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cdroloisms · 4 years ago

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Hello, idk if you’ll see this, nor do you have to take this request. But I’ve been thinking, and thought up: Dream joined the egg, but not because it offered him world domination or a happy family or any of that; no it offered to treat him kindly, to be affectionate, to be a friend, basically offering him human decency. (With an add on of everyone believing it was for some big reason, but the actual reason gets revealed somehow) if that made any sense. (Idk if this counts as an au or not)

[ask: if dream showed up to the red banquet, that would be very sexy of the writers to make him join the eggpire instead of the pro-omlette]

hehe egg!dream has so much potential ,, this is a ficlet i’ve been working on for a while (writer’s block my detested) but i finally finished it up !! it’s a bit unpolished but oh well - they cant all be winners lmao

tw: body horror, blood, injuries, implied torture/abuse, starvation, possession, dark/disturbing imagery, dark content, pandora’s vault/prison arc

Dream gets corrupted by the Egg, because of course he does.

Sapnap trudges through the vine-filled hallway, his face bundled firmly with a holy-water soaked bandana to keep out the worst of the spores. It’s a shoddy defense, but he doesn’t plan to stay long; he’s only been sent on reconnaissance, to see what public enemy number one is planning and get out as quickly as he can. As much as the entire server wants Dream dead, trying to defeat the man the first time was enough of a feat, never mind with the power of a giant demon egg on his side - to try and fight him now would be practically impossible.

The floor squishes underneath his boots, and his lips curl in disgust; the vines are thick and moist and feel ugly and rotten to the core. He can’t imagine anyone being anything but repulsed by the things, but he guesses it makes sense for Dream to be drawn here - corruption attracts corruption, it seems. It only figures that Dream would be desperate enough for power to let himself get possessed by the living - if you could really call it living - embodiment of decay and deterioration itself. The feeling of the floor giving way underneath his footsteps has another wave of revulsion crawling up his throat, though he’s not sure if it’s directed towards the Egg or his former friend or both.

He reaches the end of the hallway, an itching, pulsing feeling of wrong filling the air in the room just beyond the haphazard archway carved into the stone. With careful hands, Sapnap draws the bandana further up his face, making sure that it is tied securely behind his head - just beyond this wall lies the belly of the beast, the heart of the rot slowly but surely spreading its influence over the entire server. Something hums in the air; whispering, otherworldly sounds pierce through his armor and settle beneath his skin; he pushes on. He knows better than to listen, to try and make sense of the words within the noise - from what he’s heard, by the time you understand what it is saying, it’s too late.

He steps inside; the room feels, for the lack of a better word, red. He’s better suited for the place than most, being a Netherborn and therefore more used to the oppressive heat and heaviness of the air, but there’s something undeniably wrong about how this place feels, something entirely Other having made its home in the room. Every inch of the place feels hostile, angry, hungry, recognizing him as someone foreign and wanting nothing more than his destruction. Unlike the Red Forests, which teemed with life - piglins and hoglins and giant fungus - this room is little more than a twisted mimicry, sucking the air dry, leaving little more than husks behind.

His hand immediately goes to his sword, drawing it with a dull, metallic scrape. The room is eerily silent save for the Egg’s hissing whispers, and he frowns; he’d expected an attack, but the room is still, quiet; a mockery of peace that only makes the uneasy feeling in his gut grow further. He trudges forward, watching against the puddles of lava and smoking magma scattered over the floor, but nothing stirs.

There’s a growing pressure against his skull with each step into the room, and his hand tightens on his communicator; they’d set up a stasis chamber, just in case things went south, his way out of this place only a few button presses away. Still, nothing moves; no Bad or Ant popping out of nowhere, weapons in hand, no Dream driving an axe between his shoulder blades as he’s done so many times before in their spars. There’s only the sound of his footsteps against the rotting growths on the floor and his own heartbeat thudding in his ears and the Egg’s warbling voice, beneath it all - beckoning, almost kind.

He swallows, throat dry, and moves forward.

His feet carry him to the back corner of the room, to the rotting, pulsing core of the wrongness plaguing the entire server. Even through his bandana, the air feels foreign, nearly choking him, and he strains his eyes against the glare of the lava to look up at the vines’ rancid heart, the Egg. Up close, it’s almost underwhelming, only about three times his height, hardly coming halfway up to the ceiling of the room. What it doesn’t have in size, however, it makes up in sheer presence; the hissing whispers in his head grow louder, crawling under his skin and between his bones, and he curses under his breath as he prepares to call for his way back. Dream isn’t here; the mission is a bust.

“Sapnap?”

He freezes.

It takes a moment to realize that the voice wasn’t in his head, as raspy and unsettling as it was, and his eyes traced the edges of the Egg to a dull colored shape at its side, completely overlooked in his initial sweep of the room. He watches, a dull horror rising in his chest, as the shape moves, twists around on itself in an entirely unnatural way like a marionette pulled by its strings. A pale dot rises from where it had been hidden against the bright red of the Egg; it’s a face, Dream’s face, covered in clawing vines, stark against the bone-white of his sun-starved skin, vomit racing up his throat at the sight of the vines having made their homes in jagged wounds all over his face and neck and disappearing into the torn scraps of his prison uniform, each one spilling crimson in the form of writhing vines and thorns instead of blood.

“Sapnap,” Dream says again, his mouth moving with the words but something entirely other having made its home in the air of his lungs, a shivering rasp to his voice that lifts and falls with the same desperate hunger that saturates every tainted inch of the room. His neck tips to the side, shifted over by a twisting vine tangled within his hair and wrapping a crown of blood-red thorns over his forehead, tendrils drooping over his face and framing the gaunt edges. “You came.”

“Dream-” the anger comes back, familiar, at the other’s words - the same red-hot rage that had boiled within him in that first and only prison visit (you took so long) but it dissipates as fast as it comes. Dream - if this remnant, this shade, this corrupted, mangled half that seems more corruption than human can even be called the name of one he had once considered his best friend, his brother - stumbles closer, held up by the vines that twist over his shaking legs, one having the pale, ragged edge of a bone clearly having ripped through skin - and Sapnap does throw up, this time, dragging the bandana from his face and heaving bile all over the floor.

“What happened-” he cries, flames licking up his arms in defense when his friend-turned-monster-turned-this steps closer on a wreck of a leg that should not be able to bear weight, stumbles back to a roaring in his ears-

He is mine he came broken came shattered and I gave him everything I gave him his heart’s desire I am his savior his grace he asked for warmth and he asked for comfort and he asked for nothing but for someone to take his pain and he is mine he is mine he is mine

He freezes, hand tightening over his communicator; Dream stares at him with the one dull-green eye not covered by the vines splayed over his too-pale face, mouth moving but no sound coming out. The roaring, angry sound in Sapnap’s ears grows louder, follows the shape of Dream’s lips come join your friend come with me I will give him to you you have failed him once but not again not again he is mine but you can be mine also and you will be together together together

“-pnap! Sapnap!” Puffy’s words crackle over the communicator, harsh and loud and snapping him out of his thoughts, “Pull the switch, Sam! No, he’s not responding- pull the switch-”

The world dips, and he heaves in a shattered breath, lungs finally full as he breathes in clear air for the first time in what feels like an eternity, hacking coughs pulled from his throat as he tears the bandana off in one sputtering gasp for breath.

“Sap- Sapnap,” Sam pitches his voice low, comforting, a hand rubbing up and down his back, but all Sapnap can see is the skeleton of a man held together by red thread, the life leached from his skin and leaving nothing left, he asked for nothing but for someone to take the pain and he is mine he is mine he is mine-

“Sapnap,” Puffy’s voice is tinny with concern, “What happened? You stopped responding and the time passed so we pulled the switch on the stasis chamber- are you alright? Did he attack you?”

“I-” -you have failed him once but not again not again you will be together- “I need a moment.”

He scrambles away, feet carrying him away from Church Prime, away from the Holy Land, away away away until he’s standing on the Community House roof, staring at his hands at this home, destroyed, this home, rebuilt, this home, empty and wrong and a shadow of house for a shadow of a man, a shadow of a friend found, a friend lost- and sobs.

What had he done?

#tw body horror #tw blood #tw torture #tw abuse #tw starvation #tw possession #tw dark imagery #tw disturbing imagery #tw dark content #prison arc #pandora's vault #queue <3 #long post #my writing :D #my asks !!

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manyfictionsmusings · 3 years ago

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Pull Me Like A Ripcord

Summary:

This story takes place immediately after the events of X-Men Apocalypse, where Peter decides against going back to Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters, despite seeking his father’s attention prior. This fic will just be growing and “mutating” as I write but promising lots of Dad/son angst, hurt/comfort etc.

Chapter 1: AfterEffects

As naïve as it was, Peter had hoped Erik would somehow realize he was his son, now that idea seemed cold and stupid. Why would Erik magically know who he was? He wasn’t Charles, a mind reader, and this wasn’t a fantasy kingdom where the orphan got his father in the end of the story.

Peter pulled his legs up to his chest, or at least he would have if he could have moved his shattered knee, the pain, coupled with the emotional turmoil of the long day sent him easily to tears. He wasn’t used to losing, he wasn’t used to being physically injured. The finale of the Egyptian battle had seen the x-men triumph, but Peter himself had lost…lost another chance to connect with Erik, if only he’d been able to get the better of the Immortal it might have impressed his father enough to take note of him, but instead if it hadn’t been for Raven’s distractions, the Beast’s strength and his own father’s shift in loyalties, he would have been just another victim in the note book of Apocalypse.

Peter drew a shaky breath, trying to force the events to wash over him, normally things didn’t bother him, but the last few months he’d changed, the others here at the school, or what was left of the school…he didn’t want to call them family but that’s what they felt like to him. It scared him and it was too much to hope for, he’d been disappointed to many times to open up like that. Which was why he’d told Beast to take him to a regular hospital in Cairo and he’d make his own way home once he was healed.

Beast had had his reservations about it, leaving the scrawny, pale kid who’d been with them since he’d saved literally everyone at Xavier’s school for gifted youngsters seemed a shitty way to repay him, but he’d finally consented to it, only after Peter had gotten angry and started yelling.

He felt lonely now, in the hospital bed, with an oxygen tube in his nose and his injured leg casted and hoisted by a sling, a thousand miles from anyone he knew, but the pain was reminding him of his failures as one of the x-men and the isolation served to remind him why he didn’t bother with people, especially his father.

They always left. Or were never there to begin with.

He deserved this.

“You don’t deserve any of this, Peter.”

Peter jolted, startled for only a second by the gentle voice, there was only one person it could be, to know what precisely he was thinking. He hurriedly wiped tears off his face before Charles came any closer.

“I told Beast I was fine. I don’t want anyone wasting any more time on me.”

“Beast didn’t tell your secret, but I was worried about you, Peter. You think I was going to just leave Egypt without you? I wouldn’t leave here without any of you.” Charles stepped closer, softly he took his hand and squeezed gently. “You all mean so much to me. I owe you my life, Peter.”

He removed his hand and crossed his arms. “I didn’t do anything, if…if Erik hadn’t stepped in, we all would have been killed-including you.”

Charles glanced towards the monitors attached to the young man, before his eyes roamed across the physical state of Peter, in contemplation. “It was a group effort; it took all of us.” He finally spoke after a moment of hesitation. “I know you seek his attention and yet you’re afraid of it…Lehnsherr is coming back with us to New York, he’s going to help me rebuild the institution.”

Peter glanced up, his eyes reflecting a youthful hope the professor hadn’t seen for some time. “I thought he left.”

Charles shook his head. “It’s a way to…perhaps earn his attention, little by little anyway. What do you think? Will you return with me?”

Peter grimaced. “I’m not in great shape professor, encase you haven’t noticed. I might swing in when I’m up and around.”

Charles raised an eyebrow. “I know all your pains, I’m sorry. I put your life in such horrific danger-”

“I came along on the mission of my own free will, no one forced me,” Peter interrupted.

Charles gripped his shoulder suddenly with an assertive intention. “Let me oversee your recovery, Maximoff, please, it’s the least I can do. I won’t leave here until you agree to be transferred to a hospital in New York, preferably close to Salem Center. You don’t have to be bothered by anyone from the school. But knowing you aren’t in Egypt would put my mind at ease.”

Peter sighed, he was feeling it again, the warm sensation that made him relaxed and somehow extremely uncomfortable at the same time. Family was something he would never be able to hold on to. He was going to mess it up, he knew that. He could already feel the threads slipping between pale, desperate, grasping fingers. But in the meantime, Charles cared about him enough to hunt him down in one of many Cairo hospitals, and he’d checked in under an alias. The professor cared enough to come back, or had he never left in the first place? His caring nature was beyond consolation to Peter’s broken, cold body, so comforting in fact he felt tears welling up again!

He sniffled and hurriedly wiped his brow before their return, nodding. “I’ll come with you.”

Professor Xavier had kept his word, medically and financially he’d arranged for everything to be taken care of, transporting Peter from Cairo to New York. He’d also arranged for him to have his own private room in Sheeran Hospital—a private hospital in upstate New York, forty-five miles from the current disaster of Xavier’s school for gifted youngsters.

Over the next two weeks physically Peter’s injuries slowly healed but mentally he felt wrecked beyond compare. He started having reoccurring nightmares that he couldn’t run; his ability had been fractured when the monstrosity had snapped his leg like a twig under his boot. In the dream he was trying to run away from someone, his first thought was that it was Apocalypse but a couple nights later he realized it was just a shadowy figure, one he could never outrun. Each time he fell, immobilized as pain shot through his leg, the sound of his own bones crunching reverberated in his ears, just as it had that day.

The nurses had unfortunately taken note of his mood, though Peter hadn’t put much effort into hiding his grim attitude, he’d slipped in a snarky remark about getting some extra drugs for an overdose. The nurse didn’t find his dark humor amusing and Charles suspiciously showed up the very next day.

He didn’t say much at first, just sat near Peter’s bed, looking out the enormous rectangle window that looked west, on a glowing sunset. “You have a good view though,” he finally spoke.

