it. If anything, it made it even better. Besides, Shadow rarely made mistakes when it came to cooking food. Surely this was how “rare cooked” meat tasted.“This is delicious! But if I may ask, how do you think this will help me?” Arthur asked. He brought another piece into his mouth.

“If your sharper features are any indication, then the diet you should’ve been eating requires a bit more meat. Raw meat, that is.” Shadow started explaining. Arthur very briefly paused eating before swallowing the piece of meat in his mouth.“However, I also worry that too much raw meat would make you sick. Plus, you’re still technically an omnivore. I don’t have the right equipment to get the information I need, so to be on the safe side, I cooked it rare.” Shadow finished.

Arthur glanced at the dark hybrid making himself comfortable on the couch. The fork made a clink sound as he let it rest on the plate.“So all this time, my constant fatigue was a result of my meals lacking the proper meat?” He asked. The thought of hunting and eating raw meat had plagued his mind so many times that he believed it to be from the beast simply wanting to enjoy the bloody act, and not for the food itself.

Not only that, but he always felt especially tired after that night. Arthur always believed that was from the transformation, or perhaps a side effect of the curse.

When he was younger, he was so disgusted by the constant thoughts of eating raw meat, especially if it was from something or someone he killed, he’d go into episodes of sorts where he’d avoid meat all together for days at a time. That would make him feel even worse, and slipping back into eating the meat that was in his meals again would help. Was he so repulsed by his own mind that it did it not occur to him that this was the solution?

“I can’t say for sure, but it’s pretty likely. I wouldn’t have even started cooking if I thought that wasn’t what it was.” Shadow replied. He adjusted his position and turned his body so his back face Arthur’s side. He leaned back and turned his head to the side against Arthur.“Finish up and we can head to bed if you’re tired.” He said.

“Surprisingly, most nights when the moon is full, I am not tired. Rather, I am possibly more awake than before, but that sounds lovely. Thank you, Shadow.” Arthur said. He returned to his meal and the two sat not in silence, but close enough.

Once he was done, Shadow insisted on taking the plate and fork to the kitchen. He won, of course. Then, he blew out the fireplace and plunged them both into near complete darkness, the only light being from the moon shining through the windows and Shadow’s glow.“I suggest we have a sort of trial.” Shadow said. He took Arthur’s hand into his own and began walking into the next room.

Arthur was glad this part of the house was more open to make room for the stairs on the other side of the room, leading up to a small pathway suspended above a vacant doorway to another room. He could walk a little without worrying about having to duck his head any to fit. Shadow led him up the stairs.“Every weekend, I want to bring you over here for dinner, and we’ll see if this change will actually work. Does that sound like a good idea to you?” He asked. Arthur had to be careful in the dark, but Shadow leading him and moving at a slower pace than usual made him feel at ease.

The suggestion sounded like a great idea to him. Even if it didn’t actually help, it would at least ensure him having a planned date night with his beloved every month.“Yes. I’d really like that.” Arthur said. The two walked into Shadow’s bedroom, which was one of the few rooms with a door. Arthur had to duck his head and turn sideways to fit through, but at least the bed was large enough for them as Arthur sat down. He’d much rather not use blankets tonight.

Shadow began to remove his shoes and gloves, but the rings were only off for a very brief time. Arthur wasn’t entirely sure what their purpose was, but the hybrid telling him that they only come off in the most dire circumstances told him all he needed to know about their importance. Shadow placed them neatly beside his bed and the gloves went on the night stand.

He sat down next to Arthur and placed a hand on his shoulder. He brushed that hand through his quills and fur.“You know, this form of yours might not be all that bad. Surely you’ve noticed how easier it is to stay warm in the winter?” Shadow asked. Arthur had to prevent his tail from wagging and reached a hand back to rub his neck a little.

“Yes, I suppose it is. It’s embarrassing to admit, but I’ve often looked forward to the transformation so I wouldn’t be so cold when I was younger.” He replied. He reached his other arm around Shadow and pulled him closer. The form also came with a lot more strength, which Arthur had practiced controlling in the past. Still, even now, he was worried about accidentally crushing his beloved.

Shadow had no such fear and made himself comfortable leaning against his side.“And since your tail is longer now, I can do this.” He said as he closed his eyes.

Before Arthur could ask what he meant, he felt something wrap around his tail. He jolted a little feeling the furs on his tail moved and turned around to see Shadow’s tail hooked around his own. It was a small gesture, not too different from the times Shadow used his tail to hold onto Arthur’s hand or arm, but seeing it made the king’s heart swell up. He turned back at Shadow and smiled.”Let us stay like this for a while, my beloved?” Arthur asked.

Shadow turned his head and nuzzled against Arthur.”For as long as we can.” He said.

Arthur wrapped his arm around him and slowly, trying to be mindful of his size, leaned back until he and Shadow were both laying down on the bed. Surprisingly, it held both of their weight with no problem. Both of their tails moved so they wouldn’t be crushed, but Shadow kept his hold on Arthur’s tail even as it wagged. Arthur lowered his head to touch the top of Shadow’s as the dark hybrid curled up a little. His dark quills and red stripes smelled of lavender, something Arthur could now look at and be instantly reminded of his lover.

A small smile made its way across Arthur’s tan muzzle. If this was how Shadow was reacting to his curse, he regretted not telling him sooner. It eased the king’s worries and warmed his heart to know that Shadow hadn’t been disgusted or disturbed by this form. He wasn’t scared one bit of his sharp teeth and large claws, and he hadn’t found all of the blue fur Arthur would probably get on his bed gross. The only thing he seemed to care about was the fact that he believed to have found a solution for Arthur’s constant fatigue. He didn’t seem to find a need to mention his tail wagging, either.

Shadow accepted it all without a second thought, and now, Arthur would always have a nice weekend dinner to look forward to. Not only that, but something told him that this wouldn’t be the only time he’d spend the full moon in the cabin his beloved built.

(I honestly meant this to be a one-and-done-for-now type of thing, but now I’ve got a few ideas that are admittedly Shadow-centric and focus more on how they could’ve met. Trust me, I think they’re pretty good concepts. Next one (after I finish a WIP from another fandom) will be simply titled “Stars”, and honestly, I meant to finish it last summer. On the bright side, my writing’s better than it was a year ago, so it should be pretty good. I blame the Arthadow Club for this/j . Also, I’m not immune to “werewolf character being overexcited to see their partner”, so I wonder how embarrassing it would be for Arthur to wake up the next morning and ask Shadow if he was okay because he knows that not remembering what happened means he wasn’t in control, and Shadow tells him how he couldn’t even go into the next room without Arthur following him.)

#satbk #satbk au #SatBK Arthur #king arthur #arthur! Sonic #Arthadow #shadow #shadow the hedegehog #shadow the ultimate lifeform #werehog Arthur

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cu1er · 7 months ago

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Oblivion — Neymar Jr.

(see pt. 2 here)

Summary: After winning the UWCL with Barcelona, you end up face-to-face with Neymar on the field amidst celebrations as he has an epiphany.

Warnings: Pining, angst-ish, Neymar and reader are in their early 20s (to fit the timeline), happy ending, not proofread because Tumblr wanted to delete my proofread version and make me rewrite it x

A/N: First story on here (& first time writing for a man), I hope the 2 remaining Neymar fans on this app enjoy 😕.

You had been a player for FC Barcelona since you were 15 years old. You spent many years at your grassroots club before working your way up through the academy once the offer arose, and that eventually led to you becoming a player for the senior women’s team. The most important thing to you out of your whole career was your best friend, Neymar.

One thing about Neymar was that he loved fun, whether it was doing skill after skill on the pitch or dancing on a table as he sprayed champagne in the locker rooms. This playful nature of his made it natural for him to be a big partygoer.

He'd take any opportunity as an excuse to throw a party. On the weekends, after a big match, even before a big match, you name it; Neymar Junior was a party animal.

That made loving him even harder than it already was.

You'd walk into a room and see him buried underneath girls upon girls. Not even long after, he'd be up on his feet and dancing, his arm on another woman's waist as he smiled and enjoyed himself, allowing her to grind up on him. You pretended you didn't care, but it was easier said than done.

Some nights, you saw him take someone by their hand and lead them up the stairs as he smiled at them. It didn't take a genius to figure out what happened behind that locked door; the grunts and heavy breathing spoke for itself.

You liked him, and it hurt. Every party was agony for you as much as it was fun for him, but you stayed. You could never justify why.

It was good motivation on the pitch. The need to be the best elsewhere if you couldn't be the best for him was the only thing guiding you on the pitch as you put up numbers and slowly started to perform better than you ever had.

His parties didn't stop. The hookups never stopped. Over time, you became less aware of them, because you stopped showing up. It was all part of you accepting that he didn't like you the way you liked him and you'd never be one of the lucky women he takes up to his room for the night, no matter how hard you wished. Just best friends.

Since you had reinforced the idea of him being a best friend to you, passing him between training and at club events became easier. The recounts of his latest girl became less of a blow.

"Meu Deus, I am starving," he grumbled, suddenly appearing behind you as you loaded your plate with breakfast. He didn't hold back on piling his plate either. You two found a table and sat down beside each other.

"Did you not eat dinner or something?" You asked with an eyebrow raised as he ravaged his plate of food. He shook his head and looked at you with a smirk, "I had a different kind of dinner."

"Ets tan repugnant," you muttered, shaking your head. He laughed and nudged you. With what little knowledge of the Catalan language he had, he replied. "I'm kidding! I didn't have anyone over, it was just me. I'm done with all that."

You looked at him with disbelief until his eyes softened. "I'm serious. I want to settle." The genuine expression on his face made it hard to suspect him of lying, so you nodded.

"I've got training on the field. I'll see you later," you spoke, finishing off your breakfast and doing your dishes before leaving the cafeteria.

He watched you go; the reason for his decision. The scraps of his breakfast were left on his plate as he stood up and left the cafeteria in a hurry, hoping that he'd get to the gym or the pitch or even the locker rooms and see someone else.

That didn't happen. He was left with his own thoughts in the hollow and cold locker room. Every fling wasn't worth the 20 minutes of pleasure. It wasn't even his own pleasure. He didn't know why he kept chasing that feeling when, 5 fucks in, he never received it. He felt absent from his own body every time the door locked behind him and a body hit the mattress. Now it was obvious why that was happening.

When he finally left the locker room, he paused in front of the field. The women of the Barcelona women's team crowded the field, but his eyes restlessly searched for you. When he couldn't find you, he became hyper-aware of the time he had spent just standing there, and he practically sprinted off.

This didn't go unnoticed by you, and from behind Alexia's figure you could clearly see him disappearing into the facilities.

The Women's Champions League was the most talked about event within the club as it inched closer. That was one of the big things you loved about the club; no matter the gender, football was football. Both teams received the same support, as long as you played in the blaugrana. It was also being held in Bilbao, so basically next door, which meant more people from the club would be able to catch a flight and see the match.

The weeks following the final consisted of lots of nerves and what-ifs, but once you got on the team bus, it all disappeared somehow. You loved the bus rides with your team; even though it was such a simple activity, it was better than any real team bonding activity. You settled quickly beside Patri and behind Claudia and Ingrid.

As you listened to Patri's quiet snores beside you, you thought to yourself for a moment. You knew that the men didn't have any more matches scheduled for the rest of the month, and some of them would definitely be travelling to Bilbao to watch the final. Part of you hoped he would be part of the select few flying to Bilbao, going out of his way to come watch you and your team play.

You would've thought harder about it all, but your exhaustion caught up to you and you spent 3 and a half hours out of the long 6 hour drive sleeping. When you woke up, you spent a bit more time thinking, and the rest of the ride was spent engaging in conversations with your teammates before you drifted into a light sleep once again. When you woke up again, you had arrived in Bilbao.

Somehow, Fridolina's hoodie had been your pillow the whole time and one of your slides underneath the seat while the other was barely on your foot and you were sharing a fluffy blanket with Patri that was definitely not there earlier... it was a state for sure. Groggily, you all piled off the bus, your sweatpants rolled up to your knees in pantaloons as you walked off the bus.