Peter pursed his lips. “I do appreciate your hospitality Professor, but I’m fine, you don’t have to check in on me. Just... really bored here you know, I don’t think I’ve ever stayed in one place this long…it’s wearing on me, I feel weird being at this speed.”

Charles turned his chair to face him, hands in his pockets, yet concern on his features. “Must be very uncomfortable to be forced to slow down. How’s physical therapy going?”

Peter avoided the older man’s gaze for some reason and snorted. “I mean it’s slow, I’m not the patience type or a patient for that matter…”

Charles nodded. “But the sooner you’re hobbling around, the sooner I can get you out of here.”

“And take me where?” Maximoff snipped with his signature deep-set frown.

Charles chuckled, “You’d be surprised what several telekinetic mutants can accomplish when it comes to construction. The east wing is already rebuilt, for now we’re using it for sleeping quarters. It’s a little crowded but…”

“…Anything is better than the smell of hospital?” Peter finished, trying to keep his mind in constant motion—moving from thought to thought. He didn’t know how much the professor knew about what he was thinking but Xavier had already noted his inward conception about seeking Erik’s attention in Egypt, so his guess was he was an open book, but Peter’s thoughts could be about as fast as his movement when we wanted them to be. “Well sounds like I need to hit therapy harder, if you’re actually going to get me out of here.”

As much as Peter didn’t intend to be shambling around a cramped wing in the school, Charles’ visit served to kick him in the butt about getting out of Sheeran soon, regardless of where he went afterward. And if he was being honest, he had never planned to go back to the school, though he also wasn’t ready to face his reasoning for not returning there.

No one was going to miss him, well not the one person that mattered, because he couldn’t even see Peter for who he was. A new plan had quickly formulated—get his leg in good enough shape to slip off before Charles came back for him and circumvent the entire situation altogether.

The nightmares continued to plague him, as day after day he added a little weight to the tender broken leg, between tears and a lump that had formed on his lip from how many times he had bit it to deal with the pain, he started making it all the way through the routes the therapist had set up for him. Once he realized he could make it to the end of the routine he had to mentally stop himself from trying out his true speed. He continually checked himself, forced himself to be normal, move slowly. He embraced the pain wholly, promising himself a whole box of Lemonheads when he got out of here.

A week and two days after Charles’ visit, Peter decided he was going. He’d woke up from his worst nightmare by far, clutching his throat, covered in sweat, his heart was beating hard enough his chest ached. His leg was throbbing with shadow pain from Apocalypse breaking it, only in this dream he hadn’t been saved before the giant mutant had slit his throat and tossed him aside like trash. His father hadn’t even noticed or cared.

Peter swallowed painfully, still tracing his fingers across the smooth, blanched flesh of his neck as he slipped out of bed. His x-men costume had been lost somewhere in the shuffle, or maybe the professor had taken it, either way Charles had been kind enough to replace it with his current pajamas and a change of clothing. Not the usual silver tinted clothing but considering he still wasn’t up to his Quicksilver speed, it seemed fitting to pull on the dark blue jeans and faded orange hoodie. Peter sighed in comfort at the velvety worn state of both items as they contacted his skin, though he tried to ignore how billowy the clothes were on him, he’d lost a significant amount of weight since Egypt—which the nurses had been lecturing him over—but what could you expect when there was only hospital food and no snacks to be seen.

Next Peter attempted to calm his silvery hair, by brushing his fingers through it repeatedly, which only seemed to make it worse. Between the wild shock of hair and the dark rimmed eyes, his reflection looked ghostly, coupled with the dim hospital lighting.

Peter exhaled calmly before grabbing the only items that had made it back with him from Egypt, his googles and his earphones, he stuck one of the foreign crutches under each armpit and silently slipped out of Sheeran Hospital…

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ridiasfangirlings · 3 years ago

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Title: some nights you are the lighthouse, some nights the sea

Fandom: K Project

External: AO3

Ratings/Warnings: T

Summary: Waves crash on the shore, wearing away at the ruins already half-swallowed as a boy rises out of the sea like a righted ship, and though he doesn't know it yet everything is written in that instant. Munakata has never failed to understand anything in his life, until Suoh Mikoto.

Notes: I swear I will stop writing in present tense soon it just didn’t flow as well when I tried to change it. Somehow Mikorei of all things breaks my writer’s block.

Some nights you are the lighthouse

some nights the sea

what this means is that I don't know

desire other than the need

to be shattered & rebuilt

- Ocean Vuong

On the shores of memory, he meets a wild boy in the sea.

Munakata recalls this only vaguely, like the last vestiges of a dream which fade upon waking. He was wearing a sun hat and good walking shoes, traveling to see the remnants of a disaster that called to him like a foghorn in the night, the staccato beats of morse code that steered him towards a place he needed to see with his own eyes. The place where a great upheaval occurred, one that the child that he was didn't fully understand but still felt inexorably drawn to nonetheless.

Munakata Reisi is a singular man and was a singular child. From the start he carried a question in his heart that tugged at his steps but never weighed him down, a burden that he carried in thin arms, splayed across a small pale back, the weight evenly distributed so that no part of it ever became too much for him to bear. Still, though, a weight – because even from the start he was different and he didn't know why, and the wrecked edges of a shattered island called to him. In the place where only water was now there had once been buildings and people, lives that crashed together and stopped violently in a rush of destruction that they knew nothing about.

Standing at the seashore at that time, Munakata has hazy memories of seeing a flash of red hair as a figure rose out of the sea, crimson against the sky. He thinks maybe their eyes met for just an instant – or perhaps it only felt that way, that those eyes pierced his. And sometimes he recalls that he'd had a dream then, of being the kind of person who could see this disaster coming and prevent it in any way possible. But he thinks that at that moment maybe he forgot the dream and became trapped in the gaze that he couldn't even fully see instead, in a presence that called to him in an entirely different way.

(And sometimes in his dreams Munakata holds a weight in his hands and stretches out to give it to that figure in the water, and yet he never walks away any lighter.)

The image of the dead city around him haunts him for a long time after, but Munakata thinks that at the time perhaps he believed the world was still beautiful nonetheless.

–

“And there is the matter of the Red King.”

“Oya?” Munakata raises an eyebrow, hands behind his back, showing full deference to His Excellency. It's not as if the hierarchy of Kings was placed right into his brain when he awoke, of course, but Munakata was always raised to be polite to his elders. Even so there's a vague sense of strain between them and Munakata suspects that perhaps he was disliked right on sight.

(It's not a feeling he's unfamiliar with.)

“The Blue King and Red King are two whose natures are always at odds. As head of Scepter 4, it will be your duty to keep him in check.”

“Of course.” He is wrapped in Blue, in the mantle of a King, and he's ceased to be the Munakata Reisi who stepped aboard that plane to return to Japan. Kingship has answered the question in his mind and stolen the burden from his back, and Munakata welcomes it. That he's perhaps lost 'Munakata Reisi' at the same time is of no concern, because Munakata Reisi and the Blue King were always one and the same.

“His name is Suoh Mikoto.”

“I see. I will keep that name in mind.”

(Waves crash on the shore, wearing away at the ruins already half-swallowed as a boy rises out of the sea like a righted ship, and though he doesn't know it yet everything is written in that instant.)

As soon as Munakata leaves Mihashira Tower he has Awashima begin gathering intelligence on the Red King. He himself is too busy for such a thing, instead searching through the roster of the previous Scepter 4 and through pages and pages of names, civil servants, job applicants, looking for those with talent who may catch his eye. Munakata's mind is always working, looking ahead two moves, three, plotting the best course. He once wished to be the one who would see disaster coming and make a plan to prevent it and he intends to do just that. He has not become the Blue King to do any less.

He remembers the name Suoh Mikoto and makes a note to pay a visit to the Red King. He's heard the tale of his predecessor and the former Red King, and how that crater he once walked along the edges of came to be. Munakata isn't concerned. He may not know Habari Jin but Munakata knows his own value. Surely he and this Suoh Mikoto will be able to talk things out like adults, where Munakata will lay out unassailable arguments about why the Red King should cease any activities that could cause unrest in the current world, and they will come to an agreement of peace.

(In the wreckage of the world, he meets a boy in the sea and turns away from him, but the image burns itself behind his eyes and never entirely leaves him. The world is drowning, and beautiful still.)

–

Munakata Reisi was always known as a good child, and has never gotten into fights.

He has been this way for as long as he can recall. When his brother came home from school covered in bruises and grinning (“You should see the other guy!”) their parents would lightly scold him in a manner that suggested such a thing was to be expected of a rowdy young boy. Even so, Munakata had never seen the point in it. When Taishi tried to teach him how to fight he had picked it up immediately of course, because he was that sort of person, but he had never bothered to raise a hand against another child. It was preferable to discuss things with others instead, to turn them to his side and make them into allies rather than enemies, and he never so much as saw a day of detention or a word of warning from his teachers.

Perhaps that explains the exhilaration he feels when he realizes that he would very much like to punch Suoh Mikoto's head in.

He had tried to do things the proper way. He had planned out exactly how their meeting was to go, how he was to show the Red King that there was no point in acting the way he did. Everything should have worked perfectly, each piece in its place, but – that man was unreasonable, in the manner of beasts, and more troublesome than expected.

Munakata had researched him beforehand but no research could have prepared him for such a man. Even seeing him so close the first time they properly 'met' – he had watched from afar before this, planning his moment (and somewhere, very far away, waves and water, a sun hat on his head, and an old man sitting on rubble, but that had long since sunk beneath the limited memory of a child and turned into only a dusty dream) but they had not met face to face until the time he had chosen. The moment Munakata had spoken to Suoh he had realized that this man was different, as he himself was, but in a way utterly beyond even Munakata's own calculations. This was a beast, this was a flame, this was a lion pacing in a cage too small to hold its body. It was as if Suoh lived inside iron bars, always two steps away from melting them into nothing and escaping into that world of crumbled buildings and shoreline where cities had been. The downfall of civilizations, all held in check inside this man, by the thinnest of chains.

It is intolerable.

In the world of order that he would create, chaos is not needed. In that moment Munakata had known it, that His Excellency had been correct in giving the task of taming to Munakata. In order to create the world that he wished to see such a man needed to be kept tight in check or else his waves would overtake the sea wall that Munakata's hands would build.

Munakata Reisi is not a violent man and he does not care for settling matters with boorish methods. Even so there is something satisfying in the way his fist collides with Suoh's stomach, with the bruising crack made by the scabbard of his sword as it connects with Suoh's face. Suoh only brushes it off and smiles – teeth baring in the bright light, a star on fire out of control – and Munakata scowls in response.

It doesn't occur to him until hours later, body still sore, bruises forming purple under his uniform, that he had dropped the crown of the Blue King somewhere along the way, and it was truly Munakata Reisi who had enjoyed attempting to beat Suoh Mikoto into submission.

Looking back at it, that's really the moment he was lost.

–

“You're here, again.”

“It does appear we often cross paths, does it not? How unfortunate.”

This time it's in an aisle at the supermarket. Munakata has run out of tea and requires more and Suoh, it seems, is purchasing cigarettes and some manner of frozen pizza. There is a 'No Smoking' sign on the wall and Suoh's cigarette smoke is curling around it like a contented cat.

“Yeah. Unfortunate.” Suoh blows smoke and Munakata reaches over and takes the cigarette from his hand. There's nowhere to put it out so he wraps Blue power around it instead and places it in the nearest trash can, something which Suoh seems to find far too amusing. “'S weird seeing you here anyway.”

“Contrary to your assumptions, Suoh, I do require groceries as much as any other person.”

“Hmm. Looks like it.”

“It seems you are not inclined to do the same.” Munakata gives the items in Suoh's hands a distasteful look and Mikoto shrugs, scratching the back of his head.

“Kusanagi's out. Figured this would be easy for dinner.”

“Ah, I see. I imagine it is difficult for you to survive, with your caretaker away.”

“It's probably difficult for you to survive with your mouth shut.” Mikoto walks past him and Munakata follows easily, not even certain why. It's no problem, he supposes. The Red King and the Blue King are of warring natures that both oppose and attract each other, so it's no wonder he should feel the need to keep an eye on Suoh even in a place as mundane as a grocery store.

“On the other hand, perhaps I should congratulate you on discovering the impulse to cook. Please be certain to use an oven like a civilized person, so that no fire trucks need be dispensed to deal with the aftermath.”

Mikoto snorts at that and reaches over to grab a lollipop from the end of an aisle. In one move he pulls the plastic off and stuffs the candy into Munakata's mouth, ignoring the indignant huff of surprise that Munakata makes in return.

“Maybe that will keep you quiet.” Mikoto walks on towards the cashier and Munakata irritably removes the lollipop from his mouth (he supposes it's good that Suoh at least bothered to remove the plastic, and he makes a note to pay for the candy when he reaches the register as he is certain Mikoto will not).

“Such an intolerable man.”

–

The first time they kiss is in an abandoned building, propped up against rubble created by their own fight, and somewhere a burst pipe is dripping water into Munakata's eyes.

“Heh...not so uptight now, huh, Munakata?” Suoh's voice is low and predatory, and Munakata scowls as he slams Mikoto's head back into the wall behind them. Mikoto responds by kneeing him in the stomach and then arching up to kiss him roughly on the mouth.

This wasn't exactly as Munakata had planned things. The idea of himself kneeling over Suoh Mikoto on a dirty warehouse floor, surrounded by dust and debris, with their mouths crashing together and their hands scratching marks along each other's skin...it's completely unlike him. The Blue King would never allow such a thing, never permit this sort of man to get so close to him.

Even so Munakata Reisi can't stop himself, hands wrapped in Suoh's coat, dragging him close, and Suoh uses one leg to flip their positions and pin Munakata to ground. He leans in for another kiss and Munakata smashes their foreheads together instead, and Mikoto only smiles and wipes blood from the corner of his mouth. As a rough hand pushes his shoulder back and leans in to bite at his neck Munakata grabs a fistful of Suoh's hair and yanks hard – but not quite enough to pull him away, and the heat of Suoh's body is like a fire that burns too hot, that will burn itself out in no time.