The weather was nice and warm and despite the initial tiredness amongst the team, everyone was happy. You had a positive feeling about the final that awaited you, and you shared this thought with Alexia. You thanked the Lord for the absence of the media crew, because judging by your reflection in your phone screen, you looked horrific as you waddled into the hotel lobby.

Neymar had barely escaped your mind despite everything going on around you, but you didn't have time to think about him, not with Ale right beside you, her arm wrapped around you as she squeezed your shoulder. She was like a big sister to you in a sense, and for that you were grateful. It gave you relief, because you finally felt like you could open up to someone about your feelings for Neymar that were feeling like an eternal issue.

As you checked into your hotel room, something in your gut told you that your stay in Bilbao would be very special in ways that went beyond the Champions League. You could only wait for Saturday and see for yourself.

#neymar #neymar jr #futbol #brazil #fc barcelona #fc barcelona femeni #barcelona femeni #barcelona #x reader #football #football fanfic #neymar x reader #Spotify #woso #woso community

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harri-etvane · 6 months ago

Note

sharing the bed prompts are irresistibly adorable, I can't choose between 'walking up with their faces centimeters apart' and 'fondly listening to the sleep talking' (and there was only one bed!)

Aren't they just the most adorable prompts? Here's 500ish words of fluff for you, love. I've tried to include all of the ones you mentioned 💕

Maksym is used to Volodymyr talking in his sleep now, it would almost be stranger if he was silent. Sometimes it’s nightmares - dreams that career into something darker, painful, keening; he wakes hoarse, more tired somehow than when he went to sleep. There are other times when he mutters to himself, unintelligible nonsense, Maks laid beside him, tracing quiet patterns on his skin, waiting patiently for him to struggle into wakefulness - drowsy and uncoordinated. Occasionally, it’s neither; little snippets of conversation that Maks answers in all seriousness, more for his own gentle amusement than anything else - all of it from affection.

“You gotta take the dogs out.”

Maksym rolls over to face Vova and smiles fondly at his sleep-creased expression, the loose annoyance in his voice, the pout on his features.

“My turn is it, hm?” He offers the response softly, languidly tracing a pattern against the exposed skin of Vova’s bicep, quietly appreciating the muscle there. Just for a moment or two, he lets himself imagine this conversation in a different time - a different place. A time, a place where Vova hasn’t spent eighteen hours working and would have worked for twenty if Maksym hadn’t bodily dragged him away from his desk; a time when there are no sirens or missiles or the gutting agony that comes with the close of each day. When, perhaps - it’s just the two of them in a bedroom somewhere in Kyiv or Lviv or even Kryvyi Rih; a soft, snuffling labrador at their feet, the sunshine beaming through the windows - the day and all its possibilities stretching out before them in uncomplicated peace.

“Mmm. Your turn, I took ‘m f’ a walk yesterday-” he grumbles on, chuntering to himself about the division of labour and who ought to be tasked with walking their imaginary pet. Eventually, his complaints quieten down and Maksym bites down on his lip, swallowing a soft little chuckle of affection lest it wake him.

“I’d do anything for you-” he murmurs softly into the quiet; shuffling a centimetre closer in order to press a small kiss to the tip of Vova’s nose. Still asleep, Volodymyr smiles, the edges of his eyes crinkling in the way that Maksym loves; in the same way he loves all of Vova.

“I know. Silly.”

Maksym lies, facing him - content to listen to his continued murmuring in the dark of the night as his own eyelids grow heavier. He shuffles closer, draping an arm across Vova’s waist as he lets his own sleep take him further out on the tide.

Vova wakes first, greeted by the soft exhale of Maksym beside him, close enough to ruffle his hair ever so slightly. He is content to lie in the warmth of his arms, so close he can count each freckle - he does; Maks has fifteen freckles sprinkled over his nose and cheeks - he can see how his hair has grown out from the shorn sides, the grey peppered at his temples. He takes in the steadfastness of the man lying beside him, who would give his life for Vova's in an instant - who would do anything he asked.

There are so many things that Volodymyr would change if he could - but this, this one tiny little moment, is not one of them.

#this is probably the most overtly fluffy maks & Vova thing I've ever written #harriet writes

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apureniallsource · 2 years ago

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Niall Horan is ready to put on a Show.

The former One Direction member and current Voice coach's third studio album, The Show, was born in lockdown following the release of its predecessor, Heartbreak Weather, in March 2020. After getting the chance to "sit still for the first time in probably 10 years," Horan wrote the title track, which he says "kickstarted" the rest of the record.

"The chorus is basically saying we should be grateful for what we have," Horan tells EW. "I think during the pandemic, we lost a little bit of that control we like to have as humans — then that just provoked so many bigger thoughts in my head. It opened a stream of ideas."

None of which, fans might be surprised to learn, entail emotional agony. "There's no heartbreak on this one," Horan says. "If you're coming for a heartbreak love song, I don't think you'll get it here." This, he explains, is the major difference between his latest, "more mature" outing and his previous work.

EW caught up with Horan to find out what else we can expect from The Show and his upcoming tour.

ENTERTAINMENT WEEKLY: I read that track 6, "You Should Start a Cult," was inspired by you and your girlfriend watching true-crime shows. Was there a specific show that gave you the idea?

NIALL HORAN: That's all we watch — true crime — so I couldn't even tell you what the show was, but I just thought that would be a great title for a love song, and to flip it on its head. I just got to writing a love song that sounded so extravagant, and the lyrics were gonna be huge. It's quite a small song, but some of the statements are quite large. And I love the irony of having a title like that — it sounding very angry, but it's not. It's a love song, at the end of the day.

What makes The Show different from your previous albums, Flicker and Heartbreak Weather?

It's probably the progression over the last seven years — you know, from my first album through to the second one. I think they were all good albums for where I was at that time in my life, and I think this is perfect for [where I am now]. I would say this is probably the more mature-sounding album. There's no heartbreak on this one, which allows you to write different types of songs. That's probably the biggest difference.

Do you find it more fun to write love songs versus heartbreak songs? Or did you miss writing heartbreak songs on this album?

I think they're two completely different concepts. Writing is all about where you're at and "saying what you see," to use a cliché. It's very easy to write a heartbreak song when you're heartbroken, and easy to write a love song when you're in love.

Do you have a favorite song on the album?

I struggle with this. I made it a 10-track album on purpose — to make sure that, hopefully, when people get to 10 they want to go back to the top and listen to the first one again. You know, instead of having a 16-track album and hoping that it's nearly finished. I've got a few favorites. They've all got a different vibe and a different concept and a different musical element that makes 'em good. If I was to pick one now, I'd probably say "You Could Start a Cult." That or "The Show." Probably "The Show," actually.

Are there songs that didn't make the album that might see the light of day on something in the future?

I definitely had some tough decisions to make. I wanted to love every song. I don't know. I'll start writing again at some point, and if I can outdo what I have left over, then fair enough. There are a couple lying around that could be made into something, but as of now they're not going anywhere but my emails or my drafts.

It's been so long since you've been able to tour. What are you most looking forward to?

Just seeing the fans. I spent so much of my career seeing them every night. I'm ready to get back out and play the album I never got to play live, and play this new one, and just create a show — a really good one. I'm already trying to put plans together for how the set would look. I'm just excited to feel that buzz again. It's strange for me that I haven't been on a proper stage in, like, nearly five years. When you think about it like that, it's like, "Oh God, I need to get back on the road."

You mentioned you'll be playing some of Heartbreak Weather on the tour as well. Any chance you might bring some guests on stage?

Oh, yes, for sure. Any city I go to, if I'm friends with an artist from that city and they happen to be there, I'll always see if I can get them to come up and sing one of theirs or one of mine with me. I think about shows like in L.A., with my collaboration with Julia [Michaels]. It could make for a really good gig. Don't want to say too much, 'cause Julia might say no. So that could change, but that would be my ideal: maybe someone I know from Chicago, or someone I know from San Fran, or whatever...

Who would be your No. 1 pick to perform with?

Springsteen would be pretty sick. Imagine being up in Asbury Park and playing with Bruce Springsteen. I performed with Taylor [Swift] before at Wembley Stadium, and that was magic. Obviously, I would love to do it again. She's a busy lady at the moment.

I mean, she's been bringing people out on her Eras Tour, so you never know.

She knows where I am.

The Show is out June 9.

#niall horan #the show #10may

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cranetreegang · 1 year ago

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In the Light of Death - Part 2

Sebastian x FemReader with former Ominis x FemReader

Also, I'm the worst and forgot to mention my girl @underthenightskydreamsneverdie cause i went to her and begged for her wisdom about Seb. So thank you again for looking this over waaay back when <3 I love you <3 (also i can't wait for you to read the spicy bit i added in part 4 hehe)

Summary: Sebastian helps her through her grief, and she starts to wonder if she can survive on her own without him.

Warnings: Dealing with death, mentions of depression, grief, mourning

Song to listen to: 🎶 A Nearly Peaceful Place 🎶

Word Count: ~1,900 words

Read Part 1 Here - Find Whole Light of Death Series Here

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

The days turn to weeks, then a month passes - with Sebastian still by her side. Not that she’s complaining. She’s grateful for his presence, even as it spreads all over the house. His various books have drifted from his room and are strewn about the coffee table in the living room, while papers of all sorts cover both her side tables. It smells like the library with how many ancient tomes he has lying about. There’s a new ink stain on the couch that she hasn’t bothered to remove, and he’s spent many nights up with her as they both quietly read.

He asks her for her thoughts on the studies he’s working on, and they end up in heated debates half the time. It reminds her of all the times they spent studying and researching, exploring and discovering, when they were at Hogwarts. In fact, there were several ruins back in the day they wound up exploring from their mutual burning curiosity - much to Ominis’ chagrin.

Sebastian asks her to join him as he goes out to the field to explore said ruins. But, she can’t bring herself to go. It feels wrong, as if she’s not meant to be happy with anyone else. Even though the house is suffocating when she’s alone, and she has nothing to occupy her thoughts.

But when Sebastian returns, it’s like he carries the light and warmth of the sun with him. He’ll excitedly prattle about what wondrous new findings he discovered, and he insists they go the next time. She can only nod with a slight frown.

He helps her around the house as well; keeping it tidy, cooking when she has no desire to, and even fixing many of the broken things she can never remember to do. But, most importantly, he’s there when she’s caught in the tight clutches of grief. He’s always there, comforting her, as she mourns. Sometimes, he cries with her, sharing in her pain. She’s grateful he understands, truly understands, the agony she’s in. Because he feels it too. This emptiness. This loss.

She reflects on all of this as she walks along the lake’s shore. She hasn’t been here in some time, finding it far too challenging at first. But now that she’s here, a bittersweetness envelops her, and she all but avoids the towering trees looming just out of her peripherals - as if even the briefest of glances would be enough to destroy her.

Her and Ominis would walk along the shore for hours, talking about whatever was on their mind - or simply enjoying the silence. His hand would always tightly grip hers. As she walks now, she holds her own hand, trying in vain to mimic his grip.

The setting sun casts a gloomy, yet colorful hue across the lake. She stops, taking in how the water reflects the vibrant sky and the soft crashing of the waves as they come to shore. The damp breeze ruffles her hair and she closes her eyes - imagining all the times they’ve been here.

“I miss you. Every day,” she whispers. “They say it gets easier, and I guess it has… I don’t cry as much. You’ll have to thank Sebastian for that. He’s been… very kind. And patient. But, it’s only a matter of time before he leaves too. And… I don’t know if I can do it by myself, Ominis. I really don’t. I know you said I was strong, but it was only because you were by my side. I-I’m utterly pathetic on my own.”

Her burning eyes gaze up at the darkening sky and swirling gray clouds with a grimace.

“But, I’ll try. I know you’d want me to at least try.”

With a deep breath she turns away, heading back to her house.

Music greets her before she even has to open the door, and as she steps inside she’s welcomed by the warm scent of spices in the air. She heads to the kitchen, finding it bustling and alive as Sebastian dances to the upbeat tune from the record player. His eyes light up when he notices her.

“Ah, there you are!” He exclaims.

He flicks his wand to keep everything stirring and cooking while he dances his way towards her.

“Enjoy your walk?” He asks with a grin.

“I did-,” she gasps as he grabs her hand and spins her into him.

He chuckles as he begins to dance with her. He’s spinning them all around the room, narrowly missing furniture, and he moves off-beat to the music. But, she can’t find herself to mind as she lets him spin and lead her, giggling along the way. Food smears his cheeks and stains his forest green wool sweater, but all she can notice is his freckled face filled with a warm, contagious joy. And once the song ends, he spins her several times before lowering her into a dramatic dip.

“You’re not too bad,” he winks as he pulls her back up to stand.

“I would hope so. Ominis enjoyed all manner of dance lessons,” she smiles. “What’s got you so jovial?”

Sebastian takes her hand and leads her back into the kitchen with a wide grin.

He pulls out her chair and says, “I got some good news today.”

“Oh?”

He prepares their plates, setting the steaming pile of curry in front of her. He pops open a bottle of wine, pouring them both a glass, and then sits down next to her. His knee brushes against hers as he smiles.

“To exciting news,” he clinks her glass.

She laughs, “I would like to hear the news first.”

“Well, I got a letter today,” he says.

“And? What did it say? Come on, Sebastian. I’m dying of suspense.”

Sebastian smirks, eating a huge mouthful of curry. His eyes flutter as he mumbles about how good it is. She rolls her eyes, taking a bite herself. It’s spicy and it warms her entire body, like a fire has been set within her belly, but it’s comforting. It reminds her of home, of a mother’s cooking.

“So, the letter today,” he continues, “it’s about my research.”

She takes a sip of her wine, “And? What about it?”

A frown comes over her as she tastes the wine.

It’s familiar…

She looks over at the bottle and she turns it around to read the label. Her heart falls into a pit formed within her gut.

“Hey, what’s wrong? What is it?” Sebastian wonders, his hand landing on her knee.

“W-Why did you open this?” She hisses, hot tears already starting to fall down her cheeks. “You had no right to!”

His eyes widen, “W-What do you mean? What’s wrong? Tell me what I did wrong.”

“This wasn’t for you! This was for him and me! And you ju-just opened it!”

“No, no, hey, I didn’t know. I-” he stammers.

“Enough!” She shoves his hand away as she bolts to her feet. The question on the forefront of her mind comes forward in a sharp hiss, “Why are you here, Sebastian? Why have you stayed? You could’ve left at any time. Why stay?”

Sebastian’s lips part in shock and he looks away from her with a grimace, “Because he asked me to.”

She gasps, “What?”

A storm brews outside, slowly forming and churning. Heavy droplets slap against the window panes like tiny stones.

“He asked me to keep an eye on you,” he says as he looks back at her. “He had a letter sent to me the day after he-,” he closes his eyes, swallowing down the pain she knows all too well. “He wanted me to make sure you’d be alright. And to… make sure you keep on living. For the both of you.”

Her lip trembles and she shakes her head, “W-Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I never found the right moment. I’m sorry.”

She scoffs, “‘Never found the right moment?!’ You’ve been here this whole time, all because you felt obligated to respect a dead man’s wishes, and you didn’t think it important to tell me!”

“That is not the only reason I’m here,” he slams the table as he stands, towering over her with a heated stare. “You’re my friend. My best friend. Even if he didn’t ask, I would’ve came anyway.”

Lighting strikes almost on top of the house and the thunder which accompanies it is deafening. They both recoil, but it’s not enough to quell her fury.

“Why?” She seethes. “To take care of me? Am I really so pathetic?! I-I must be because now you’ve made me completely in need of you. Is that what you wanted? To make me spiral out of control every time I’m alone, because I can’t bear it! I can’t bear to be alone anymore, Sebastian! Is this what you wanted!”

Her voice is hoarse and cracking as she screams and her whole body is flush from her rage. The thunderstorm outside is at full force, rocking and shuddering the walls with its mighty gales.

“That is not at all what I wanted, and you know it!” Sebastian hisses. “I miss him, just as much as you do. So don’t stand here pretending like you’re the only one who’s hurting, because I am too! I need you just as much!”

She rolls her eyes and storms away, stomping up the stairs until she’s able to slam the door of her bedroom shut. She paces around the room, fists balled at her sides. ‘Keep living for the both of them’?! How dare he? How dare he!

She grabs the picture on her nightstand and hurls it across the room with a wailing scream. It shatters against the wall, but she doesn’t care. Her breathing is hard and hot, and she throws more things around their room - her room. The window seems to almost breathe with how strong the storm rages outside.

Glass breaks, vases shatter, memories are torn and shredded as she unleashes her fury on anything within sight. And when there’s nothing left, she collapses on the bed with a sob. The rage tempers and cools into a bitter sorrow she’s far too familiar with. The storm subsides until only soft rain patters on the window. Through her tears, she doesn’t hear her door open until a heavy weight makes the bed sag.

She stops crying, her breath catching in her throat. A warm hand is placed on her shoulder and she gasps. It starts to retreat, but she quickly snatches it by the wrist. She holds onto the wrist, unsure of what to do at first, until she pulls the hand towards her. A warm arm drapes over her - the weight comforting. Her fingers tangle with his and she clutches onto his hand against her chest.

A solid warmth presses against her back as another arm wraps around her until she’s fully engulfed in a tight embrace. She grips his other hand too, keeping it close to her hips, and presses her back fully into the inferno of his body behind her. And for a moment, she feels alive. His breath passes through her hair like a summer breeze and his arms are secure around her. He smells of spices, old books and ink, and all the things that are not her love. It’s something entirely new.

Her body relaxes into him, her breaths becoming gentle and soft. He holds her tightly, enveloping her in his warmth. She can’t keep her eyes open any longer and she lets herself drift away into a dreamless sleep.

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Read Part 3 Here

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AN: mhmmmmm analogies mhmmmm the storm is tied to her emotions and i'm def not on the nose about that at all mhmmmm cause magic mhmmm yes mhmmm i'm like a microwave now mhmmmmmm

anyways

Part 3 is when the spice starts >:)

im not the best at writing smut so uhhhhh forgive me

Feedback always welcomed <3

when i first wrote this, i had no intentions of splitting it up like this, and it probs shows. oh well. forgive me and my infinite sins.

#hogwarts legacy #ominis gaunt #fanfic #creative writing #former ominis x reader #sebastian sallow #sebastian x reader #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow fic #sebastian x mc #hogwarts legacy fanfic #fanfiction #much angst #hogwarts legacy sebastian #grief #loss #sebastian is like the upbeat puppy that's trying his best to cheer up his depressed best friend #eventual friends to lovers

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thxrnking · 1 year ago

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Imperfect - Chapter 8: Unite

Content Warning: none that I can think of, let me know if there’s something I should put here

[Imperfect Masterlist]

Author’s Note: I won’t go into too much detail about the delay. If you follow me you’ll likely be aware of enough. In either case I thank you all for being so patient with me. If you have any kind of reaction, I would really appreciate hearing what you think, in tags or replies or messages or whatever means. Be safe. Be well. - TK

----

“Congratulations, Jack,” Mother tells him, “You actually managed to prove useful for once.” She isn’t looking at him. There’s a sickening look of satisfaction on her face as she takes in the rampant chaos around them.

Thum thum.

Jack isn’t looking at her either, instead looking across the mass of minions in the throne room. There’s hundreds of them, maybe thousands and it almost feels like Jack’s actually seeing them for the first time.

For as long as Jack can remember, life has been nothing but agony; utter terror at even the thought of defying his Mother. Every day has been focused on survival by taking the path of least resistance. It’s been a miserable existence. Yet Wanderlust has been there.

Not every day; you couldn’t set your watch by him, but he was always going to come. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but he was coming back. Thinking about it, there were many days where Jack only dragged himself out of bed with the thought of ‘maybe today’.

Now, he’s somewhere amongst that writhing mass, but Jack can’t accept that that’s it. It can’t be over, this can’t be the end. Mother’s magic is powerful, but so is Wanderlust. Magically, maybe or maybe not, but the Prince did something Jack didn’t even know was possible.

He gave Jack hope.

Thum thum.

It burns fiercely in his chest as he looks out over the crowd, desperately searching the minions for any sign of who they used to be. They’re identical in every aspect; same heights, same colours, same designs, but there has to be something; some quirk, a birthmark, the way one of them holds themselves. There has to be some way he can figure out which one of them is Wanderlust.

Nothing.

Jack looks to Mother, glaring intensely. Whenever Jack has been unsure and confused she has always been there to tell him the answer. She’s been the one to give him the guidance she’s always insisted he needed, and Jack has never once questioned it. She’s his Mother, there was no reason to.

“I’m sure this must hurt you,” Mother tells him, “but it’s all for the best.”

There was a time Jack would have believed that. Accepted it without question, bowed his head and followed her instruction. Even now, part of him is trying to push him down that road but as he glares at her, it’s like he’s seeing her clearly for the first time.

Thum thum.

It’s not that she’s lying, she really believes this is for the best but Jack doesn’t. It doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t make sense that the strange blue stranger who’s followed Jack for years, showed him kindness he probably doesn’t deserve, is gone. That he’s lost. That just doesn’t make sense.

Wanderlust’s friends are engaged in battle, Dancing with minions, freeing them from Mother’s magic. So it is doable. They’re saving them, slowly but they’re still doing it, they’re still trying. They’re not afraid, not hesitating. It looks hopeless. There are so many minions and so few of them, but they don’t stop trying.

Jack takes a deep breath. It’s weird. Like he’s spent years walking around in a foggy daze, half asleep. Never argued, never fought back, never questioned. He’s always done as he’s told and it’s made it so easy for Mother….Night Swan to mould him to her needs.

Thum thum.

Now though, at long last, it’s like he can finally breathe. Like he can actually see and think and feel for the first time. Her words are just words. Where he used to be afraid, now there’s just...rage.

He turns, stepping purposefully into Night Swan’s eyeline, standing, staring. Fists clenched, brow furrowed, Jack stands in outright defiance of her, something he hasn’t done in a very long time. She doesn’t even blink.

“A little late to grow a conscience.”

She doesn’t even look at him but Jack doesn’t budge. She took his voice in so many ways a long time ago, but he won’t let her dismiss him now.

“Remember your place.”

Seconds slowly tick by until she finally turns to him. Her lips are a thin line, her piercing eyes boring into him. It’s a look Jack has seen many times before and sends a chill through him. Silence, hot pointed silence stretches out between them. Jack doesn’t flinch or move, while Night Swan’s glare silently dares him to give her a reason.

Thum thum.

“Think about this very carefully, Jack.”

A jolt of anger pierces her stern voice. She can feel it too, can’t she? The shift. The change between them. Even as Jack’s every instinct tells him to stop, that defiance will lead to his death, he turns and runs.

The impulse has barely passed by his brain before he bolts, running straight into the mass of minions. None of them move, forcing him to weave and sometimes push his way past. He doesn’t dare to look back to see if she’s following. It’s a question that doesn’t need answering. She doesn’t matter any more.

Thum thum.

Distance. There’s no such thing as too much of it at this point. As he runs, the pounding in his chest matches the sound of his feet. Steady, firm, unwavering, even as he feels wired and frantic, his breathing erratic.

Thum thum

Strong, heavy, sturdy. It pulses up through his feet, shaking his very bones. He begins to slow as it dawns on him. Corrupted strangers surround him. He turns, this way, that way. He comes to a stop. Waiting, heart beating. Come on.

Come on!

Thum thum

There. Something. A firm tug pulling on him, trying to draw him forward. Like a heartbeat played by a bass drum. Constant, unerring, unwavering. And getting stronger.

Slowly he steps through the crowd. While the minions don’t part as they would for the Night Swan, they start to move, stepping out of his way, as he follows the pulse one step at a time.