Some time later he reunites with Awashima and the rest of his men, collar pulled up to hide the marks on his neck, and decides that this will not happen again.

(That night he dreams of standing on the wrecked shore and looking at the sunset as a great black silhouette emerges from the ocean and blocks out the light. Hands grab him and pull him under, pull him close, and a warm mouth crashes against his. Oxygen is breathed roughly into his lungs with the bite on his lips and he isn't really sure, if he's being drowned or being saved.

Perhaps a bit of both.)

–

Suoh normally sleeps at the bar but he rents a room in the city as well, and that is where they tend to meet. There are still those moments in empty buildings and hidden alleyways, tearing at each other in the middle of battle, but if they are going to do this – and apparently they are – Munakata would prefer to have some order in it.

Surprisingly Suoh doesn't often sleep afterward, though he isn't one for cuddling in the aftermath either (which is not to say that Munakata would expect or wish for such a thing, as far as that goes). Suoh is a lazy barbarian with no sense of responsibility whatsoever but lying side by side Munakata can tell somewhat more, the signs that are hidden behind the flat looks and bored shrugs. There is a fire behind Mikoto's eyes and he is never quite certain if Suoh wants to let it burn or snuff it out.

That's his way of Kingship, Munakata supposes, reaching for his own pack of cigarettes sitting on the nightstand. They speak the same language but in separate dialects and that makes all the difference, inflections and intonations that make the words sound right and the meanings differ. Munakata wears the mantle of the Blue King like a second skin, a part of his skeleton that moves with him, while to Suoh the Red King is only an anchor around his waist – he can only stay afloat for so long, and Munakata is keenly aware that each breath to Suoh is one exhale away from death.

He pulls out a cigarette and without even looking Suoh lights it for him in a movement so easy it seems nearly practiced. They dance side by side now, but one day the music will change and their rhythm will shift, and the Blue King will do what must be done.

Without thinking he reaches out and presses a hand to Suoh's bare chest, feeling the heat beneath the skin. Mikoto raises an eyebrow and blows smoke into the air.

“Never heard a heartbeat before, Munakata?” A slow drawl, with the undertone that he knows what Munakata's thoughts are, and Munakata scowls.

“Your power is far too out of control, if I can feel it at a touch.”

“Maybe.” Mikoto shrugs. “We can't all be the perfect King like you, I guess.”

(If he was perfect he wouldn't be here, but Munakata leaves the Blue King at the door before he enters into this apartment and steps inside only Munakata Reisi.)

“Do you truly intend to rush to your own destruction?” Munakata brings his own cigarette to his lips, eyes steady on Suoh's face.

“Does it matter?” Mikoto faces him fearlessly, as always, and Munakata finds himself thinking that this time his eyes are the eyes of a man rather than a beast.

“You realize what could happen if you were to allow such a thing to occur. The previous Red King's fate must not be repeated.”

“Maybe that guy got tired of it too.” Mikoto tilts his head back, smoke curling from the cigarette held between his lips, and Munakata finds himself wondering what Suoh gets out of this relationship between them, what words Suoh Mikoto reads between the lines of Munakata's meaning. “Being in this place.”

“I cannot allow that.” His words are measured and 'that' remains a question in the air.

“Yeah. I figured.” Mikoto stares up at the ceiling, hands behind his head. “In that case, I guess I'm countin' on you.”

“As always, no sense of responsibility.”

“Isn't that what the Blue King's sword is for? Upholding justice?” Mikoto shifts to look at him, grinning without mirth.

“My sword will do what is necessary to protect the peace of this city.” A piece of the Blue King has attached back to him and so he can speak for both himself and the second skin he wears.

“Yeah.” Mikoto falls back against the bed, smiling faintly, and for a moment Munakata wants to grab him by the shoulders and shake him, lose all composure and smack this irritating man in the face until he's satisfied. “I figured that's what you would say.”

“Please do not do such tiresome things that would force my sword to be sullied by your barbarian's blood,” Munakata sniffs primly.

Mikoto chuckles, but doesn't give an answer.

–

It’s the longing for destruction that he can’t understand, nor does he want to. There is something deep within Suoh, ravaging and impatient, that gnaws at him every day, begging to rip flesh, to burn. Munakata can’t grasp the feeling and it worries away at him, that something exists in this world that’s beyond his comprehension.

“You think too much.” Suoh leans back against the brick wall, blowing smoke. There’s a bruise darkening the side of his face, and Munakata’s stomach still aches slightly from being punched. It’s the easiest way for them to communicate in language that the other can understand.

“Better than not thinking at all, in the manner of certain people.” There’s a slight testy edge to his words and Mikoto grins.

“You don’t need to understand everything, you know. Sometimes you just need to let shit happen.”

“If it is my power to rebuild something broken I wish to do so. Unlike yourself, I have a world I wish to create.”

“Yeah, yeah. The Blue King’s like that, huh? You’ve always been a busybody, Munakata.” He says it as if they’ve known each other for years (and Munakata sometimes feels as if they have, as if it wasn’t only ‘the Blue King’ that answered the question in his mind but Suoh Mikoto as well).

“One among us must be.” Munakata turns to face him, expression pointed and serious. “There is an answer beyond breaking that cage, Suoh.”

Mikoto looks surprised for only a moment and then his features settle into something of a wry smile, oddly fond, and he blows smoke into Munakata’s face.

“Yeah. For you, I guess so.”

“Do you intend to have me kill you someday?”

“Maybe.” Mikoto shrugs. “You’re a trustworthy guy, figured it’s better than relying on that old man.”

“I will not hesitate, if given the opportunity to be the one to finish you.”

“Thought you’d say something like that.”

“Then do not test me.”

“Right.” Another slightly fond smile, and Suoh shakes his head.

“And please do not do me the indignity of attempting to apologize once I have cleaned up your mess.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Suoh rolls his eyes and Munakata plucks the cigarette from his mouth, leans in and breathes in the smoke from Suoh’s lungs.

(Whether he would have it this way or not, Munakata has his duty, and the task of filling those ever-expanding cracks on Suoh’s soul is beyond the scope of what his hands can hold. They both know it, and that’s the only reason things work between them.)

–

“You can't save everything.” Mikoto bites Munakata's lower lip, sharp enough to draw blood, and Munakata pulls hard at his hair, hands wrapped in fiery red strands. Mikoto bares his fangs in a smile.

“I do not recall ever saying that I wished to save you.”

“Yeah, well, it's written on your face. You're easy to read, Munakata.” Suoh falls back lazily, licking his lips slightly, and Munakata irritably rubs at the teeth marks that are forming a bruise just above his collarbone. His cravat will hide it, and the fact that he even thinks about that for a moment shames him.

“As are you.” Which is a lie, something that rankles at him constantly. Munakata Reisi has never in his life failed to understand something, until this man.

“That's your problem, Munakata. You don't need to be right about everything.” Mikoto shifts as if to bite him again and grins widely when Munakata pushes him back down.

“That I do not feel the need to give into base animal instincts like you is not due to any need for 'being right'.” Munakata gives him a cold glare. “You do not need to give into the Red King's urges yourself, Suoh.”

“Didn't say I was going to. This is me talking, not some form of a King that you've made in your mind.”

“This is where it differs between us then.” Mikoto tries to sit up again and Munakata pushes him down once more, straddling him and staring down intently. “You are a King, Suoh. You should know what that entails.”

“This is why you're annoying, Munakata.” Mikoto's eyes are piercing and Munakata refuses to be the first to look away. “What're you gonna do when what you want and what the Blue King wants aren't the same?”

“My will and the Blue King's will are as one.” Munakata leans down over him, dangerously close, and Mikoto tilts his chin up with a finger.

“That's a funny thing to say in your position. This isn't 'the Blue King,' right?” His fingers brush against Munakata's lips and part of Munakata wants to bite down and draw blood even though he knows it's wholly unlike him to do so.

“Consider it an act of subduing the beast.”

“That's crap and you know it.” Mikoto pauses, looks him in the eye. “You're better this way anyway, Munakata. Don't be that guy unless you have to be. I'm not the only one livin' in a cage.”

“Responsibility is not a cage, Suoh.”

“Not that. You’re not just the Blue King, idiot. What're you gonna do when that Sword falls?”

“Unlike you, I do not intend to lose myself so far that such a thing would be a concern.” Munakata's so close he can smell the cigarette smoke lingering on the tips of Mikoto's hair, see the wild glint in his eyes. “Suoh. The road you are on will lead only to destruction, you realize that.”

“Yeah.” There's something dark and hooded deep behind Mikoto's outer display of nonchalance and Munakata wonders what kind of dreams Suoh has during all that time he's asleep. “Guess I do.”

“I will not allow it.” The force of his own words surprises him.

“It's not up to you.” Mikoto moves under him and suddenly the tables are turned, and Munakata is the one flat on his back. “I told you before. I'm gonna live my way, and die my way.”

“This is not only about you, Suoh. You realize should the Red King's Sword fall again it will--”

“I know.” Mikoto moves away as quickly as he lunged, hands behind his head and leaning back against the bed as Munakata sits up. “It's somethin' I accepted a long time ago. Don't know why you can't.”

Because I saw a drowned city once and determined that I would be the one who saw this tragedy coming and prevented it, no matter the cost. But he can't say those words, and bites Mikoto's throat instead.

–

In the end things go as they'd both always expected, and Suoh is at least enough a man of his word that he doesn't apologize – not to Munakata, at least – when Munakata's sword pierces his chest.

The last vestiges of the Red King's power have already begun to fade and it's odd, to see Suoh Mikoto looking so still. Normally Munakata knows him as a man who, even asleep, radiates power and ferocity, a wild beast in a cage only because he allows himself to be. This body is not like him at all, still and red in the snow, and somehow for the first time the sword feels heavy in Munakata's hand.

There is a change in him, he knows that. It's as if something was pulled out of him the day he met Suoh Mikoto, drawn out inch by inch from deep within, and now with Suoh's death it remains stuck in place, halfway between his ribs and his heart, unable to move any further. Munakata kneels down beside the body and finds himself thinking that if he was a romantic he might take a moment to place a kiss on the dead man's lips.

He doesn't, of course. Instead Munakata takes the cigarettes from Mikoto's pocket and places them in his own, and the mantle of the Blue King is resting unsettled along his shoulders. Something has split apart, a piece of himself that shattered off when he wasn't looking, and yet he feels almost whole. As if there had always been a second question in his mind that he had never been aware of until now but somehow Suoh Mikoto had already answered it for him.

Munakata Reisi makes his way through the night step by step, a single blue figure stark against white snow, and lets the shattered piece remain where it's fallen.

(Off in the distance somewhere he can see waves, crashing against the shore, a deep blue sea that stretches out along into infinity. A boy breaks the surface, red hair burning like a wildfire in the light of the setting sun, droplets of water thrown into the air with his emergence, carrying all the untamed wildness of the waves within himself. Munakata takes a step towards the water and the boy turns, their eyes meeting for just a moment and – a smile, perhaps, wild and fleeting like the wind – the boy disappears back beneath the water, swimming for the far shore. Munakata watches him until he's no more than a speck on the horizon, and then turns and walks away.

Behind him the waves are still crashing, and the boy swims on.)

#Mikorei #k project #Munakata Reisi #Suoh Mikoto #fic #I tried making it past tense and it just felt more stilted idk #anyway angst time #why are they like this

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baoshan-sanren · 4 years ago

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Chapter 23

of the wwx emperor au I’m thinking of calling Lan QiRen’s Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Week

The Peach Blossom Pavilion is heavily guarded.

However, the guards are clearly focused on the outside threats trying to find their way in, not the Emperor attempting to sneak out. Wei WuXian’s hand is warm in WangJi’s, squeezing lightly to signal when they must be still, pulling him along when it is time to move. In the darkness, every stretch of cobblestones looks identical to the next. They cross two courtyards, both pitch black, nothing to distinguish them from one another except the faint scent of chrysanthemums. It is not long before no guards can been seen or heard, but Wei WuXian’s hand is still wrapped around his own, his thumb a hot brand on WangJi’s knuckles.

WangJi remembers that same hand coated in blood. Pressing against the arrow wound. Gracefully extended, so someone else’s fingers may rest lightly on its wrist.

Somewhere in the Immortal Mountain City, there is boy lying wounded, because he had been willing to give his life up for the Emperor. And for a few moments, WangJi had forgotten that he even exists.

“Nie HuaiSang,” he says softly.

“Recovering. He lost a great deal of blood, but there will be no lasting damage. The assassin has not been caught yet,” Wei WuXian’s voice hardens, “but he will be.”

WangJi is relieved to hear it, but this is not the only reason he had said the Royal Companion’s name. Sneaking past the guards, depending on the pressure of Wei WuXian’s fingers to lead him, he could pretend that such contact was necessary. Now, he feels an imposter, holding on to something that does not belong to him.

Gently, WangJi attempts to disentangle their fingers. Wei WuXian’s grip tightens.

“A-Sang is my brother,” Wei WuXian says, “The rumors you hear, they have their advantage. But there has never been any truth to them.”

“Gossip is forbidden,” WangJi says, his face heating.

He can feel his heart beating in his chest, and his steps suddenly feel lighter, as if some pressing weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

Wei WuXian laughs softly,

“If I were to forbid gossip, the next person to try and assassinate me probably would be A-Sang.”

WangJi is not sure how to respond to such a statement, and Wei WuXian does not give him a chance to try.

He tugs WangJi to a small door, its shape almost indistinguishable from the wall in which it is set. The door appears to be very old, but its hinges do not creak, soundlessly allowing them over a small stone threshold and into a courtyard. Although the plaque above the door had faded with age, it is still legible.

The outside of the Six Fans Pavilion looks forlorn.

The window holes are covered, the courtyard swept clean but depressingly bare. A long time ago, someone had tended its gardens with care. WangJi thinks that the wide planters out front must have once overflown with flowers in full bloom. Now, star jasmine has grown wild and sprawling, smothering every other sign of life.

He expects that the inside of the pavilion has not fared much better. Everything about the peeling paint and fading colors tells a tale of a place that is dusty and forgotten. Instead, the entry is bleak, but clean. The floors seem recently swept. There are no curtains or rugs, no decorations on the walls, no cushions on the seats. Each room looks stripped to its bones, the elaborately carved shelves gaping empty, tables bare, beds nothing but stark skeleton frames.

Wei WuXian leads him through, looking neither left nor right, until they reach a room that shows some signs of use. A few books are piled in the small cubbies behind an old desk. The desk surface is polished but rough, as if it had served more than one owner. The seats have cushions, although they seem old and threadbare. An old bronze brazier sits in center of the small space. Wei WuXian lights a fire with quickness that would suggest he has done this often.

“The Iron Palm Palace can be suffocating sometimes,” he says, and does not elaborate.

He does not need to; WangJi thinks he understands. It is a refuge, this place. WangJi has his own, at Cloud Recesses. He can appreciate the need for a space where one can just breathe in solitude and silence.

“How much do you know about Lan ZhongYi?” Wei WuXian asks, settling on the floor next to the brazier.

WangJi has always had a reflexive reaction to that name. Anger, distaste, guilt, shame.

He lowers himself not too far away, wishing he was properly dressed. Somehow, speaking of Lan ZhongYi would be easier, if he could hide behind the traditional trappings of Sect and clan.

“Lan ZhongYi was a Lan Sect member. Son of my father’s uncle. He was banished from the Sect for improper conduct. Less than a year after his banishment, he assassinated the Empress and the Emperor Consort.”

The words come out stiff and unnatural, a recitation of something memorized long ago.

“I know this is all that the Lan Sect teaches about him,” Wei WuXian says, “but have you never searched for more? Have you never wondered what this improper conduct was? Why he did what he did?”

“No,” WangJi says.

He cannot see what difference it would make.

“Did you know he had married at seventeen?” Wei WuXian says.

The question lands heavily between them.

WangJi did not know. He does not want to know. Why does it matter?

But Wei WuXian goes on unprompted,

“He married a rogue cultivator from the ShangWu Temple. Her name was Xu XiaoYun. This was some years before my mother took the throne, and the Empire had already begun descending into chaos. Most of the great temples were destroyed in the years that followed, never to be rebuilt. The ShangWu Temple was one of them. Xu XiaoYun’s brothers, sisters, teachers, not one of them survived. For years, I have searched for some information about her, hoping for anything, even a word of mouth. But I think her entire life burned in that temple, and there was only Lan ZhongYi left.”

The firelight is playing across Wei WuXian’s face, shifting his expressions from moment to moment. WangJi cannot guess what he is thinking. He cannot guess why this is the story that Wei WuXian thinks WangJi should need to know.

“She was pregnant when YanLing DaoRen killed her,” Wei WuXian says calmly, “on a day he had not even set out to kill anyone at all. It appears to have been a spur of the moment slaughter. There are no records showing what might have set him off in the middle of a peaceful trip through one of the MoLing’s marketplaces. But Xu XiaoYun had been nighthunting in the area.”

Silence falls between them, thick and unyielding. WangJi feels as if he had been given something he did not want, and cannot give back.

He thinks he knows why Wei WuXian has told him this story. Perhaps to the young Emperor who had lost his parents, it is important that Lan ZhongYi be a human being, with purpose, and feelings, and grievances. But WangJi has never wanted to feel pity for this man, whose actions had doomed all the generations of Lan to come.

Lan ZhongYi’s motivations do not excuse his crime.

“The Empress did not kill her,” he says finally.

“And you did not kill the Empress,” Wei WuXian counters, his voice gentle.

He is right, but he is also wrong. WangJi is too agitated to address how both can be true at the same time.

“The Wen are not hostages here,” Wei WuXian says, slicing the agitation neatly in half.

Before WangJi can adjust to the fact that the previous subject is being abandoned, Wei WuXian is already explaining in a rush, as if afraid that WangJi will refuse to listen.

“After the rebellion, the Sects demanded that Wen RuoHan pay for the lives that were lost. They wanted this payment in blood. Wen RuoHan was to deliver one of his sons for execution, or the Sects were going to burn the Nightless City down, and slaughter every Wen in the Empire. Looking back, compared to the damage YanLing DaoRen had done, and the lives he had destroyed, the Wen rebellion was fairly insignificant. I have often wondered where this viciousness had come from. The Sects will say that their grief over my mother’s death gave it birth, but they seemed to hold little interest in offering support to her son. Perhaps this viciousness was left over from YanLing DaoRen’s reign, just waiting for a more vulnerable target.”

Wei WuXian waves his hand, his eyes locked on the flickering flames,

“It does not matter. Wen RuoHan did not deliver his son. Instead, he delivered fifty-six members of a small subdivision of the Qishan Wen Sect. An entire clan, led by his own thirteen-year old niece, to be slaughtered in exchange.”

WangJi’s stomach turns, propelling bile to his throat.

“My uncle,” Wei WuXian grins humorlessly, “had made a reputation for himself as a holder of no strong opinions, a man who may sway slightly whichever way the wind blew. This reputation helped delay the decision. In the meantime, I placed the Wen in the dungeons, to await their fate.”

“You-- you were going to--“

No other words will come. WangJi cannot ask the question.

He thinks a wrong answer might shatter something he had not yet given name to, something he still does not fully understand, but desperately wants to keep.

“No,” Wei WuXian says, “I was young, and angry, and more than a little stupid, but I was not going to execute fifty-six people because the Sects demanded it. But I did put them out of my mind. I was twelve years old, sitting on a precarious throne, all of my power just a pretty illusion. There was a list of issues that had to be addressed, and somehow, the Wen would always move to the bottom of that list. This was another one of my uncle’s tactics, although I did not know it for such back then. Delay, delay, delay, and hope they forget. I almost did forget. Many times.”

Wei WuXian flashes him a bitter smile, and WangJi feels his chest tighten. Not so long ago, WangJi had thought his own burden too heavy to carry. He cannot imagine how Wei WeXian must have felt. He cannot imagine how heavy the weight of the Empire must feel to a twelve year old boy.

“They were willing to let me forget,” Wei WuXian says, the bitterness from his smile coloring his voice, “My uncle, the Council, my advisors, not one of them ever bothered to mention that an entire clan cannot forever live in the dungeons, that some decision must be made. If it were not for shijie, they might have lived and died below the palace floors, forgotten by all. She took me to the dungeons. She went among them as if they were family, passing out medicine and food, speaking to Wen Qing as if they had been sisters their entire lives. And then she put A-Yuan in my arms.”

Wei WuXian’s voice falters for the first time.

He shifts slightly, and clears his throat.

“His mother had been among the fifty-six. She had died in childbirth. In the dungeon. While the Emperor sat on his gilded throne, nodding at everything the Council said. I had been the Divine Ruler for a single season, and I had already created an orphan.”

WangJi’s chest squeezes tighter. He wants to reach out, but he had never learned how to offer comfort. Everything he can think to say is woefully inadequate. Every gesture he wishes to offer seems clumsy and awkward.

“And so they became hostages,” Wei WuXian says, fingers now nervously tapping against his knees, “the Sects were told that the fifty-six Wen who can be slaughtered at the slightest provocation were infinitely more valuable than one dead descendent of Wen RuoHan. They were not happy. For some months after, I was certain that another rebellion would take place, and that this one would end the Dynasty for good. Once it became clear that the Sects would do nothing worse than send assassins through my windows and stuff scorpions into my bed, I started to work on their resentment. I did not want the Wen to always carry the stain of that rebellion. I had already grown attached to Wen Qing and her brother, to Granny, to Uncle Four and A-Yuan. I wanted to protect them.”

He moves to face WangJi, his hands now curled tightly in his lap, something in his eyes hinting at desperation.

“I thought I knew resentment. Mine had always been a fleeting thing, so I believed everyone else to be the same. No one had bothered to tell me that removing one target would only exaggerate the other. I spent years trying to shift their perception of the Wen, but never understood the simple fact that your uncle had grasped in a single season of drought. The river must flow somewhere. And all the resentment, no longer flowing to the Wen, had simply shifted to the Lan Sect instead.”

If not for Wei WuXian’s pained expressions, WangJi would have immediately declared his words to be utter nonsense. WangJi’s burden does not exist because Wei WuXian had placed it on his shoulders. The Lan Sect would have never relinquished its responsibility for the wrongs one of their own had committed, regardless of whether the Emperor had shown them favor or neglect. Even if everyone else in the world were to forget the sin he carries, WangJi would have never been allowed to do the same.

A part of him does wonder if the Emperor’s favor had gone to the Lan Sect instead of the Wen, how many of their circumstances might have been changed for the better? Would it have created a world in which his uncle is still allowed to teach? A world in which the Lan Sect disciples are allowed into the Immortal Mountain City, to mix among the others? A world in which his brother smiled more often?

But even if this was the case, if he were to take Wei WuXian’s words as absolute truth, and the river of resentment truly must flow somewhere, then better circumstances for the Lan Sect would have meant worse circumstances for the Wen. WangJi would never demand his burden be made less; not even if the cost was a single life of an absolute stranger, not to mention an entire clan of people who had done nothing wrong.

“By the time I realized why the rancor toward the Lan Sect kept growing, even as the resentment against the Wen dwindled, it was too late to turn the tide,” Wei WuXian says miserably, “Trying to stem the flow only seemed to make things worse. Your uncle-- each time I tried to extend a hand, he would slap it out of the way. He does not want my help or favor. He does not trust me to do right by the Lan Sect. And considering that someone has already tried to kill you, and frame the Lan Sect for another assassination, I would not be surprised if he blames me for all of it.”

WangJi struggles for a few moments, trying to find the right words. It does not help that Wei WuXian is much closer now, his face flushed from the brazier, their knees nearly brushing.

“The Lan Sect would not wish to relinquish its burden of responsibility at the cost of others,” WangJi finally says, “and uncle would not blame you for the assassination attempts. He would consider it just another burden that the Lan Sect must carry, one that must be borne with courage and dignity. Uncle is-- proud, and stubborn. He perceives your favor as charity, and each time you imply that he may need this charity, he will only resent you more. There is no need to keep trying.”

“You are saying that there is nothing I can do,” Wei WuXian says, frustration coloring each word.

“You can do whatever you wish,” WangJi says, “You are the Emperor.”

“But he is going to hate me no matter what I do.”

“You are the Emperor,” WangJi says again, “I am sure my uncle is not the only one who hates you.”

Wei WuXian gapes at him, then seems to choke on nothing but air. He bends over, coughing heavily, and struggles for so long that WangJi wonders if he should perhaps try and find him something to drink. Only when he looks back up does WangJi realize that the cough was actually stifled laughter.

“You are something else, Lan Zhan,” he says, “I really like spending time with you.”

WangJi’s heart trips twice, painfully, as if Wei WuXian had reached through his chest and pushed it off course.

He does not make a conscious decision to stand up, but suddenly, he is on his feet, trembling with a thousand emotions he does not want to acknowledge. Wei WuXian scrambles up as well, his expression startled.

“I must go back,” WangJi says, cursing his voice for wavering.

“Oh,” Wei WuXian says, “Of course. Let me put out the fire, and I will take you back.”

“No need,” WangJi says quickly.

He needs to be alone. He needs to think. Wei WuXian had given him a great deal of information that requires careful examination.

I really like spending time with you, his mind offers unhelpfully. WangJi feels as if he had pressed his entire face directly to the brazier.

Wei WuXian’s expression seems hesitant now. WangJi desperately wants to see him smile one more time before he leaves.

“Use the door tomorrow,” he says.

“I-- what?”

“Tomorrow,” WangJi says firmly, his heart now beating in his throat, “Do not lounge on the rooftop, or hide in the dark. Come to the door.”

The slow smile that spreads across Wei WuXian’s face is devastating.

WangJi says nothing else.

He runs.

#the untamed #cql #mdzs #wangxian #ficlet #m #wwx emperor au #hey you know how i cut chapter 22 in half bc it was too long?#yeah #this one is even longer #and it just didn't wanna be cut #this chapter is LONG #this chapter is awkward #this chapter was rewritten so many times #that if i have to look at it again i am going to scream #i apologize in advance for this chapter #it is still day 4 my chickens #and i love you all #god help me we are moving along

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caslikescoffeeandfreckles · 4 years ago

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The Heart Will Lead You Home

A very late spn finale fix-it fic based on an addition to this Tumblr post! Word Count: 1.9k Read on Ao3

There was no stopping the way Dean’s heartbeat stuttered when he saw Ohio on the map, the wound still too fresh. Every press of his foot to the gas pedal felt like stepping on his own neck as they cruised along the highway, cornfields turning to soybeans turning to green galaxies of fireflies at night. He thinks he likes these stars better; the blue ones just hurt.

When they cross from Indiana to Ohio the stuttering becomes an ache, like the valves have shut down and the arteries are cut off. He keeps his breaths short and measured, careful, while his hands white knuckle the steering wheel and he presses a little heavier on the gas. It costs him a breath, that foot still on his neck. But he keeps driving.

The case is a weird one and Dean hasn’t been paying enough attention to explain how he ends up driving out in the middle of nowhere by himself. He can’t even tell you what town they’ve been in the past few days, just knows that there was a lead Sam needed to follow, leaving Dean to cruise down dark country roads that shouldn’t feel so achingly familiar and his chest shouldn’t feel so painfully full and empty all at once.

But Dean’s not an idiot. He does know these roads and he knows what waits up ahead. He keeps telling himself it doesn’t mean anything. This isn’t some kind of sign, his heart choking and coughing and lurching like a car on its last wheel with every stretch of mile.

At the sight of the barn he almost turns around. The aching in his chest is seeping into his bones, it feels like they’re breaking from the inside out, like there’s something swelling inside his chest cavity and pushing bone through tissue and skin.

The barn looks almost exactly the same as last time, the old wood boards grayed and weathered and hanging from the frame with just a few nails and the grace of God - or Jack now, he supposes.

It takes Dean a good thirty minutes to make himself get out of the car. And it hurts. Every movement hurts down to the flex of his knuckles, each foot fall against the hard dirt path.