Thum thum

Jack doesn’t know where it’s leading him. Maybe there’s a flicker of a thought somewhere at the back of his mind, but in truth, the adrenaline coursing through him is making it very hard for it to get through.

Thum thum

The minions are shifting around him at this point, guiding him through until he steps into a gap in the crowd. The minions around it are all facing in but Jack’s focus is drawn to the one on the other side of the makeshift clearing.

Thum thum

It’s foot stamps in time with the beat. None of the other minions around the gap move.

Can it…?

Thum thum

They stamp again. They can feel it too.

Wanderlust?

Thum thum

The minion reaches one hand across to his shoulder before throwing it forward, then doing the same with the other.

Jack steps forward, his own arms moving, following the guidance of the beat, joining in the Dance without thinking, without questioning.

Thum thum

They both move, together, though not quite in sync. The minions around them watch in silence, sure to give them space as they move.

The pair of them circle around each other, before reaching, finally moving as one. A hand to one direction, the other to the other, then Jack reaches across himself. It’s his move. One of his favourites from his favourite performances. One he’s used since he was a child. A move of pure self-indulgance, included for him and him alone.

He spins and as he turns, he sees the minion’s hand held out to him, as Wanderlust has always done. Every time, holding a hand out for Jack. To help him up, to invite him in, to let him know he’s seen. No matter how many times the performer ignored it or dismissed it or pretended it wasn’t there, Wanderlust was always reaching out to him.

Jack sees the hand and doesn’t hesitate, grabbing it.

Dark smoke quickly engulfs the minion. Jack tightens his grip, ignoring the numbness and thrusts their hands in the air. The smoke blows away to reveal black, blue, gold, purple, pink and a wide smile.

The Prince, grips Jack’s hand and pulls him in, wrapping his free arm around Jack’s back and holding the performer close, chuckling gently. He mutters something but Jack doesn’t hear it, brain frozen in shock.

He did it.

He actually did it.

#Jack Rose #Night Swan #Wanderlust #Just Dance 2023 #Just Dance #Jacklust #slow burn #LotTK: Imperfect #LoTK: Imperfect #Legacy of the Thorn King

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dyrewrites · 10 months ago

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In Fog -- 18 (pt1)

Lying in bed after our perfectly mundane day out, and the eager but oh-so-gentle moments after, I nuzzled closer to it, coiling around it as it so often did me.

The sun yet shone on our borrowed window, bright with the last breaths of midday and warm as my own on its chest, “That was lovely, thank you for that...”

My concern of shadows, the insistence I remember the song of screams, and all of the portents that rang with them were fading in that quiet, that calm.

And, as so many moments between us, it heralded a storm.

“So you are relaxed then, darling?” It took my hand, kissing me so sweetly.

“Mm,” I was too lost in its warmth for words, too occupied listening to the rhythm of its breath…and the beat of its heart.

Which had not been there the night before. Had it? I could not recall, but it had grown warmer, as it paled your colors and allowed your hair to grow longer than you ever would have worn it, it had been growing warmer, softer.

My love, lying where I once ached to, despite the breath, the warmth, the rhythm…I could not have convinced myself that body was yours. I could not find you in it, nor would I again.

But the heartbeat, the heartbeat confounded me. Remembering the reflection, I dug and dug for memories of other changes, but returned only to the heart. It had shown me that heart, white and dry and dead. Months ago, close to a year by then perhaps, but I had seen it.

I had to ask, “Your heart, love, since…since when does it beat?”

It swooned before speaking, without answering, “Say it again, darling…”

Delighting in my name for it, in how comfortable I had grown in its use, repeating it became a game. One I enjoyed, cooing it for the shiver it earned me, “Love.”

“Delicious, your love,” it breathed.

“And my question?”

“Less so, but I will answer. You have noticed the change this body has undergone, yes?” I nodded, kissing the warmth of that chest, “it is mine now, full, complete, reborn in a way. It lives, it breathes, it bleeds…” I froze with a question on my lips and it answered, “I do not die, darling. Were you thinking of doing away with me?”

It would have been reasonable earlier in our time together, but right then it was the furthest thing from reason to me. With more kisses on its warm skin I said as much, “Never, love. Worry only, concern.”

Whether it believed me or not I could not know, it did laugh, low and sumptuous that laugh, not a giggle but close…close.

“Your concern is touching, darling, more than you know,” the breathy tone of its voice sharpened then, tinted with an impossible sorrow, “but you will need to dismiss it. For you need practice and I am your subject.”

It left me in the bed, too quick, too sudden and returned with what we had spent the day avoiding; a knife. Not the same as before, mind, something new it found…while it avoided me in the market. The handle plain, unassuming, but the blade shone so bright against its pale hand, so darkly tinted, stained black but shining still. Somehow always shining, for me.

And I was up immediately after, refusing to leave the sheets, the comfort of our lovely day, the sight of it stuttering my words, “O—on you? But I, I could never.”

“You are afraid to kill and I cannot die, darling,” So easily it said it, as if it were relaying any common fact, “It is the only way I see to pull you from this, this moral quandary you have locked yourself into.”

Staring at my hands, watching our peaceful day, my promised vacation, slip through my fingers, I asked, “Will you…feel it?”

“Oh yes, darling,” it cooed, though I did not find it a situation fit for such a tone, and my eyes said as much, earning a smile, “as sharp and terrible as anyone else, more, perhaps. But you crave pain’s song while you fear its inevitable end and so I will feed you an aria.”

No, no, I would not cut it, hurt it, feed on its agony, and said as much, “I will not.”

“Darling,” it sighed, all the teasing joy fading, “Do not do this.”

“Do what?” I left the sheets, crawling to the edge of the bed, reached out to recapture some modicum of that closeness, that peace, but it refused my hands.

“I know you are angry with me,” gaze firm on me, it backed from the bed, from me, “it has softened surely, but you are and, from your perspective I suppose that makes sense. I also know you want to hurt me, those rough hands of yours when you take me give you away.” It gave, not a smile, too sharp for such a word, but near one, “And I enjoy it, always I do, as I will this…no matter how I scream. So hurt me, kill me if you can, get it out and come through sharper, hungrier for what you need.”

It handed me the knife without another word, only that smile, sharper than the stained silver I stood and accepted. So comfortable in my grasp, that knife. So perfectly fit in my fingers. Its blade vibrated, my love, with sweet whispers it sang of all we would do together.

My love, I…I have shared so much of my shame, my darkness, but this, this is one without the other. I should be ashamed, disgusted, abhorred by what I did yet I am not. Not then or now. So know that what follows is vicious, deplorable…and I adored every second.

I cut, small, insignificant, in its stomach and it gasped. Halted, that gasp and it urged me closer, with gentle fingers to trace around where I cut. Relaxing under my touch, gripping for my shoulder, I breathed deep of its small pain, its waiting breaths, my fingers tracing the curve of broken skin—smearing what spilled. And when it calmed, I cut again, deeper, higher, across its chest.

The gasp chased a yelp, not quite a scream, not yet, but I was in no rush.

Every sound it made titillated, and I welcomed its kiss before the next cut. A kiss held, deepened as I tore into its thigh, moaning with the scream it fed me, so hot on my tongue. Another, to its arm, its side, deeper and deeper my blade sliced and deeper and deeper its kiss, crying its agony into my throat.

Until it forced me away, gasping, “Are you happy, darling?” I was, the painful stretch of my smile said I was and, leaning to my ear it whispered, “Good, now kill me.”

With my hand on its shoulder and my lips on its neck, I did not cut, I stabbed. Deep into its stomach my blade slid, so smooth, so easy…but it did not scream, not yet. It gasped and shivered, and when I pulled the blade free, I did so at a salacious speed, savoring its choking breaths and harder grip on my shoulder.

It smiled, and I knew I did as well, mad and stretched as ever with that death in my hand. Pride lit its eyes, but I did not stop, was not finished.

I had not heard its promised aria.

So sweet the shock as I fed its lips my tongue and its ribs my blade. My song came after, when I pulled both free and it regained the air to give it.

Beautiful its pain, so rich and echoed it dripped sweet, sweet agony. There was a spark in it missing, one I knew, had tasted and would again, but the pain filled enough. Melted my concerns, my desire for my own end, as all I wanted in that moment was more.

Wounds healing it was yet drenched in blood, in the pain I had wrought, smiling as it commended me, “Magnificent, darling, as always you are a treat to behold…more?”

Of course it knew.

I wanted to taste its pain, that echoed scream, and I held it in a harder kiss, trapping its tongue in my teeth as I stabbed again. Then again, and again, as all within it whispered where it wanted me, where to find its death—were it able, of course, to die.

Its cries swelled too great to hold, sending my lips to neck and shoulders as I devoured more gasps, more moans, more agonized shrieks—echoed every one, fluttering through the air long after it stopped singing them.

“Perfect, darling, you are…perfect,” it breathed, wheezing, soaked in my sweat and its blood. “How, how are those…morals holding up?”

My lips ached with the smile they wore, but I said nothing, I stared until all my delicious cuts healed and it breathed without hitch or wheeze. Then I dropped the knife and, with strength I did not possess that morning, lifted that pale, beautiful creature smeared in so much red and threw it on the bed.

My lust for it continued, if altered, spurred by screaming moans and sharp teeth.

#writeblr #snippet #writing #in fog #horror romance #tw: blood #tw: torture #i don't know what else to tag it #but beware shit gets weird and bloody and violent and sexually charged all at once #so...yeah #beware #novella #in fog rough draft

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lacunasbalustrade · 2 years ago

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I long to walk beside someone.

I want to take detours and exclaim about a wildflower's beauty with a bosom friend who patiently stays long enough for me to snap fifty shots at different angles, then almost wanders off to examine the way a house's roof blocks out sunlight from every corner except the one a dog is lying in.

I want someone to do errands with. When I go to buy tissue paper or get the milk can there be someone acting as my guide? someone who makes sure I get the cheapest brand because I forget sometimes. I want someone to sit on the steps and blow dandelions with me, twisting them around until all of the stubborn white whispers dissolve from our vision, looking for all the world like sugar threads spun into the wind, making the air sweeter with the weight of the love behind our wishes.

I want someone who understands the kind of knot my overactive imagination gets into when it sees the leaves tumbling around the edges of the road, someone who holds my attention and stops it from wandering. someone who captures my undivided heart and makes it stay in one place, someone who can allay my doubts and keep them to rest. someone the colour of the darkest night who will not turn their nose up at my bruises. someone who will be my excuse to stop wandering and live at home for the rest of my life. someone who makes even the mundane things glow, enriching my sight. someone who makes my name sound like a hymn. someone who tricks me into doing the holding on. someone who hugs me like they'll lose me if I do so much as step away (and that's what I need. confirmation that I'm forever needed.)

someone and I do realise that as my dream takes a shape and form in the specificities that I gradually load on, that someone is, can only be, you.