Dean stands outside the door, his hand raised to pull it open but unable to follow through.

Cas isn’t going to be there, he tells himself. Stop being an idiot. Because he has to make sure any lingering tendrils of hope are gone. For whatever is left of his sanity, he just has to.

He doesn't realize until he’s already opened the door that he hasn’t drawn a weapon. There’s a dark growling voice in the back of head calling him a damn idiot, but it’s not as loud as it used to be. It’s been fading over the years but ever since - ever since… well, it’s been pretty radio silent in the last few weeks.

It turns out there’s no need for a weapon anyway. The barn is empty save for some abandoned farm equipment and hell’s entire population of spiders. The ground crunches beneath him and Dean looks down to find broken glass everywhere. There are scorch marks on the walls. The air is stale, untouched for years. The last time Dean had been in here it had smelled like lightning.

With that thought the pain becomes unbearable and Dean shatters like the glass beneath his feet. His hands reach out without thinking, seeking something to grab, to hold onto, but he can’t find anything. He can’t see, can’t hear, all of his senses drowned under the wave of agony ravaging his chest.

He’s dying. Dean just knows it somehow. But he doesn’t want to fight it this time. The desire isn’t even there. He doesn’t know when that had left him, maybe the night the Empty claimed Cas with a confession of love still wet on his lips, maybe in that void of loneliness once Cas was gone and Dean had sat decimated on the cold floor for hours trying to understand what the fuck had just happened and why he hadn’t been able to say something back, maybe just before Dean had walked through the barn door. Whenever it had gone, it had clearly gone with the angel and Dean didn’t miss it. Didn’t have a reason to anymore.

He’s not going to be there either, Dean hears the last bit of his self-loathing whisper, like one last punishment because even in death, Dean Winchester can’t let himself have peace.

I know, Dean thinks. He knows Cas is gone, somewhere no one can ever reach him. He’s done the research. But how can you document the existence of something that represents Nothing? That is Nothing but the absence of everything in all of time and space? But he wishes Cas could be on the other side. Even with all hope gone, he still wishes it was possible if only to give Cas the one thing both of them thought they could never have. Because Cas deserved that much. Cas deserved more than the world had ever been able to offer.

Castiel… Cas… I-

“Hello Dean.”

Dean’s heart stops and his eyes fly open.

He’s here, just feet away, in the same oversized suit and dirty trenchcoat. He’s here.

“H-how,” Dean starts, his mouth too dry. “I don’t- C-Cas how…”

Cas doesn’t move except to blink. “I think we have Jack to thank for this.” His voice is a deep and gravelly as the day they met and it’s like a soothing balm over Dean’s aching body, chasing all the hurt away like his grace has all these years.

“He found you,” Dean says because he needs to hear it again. “H-he found you.” Jack did what Dean couldn’t. The pain that has been raging inside Dean is gone, replaced with a weight of gratitude for the kid.

Cas nods like it’s that simple. “It took a while, but yes. Jack is very… determined. I think he gets it from his father.” The corners of Cas’s mouth soften into a small smile.

Dean doesn’t know how he finds the energy to blush but he feels the heat seep into his cheeks all the same. He has a million questions and another million things he wants to do with his hands right now but they’re safer in his pockets. There are too many words rushing around his brain and none of them feel right, none of them feel like enough. “Did you- what you said,” he tries, desperate to know but not sure exactly what he wants to know first, “when you- did you… mean it?”

A shadow crosses Cas’s face and Dean immediately regrets asking. “You still doubt me?”

“No, no,” Dean hurries to say. Cas hasn’t moved but he feels further away and that alone makes Dean’s chest hurt again. “I know- I know you meant it, Cas. I mean, I-I watched you…” get ripped away again. Cas had said he loved Dean and been swallowed into nothing. It left little to be misunderstood. It was just that… “You’re an angel, Cas,” Dean says, his voice sounding weak even to himself. “You’re like a million years old and - and I’m - you’ve never… is it the same kind of…?”

“You think I do not understand love the same way that you do,” Cas says, voice clipped and dry. It cuts like a blow and Dean can’t help but flinch. But he nods. Cas watches him carefully before nodding himself. “You are right. I am an angel, I was not designed to experience emotions aside from love and loyalty to my creator.”

Dean is deflating before Cas finishes his sentence.

“And yet… since the moment I first touched you in hell, there has been no being or entity I have trusted more without question,” Cas continues and Dean meets his eyes, confused and dangerously hopeful. “There has been no one I desired to follow to the ends of the Earth as I have desired to follow you. I do not love you the way humans love. Because I fell in love with your soul before any other part of you.” Cas’s arms rise to cross over his chest and there’s a faraway look in his eyes. “I have seen inside of you, Dean, I have seen the core of who you are and carried the roots of you in my arms. I held your soul against my chest and felt the greatest warmth I have known in my entire existence. I felt the true depth of your compassion and love, deeper than any ocean God could ever craft. And I knew before I rebuilt your body that a part of me would always belong to you, and no other thought has ever brought me such peace.”

When Cas’s eyes refocus they snap to Dean and his next words sink past every barrier of defense Dean has left. “I don’t love you in the same way as a human. I love you more than you could ever truly fathom, Dean. But I know that it is love because you taught me how to recognize the signs. You defined love for me. And even though you don’t feel the same, I am-”

“But I do.” The words jump from Dean’s throat before he can think them through but there’s no way in hell he’s going to miss another opportunity. He’s lost Cas too many damn times to waste a single minute. “I do, Cas. I- I can’t see your soul or whatever but I - you’re the only - Cas, I don’t want to breathe when you aren’t here.” He feels feral as he speaks, ready to jump out of his own skin, and honestly isn’t sure if he’s saying actual words. But the movements of his tongue and lips feel right so he keeps going. “Everytime you leave or get taken away it just gets harder and harder and I don’t- I can’t do it again.”

Cas is watching him with careful eyes, but Dean can see the hope blazing just under the surface. “So what do you want, Dean?”

“You,” Dean says and takes a step forward. “Us. I want us.”

The hope bleeds through into the blue and Cas’s eyes shine like the stars Dean’s been avoiding. “Is that all?”

Dean shakes his head. There’s a new life unraveling in his head as he takes another step closer to Cas. A life far away from hunting, with a cozy little home with enough yard space for a vegetable garden, a garage to shield Baby when they aren’t filling her trunk with suitcases instead of weapons and driving to the ocean just because. A life with kids and familiar faces at the supermarket and big family dinners with friends on Friday evenings. And Cas. Every minute of every day there is Cas. The only constant, the only necessity. “I have a list,” he admits and takes another step. “But you come first.”

Cas is close enough to touch now and so Dean does. His hands fall on Cas’s waist and slide around his back to pull the angel forward and Cas comes with no resistance. He falls into Dean’s chest like a missing puzzle piece, his arms wrapping around Dean’s shoulders and clutching tight.

“You have me, Cas,” Dean whispers into his angel’s ears. It’s a moot point by now but he thinks they both deserve the reassurance. “You’ve always had me.”

“I want to go home,” Cas says, his voice soft but still sending a rumble through Dean’s body.

Dean clings even tighter. “Then let’s go make one.”

#sorry i'm so late!! anyway ta-da!! my fix-it!!!#destiel #deancas #spn finale #mine #I just really wanted them alive and together and i loved the idea from that post of them meeting in the barn #the fucking poetic irony of cas returning to dean in the same barn they first met in #that's that shit i like #okay i have to go write smut for my wife now byeeeee

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crazymangaluv · 4 years ago

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That Smile (Bakugou x reader)

Warning: (some angst, some fluff, mentions of steaminess)

Description: You appeared in his life so suddenly, catching him completely off guard. That smile of yours was what initially drew him in...soon you charmed your way into his heart and you made him want to stay by your side. But just as suddenly as you appeared in his life, you disappear without a word. 2 years later and you’re back. AND you have the audacity to act like you never knew him? He cared about you and as much as he refuses to admit it, he’s hurt. What happened?

That smile of yours…so radiant...so beautiful, it draws him in like a moth to a light. The first time he met you was in middle school. You greeted him with that toothy grin of yours and he was immediately caught under your spell. He was in denial of course, how could an extra like you make him feel like this? To fluster him up like this.

The two of you walked the same route to school, and although he tried to avoid you at first, he found he couldn’t keep away. He made it a point to always bring breakfast for you after he discovered you tended to forget to eat in the mornings. He surprised you every morning by nonchalantly shoving whatever breakfast he made for you that day into your hands. A smile would tug at his lips when he saw the way your face would light up. The two of you would walk back home together after school as well. He would wait for you or you for him. Each time you would toss him a different kind of snack you saved just for him. Side by side, both of you walked together enjoying your snacks, most days in silence just enjoying each other’s company, and other days with some conversation mostly led by you.

Regardless of the weather, be it the rain, snow, heat, etc., this routine the two of you had continued daily for about 2 years before one day you stopped appearing. One day became 2, then 3, then a week had passed with no sign of you. He came to learn from the talks around school that you were sent to the U.S. The reasons for leaving were unknown, filled with nothing but speculations and rumors. He wouldn’t admit it but he was hurt. Why did you disappear without telling him? Why did he have to hear it from these extras?

~Fast forward~

He never thought he’d see you again, much less here in U.A. as the new transfer student. His breath caught in his throat at the sight of you. 2 long years have passed since you’ve disappeared without a word. You introduced yourself to the class with a smile, however, it failed to reach your eyes. Your eyes, once so full of joy and light seemed to have dimmed. Unlike the rest of the dumb class, only he noticed. You were seated next to him but you made no indication you knew him. He scowled into his hand, irked at your behavior. During break the extras swarmed around you with introductions and relentless questioning. You made sure to greet everyone and at last you greeted him. His scowl deepened by the way you greeted him, like you didn’t know who he was. He was fuming, not caring about the way you stumbled a bit when he collided with your shoulder as he stomped off, leaving you in your confusion.

There was something familiar about Bakugou that you couldn’t quite place. He was an unpleasant fellow, cocky, rude, and quick to anger. He was even more intolerant of you, for unknown reasons. You shouldn’t care but for some reason, the way he acted towards you bothered you and even hurt your feelings. It was like he was actively trying to push you away. Although he tended to treat you harshly you couldn’t help feel a sense of comfort whenever he was near. It wasn’t until one day you were able to finally be alone with him. You took this chance to confront him. You hadn’t seen him this angry before but you steeled yourself and pushed forward.

The pair of balls you had was astounding. Here you were confronting him about his behavior when it was your fault, acting like you never knew him. He lashed out at you, unable to contain his feelings. He instantly felt guilty when he noticed the way your widened eyes glistened from unshed tears and your lips shook. Your voice was heavy with emotion as you apologized to him and explained to him of the accident you had 2 years ago from villains who sought revenge against your underground hero parents. This incident led you to not only lose a brother but also lose some of your memories. Since then you’ve struggled with a broken family, shattered memories, and recurring flashbacks of that trauma which haunted you every night.

Your tears cascade down your cheeks, a sob escaping from your lips. Your pained expression stabs him in the heart, riddling him with anger, guilt, and shame. The solid walls he rebuilt since you left crumbled away. He enveloped you in his arms, pulling you flush to his body. You clutched onto him and he tightened his grip. His whispers of sorry were barely audible over your cries of anguish.

Since then the two of you grew closer, shocking your classmates at the total 180. The more time you spent together, the more he noticed the spark in your eyes slowly returning and how your smiles increased when he was around. Slowly your memories of the tragic incident no longer haunted you every night. They were becoming overwritten by new precious memories with your friends, and most of all, with him. His feelings for you grew even more, as your feelings did for him. The two of you were inseparable, dancing around your feelings for one another. He was determined to become the pro hero you’d be proud enough of before he confessed. He wanted to be someone worthy of you.

~Present~

Your relationship continued to stay strong as you both became pro heroes. You could no longer contain your feelings for him, it’s been too long and your heart yearned for more. Tomorrow marks your 4 year friendaversary and you’re determined to confess, even if it might hurt your relationship with him. You’re supposed to meet him after work for dinner, unfortunately, life doesn’t always go the way you plan.

He rushes like mad, propelling himself aggressively through the air. He bursts into the room. He sees your bruised form, head wrapped in bandages along with your arms and legs. His face contorts with rage. Who did this??! An unfortunate member of the staff is given the privilege of explaining to him how you were ambushed by a team of villains who desired to carry out their revenge against you, the very pro hero who brought down their boss. You managed to defeat every last one whilst protecting the surrounding innocent civilians, however, not unscathed. They proceed to explain how you’ve suffered from a head laceration, multiple abrasions on arms and legs, and bruising of the body and face. You were given stitches and pain medications, and have been unconscious since the moment you were found. He’s torn between wanting to kill whatever scum did this and to hold you in his arms. The staff is smart enough to flee from the room, escaping from his wrath.

His hand wavers as it gently grasps your bandaged one. His head falls, jaw clenching as he wills his tears away. Damn it…

The clock ticks in the background. He’s unaware of how much time has passed. Suddenly, your other hand twitches, and you begin to stir. “You know, out of all the things you used to bring me for breakfast, those pork katsu sandwiches you made were my favorite.”

His head snaps up.

Your eyes open, meeting his red ones, and the corners of your lips quirk up to reveal a beaming smile. “I finally remember everything, Katsu-kun.” The look on his face is priceless, a mixture of shock, worry, relief, and irritation; like it was struggling to choose which emotion to predominantly display. You laugh. The movement causes twinges of pain but you couldn’t help it. You sit up with a slight grimace and ruffle his hair. “Katsu-kun.”

You used to call him that back in middle school when you would poke fun of him. Katsu…you started calling him that after he brought you a delicious pork katsu sandwich he made for you. You always did like his food. His brows knit together and his lips tremble. He reaches a hand out to you, and you immediately shut your eyes, flinching reflexively at the incoming flick to the forehead. Instead, he circles his arms around you, hugging you close, and burrows his face into your shoulder. “You’re an idiot…” he mutters.

You feign a pout. “How mean…Katsu-kun.” you hum out as you squeeze him back.