I have spent so many days walking with the hole of your presence as a constant companion, that no other could even dare to touch that emptiness. It is a favourite hobby of mine, to ask it questions that it never answers, and yet I know with certainty that I will never accept anyone but you. you have ruined me on all others. now that I know what your love sounds like, why would I settle for any other song? I could learn you so thoroughly that the notes of your sheet music were mine by heart and bone - I would still hum your tune everywhere I go as you twisted and stretched it out into something new, extending the branches of your symphony, and I would never grow tired of your growing. I will never disavow the person you've become because I want you to remain as the person I was comfortable with you being.

these love poems will never end. if i end up scribbling them on every loose piece of paper i can get my hands on, if every hopeless piece of agony i produce ends off with a note of satisfied happiness, if every star falls and everyone i've ever known vanishes from my life without a stirring of compassion to tell me why, if my fingers break off and my voice falters. even in my sleep i will mutter these words to my shadow of your silhouettes. you could not be obtained by any lesser effort, not that i am paying for you with this love like you are a thing to be bought from a market, but that you demand to be loved and it has become a habit for me to love you in this way,

endless gushing thoughts of how i would live by your side should we ever get the chance. you mean MORE than everything to me. the national geographic could not categorise our shared glances and Tolstoy himself would fail to understand the fundamentals of the heart we share, cupping a half each in our hands - a single abomination purified by love, a canvas stitched together from fragments of our story, an umbrella whose fabric tells hundreds of our telling tiny moments and how they have clothed our weaknesses. even if i say nothing about you at all, my love shines like a lamp. you have changed me from a dark tower into a lighthouse, and if I am an aurora you are the magnetic field that has caused it. you exemplified the love that i had faith existed. no one can dispute what it has done to me; all the best parts of me were polished by you. we have a bond that brought out the best parts of each other, complementary colours, fabric and trim.

if I am the gem that you had to learn patience to polish, you are the jeweler that made me sparkle. we have a symbiotic relationship that's transcended into wanting nothing but the best for each other. taking care of ourselves in other to continue making each other happy. I could wax poetic about you all day without difficulty, more easily than I confide my woes to my words. You have made the dark a restful, luminescent bed that I can sink into without fear, an abode of wholeness that leaves me feeling complete. look here, you have given me a poem that never stops, full stops that signify breaths that will continue, commas that speak of a hand gesturing to a heart. with you, punctuation and grammar are made into lilting time signatures, the tap of a metrodome that I rely on to launch into another new bar, another stanza and another waltz. in the clouds, i worry about falling. in the sky, i can't help but think the aeroplane will crash and I will drop onto the ground eventually.

you're like water, buoying me up when I face your endless depths. trusting you repays me with nothing resembling fear, i would grow gills willingly if it meant that I could continue being embraced by you - you have oxygen to offer if i am not stubborn. there is an element of challenge but that's what keeps things interesting. to know that i'm the only one who you would blush for. anyway, we've left the previous topic again. the paths are so twisty and perfectly enticing when I'm thinking about you. there are no shortage of ways I could go, labyrinths I could explore, and I could always find my way out by keeping my left hand on the wall, love guiding me without the need of an outer compass. love is always the right answer.

I long for you like a child longs for the animated cartoons of television. Like a dog longs to hold an eye-conversation with a friendly human. Like a fisherman longs for his boat to finish being painted, and like an overworked salesman wishes to go to sleep. Like a disabled person longs for accessibility to become a priority, and like a father longs for his children to keep quiet at night so he can get some rest. I long for you like only love knows how to do, and I long for you so much that I have at least a hundred notes detailing it. My love for you surpasses Arabic poems. My love for you could fill bookshelves. I could keep on going. That is what love does. It keeps foraging in the dark and the fire and the silence. Love survives.

when I look back at you, I see a boy in the shape of love. and we humans, we can't help but run blindly after love, even if love sneaks into a nearby semi-detached house's garden and we find ourselves disoriented, wildly swinging our head around to catch the glimpse that we thought appeared (and probably did appear) and stop it from running. love is an endless chase to catch up with the one whose footprints you have been admiring for so long. love is stepping in those footprints to check the size difference and analysing how large that person must be, the weight of their heart and their feet. love is wondering what burdens they carried to leave such deep imprints. love can also be using your feet to make flowers around their footprint - they become the centre of your world. they provide a gravitational field to keep everything in place, they are the anchor that makes your heart stable. love makes fear inconsequential. love is the disappearance of all that made you faulty and the replacement of it with a generous resolution.

love is writing you into a dozen poems because you should get to see how you have centred my life. love is settling down and becoming wildly free. love removes all the things that made you quiet, loud, soft, hard, it feels out the things that you weren't that you developed over a period of disuse and being badly cared for and restores you to the glory that perhaps you never reached in your original self, brightening someone's home like a painting, being brightened like a home carefully kept and swept. someone who loves you will treat you like the house they wanted to buy and stay in forever. you will exchange your ideas of a home and end up with the descriptions of each other. you are responsible for each other's upkeep, and you will find that if you love someone, you will start doing the laundry so that they do not have to after a long day. you will hug them so that they do not have to buy excess stuffed animals, you will get them that hat they have been eyeing so they do not have to waste some of the hard-earned case you know they slaved away for, you will show up every time they haven't asked you to be there because you know just sitting there with them will bolster their self-worth. you will say sweet things unprompted no matter how hard it is because they shouldn't have to make the effort to ask for it. love cannot be hidden. it is communication. love is and will always be present and always will be shown as long as you don't stop feeling it. overflowing like a waterfall, like a bucket, keep giving and giving. love never stops growing - it is not stagnant. stagnant things are always cursed, like an unnaturally still pond or a dark house where the lights are always off. overgrown forests and lush castles are simply places to explore. too much is never too much, the person receiving is just too little and therefore stagnant. be too much and love as much as much can be. when I flick my fingers over this screen words blur together like gunshots. let your love be a rain that doesn't stop, a storm that never ends. glory is in being a wonder of nature.

this is what I know of love.

a current without an end, swishing through the rivers into the seas and back into the rivers again. unselfish, bringing growth wherever it goes. let it never be confined to a single community, and let it never be polluted by people's convoluted ideas of what love is - coffee dumped into the rivers will do no good to cows. love keeps vigil, a pure and righteous wave that regards the boundaries of rivers and never floods fields of crops without designed permission. look, I could go on and on about love, love never runs out of ways to express itself. this love of ours is one that will never run out even though we may never reach each other's side. you have taught me what love is with three words. i will love you and those three words even after the end of my days move into the end of my nights and even after those nights are consumed by bright light. i will love you when the sun is fallen and the only thing shining is the face of Jerusalem. i will love you beyond my body, which will turn into dust, and my thoughts, which will stop short like a grandfather clock, and my words, which will be lost to lacunae. I will love you into oblivion itself and the void will shrink back at our persistence.

this is love as I know it. as you have taught to me unknowningly.

2K words without a single pause, in the span of an hour.

I long to walk beside you, the shape my love takes; you are the only person who has made life make sense. In the hungry wolf of curiosity's bays, the one of destruction who raises her voice screaming WHY, WHY WHY WHY WHY, you stood right up to her and yelled BECAUSE, and I will never forget that scene of rebellious self-righteousness. there are those who understand, apart from you, but no one has ever given me the answers. the comfort of being the same? the camaraderie and the rivalry, the grasping hands in between trying desperately to stay on that line of a blurring mirror; I have that already. It is not lacking. you are the only one who barged through that mirror impolitely and demanded that I look you straight in the face.

you, in an instant, you flipped the coin of my cowardice and the burnished surface of copper-rose courage appeared, worn down by lying on the floor and being ground into the dirt, but plausibly present. I picked up that coin, and it fills the whites of my eyes if you look just right - see it there, hidden behind my corneas? there it is. i have never let it go. this is the light that others ascribe to me - it is joy, and the fire was lit by a lighter, the candle of your continuous insistence on supporting me. in every way i have changed to make sure i could outrun you, biding my time for the moment of weakness when i could give you my own brand of light, so you would see me as i have become thanks to you. this is a love that has been saved up in exultant gold discs, placed in a bank, and I smashed it in front of you, the shards of an emerald bottle sloshing to the ground and turning into seeds, as the gold fell soundlessly into your hands. this is my sacrifice to you. this is my way of saying that i am yours - and what love does not end in an unforeseen exchange? an unplanned endeavour?

our love surpasses the stories that i have sketched out so many times - they are merely drafts, and lack context because of my incomplete transmissions, my inability to finish the stories through aching thumbs and the shy hands. there is no need to try and find fault with them - even forcing myself to confront our lives with hard logic and examining them with a horrific detachedness, the deeds we have committed astound me. the continuity of our story, its themes circulating again and again, our respective give-and-take, the way we bare our fangs and lower our haunches, how we begin to shed our wild beast's skin to show soft, human flesh. there is no poem or song that i could write or play to evoke these things, which spring to my mind even as I am crying. you are the reason i am able to get back up in the darkness and keep going. because of the way you have shown me, i walk a path which is shrouded with strength.

this love is a warrior's love, a beast's love, a fealty and a chaotic binding. this love is a restfulness and a cycle of a spoked wheel, an unstoppable choking of laughter, a hug in its entirety, holding nothing back, a blessing and a sanctification.

could i go on? of course I can go on. with this love my pen may never stop writing. i am accustomed to being one and done with my pieces - they need no further modifications. but with you, these words are living things, a bonsai tree that I prune and water from time to time, edit and reshape, one of the only things worth going back to to reflect upon. my love, this writing is a work that will remain forever unfinished - I say this with the greatest delight! you are forever unfinished. the story will never end. and endings, although necessary for change, are for other parts of my life - just as you may lose your childhood toys and even the skills that you have honed and nurtured, you may lose your physical capabilities that you have striven so hard for, you may lose your memories, yet you cannot lose what makes you - you! your experience cannot be unwritten. your story cannot be erased. and you indeed are the foundation of my story, a root twined around mine. you cannot have a duet without two singers, a pas de deux without a partner and a leader; in this work we will endure because one cannot exist without the other.

I long for you, carissima.

- to be continued

#love poem #love poetry #poetry #poem #writeblr #<just in case i lose u>#poems

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sadistpet · 10 months ago

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how did you fare without him ?

oh, how. how how how. exiled to the middle of nowhere and every waking moment full of nothing but torment and brutality, every night spent in agony and shame and disgust and despair. his body and soul ripped asunder and toyed with like he was nothing. even the night didn't spare him ; every dream was of yevgeny, and everything was warm, and sweet, and they were together again, and then it would all fall away in his hands in streams of blood and the stench of ozone and seared flesh and smoke and the freezing burn of rain and he would wake up in terrified anguish and grief and his waking nightmare would begin anew. the careless smile so easily spread across ocelot's face makes raikov want to vomit. you know exactly how i fared, he wants to snarl, you know exactly what they did to me. his tears burn with indignant rage more than despair. there is no point in wasting his already shallow breath on adamska.

ivan almost wants to laugh. was this his idea of mercy ? bargaining ? it made sense, because it was exactly how ivan himself worked. and ocelot and raikov were nothing if not too frighteningly similar beasts unable to be housed together, too alike in motion and mind for each other's comfort. he lowers his arm, no longer pointing his well-used makarov at ocelot's face, yet refraining from slipping it back into its holster. it's too dangerous to remain unarmed around snake's right hand man.

oh, how the tables seem to have turned -- who was the precious pet now ?

" after you helped murder the love of my life, i don't think you can be generous enough. " an amused exhale, devoid of true humour. tired eyes glance down to the yellowed photograph held in his other hand, a thumb stroking over the surface of the film. as much of a traitorous bitch tatyana - no, eva - was, as much as raikov wanted her dead as much as ocelot, there was part of him that would forever be thankful for her almost uncharacteristic mercy towards him. she had given him the photograph, the one he has carried for almost twenty years hence, the one he caresses so fondly. the colonel and the major, forever immortalised in print. " would putting any effort into, god, however long i have left, even matter ? maybe i don't want a new purpose. maybe all i want is you and your american pig dead. what the hell could you offer me that would be better than seeing the light leave your eyes ? how do i know you're not lying, adamska, with how many backs you've stabbed ? for all i know, you'll string me up, or worse, as soon as i go with you. "

He only met Raikov's threat with a smile. 20 years ago he had dreamed of seeing the other man so defeated, seeing him finally suffering the consequences of relying so heavily on Volgin to survive. He had known the day would come that they would meet again, he doubted RAIKOV had expected the same. " Oh but you certainly benefitted greatly from being at his side. I recall you happily avoiding any work and getting away with it just because of your relationship to him. Tell me, Ivan, how did you fare without him? I heard they exiled you? " Of course he knew perfectly well what his former colleague had gone through over the past few years. He knew EVERYTHING there was to know about him. It was always rather useful to keep an eye on anyone who may have ill intend towards him or Snake.

" You know, given your situation I feel like you don't get to make demands. " He put his hands on his hips, pushing his coat far enough back to reveal one of the revolvers slung around his waist. He did not have to threaten Raikov, he knew the man was far past the point of having anything to lose but after the last few years he felt like he had earned the slightest bit of FUN by tormenting his former comrade at least a little bit. " But I'm not entirely without mercy, no matter what you may think of me. I believe we might have something of interest to you. "

He would not tell him the full details of what that ' something ' entailed, not yet, not until he had Raikov exactly where he wanted him, bound to them in a way that made it impossible for him to get out without risking much worse fates than death. " Besides, aren't you interested in what kind of position I'm offering you? You could actually make use of all that training you got for once and put some effort into your existence. Maybe find a new PURPOSE. Is that not generous enough of me yet? " He knew Miller would have issues with Raikov's presence given the man's dislike for Snake but he was willing to accept the anger that would be directed at him for this decision. It would all pay off eventually. It always did.

#raikov at 46 like im basically on my deathbed rn #HES SUCH A GRIEVING WIDOW #ocelot if you can nab that photo raikov will in fact be on his knees saying he will do anything #g: ¦ ❝ in character. ❞#v: ¦ ❝ v. vagabond. ❞#viruslearnt

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biillyhargroves · 2 years ago

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It’s months post-Starcourt, but the “fire” is still a mainstay on every local station. Newscasters pluck experts out of the woodwork, investigators and fire marshals, even a conspiracy theorist or two, and every stupid interview fades into the background as the mundanity of Hawkins, Indiana settles across the town like a well-worn blanket. It has become a part of the local color, rolled out at events, when cameras spotlight the new mayor, the new police chief, the high school sports teams trotting out in thinner numbers than before.

Steve skulks away from all the pomp and circumstance of the pep rally, the echoes in the gym sealed inside as the heavy metal doors slam shut behind him. He shoves his hands in his pockets, glances right and then left, over his shoulder and back again. Why is he nervous? He shouldn’t be nervous. He checks his watch, taps it as though the hands are lying to him, as if he needs to shake them awake. Time is moving too slow. He decides to trek out early.

This is for Billy. Steve repeats this in his head over and over again, a reminder, because Billy is healing but the healing is slow, and he’s in so much pain all the time, and nothing is touching it, — nothing is helping him. Steve’s pretty sure that Neil’s restricting his medications, that he’s not giving Billy the best chance at getting better, and the mere thought of it makes his blood boil. His heart breaks at every wince, every sharp inhale, every coiled muscle. Steve has held Billy, sobbing, in agony, for too many nights. He can’t just do nothing. He feels useless and he hates it. He has to do something. He has to help somehow.

The thought entered his brain sometime in the last week, on one of the many sleepness nights he’d spent hunkered in the dark of Forest Hills Trailer Park, the trailer empty save for Max dozing on the couch in the living room, Billy curled miserably in Steve’s lap in the bedroom.

“I’m sorry,” Steve whispered, stroking Billy’s tear-stained cheek. “I’m sorry, baby. I know it hurts.”

He’d already shaken every last orange bottle cluttering the nightstand, all of them empty. Max had scrounged in the bathroom but only came up with a few Tylenol capsules and some kind of muscle cream, neither of which would do Billy much good. Neil was supposed to refill Billy’s prescriptions, had snatched them from Susan’s hands when she’d offered to do it, but so far he’d only come home with brown bags of bourbon and the occasional six pack.

Steve had been holding Billy, rocking him, trying desperately to comfort him, when the arc of Eddie Munson’s headlights across the way caught his attention. An idea formed, and now Steve is sitting at a rickety picnic table in the middle of the woods staring at the black lunch box Eddie had slammed onto the wooden slats.

“It’s not for me,” Steve says, leaning over to peer into the box, reaching in and frowning at the little baggies of weed. He plucks one up, sniffs it, is surprised to find that it’s not some knock-off. He’d almost expected oregano. Such disappointment would align with his mood.

“You don’t have to lie, Stevie,” Eddie says, coy, teasing, as if he thinks that Steve is trying to keep whatever reputation has clung to him since high school.

Steve shakes his head, admits the truth, “It’s for a friend.” Well, a half truth. He eyes Eddie, wondering how much he can trust this boy he’d barely looked twice at since elementary school.

“Sure, man,” Eddie shrugs, still not believing him. “As long as your friend can pay.”

Steve resumes his shopping, sifting through Eddie’s supply. “You got anything stronger than this?” he asks, pinching a baggie between two fingers.

Eddie whistles. “Harrington still likes to party.”

“Listen,” Steve says, harsher than he means to, and Eddie stills. “It’s— I’m…” He sighs heavily, flings the weed back into the metal box and scrubs his hands over his face. Eventually he says, “It’s for Billy.”

“Oh.” Eddie’s features soften.

“I know his family moved out by you,” Steve says, choosing his words carefully. “I don’t know how much you’ve seen of him.”

“Not much,” Eddie admits. “I know he was in the fire,” he says. “That he got hurt.”

Steve can’t help but snort — derision, disgust, annoyance all bubbling to the surface. “The fire,” he scoffs, shaking his head. Then he remembers himself, recalls the purpose of this particular mission. He composes himself, says, “He got really hurt. It’s bad. I’m…worried about him.”

Steve isn’t sure he likes the way that Eddie looks at him when he says, sincerely, “Yeah. Sure.” He looks like he knows something. Hell, he probably does. Steve gets sloppy when he’s nervous, and visiting Billy sets every nerve-ending ablaze. He doesn’t doubt that he’s parked too close to the trailer once or twice, that Eddie may have seen the Beamer cut through the back entrance of the park.

“I just want to help him,” Steve says.

Eddie looks down. He digs a bitten-down nail against the knotted wood of the table, bites his lip, scuffs the heel of his sneaker against the dirt beneath him. “I like Billy,” he says after a while, and when he looks up Steve can tell that he means it. “I mean, I don’t know him well. Not like you do.” Again, that look, that wisdom, that knowledge. “But I like him. We smoked together a couple times. He’s a good guy, underneath it all.”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees. “He is.”

Eddie is quiet for a moment, and then for two. Steve finds himself anxious, worried that Eddie might decide that he doesn’t like Billy enough to help him. Then Eddie takes a deep breath and asks, “How bad’s the pain?”

“Really bad,” Steve answers quickly. “If it’s a scale of one to ten, he’s off the chart. He’s supposed to be on— I…I don’t remember the name of it. But, his family…” This isn’t Steve’s business, not his story to tell. He bites his tongue, keeps it simple. “Money’s tight. He can’t always get his meds. But he can’t survive on baby aspirin and ibuprofen, you know? He’s not in good shape.”

Eddie takes this all in and then he asks, “Will you be with him tonight?” When Steve fumbles, Eddie clarifies, “All my stronger stuff’s back home. I don’t carry it around — too expensive, not worth the risk. But for Billy…” He opens his palms. “I’ll stop in. He can take what he wants. But someone should probably stay with him. I’ve got prescriptions. Safe enough. But, new meds and all, and if he’s as fucked up as you say…”

“I’ll be with him,” Steve says. Eddie smiles and Steve thinks that he’s got him, that he’s got them, all figured out.

For his part, Eddie keeps his promise. He arrives at the trailer under the cover of night. Max is gone for the night, a much-needed sleepover with El granting a brief reprieve. Steve is on the couch with Billy lounging against him pretending not to be uncomfortable. The pain gets worse at night, and Steve can feel in setting in, can tell by the way Billy’s muscles spasm and tense, by the soft little whines that escape when Billy shifts in his spot.

Steve is relieved when Eddie knocks on the door, a feeling that is only half-tempered by Billy’s lack of reaction to Eddie seeing them together, so close, so exposed. Billy’s shirt is off, the fabric too scratchy and painful to bear. Only a thin veil of gauze hides the worst of his still-healing injuries, red, angry scars snaking out from beneath them. Billy barely moves away from Steve, even grabs onto him to help ease himself upright, as Eddie lets himself inside.

The transaction is swift, easy. Eddie presents pill bottles like offerings and Billy turns them over in his hands, selecting a drug with a name he recognizes. Eddie is casual, friendly; he charges a nominal fee that Billy scoffs at even as he downs the pills, dry-swallowing in one gulp.

Eddie lingers after the exchange, settling at the far end of the couch, watching music videos with Steve and Billy as the night stretches on.

It’s not long before Billy begins to slump against Steve, body uncoiling as he snuggles close, his head tucked beneath Steve’s chin, resting on Steve’s chest. Steve holds him there, cards a hand through Billy’s hair, wants to cry because Billy isn’t and he’s so damn grateful for that.

As Billy drifts off, Steve looks to Eddie, opens his mouth to thank him, but stops when he sees Eddie’s furrowed brow, his frown. “What’s wrong?” Steve asks.

Eddie blinks, tries to look away from the roadmap of scars cross-crossing Billy’s back but can’t. “It wasn’t a fire,” he says plainly, eyes flicking to Steve’s, “was it?”

Steve is quiet for a long while. He holds Billy closer, as though afraid that confessing the truth will somehow take him away. He’s spent so many nights dwelling on the look of him, small and bleeding, gasping for breath, on the floor of the mall. He’s spent so much time scared of losing him.

“No,” Steve says eventually. “It wasn’t a fire.”

Eddie slides closer. He places his hand on top of Steve’s, which is holding Billy’s. He looks like he might say something, but he doesn’t. He just sits there, squeezing Steve’s hand, which squeezes Billy’s. Steve finds he likes the feeling, the warm weight of Eddie’s quiet understanding, his gentle support.

#harringroveson #harringrove #mungrove #steve harrington #billy hargrove #eddie munson #and then they all became boyfriends the end #this started as a headcanon and then i got carried away #steddilly #stilldie #lex writes fics

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comfortbucky · 3 years ago

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hey hey! can u do some fluffy bucky about having to share a hotel room w u and there’s only one bed!!!! and he’s trying to be respectful n stuff but man does he have the fattest crush on u! thank u <333

HEY HEY YES OMFGGG THE ONE BED TROPE (ur mind😌🤝)

i’VE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS ONE I DIDN’T EXPECT IT TO COME SO SOON

𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝗯𝗲𝗱, 𝘁𝘄𝗼 𝗶𝗱𝗶𝗼𝘁𝘀 ⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆ ｡˚

pairing: bucky x fem!avenger!reader

tags: enemies(?) to lovers BABYYYY, angst, fluff

A/N: i almost always write about tfatws!bucky in mind but let me try and branch out by writing about avenger!bucky hehe

i hope u enjoy🥺💗i absolutely loved this prompt and loved writing this!!!! (it is almost 4am for me as i am posting this :) i’m insane :))

this oneshot will not be following the canon timeline!

word count: 2k

my masterlist!

completed requests!

“Stick to the plan, Y/N.” Steve’s voice came through over the intercom. She rolled her eyes at his warning. He always seemed to be extra cautious with her, making her feel like an unimportant member of the team, and this mission was no different.

“I got this,” she said, completely ignoring his request and charging headfirst at the enemy. Her brash decision resulted in her receiving a heavy beat down, ending up with a split lip and fractured ribs.

Needless to say, Steve was pissed. He and Y/N developed a close friendship over the years, during his search for Bucky. She was oftentimes the one who would stay up all night with him, looking for any trace of Bucky’s existence online. She’d become one of the closest people in his life, which is exactly why he was upset with her, endangering her own life.

After the mission, he confronted her at the base camp.

“You could’ve gotten killed!”

“But I didn’t,” she snapped back. “And the mission was a success anyways, so I don’t get why you’re so mad right now.”

Steve closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing.

“It’s reckless behavior like this that’s eventually going to get you killed, Y/N.”

Bucky walked into the room and immediately regretted his decision as soon as he laid his eyes on Y/N. He’d come to foster an animosity towards her, after seeing her close friendship with Steve. After Bucky joined the Avengers, he noticed how much time they spent together, and jealousy started to fester within him. Steve was the only person he felt comfortable being around in the tower and she constantly took him away from Bucky. Everyone else seemed to have an aversion to him, or so he assumed. He never gave anyone the chance to get to know him, locking himself up in his room most hours of the day. Bucky didn’t think anyone would want to get to know an ex-assassin, especially one that killed the Tony Stark’s parents. She was the one thing that kept Steve away from him and he despised it. So Bucky did what he did best and avoided any sort of interaction with her.