You wish the two of you could stay like this longer but he pulls away. “Tch. About time you remembered...idiot…” His downturned lips break into a relieved smile.

Your smile falters, a tear running down your cheek. “I’m sorry it took so long Katsu-kun.”

He wipes the tear away and shakes his head. “Quit it already. It’s Katsuki, you dummy.” He encloses his hand over yours, interlacing his fingers with your fingers. “I’m the one who’s sorry.”

Your cheeks heat up at how large and warm his hand feels. You almost didn’t catch his words. Your eyes snap up, confusion written across your face, however you immediately freeze in place. You suddenly realize how close he is from you, how his face is merely centimeters away from yours. His expression is unreadable as he lightly strokes your bruised cheek with the back of his fingers. Your lips quiver and you gulp nervously, “K-kats-- mmm.”

Mindful of your injuries, he carefully slips his hand behind your head and brings you in, closing the distance. His mouth covers yours, his surprisingly soft lips moving desperately against your lips. You kiss him back with fervor, your hands clutching his shirt tightly. His other hand gently cups your face...you can feel it trembling. He tilts your heads to deepen the kiss. His tongue enters your mouth and slides against your own tongue. You forget your pain, all your senses are being consumed by him. You melt into his arms. You release a moan, causing him to suck in a breath and somehow deepen the kiss further with a husky groan. You both eventually part for air, panting heavily. His crimson eyes, burning with raw emotion, gaze into yours unwavering. “I should’ve done this a long time ago.”

You suck in a breath at his statement, heart thumping wildly in your chest. Little did you know, his own heart was beating just as crazy. Does this mean.... He cuts your line of thinking. His lips overlap yours again in a tender kiss. His lips linger on yours before withdrawing slightly, noses touching. His thumb gently strokes your discolored cheek.

“So...does this mean…” You breath ghosts over his lips, and you could see his lip quiver ever so slightly. “You’re mine…” You brush your lips against his. “And I’m yours? Hmm?” You look at him through your half lidded eyes. “Katsuki.”

The corner of your lip quirks up as you take notice of the tinge of redness adorning his cheeks at the sound of his name from your lips. His bottom lip juts out and he clears his throat. “Got a problem with that?”

You squeeze his hand in response. “Looks like you’re stuck with me.”

The warmth in his chest spreads like wildfire throughout the rest of his body. There it is...that smile of yours, the one that had always managed to take his breath away. The one that made him want to hold you close and never let you go. He leans forward and gently kisses your bandaged forehead. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

#bnha #boku no hero academia #fanfic #mha #my hero academia #bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #bakugou x y/n #bakugou x you #katsuki x reader #katsuki x you #katsuki x y/n #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki x you #boku no hero fanfic #bnha fanfiction #mha fanfiction #my hero academia fanfic

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sabineelectricheart · 4 years ago

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A Sleepless Night Under the Lone Moon

Summary: Dimitri has trouble sleeping. His wife has a ritual she does not tire attempting.

Rating: T - Suitable for teens, 13 years and older, with some violence, minor coarse language, and minor suggestive adult themes.

Words: 2000

Notes: Yes, I know I’ve done this one before, but two cakes, I suppose? This one is longer, too.

It was just another chilly night just before the New Year. The King of Fódlan and the Archbishop have recently arrived for their season in Garreg Mach, certainly exhausted from their long trip across the Ogma Mountains.

Nevertheless, if one were to pass through the gardens between the two halls that evening, a tall and well-built figure could be seen standing silently on the Star Terrace, looking up to the sky, searching for something that might as well not be there. The full moonlight hit his face, and one could see he was a very handsome long-haired man. He had a few scars on his face and a missing eye, which strangely only made him look even better. However, he carried a weary expression on his face.

King Dimitri, once again, could not sleep.

The Archbishop sensed this. She could sense very clear that he was not there, right beside her in the large bed.

Byleth woke up in the middle of the night, and searched for him with her hands patting his side of the bed. The fact that he was not there did not make her too startled, as it was common occurrence in these years of marriage.

It was one of those things you might not appreciate about your partner, but you learn to live with. Somehow, she had grown used to the fact that he would often have trouble sleeping. Sometimes, he did not even sleep at all. Nevertheless, whenever it came to be, it would shatter her still heart into a billion pieces.

The Tragedy of Duscur was only but a dark chapter of history. The towns were rebuilt, the people have returned and the province prospered. Felix and Ingrid made peace with their loss, and he knew Lambert and Patricia certainly were not all he remembered them to be. The war was won, Edelgard is dead and one would be hard-pressed to find someone who misses her. He had undergone many therapies and seances, and he was beyond happy with the life he built for himself from the wreckage it once was. Yet, Dimitri still hears the voices.

The fires of that night had taken many things from him. The taste of his tongue and the feeling of his hands, to name just a couple, but ever since then he was also rarely able to have good nights of sleep, something he had loathed ever since the attack.

It was difficult for him to exactly pinpoint what he hated so much about it. Perhaps, it was the fact that the sleepless nights reminded him of how he had been marked with this wretched curse, this burden, for eternity. It also stood for the symbol that he would never taste the warm buns of his childhood nor feel the voluptuous curves on his wife’s body. Losing sleep was plainly annoying as well, as it carries his headaches along. Or, maybe, there was a connection with how Byleth would always stay up to keep him company.

That night was not any different.

Alongside the cool breeze that hit his shirtless body, he felt her warm arms wrapping him in a back hug and her cheek being pressed against him. The combination of cool and warm touches caused shivers to go down his spine. He smiled to himself, but guilt soon started to run in his veins.

“Go back to sleep, beloved.” He whispered. “There is certainly much to be done in the morning, and Seteth will not grant you any reprieve.”

“Not without you.” She responded, petulantly.

“You know I will not be able to sleep tonight.” His voice manifested both frustration and firmness, especially because he did not want her to face the morning to come feeling tired over him. “There is nothing either of us can do about it.”

“History tells I have many magnificent feats under my name. I can always try. Tonight might be your lucky night.” The religious leader leaned back, breaking the comforting connection between their skins.

He chuckled. “Every night you spend with me is a lucky night, beloved. I will not begrudge you sleep to test my own fortune.”

In response to his declaration, her ethereally smooth hands travelled to the sides of his body, and gave them a light squeeze, silently asking him to turn around and look at her. His icy blue eyes, a perennial inheritance from Blaiddyd himself, found her mint greens in a matter of seconds, and a grin suddenly took over her lips. She absolutely adored his eyes and, if given permission, she would spend hours getting lost in them.

While looking at his eyes, she saw deep and beautiful oceans, summer skies, and balmy waves. Dimitri made her feel like she was back in the Blue Sea Star.

“Let me take care of you.” Byleth whispered against his skin.

He slowly gave in to her request, and accepted to be taken care of. With her hands guiding him to wherever she went, she did her best to distract his mind off his frustration and insanity for a little while. She talked about the inane requests that littered her desk, the gossip Mercedes and the maids let her know, and the cute baby she would baptize next afternoon.

Just like that, before any of them could realize, the marble clawfoot bathtub that occupied a corner on their bathroom at the monastery was filled with hot water and aromatic salts. Taking baths together was a pivotal element of their ritual for sleepless nights. They would usually spend quite a long time in the water, she would talk about unimportant things and he would laugh carelessly at her purposefully obtuse observations.

At that moment, both of their bodies were submerged in the temporary alleviation the water offered. Despite being taller and more muscular than his wife, Dimitri had his back leaned against her chest, being extremely careful not to hurt her under his inhumane strength.

Her nimble fingers ran across his molten gold long locks, untying the knots that formed since she last brushed it back in Fhirdiad. Afterwards, she pressed her lips gently on his temples, as an act of silent kindness for letting her share on his company.

“Damn, Dima, you’re packing.” Byleth joked as she nestled closer against his front body.

The vibration of his laugh resonated in her chest, and she laughed along with him, feeling relieved over his relaxation.

“Your significant other must be very lucky, huh?” She continues the silly joke, just so he would feel better about himself. “I bet that, having such a fat cock like that, you are a love machine.”

The monarch grinned wolfishly. “I’m a fuck machine.”

She laughed loudly and even snored a little bit, bringing fresh warmth to his heart. After murmuring he was, actually, ridiculous, she decided it was time to leave the bathtub, due to the falling temperature of the water. He was the first one to stand up, and he offered her his hand as a support for she to stand up as well.

In no time, they were dry and their bodies were covered with fine, cool silks, perfect for the Spring climate in Garreg Mach.

As Byleth stared at her own reflection in the mirror, she realized how her husband looked a bit better. He still carried the same weary expression from before, but he did not look as dreadful as when he looked wistfully out to the empty courtyard.

“I wonder what those stuck-up, annoying Adrestian nobles would think if they saw their king like this.” The blond said, as he sits on the four-poster bed.

“Like what?” Byleth sits next to him and lets an arm snake around his shoulder.

“Like a kept man.” He shook his head to himself, but it was crystal clear he was not upset over anything that was happening then.

It was amusing to whomever was privy to their home life how Dimitri held a somewhat intimidating image and a grievous past, but still managed to be so soft and pliant towards his wife, doing as she says as if direct commandment from the Goddess herself. Which it was, on a roundabout way.

As bad as his moods could be these days, deep down, Byleth could not be anything other than wholeheartedly thankful for his behaviours, for him not blocking her out anymore. Although there were long, dreadful Moons soon after the Millennium Festival when he dismissed her cares, when they first reunited, this is only memories of a distant past. Even when he fell to his low points amongst their better years since the end of the war, he would never last for too long without her.

“I will be right back. I asked for Cyril to leave a pitcher, so I am going to prepare ourselves some warm milk.” She stood on her tiptoes and pecked his lips before leaving the room.

She left him with a bright and calm smile on his lips, which, however, soon faded away into a grimace. There was a clear pang of guilt in his chest, of disgrace over his petulant behaviour, but he could not lie and say he was not feeling any better after sharing a bath with his beloved. Her touch was always so gentle and caring, and she did not seem to be bothered by his situation by any means, but still he hears the voices, and still he sleeps not.

How on Earth had he gotten to be so favoured, even after so many bad events that took place in his life? Even with so many sins on his hands? Should he not have to pay for his mistakes? Is it only a matter of time until the other shoe drops?

A few minutes passed by, and she returned to his presence with two mugs, one on each hand. Her placid face assured him everything was alright, and that she got his back no matter what, a promise she made due countless times over the years. She would be by his side even in the middle of the night, after having an exhausting day of travelling through a perilous mountain pass, or with her heart overwhelmed by her own problems, frustrations and feelings.

She would always be by his side because she loved him, and it was nothing short of shameful how little he offered in return for such unwavering devotion.

“There you go, love.” One of her hands gave him a plain white mug with a steaming liquid inside of it.

Another part of her ritual was to end the night with a mug of warm milk with some drops of honey. She had read Saint Timoteos writings, and he noted that honey could help with sleeping problems, and that stuck with her for a long time, to the point they now kept an apiary both in Fhirdiad and in Garreg Mach. His wife had always eagerly grasped at things that could help him somehow.

Her own mug was taken to her lips as she sipped the drink, and her chest felt full of a sympathetic warmth. Dimitri, on the other hand, did not sip his drink and this did not pass unnoticed by Byleth.

When she was about to ask him what was wrong, his voice echoed in the room first. “Come here.”

She stepped closer to him with a puzzled look on her face, but he only dismissed it with a charming wink. His fingers ran along her jawline, and his hand cupped her face right after it. He pulled her closer to him, his lips soon connecting to hers.

After dedicating one or two minutes to a kiss in which she had to focus on both her lips moving in sync, and mugs being balanced in her hands, the Archbishop broke away. Their eyes found each other once more, and she nuzzled her nose up against his.

He rested his forehead on hers, his next words being softly whispered. “You taste like honey.”

*_*_*_*_*

Fire Emblem Masterlist

Three Houses Masterlist

#fire emblem #Dimitri Blaiddyd

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wangxianrabbit · 5 years ago

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Wangxian Week Day 5

Past | Future | Mythology AU

Title: The Birth of a God

Author: wangxian rabbit

Rating: T

Warnings: character death

Summary: When a hero who helped the gods fight the tyrant fire god is turned on and killed by the same gods he helped, the moon god will do anything to save his beloved.

Among all the gods, there was one that not many people knew about. Even the other gods didn’t interact with this god. This god was known to take in young orphaned mortal children and train them to become great heroes. Her name was Baoshan Sanren. One of her most famous disciples was a woman named Cangse Sanren. This woman was well known for breaking rules and getting into trouble. She was very much the definition of a free spirit. She attracted many suitors, even gods, but in the end she married an ordinary mortal man. With him, she had a son, Wei Wuxian.

One day, while helping a small village with its demon problem, she was killed, along with her husband, leaving their young son alone. For a few years, their son struggled to get by, stealing food when he had to. Then one day, a rich looking man in purple robes appeared before him. The man claimed to have known his mother and wished to help him. The man took him to the temple of the water god, Jiang Fengmian, and he told the boy that he’d visit often and bring him food, clothes, and anything else he’d need.

Years had passed and the boy was now fifteen. Over the years, the man he’d started to call ‘uncle’ had taught him how to hunt and fight. His daughter and son had stopped by when they could over the years as well and they all grew quite close. They considered each other siblings at that point.

One day, while out hunting in the forest near the temple, he ran into a young man in white robes. The man was so handsome, otherworldly so. The man seemed to radiate light. His golden eyes seemed to glow. When the young man noticed him staring, he started to walk away. Wei Wuxian tried to follow him, but the man turned around a tree and vanished. Wei Wuxian believed he’d just seen a ghost.

Soon enough, the fire god started a war against the other gods, trying to become the ruler of everything. He burned down temples, killed many mortals, and even killed a few gods. Wei Wuxian, having grown up hearing stories of his mother and other heroes as well as being a prodigy when it came to fighting, chose to fight on the side of the other gods.

There were many gods, demigods, and even some mortals who fought the fire god, Wen Ruohan. Everything became truly serious to the gods when he attacked the home of the sky god, Cloud Recesses. In the attack, the Cloud Recesses was burned, the sun god disappeared, plunging the world into constant darkness, the moon god became seriously injured, and the sky god himself became fatally wounded, dying soon after.