Steve looked at Bucky and suddenly, an idea popped in his head. He had noticed how closed-off Bucky had been since joining the Avengers and refused to let Y/N be alone, worried that she might make another brazen decision. He hatched a plan to kill 2 birds with 1 stone.

“Bucky,” Steve said, making his way over to him. “You and Y/N will be assigned to the same room tonight.”

Bucky choked on his own spit in response and Y/N began to protest.

“You’re not serious, right?” Steve turned to face her with a stern expression.

“You’re not giving me any reason to trust you to be alone.” She let out a defeated sigh and crossed her arms across her chest.

“Why me?” Bucky asked, trying to figure out how he ended up in this situation.

Steve placed a hand on Bucky’s shoulder and looked into his eyes. “Because I trust you, Buck. I need you to do this for me.”

Bucky could see the desperation in Steve’s eyes and reluctantly nodded.

Steve was able to obtain another key card to the hotel room that Y/N was assigned to for the mission. He forgot to take into account the logistics of the sleeping arrangements, leaving Bucky to find a single bed as he entered Y/N’s room.

Bucky froze, his right hand on the door handle, keeping it open, his left hand by his side, holding his duffel bag. He racked his brain, trying to figure out what to do, when Y/N’s voice pulled him from his thoughts.

“Relax,” she started, motioning for him to come inside. “I’ll sleep on the floor, alright?”

Y/N knew that Bucky didn’t like her, despite Steve trying to convince her otherwise. It hurt her feelings a bit, especially after she’d learned so much about him through both Steve’s stories and the time she spent tracking him down. He was such an important person to Steve, her close friend, and Bucky hated her. At first, she figured he was shy and wasn’t ready to open up to anyone else, especially after all the trauma he endured. But she realized he actively disliked her over time, with Bucky always leaving the room when she entered or ignoring her offers to hang out with her and Steve. Eventually, she gave up on reaching out to Bucky, as she only seemed to upset him further, no matter what she did. She figured it was for the best.

Bucky stepped into the room and shook his head.

“Bed’s too soft for me anyways, I’ll take the floor,” he grumbled.

Y/N shrugged in response, knowing that Bucky would be too stubborn to try and argue against. She turned around and picked up the phone, calling the front desk to ask for extra blankets and pillows. When she hung up the phone, she turned back to Bucky to see him nod in thanks.

The rest of the night was silent, as they both prepared for bed, taking turns going into the bathroom to wash up and change. While Y/N was in the bathroom, Bucky arranged the extra blankets and pillows into a makeshift bed on the ground, something that he’d done countless times before. Y/N exited the bathroom in an oversized t-shirt that covered her shorts, and placed her toiletries bag in one of the hotel dresser drawers.

“Bathroom’s all yours.” Bucky grunted in response, grabbing some clothes and a bag headed for the bathroom.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” he stated, just before shutting the door behind him. Y/N scoffed at his comment, gently climbing into bed, in an attempt to not further injure her ribs. She winced as she tried to get into a comfortable position before settling to sleep on the side of her unaffected ribs.

Bucky emerged from the bathroom to see Y/N lying on her left side, her back towards him. He assumed that she had already fallen asleep and quietly crawled into his makeshift bed.

Approximately 10 minutes had passed, when he heard her sniffling. At first, he thought the noise was coming from outside the window, but he traced it back to her. He remained lying on his back for a moment, deciding whether or not to say something. Bucky sighed before speaking.

“You okay?” Y/N immediately stiffened upon hearing Bucky’s voice. She was hoping that he wouldn’t hear her crying, despite his super soldier hearing abilities.

“Yeah, ‘m fine,” she replied back, her voice wavering as she spoke. Y/N hated how weak and pathetic she sounded in that moment. Her fractured ribs made it hard for her to breathe and the adrenaline, that was previously shielding her from the pain, had faded, leaving her to lie there in agony. On top of that, she also felt that this mission solidified her belief that Steve had little faith in her ability to be an Avenger. The last thing she wanted to do right now, was to confess her insecurities to Bucky.

Bucky’s attitude softened, hearing Y/N’s voice crack when she spoke. He knew she’d gotten hurt due to her own, dumb, decision during the mission. Bucky quietly pulled his blankets off and stood up, leaving the room without saying another word. As soon as the door shut, Y/N burst into tears. Bucky did exactly as he’d done in the past many times before, leave. She wasn’t sure why this time upset her more than the rest. Probably because she knew that he was aware of her crying and he’d still chosen to abandon her completely.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the door opening, causing her to stop crying. Y/N listened to Bucky’s footsteps growing closer, and felt the bed dip under his weight as he sat on the edge she was facing towards. She peered over the blanket she was covering her face with, to see Bucky facing her, holding a bag of ice, wrapped in a towel. Bucky’s heart sank at the sight of her glossy eyes and tear stained cheeks in the moonlight.

“For your ribs,” he spoke softly, gesturing to the ice bag in his hands.

“Oh. Thank you.”

Y/N took the bag from him, attempting to slowly sit up. She closed her eyes as she grimaced, and suddenly felt a hand on her back, helping her up. Her eyes opened to reveal Bucky, with a soft smile on his lips. She silently thanked him again, placing the ice bag on the right side of her ribcage.

“Thought you hated me,” she mumbled, keeping her gaze down on her lap. He furrowed his brows, keeping his eyes on her.

“I don’t hate you.”

“Well, you definitely don’t like me.”

Bucky paused at her comment, thinking about his next words, before responding.

“I don’t like that you take up all of Steve’s free time,” he grumbled, causing Y/N to quickly look up at Bucky, his eyes averting her gaze. Her face fell, immediately realizing why Bucky had treated her so coldly all this time. He just missed his friend.

“I’m so sorry, Bucky.” She placed a hand on his shoulder and he looked up at her in response. “I didn’t realize, I’m sorry.”

Bucky didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t expecting her to be so kind and understanding, even coming up with multiple points to argue back at her. He realized then that he didn’t know her at all, but that he wanted to now. In an instant, she became an entirely different person. He studied her eyes and wondered if they had always sparkled like that, if her cheeks were naturally rosy, or if her lips had always been so pink and plump.

His expression softened and he cleared his throat. “It’s fine,” he muttered, tearing himself away from her gaze to look down at his lap. After a moment of silence, Bucky stood up to return back to the floor.

“Stay.” The words left Y/N’s mouth before she had time to process them. Bucky froze and turned to face her. “I mean, if you want to, of course. Just figured the floor must be super uncomfortable for you.” Y/N felt a blush creep up onto her cheeks and kicked herself mentally. She looked down at her hands, regretting the words she spoke, before feeling the bed dip again. She looked up to see Bucky. He smiled and she almost melted at the sight.

She shifted over, putting the ice bag on the nightstand, as Bucky crawled into bed next to her. The two rested on their backs, both staring at the ceiling in silence. Bucky remained at a respectful distance away, not wanting to overstep any boundaries. Y/N turned on her left side, her good side, to face him.

“I’m glad you don’t hate me.”

Bucky turned on his side to face her before responding.

“I don’t think I could ever hate you.”

A strand of her hair had fallen in front of her face and Bucky, instinctively, reached out a hand to tuck it behind her ear. Immediately, he regretted it, about to pull his hand back when Y/N took her hand and placed it on top of his, guiding it to rest on her cheek. He cupped her face in his hand and she leaned into his embrace. Bucky felt his heart rate increase as she moved her body closer to his, wrapping the arm she used to hold his hand on her face, across his side. He shifted towards her as well, wrapping his arm around her body, bringing her closer to him.

“Is this okay?” He whispered, nervous that he might have somehow misinterpreted the situation. He hadn’t been with a woman in such an intimate way in years and had no idea what he was doing. Y/N looked up at him and nodded, before snuggling her face into his chest and Bucky felt a wave of calm wash over him.

“Can you stay here tonight?” Y/N mumbled, her face pressed into his chest. He chuckled at the vibrations from her voice and kissed her temple, smoothing her hair back.

“I’ll stay as long as you want me to, honey.”

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zoeykallus · 3 years ago

Text

Arcane - Little Flower Part 4 – Before You Killed Me

Silco x female!reader

Warning: 18+

Violence/Blood/Near Death Experience/Drowning/Hurt/Strangulation/Pain/Drama/Brutality/Cursing

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Author's Comment:

Heads up, reader is going through hell in this chapter. Buckle up if you are ready or skip it if you are faint of heart.

A shitload of Drama ahead.

I don't know why, I just blame the music again, if it's making sense or not. On repeat while writing: Too Many Tears

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What Happened Before:

Little Flower

Little Flower Part 2 - Safe And Sound

Little Flower Part 3 - Cupidos

Part 4 - Before You Killed Me

The time you spent with Silco was almost always determined by languid tenderness. Still, your heart raced every time his hand touched you, his gaze crossed yours, or he entered the room you were in. But by now you had seen more of him, more of things you perhaps should not have seen. Things you couldn't forget. The underlying skepticism and fear that had always been there was still present, not severe because you didn't have to fear his wrath, but unyielding.

By now you spent most nights with him, though often alone in his bed as he worked late into the night. Sometimes, though, you would wake up in the morning and he would be lying next to you, sometimes awake, one arm wrapped around you, watching you sleep. Sometimes asleep, lying across the bed any one or more of his limbs tangled somewhere in the covers with you.

You had even made friends with Sevika by now. Well, more or less. Somehow she liked you much more now than at the beginning. You didn't exactly have the same interests, but in a certain sense you respected each other. You admired her loyalty, her courage and her strength. You witnessed the latter from time to time, Silco rarely got his own hands dirty. There were only a few exceptions.

The small syndicate that produced Cupidos, he took into his own hands, personally. He even took you with him. You remembered the day very vividly... Silco had given you a mask, a filter mask, he was wearing one himself when he walked into the building and threw a grenade created by Jinx into the room. Poisonous gas had spread to every little corner of the room. People had gone down gasping, bloody foam coming out of their mouths as they died in great agony, eyes wide open. The images still haunted you sometimes in your sleep.

Yes, you had wanted Silco to take the matter in hand and put an end to Cupidos, but it was more than just an ugly thing to witnes it. He had taken you with him because he wanted to show you that he kept his promise. But seeing those people die had been terrible. You had watched everything, not daring to look away because he was watching you. A part of you was still afraid of him. Even if you loved him by now, and sometimes you doubted yourself because of that.

You were sitting with Jinx in her cave working on a plan for a fancy revolver you were going to give to Silco. The gun looked elegant and fierce. A long muzzle, a big barrel with 12 chambers, an elegant grip with filigree engravings. Anyway, when the weapon was finished, it was supposed to look awesome.

Silco's daughter and you had become close, were almost like sisters by now. Jinx had experienced one or more traumas at some point in her life that she had never been able to come to terms with, something had broken inside her and led to her strongly fluctuating behavior. But by now you had figured out how to deal with it. She often sought your closeness, your comfort and she let you calm her down when she had one of her outbursts again. Basically, Jinx just needed a lot of attention and someone who listened to her, responded to her and gave her the feeling that she was not alone with everything that was going on inside her. Silco loved her, but he manipulated her much more than he helped her. But you didn't think he really realized how much of the damage she had done over the years came from him. Their relationship was an emotional dependency that had unhealthy traits. But you'd be careful not to say a word along those lines to Silco.

"Here look," Jinx said delightedly, holding out the drawing to you.

She had completed the pattern on the handle, it looked like angel wings swinging around a skull.

"That's really impressive, Jinx," you admitted honestly.

Around the skull were delicate rose vines you had drawn.

With a proud grin, the girl said, "I'm sure he'll like that, it was a great idea, Y/N."