Hearing this, Wei Wuxian decided to do something that nobody else would dare to do, scared of what the consequences would be. He attacked the fire god’s temple, burning it to ashes. This infuriated the fire god. Not only had he attacked his temple, but doing so with his own element, what a bold move. The fire god started hunting Wei Wuxian down. When the fire god’s second son, Wen Chao, was close to finding him, the water god stepped in. Wei Wuxian was confused when his uncle appeared to him.

“We haven’t got much time. Quickly now,” his uncle urged him. He held his hand out to Wei Wuxian and once he took it, they teleported somewhere he’d never been before. The place was beautiful. They were in a palace surrounded by a huge lake full of lotus flowers.

“What’s going on?” Wei Wuxian asked.

“I guess it’s time I properly introduced myself. My name is Jiang Fengmian,” his uncle smiled.

“Wait, you’re the water god?” Wei Wuxian asked in disbelief.

“Yes, I knew your mother many years ago. When she married your father and had you, I promised her that if anything happened to them, I’d look after you. I’ll admit, it took me a while to track you down, but I did eventually. I raised you so that you could choose what you wanted for your life. I never imagined you’d burn down a god’s temple though.”

Before Wei Wuxian could respond, a woman marched into the room. The woman demanded angrily why Jiang Fengmian would bring this troublemaking boy into their home, claiming that all he’d do is bring them problems. Jiang Fengmian argued with his wife and tried to diffuse the situation, but his wife just stormed off.

Sadly, the lightning goddess had been right. Once Wen Ruohan found out that Jiang Fengmian brought Wei Wuxian into his home, he attacked Lotus Pier and burned it to the ground. Jiang Fengmian and Yu Ziyuan were both killed in the attack when they were protecting their children and Wei Wuxian’s retreat.

Afterwards, they took refuge where the other gods set up camp. This is where he finally met the man from the woods. The young man was introduced as Lan Wangji, the moon god. Wei Wuxian instantly took an interest in the god and stuck to him whenever possible. At first, Lan Wangji hated being around him, but throughout the course of the war, they became closer.

Soon enough, the sun returned and the world was once again bright. It was revealed that the sun god, Lan Xichen, had been told by his uncle to take what he could from their library and flee. Lan Xichen hadn’t wanted to leave them, but did as his uncle ordered. He had taken refuge in the mortal world with a young demigod son of Jin Guangshan, the god of riches.

The war ended when the sun and war gods were directly fighting Wen Ruohan and the demigod son of Jin Guangshan, Meng Yao, had stabbed the fire god in the back with a heavenly weapon. The fire god had perished and order was once again restored. A leader of a branch family who had acted as a medic throughout the war, Wen Qing, took the place and title of the fire goddess. Jiang Cheng had taken up his mother’s title as the new lightning god while his sister became the new water goddess. The two siblings rebuilt Lotus Pier as well as helping the other gods where they could. Since Meng Yao had killed Wen Ruohan himself, he was granted godhood and renamed ‘Jin Guangyao’.

In the following years, Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji had become so close that they were believed to be lovers by the other gods. The two were oblivious of the other’s feelings though, so no intimate relationship actually occurred. They just remained close friends. In the meantime, Jin Guangyao had started scheming for a way to take the throne of the gods for himself and he needed someone to be his scapegoat. He saw the close relationship that Wei Wuxian, a mere human, had with the moon god and decided that he was the perfect one to cast the blame on.

In the end, the gods turned on the hero that had helped them so long ago except for his siblings and Lan Wangji. The moon god tried to defend and protect him, but it was no use. Wei Wuxian ended up being killed and Lan Wangji was left to pick up the pieces of his shattered heart.

Lan Wangji decided that he would bring Wei Wuxian back no matter what and set out for the Underworld soon after. Once there, he met with the god of the dead, Mo Xuanyu, and asked him to return Wei Wuxian to him. At first, Mo Xuanyu denied his request, saying that once someone died, they couldn’t be brought back. Lan Wangji continued to press him and eventually Mo Xuanyu granted him permission to see Wei Wuxian, but still told him that Wei Wuxian couldn’t leave since he was dead.

Wei Wuxian was summoned to the palace of the dead to see Lan Wangji. “Why are you here?” Wei Wuxian asked him.

“Come to bring you back,” Lan Wangji explained.

“You can’t. I’m dead. The dead can never leave the Underworld.” Wei Wuxian seemed confused by Lan Wangji.

“There’s a way.”

“What? How do you expect to do that? Anyways, what could I do if you somehow brought me back. The other gods would just kill me again. Dying once was enough for me, thank you.”

Lan Wangji didn’t say anything, instead reaching into his chest and pulling a ball of light out. Wei Wuxian’s eyes widened when he saw it, “Is that... is that your heavenly core? What do you plan to do with that?”

As a reply, Lan Wangji tore it in half. He placed half back within himself and pushed the other into Wei Wuxian’s chest. Lan Wangji had just given up some of his godly essence to turn Wei Wuxian into a god. “Now you can leave.”

“Lan Zhan! No! I can’t take this! Take it back, take it back please! This is too much!” Wei Wuxian pleaded.

Lan Wangji shook his head.

“I’ll still be hated and killed! I don’t want you to waste your core on me!”

“Not a waste.”

“But-”

“Return to Gusu with me.”

“What, I can’t possibly. I’ll only damage your reputation.”

“It’s fine. Return with me.”

“I can’t. You know this.”

“You were framed.”

“What?” Wei Wuxian couldn’t believe what was being said.

“You were framed,” Lan Wangji repeated. “We will find the culprit and clear your name.”

“Even if I was framed, what makes you believe that we can find the culprit? It won’t end well for either of us if I leave here.”

“Love Wei Ying.”

“What? What did you just say?” Wei Wuxian had to ask. He must’ve heard him wrong. There was no way that Lan Wangji felt the same way.

“Love Wei Ying. Return with me. Please.” Lan Wangji looked so serious that Wei Wuxian believed him.

“You really won’t take no for an answer, will you? Fine then. You’ve already given me part of your core to save me. I guess I owe it to you then,” Wei Wuxian finally accepted reluctantly. “By the way,” he whispered into Lan Wangji’s ear, “I love you too.”

Lan Wangji’s ears burned a bright red, but a smile could be seen on his face.

#wangxianweek2020 #wangxian #mo dao zu shi #grandmaster of demonic cultivation #founder of diabolism #wei ying #wei wuxian #lan zhan #lan wangji #jiang fengmian #meng yao #jin guangyao

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choicesfanatic86 · 5 years ago

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Through the Storm: Part 1

DISCLAIMER: All characters belong to Pixelberry Studios, except characters unique to my story. Those belong to me. ;)

PAIRINGS: Riley (MC) x OC, Riley (MC) x Liam, Liam x Riley (MC) x OC, Olivia x Drake, Bertrand x Savannah, Maxwell x OC

SUMMARY: Riley Lawson returned to New York a broken version of herself after a failed whirlwind romance. Years later, she has put the past behind her and rebuilt herself into a successful event planner who is happily enjoying her fast-paced New York lifestyle. However, just because she’s put the past behind her, doesn’t mean it won’t come back to haunt her. When an unexpected letter turns up on her doorstep, she’s forced to face the people and feelings she ran away from all those years ago.

Please check out my MASTERLIST.

PERMANENT TAG LIST: @umccall71 @drakelover78 @jamielea81 @bobasheebaby @speedyoperarascalparty @hopefulmoonobject @theroyalweisme @gardeningourmet @jlouise88 @hamulau @traeumerinwitzhelden @blackcatkita @mrs-simmy @kaitycole @alwaysthebestchoice @mfackenthal @trr-duchessofvaltoria @pbchoicesobsessed @liamxs-world @flyawayboo @devineinterventions2 @ranishajay @jayjay879 @alepowell @greyeyedsmile14 @mspaigemoore @princesaakl @annekebbphotography @angelicfangirl @katurrade @cordoniaqueensworld @ao719 @kingliam2019 @custaroonie @lovemychoices @texaskitten30 @harlequinash @smalltalk88 @pixieferry @thatspicegirlssong

Tag List for TTS Only: @herladyshipxx @captainkingliam @cocomaxley @queencatherynerhys @spetstoof @grapefrults @pessimystic-fangirl @dralenamax @hhiggs @penguininapinktuxedo @topsyturvy-dream @diamond-dreamland @pnhanga @ladynonsense @mrsdrakewalkerblog @crookedslimecreatorpasta @liamxs-world @flowerpowell @bruteforcebears @withice @jared2612 @darley1101 @sleeplessescapades @leelee10898 @craftytacotrashdream @eileendannie @bella-ca @x0valkyrie @sunandlemons

11/26/29 - Here we go again. I bet you’re wondering why I’m rewriting/revamping TTS? Five months ago I got a critique about TTS saying that the reader felt it wasn’t realistic enough. For them, things felt rushed and kind of disjointed (examples they gave were the beginning/agreeing to go to the wedding; glossing over Drake/Olivia’s relationship; Riley’s relationship with Paul; Maxwell and Andy’s engagement. I’ll admit, my heart hurt a little because I had put so much time and energy into it and had been getting so much positive feedback that I kind of got blindsided by that critique. With everything that was going on in my life, I kind of just ignored it and moved on thinking that I’d address it when I had more time. Of course, I didn’t really get back into writing again until recently. So, I took the opportunity to reread TTS and I found that the reader who shall remain anonymous (lol!) was correct. It was rushed . . . I did do a disservice to such awesome characters like Paul and Andy and Maxwell and even Olivia! So I’m gonna do right by this critique and rework it so that it is a bit more realistic.

So? What does that mean? The plot is going to change. Eek! I know. Scary. But the general premise will remain the same. Plot twist - I already have the ending written and that won’t change. But Riley’s time in Cordonia will be a bit different. :)

I really hope you guys decide to continue to follow along!

If you want to be removed from the tag or be tagged, please message me! :)

PART 1 - LIFE GOES ON

“Oh my goodness,” I whispered. “Roxy, you’re a magician,” I sighed as I inhaled the delightful cinnamon aroma permeating from my warm cup of cappuccino.

Roxy winked at me. “I know what my best customer likes,” she chuckled. “It’s been ages since you’ve swung by for a visit. I had to make it just perfect for you.”

I smiled brightly at the owner of the coffee shop. Roxy’s Coffee Shop had become a second home to me over the last two years. I had stumbled across it back in college when I first came home to New York. I was in between mid-term exams and needed somewhere to decompress before heading back to campus and happened upon this little hole in the wall café. It was love at first sight. Sure, there were a bunch of mainstream coffee shops scattered across the city, but there was just something that drew you in at Roxy’s. For one, they had the coziest little set up going on. The lighting is dimmed just right and the chairs are extra cozy – which is perfect when you want to get lost in a good book or in my case a really tough crossword puzzle. Another thing? Roxy makes THE best cup of cappuccino this side of the Hudson River. I couldn’t count how many times I found myself huddled in a corner sipping a cup of Roxy’s perfectly brewed coffee after a long day of classes.

And that’s just where I am today – snuggled in a plush, brown chair at the far corner of the shop, steaming cappuccino in one hand and the New York Times in the other. This was the life. I brought the cup of cappuccino to my lips, savoring the delicious taste as I sipped it slowly. “I’ve missed this,” I sighed happily. “I’m sorry I haven’t been around as much,” I offered. “Business has been crazy, and . . . well . . .you know how it goes when you’re your own boss,” I explained.

“Do I ever . . .” Roxy agreed. “Stay as long as you like. I’ll be sure to have Gus bring you a refill when you’re done,” she smiled.

“Best Barista Ever,” I exclaimed.

“Just you today or is that handsome hunk of man joining you?” Roxy asked waggling her eyebrows.

“Just me,” I laughed. “Paul’s in Boston.”

“Too bad,” Roxy winked at me. “I’ll leave you to it,” she motioned toward the crossword puzzle page in front of me. “Mmhmm, she chuckled. Only girl I know that does the New York Times Crossword in pen,” she shook her head as she went off to tend to another customer.

Sighing, I leaned back into the chair getting myself comfortable. Roxy had been right. I hadn’t stopped by in at least a month. After all, it had been just as long since I had an actual day off. I was about due for some nice rest and relaxation. When Alicia offered to do my consults for the day, I jumped at the opportunity to breakaway for a little while. I was going a bit stir crazy in the four walls of my office. Don’t get me wrong, I loved my job and I loved being my own boss even more, but I seemed to constantly be moving at the speed of light. I started Savvy Events right out of college and despite the rocky start I had trying to get it off the ground, things have been booming every since.

I loved the hustle and bustle of my fast-paced life. My weekends were spent planning and coordinating some of the trendiest events in New York City. So I wasn’t planning parties for the Kardashians just yet, but I did plan a party for one of the girls from Sex and the City once and it got featured in Glossy magazine. That was pretty epic. Mostly though, I found myself catering to high-end business professionals who were just too busy to plan parties themselves – corporate galas, year-end celebrations, weddings. You name it; I pretty much could plan it. My weekdays were just as busy – filled with client meetings, scouting visits, and designing sessions. It wasn’t easy, but it kept me busy, the money was great, and I was really, really good at my job – if I do say so myself.

Admittedly, there were times when I missed how much downtime I used to have. I sometimes longed for the days when I could randomly decide to wander aimlessly around the city and discover all of the little idiosyncrasies that New York had to offer. But the Riley back then didn’t have as much responsibilities as I do now. Man, just thinking about how much has changed over the years makes me nostalgic for life pre-business. I’ve come quite a long way from the days when I was waiting tables at that dingy little bar out in Brooklyn. I couldn’t help but smile when I thought about all the late night shifts I spent working at Upscale. I snorted at the memory. Upscale . . . what a totally misleading name. There was absolutely nothing upscale about that crummy, little bar. The patrons were a bit too touchy, and my manager Craig was a giant ass. It wasn’t all bad though. My coworkers were fun and the tips were a dream, especially when I was trying to save up enough money to get back into college. And if it wasn’t for that oh so glamorous waitressing gig . . . my life would have turned out pretty differently. Hell, I never would have met him. Had I not picked up that last party the night he walked into the bar, I never would have met the man that turned my life upside down. I never would have had the opportunity to cross off so many items on my bucket list. I never would have gotten to see the world outside of my tiny little studio in Brooklyn. I never would have fallen in love.