Yes it had been your idea. Silco didn't talk about his birthday, so you decided without further ado that you would just give him something anyway and let Jinx in on your plan. The girl had immediately been on fire for your idea with the revolver and you had gone straight to work, discussed how the dimensions should be, which ammunition you wanted to have made for it, which blacksmith you wanted to commission with the individual parts and so on. You had been with her since morning and by now it was almost evening.

"I should probably get back to Silco now, he'll probably be annoyed that I've been gone so long, he doesn't like it when he can't see me for too long," you sighed in surrender.

"Man, he shouldn't make such a fuss!" said Jinx, rolling her eyes.

You laughed softly.

"I might even get him out of that habit someday, who knows".

On the way back, you were already a little nervous. Silco tended to pepper you with questions when you were gone too long, he was a sceptical and jealous man with serious trust issues and you weren't sure how good you were at hiding the fact that you and Jinx had been working on a gift for him. You weren't very good at lying, it was basically uncomfortable for you, so you were pretty bad at it and Silco had a talent for seeing through people, you in particular.

However, when you walked into his office, he was sitting behind his desk, elbows on the table, hands folded and resting against his forehead.

"Hey, I'm back."

Silco looked up at you very slowly. Something he actually did a lot when he was angry or wanted to intimidate someone, slow predatory movements. You blinked nervously, sensing immediately that there was something lurking behind his behavior.

"You've been gone a long time," he said simply in his smooth way.

"Yes, Jinx and I have been working out plans."

After a few seconds he said, "I see."

Unsure of what to say or do, you decided to do what you had planned anyway.

"Is it okay if I take a bath?"

He nodded and finally stared into emptiness again. Something was up, but usually he was coming on to you and he didn't like being probed or pushed. He liked to be in control of everything- how things were handled and when he shared what information with whom, was part of it. You had never seen him angry with you before and you weren't going to, so you shut up and silently made your way to the bathroom.

You poured yourself some water, made yourself a bubble bath and lay down in the tub. With a relaxed sigh you closed your eyes, let the warmth creep into your muscles and bones and felt how you gradually felt more and more weightless.

When you heard footsteps, you opened your eyes and saw Silco approaching the tub. His facial expression seemed strangely stony. Worried, you looked up at him, frowning.

"Is everything all right?" you asked cautiously.

Wordlessly, Silco sat down on the side of the tub. He reached out an arm to you and his hand gently rested on your sternum, just below your neck, and let it rest there, bent over you. The touch was gentle, yet it sent a chill down your spine, despite the hot bath water.

The expression on his face, it wasn't just stony, there was more, but you didn't know how to describe it. Something dark, angry and at the same time sad, was hiding behind his sea green eye.

"What plans have you worked out with Jinx today?" he asked quietly.

You blinked nervously, again, and knew immediately that he realized you were about to lie. What he didn't know was that you were just trying to hide a birthday gift.

"You weren't with, Jinx, were you?"

His voice had taken on a rough undertone and his chest heaved up and down heavily with each breath.

"What? Yes I was!" you protested.

"DON'T LIE TO ME!" he suddenly exploded, making you wince.

"I'm not lying," you said very quietly.

He gritted his teeth and the next moment you found yourself underwater. Startled, you tried to come back up, but his hand on your sternum held you down. Panic rose in you. What had happened, why was he doing this to you!!! You swallowed water, your hands tried to pull yourself up at the edge of the tub, without success, Silco was stronger. Your fingers clawed at his arm, you managed to wriggle out from under the arm in the water and for a moment your head came above water.

Silco jumped into the tub, fully clothed, sat over you so that you could not escape from him again. Anger burned under his skin, anger and a deep sadness that caused him physical pain.

You coughed, clinging to his arms whose hands were around your neck. He didn't squeeze yet, didn't push you under either, just looked at you for the moment as you lay under him in the water your eyes widening, your lower lip quivering before a sob comes out of your mouth.

"Why are you doing this to me?"

"You betrayed me," he growled.

"What are you talking about?" you asked, crying.

"You weren't with Jinx, you were at the docks! You were seen there, with the Firelights sabotaging one of my shipments!", his voice growled hoarsley.

You didn't have the faintest idea what he was talking about, before you could react, your head was under water again and Silco's hands were squeezing. Absolute panic flooded your mind, your fingers clawed into his dress shirt and tore the fabric apart.

There was only one thing that kept flashing through your mind, aside from the panic, the bottomless fear. Why? You had always known who he was, but still, fatally and naively, you had never expected him to do such a thing to you. You had done nothing wrong. Yet your head was under water, above you an angry Silco, with wet clothes, his hands around your neck, wet strands hanging down his forehead, a wild look on his face. For the first time you actually saw it, the monster.

The water that came through despite his stranglehold burned in your nose, your throat, your lungs, like liquid fire. The senseless fight for survival that your body waged without your conscious intervention lasted for what felt like eternities. Eternities full of fear and pain. At a certain point you wanted it to be over, it should stop, you couldn't bear it anymore. Suddenly your thoughts became fuzzy, your vision blurred, it no longer burned. You knew your eyes were open and yet it went dark. Finally.

"Everyone betrays me, everyone does at some point and now you did too..." he pressed out between clenched teeth.

A single tear rolled down his cheek. The pain was unbearable. He had trusted you, Silco had loved you, the more violent had been the shock when his informant told him what you had done. It ate him up inside within seconds, his reason dissolved into nothing.

Your resistance weakened. Your eyes were open, staring at him, blank yet reproachful. His arms and shoulders shook with tension and pain, there were scratches from your fingernails all over his arms, some were pretty deep and bleeding.

"What are you doing?!" he heard Sevika ask in horror.

He hadn't even noticed how she had come in. She had never dared to enter his private chambers before. Presumably she had heard something and had come to look and found this scene.

"She betrayed me..."

Sevika had never interfered or contradicted her boss before, but here and now, she grabbed his shoulder and hastily pulled him away from your motionless body.

She lifted you out of the tub with ease, as if you were just a doll.

"Fuck!" she cursed "Why did you do that?"

"She was at the docks this afternoon, with the Firelights, when our Shimmer delivery was sabotaged, Ronon saw her," he explained in a breaking voice, watching Sevika check for your pulse.

"Have you lost your mind!!! She was with Jinx all day, I was keeping an eye on both of them like you told me to! Why didn't you talk to me first!!!"

Silco felt the world suddenly spin around him faster, he felt sick and his chest seemed to tighten.

"That can't be... he saw her... he was sure of it," he muttered, staring at your motionless body.

Sevika began to perform CPR and mouth to mouth resuscitation like she had seen on the docks before.

"Come on girl," she pressed out between ventilations "Breathe!"

Silco climbed out of the tub on wobbly legs and slumped down next to you and Sevika, leaving a trail of water, everything was wet.

"What have I done...?"

"You've lost it," Sevika grumbled "You snapped and acted without reason, that's what happened"

You just lay there and didn't move, didn't breathe, your eyes stared into eternal nothingness and ice-cold fear seized Silco, dragging him with it into an abyss without light.

"I didn't mean to do it..."

Sevika shot him a somber look, "Then why did you? I thought you loved her"

"...I do"

The next moment your body reared up, coughing. Sevika hastily turned you on your side so you could cough the water out of your lungs. She reached for a towel and placed it over your naked body.

Silco was still sitting there, slumped over, not daring to touch you. He stared at his hands then back at you. Those hands had killed you, the woman he loved, in blind rage, how could he ever let those hands touch you again?

Your body was trembling, but your eyes were closed, you were not quite yourself yet.

Sevika carefully wrapped you in the towel, lifted you up and carried you into the bedroom, where she laid you on the bed and covered you with a blanket.

"I don't know if she'll wake up again, but she's alive," she said to Silco who had silently followed her.

He suddenly felt very helpless for the first time in a long time and it scared him.

"Bring me Ronon," he said somberly.

When Sevika went to get Ronon, that snake, Silco changed into dry clothes. Just as he was closing the last button of his vest with trembling fingers, he heard a groan from you.

"Y/N? Little Flower, are you awake?" he asked softly and quietly, climbing onto the bed with you.

Another moan, finally your eyes opened fluttering open. When you saw his face above you, your eyes went wide. You wanted to scream, but from your throat came only a hoarse croak.

"I'm sorry, it's okay, don't panic...", he spoke to you.

You crawled away from him in panic, your heart running marathons.

Wrapping the covers around you, you struggled out of bed to get as far away from him as possible. You felt dizzy and almost fell, but managed to grab a bedpost. Silco got off the bed and approached you, wanting to help you, but when your head jerked in his direction and you looked at him with a look that resembled a cornered, injured animal, he stopped.

"I'm so sorry," he spoke softly.

"I don't care," you said, your voice hoarse and almost unintelligible.

Your hand went to your neck, feeling over the now dark marks where his hands had choked you. You wished so much for all of this not to be real, just a bad dream, but you knew it was real.

He lowered his head and looked at you like a beaten dog.

Very quietly he said, "That's not true."

"Yes it is, I want to get out of here!"

He gritted his teeth. It was understandable that you were scared and angry, you had every right to be, but this knowledge did not make the situation any easier for him.

Gently he asked you, "Where do you want to go? You don't have anywhere else to stay?"

"I don't care, I just want to get away from you!" you pressed out between quivering lips while tears streamed down your face.

It was not only your throat that hurt, it was everything, your whole existence hurt.

There was a long pause of silence in which you looked at each other, both full of pain and fear. But finally Silco took the floor again.

"Please don't go, little flower," he spoke in an husked voice.

"Where are my clothes?" you asked bitterly, ignoring his request.

"In the... In the bathroom, I think"

The next steps happened as if by themselves, your perception was still fuzzy and your overwhelmed mind blanked out a lot, among other things any sense of time and also some of the words Silco addressed to you. But you got the overall tenor. He was afraid to lose you, he didn't want you to leave.

"You should have thought about that before you killed me," you said flatly as you finally got dressed and walked past him out of the bedroom.

Only a moment later, he heard the door to his office open and slam back into the lock.

You didn't know where to go, first of all you wanted to get away from Silco. You had to sort yourself out, think, come to rest, plan next steps. But as soon as you reached a calm place, you sank wearily to your knees, breathing heavily and fighting another crying fit. Everything in you seemed to be on fire, your chest, your throat, your eyes, everything. You forced yourself to breathe deeply to calm down, but the next moment you were shaken by sobs again.

Sevika showed up at Silco's shortly after you left, with Ronon. Handcuffed, the stocky man with the red curls knelt in front of Silco. There was an icy silence, only Ronon's nervous breathing could be heard.

"You lied to me. I don't know why, but honestly I don't care. Y/N wasn't at the docks like you said," Silco finally addressed the man kneeling on the ground.

Ronon said nothing, he knew it didn't matter, he knew he was dead, now he could only hope it would be quick. But Silco would not do him that favor.

Silco walked up and down, Sevika as well as Ronon were silent, no one dared to say anything.

He was thinking about all sorts of things. He had never been a particularly accessible or loving person. The life he had lived up to that point had simply never allowed it. He himself had never experienced affection until you came into his life. Even if it had been rather bumpy in the beginning and he expressed his affection mainly physically, it was still there. It was something special, something he deeply appreciated. Today that had almost been taken away from him.

In his mind's eye he saw you under him in the water, his hands closed around your neck. How could he ever forget that image? How could he ever make you forgive him? How could he ever forgive himself? Quite abruptly, he threw a punch, hitting Ronon in the head and knocking him over. The man remained lying, not daring to get up.

Hot anger burned in Silco, consuming his every thought. He thought of what Vander had done back then, and the irony was biting. He had done to the only person he really cared about, aside from Jinx, what Vander had done to him.

Silco kicked, hitting Ronon square in the face with the heel of his boot, hearing his nose break and the man groan in pain.

Again and again images of you flared up in his mind, with each image he kicked. Teeth broke, cheekbones.

Ronon choked on his own blood, coughing and whimpering through broken jaw and teeth, "Please, have mercy."

"Sorry, all out of mercy," Silco growled, stomping on his face again and again and again.

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