Ouch. Let’s not go there. It had been months since I had even thought about him. I closed my eyes at the thought, clinging onto my cup just a tad bit tighter. My heart had a slight twinge . . . of pain? Regret maybe? I shook my head, mentally chiding myself for letting myself go there again. I was doing so well. What had it been three months since I last thought about him? Or them? That had to be some sort of record. They say time heals all wounds, and I was slowly starting to believe it. It had been two years since everything had happened, and I refused to allow myself to ever be that weak again. I’ll never let myself revert to the girl I was back then. I came back to New York a ghost of my former self. I remember feeling like the aching heartbreak would stay with me forever. I thought that I would be doomed to a life of wallowing in my never-ending grief.

It still amazes me that I was somehow able to pick up the pieces of my broken life and glue them back together again. It was a long and hard road that took many months, but here I am . . . almost as good as new. Were the fractures still there? Oh yes, of course. Once something was broken, you couldn’t just pretend that it hadn’t shattered into a million pieces. The cracks of my former life . . . as much as it killed me to still admit it . . . were still dancing along the surface of my rebuilt life . . . although faded they were still very much a reminder of everything that happened all those years ago.

God, how tragically sappy. The buzzing of my cell phone thankfully interrupted my thoughts. Looking down, I saw my boyfriend’s name flash onto the screen. I couldn’t help but smile. Here I was dwelling on the past when my future was calling. Paul had been away for the last three weeks facilitating a corporate merger between two well known companies. Headquarters for both companies were based in Boston, and although his law firm was centered in New York City, they wanted him to go out and meet the clients directly in their neck of the woods. He’d been flying in and out of Boston for the last few months. I missed him something fierce when he was away, but we’d been getting by through countless text messages and many FaceTime sessions.

“Hi, Handsome,” I answered. “I wasn’t expecting to hear from you until later today,” I murmured.

“Hey, Gorgeous, I know . . . but I just couldn’t let a whole morning go by without hearing your voice,” he responded.

“Well, lucky me then,” I smiled.

“Luck you indeed because I also happen to have a surprise for you,” he said.

“Ooh,” I hummed. “What kind of surprise?” I could feel my smile grow wider. Paul was something special . . . he was funny . . . sweet . . . caring and oh so thoughtful. He spoiled me. A lot. And I didn’t know exactly what I did to deserve snagging a guy like him, but I was certainly thankful for whatever powers that be that found us winding up together.

“Guess who was able to book an earlier flight and is flying in to see you in exactly three hours?” He said in a sing-song voice.

I was grinning so big my cheeks were starting to hurt. “Shut up!” I exclaimed. “Paul, that’s the best news I’ve heard all day. And you know what? You’re just in time for movie night,” I almost squealed. “They just haven’ been the same without you these last few weeks,” I laughed thinking about what it’s been like him without the last few weeks. I had used my best friend Andy as my stand-in date and she was less than thrilled at my movie selections. “I’ve had to resort to spending movie nights with Andy and you know how that goes,” I chuckled.

“Oh, I have a funny inkling about how that went down.” He chuckled. “Let me guess, she demanded it be a sci-fi flick?”

I groaned. “YES!” I exclaimed. “She tried to get me to watch Deep Impact three times,” I sighed. “I told her that I had no desire to watch a movie about a giant asteroid pummeling down to Earth, but she scoffed when I suggested Legally Blonde,” I said with a slight chuckle in my voice.

Andy had been the first friend I made when I moved back to New York. We found ourselves in the same creative writing class at Hudson University and instantly bonded over our love for all things French. Before you knew it, we were inseparable. I loved her to bits and pieces, but she drove me absolutely crazy. For every similarity we had, there were at least two differences. For one, I was an absolute neat freak . . . whereas Andy seemed to leave a trail of clutter wherever she went. Even our taste in movies differed astronomically. Andy was all about action-packed sci-fi thrillers, whereas I leaned more toward the cheesy romantic comedies. Despite our differences, and me wanting to throttle her a time or two, she and I became tremendous friends, and I absolutely, positively couldn’t imagine what life would be without her.

“Let’s just say that last movie night resulted in a full blown popcorn fight,” I laughed. “That I ended up cleaning all by myself,” I sighed. “There were many a moment I wanted to shove a handful of popcorn in her mouth just to keep her mouth busy,” I chuckled. I paused for a moment, before clearing my throat. “It’s been a long few weeks, Paul. I’ve missed you,” she murmured.

“I’ve missed you so much, too, baby. Remind me not to leave you this long again. Next time, I’m packing you up with me,” he laughed

I grabbed the newspaper and threw it in my tote bag. “Careful … I just might hold you to it.”

I glanced down at my watch and was a bit surprised with how much time had flown by. “Ah damn, if you’re coming home in a few hours I should head back to my apartment. Get things cleaned up a bit. Maybe we can do dinner at Russo’s tonight if you aren’t too jetlagged? Then maybe catch up on all our movie nights we missed while you were gone?” I asked hopefully.

“Anything you want, babe. I honestly don’t care what we do as long as I get to see your gorgeous face.”

I could feel my cheeks grow hot at his compliment. This guy. My God, was he a sweet talker or what? I got that our relationship was still in the honeymoon stage so to speak – we had only been exclusively dating for eight months after all, but man, did he know how to sweep a girl off her feet or what? Butterflies? Nope, I had full blown moths fluttering around in there, and somehow, he also managed to make me go weak in the knees each time I saw him.

Admittedly, I wasn’t exactly keen on the idea of going out with him at first, but I’m very glad that he was able to wear me down eventually. Yeah, the frequent trips to Boston were hard, but we were making it work. And surprisingly, we hadn’t even had a single disagreement since we first started dating. Our relationship was easy. Comfortable even. And well . . . normal. God, how I craved normalcy. Those were things that I never had with him. Then again, I don’t think there was anything really normal about my relationship with him. Ugh. I’m doing it again. Just stop.

Paul’s voice broke through my internal struggle. “There’s ah … something I wanted to talk to you about, too. Been thinking a lot about it while on the trip, and was hoping to run it by you today.”

“Oh? Okay, that sounds good,” I replied, as I waved a quick goodbye to Roxy. “I’ll see you in a few, babe,” I smiled as I tapped the end on my phone and left Roxy’s Coffee Shop.

The trek back home wouldn’t take me long as I only lived a few blocks away. There was so much I needed to do before he got in, but I was pretty excited to see Paul. FaceTime was great, but nothing could replace seeing him in person or hearing his laugh right across from me. We had met about a year after I returned to New York. I had finally picked myself back up and moved on from my time in Cordonia. I had reenrolled in college, finished my last semester and earned my Bachelor’s Degree in Business. Shortly after I graduated, I went to my local credit union and asked for a loan to start up my own business. It was a gigantic risk at the time – after all, I had no backup plan if I failed miserably. They started me off with a modest loan which I used to get the foundation of Savvy Events created. Even with the loan, money was tight. To cut down costs, I was working out of my apartment with only a single laptop and my design book.

Paul’s law firm was one of my very first clients. I’d been hired to coordinate an event honoring the firm’s newest partner – Paul. When I went in to meet with him for the initial consultation, I found myself surprisingly attracted to him. I hadn’t dated anyone since . . . well since Cordonia, and it wasn’t like I was looking to date again. My heart was pretty shut off from jumping into ANY relationship, and when I met Paul and felt a little spark, I tried my best to snuff it out. I didn’t NEED a relationship and I certainly didn’t WANT one. Especially after the shitshow that had happened back in Cordonia, but there was something about Paul that kept drawing me in . . . even though I wanted none of it. Paul was tall, slender with touches of gray in his dark hair. He was just under ten years older than me, and he had an air of sophistication that was very fitting of a corporate attorney. I tried my best to ignore the growing attraction between us. It was my first major gig and I could not screw it up by being attracted to the guest of honor. That would be a big no-no. I wanted to keep things professional. I also didn’t want my newly pieced back together heart, broken again. I tried so hard to pretend that there wasn’t anything between us . . . but each meeting had me falling a lot more in like with him than I wanted. He was sweet, charismatic and genuinely interested in knowing more about me. That’s why, I wasn’t all too surprised that when the party was over he had asked me out to dinner and wouldn’t accept no for an answer.

I agreed to a single dinner and made it clear that I wasn’t looking for anything serious. I didn’t go into a lot of detail, but just gave him the rundown that my heart had been smashed to smithereens and there was no way in hell I was going to fall down that black hole again. He was oh so patient and understood completely. That single dinner turned into a standing weekly date which then turned into frequent movie nights throughout the week. Eight months later, I’m still in major like with him. LIKE. Not love . . . I mean, yes, there have been moments when he does something so amazingly, sweet that I go all heart-eyes on him . . . but love . . . yeah, no. Thanks to him, I don’t really think I can ever “love” someone so freely again. If there was anything that I learned from my time in Cordonia it’s that love is a four letter word that makes you weak . . . and I’d be damned if I would allow myself to get swept up in that whirlwind again.

After wrestling with my thoughts, I found myself standing on the front stoop of my apartment building. It was the typical New York City brick-built walk up. It was in a pretty good area near a lot of shops and markets. It was also ridiculously close to the subway making it so easy to find yourself in any one of the other boroughs of the city. Because of that it was obscenely expensive. I mean, two bedroom apartments in New York are already obscenely expensive, but one in close proximity to the subway typically broke the bank. Thank God for Andy. Without her splitting of the rent, we never would have been able to afford something in this area.

I climbed up the three flights of stairs to my apartment unit, all the while, butterflies floated around happily in my stomach. My mind raced to what I was going to wear to our early dinner tonight. It also drifted to what Paul wanted to talk to me about. He seemed a bit vague about it.

“Hey,” I said happily as I walked through the front door. I threw my keys onto the island in the kitchen. Andy was sitting on the floor furiously typing away on her laptop. Papers were strewn all around her in different piles.

“How’s the thesis going?” I asked, eyeing a few of the crumpled, wadded up paper next to her.

Andy stretched her arms over her head, yawning. “I’ve been at this since seven this morning and got all of one page done. You tell me.” She snorted.

Andy was an English major who had earned her Bachelor’s Degree two semesters ago. Her educational goals were much loftier than my own. She wanted her PhD. I just wanted to get the hell out of school. It had already taken me a bit longer than expected to get my degree, and I didn’t have the funds or drive to continue any further beyond my BA.

Andy was in her second semester of Hudson’s Literary Studies MA program, and I didn’t envy her in the slightest. While my life had become consumed with all things Savvy Events, her life was consumed by her thesis. I didn’t understand why someone would willingly spend so many hours of their life working on a paper that could either make or break your educational endeavors, especially when there was going to be more schooling and papers waiting for her on the other side of her MA. She’d still have at least four more years in her doctoral program. I internally cringed at even the thought of it. Andy had mentioned a few times that she’d probably have to move out of state to pursue the PhD program that she wanted. I didn’t even want to think about what that meant for our friendship.

Andy had been my saving grace when I first moved back to New York. And if I were being honest, she was the only friend I had for quite a while upon returning. When I had come home to New York, a lot of my college friends had graduated and moved out of state. Even my old coworkers at Upscale had found new jobs and moved on with their lives. A lot changes in six months. I was left in a state of limbo, not really having anywhere to go or anyone to turn to. Meeting Andy was a blessing that I so desperately needed at a time when I wasn’t really sure what to do with my life.

I never really told Andy what happened to land me back in New York, and being the godsend that she is, she never pushed or pried. I vaguely mentioned that I had been traveling out of the country for a while, and she assumed that I had been a part of some foreign exchange program. She never prodded and I never corrected her because . . . well . . . talking about Cordonia . . . and him . . . would just reopen the wounds that had taken so very long to heal. I wanted a clean break from all things Cordonian. I left no contact number or forwarding address. I wanted them to forget I ever existed, and to be honest, I wanted to forget they had ever existed, too.

“Hey, one page is better than nothing right?” I popped open the refrigerator grabbing a soda can out of it. “Want one?” I said as I held up a can to offer Andy.

“I’m good. I’m wired on three cups of coffee right now. I don’t think my body can handle any more caffeine right now. So how was your day off?”

“It was fantastic.” I sighed happily. “Paul’s flying in today . . . in a few hours in fact.”

Andy cocked her eyebrow. “Really? I thought he was going to be gone for nearly a month?”

“Me too, but I guess his negotiations must have wrapped up quicker than expected, so he’s flying back. We’re doing dinner tonight at Russo’s, so you’re on your own tonight okay? Looks like my movie partner is back in action,” I chuckled as I made my way toward my bedroom.

“Thank God!” Andy exclaimed. “Your taste in movies is horrendous, geeze,” she sighed. “Wait . . . does that mean you guys are planning on coming back here and having some post business trip loving, because I was planning on working until at least eleven tonight.”

“Andy!” I yelled, turning away from my doorway. “Seriously?” I narrowed my eyes at her.

“I’m just saying! Every time that man goes away on business, you can’t keep your hands off of each other when he gets back. I mean, I get it, you’re still in the honeymoon phase of your relationship … but can you may be spread the lovey dovey googly eyes crap at his place tonight? I do not like being the third wheel,” she said pointedly.

“Stop it,” I scolded. “And we aren’t that bad,” I chided. “I mean . . . yes when he comes back from his business trips we are quite happy to actually be together in person again . . . but we hardly push any hard limits . . . we always keep it to a nice and comfortable PG-13 level, thank you very much.”

Andy waggled her eyebrows. “Sure, you keep telling yourself that.”

I rolled my eyes and threw my balled up jacket at her head. “I’m going to go get ready for tonight. Get your mind out of the gutter.”

As I turned into my bedroom and started to rummage through my closet for something to wear, I heard Andy enter my room behind me. "Hey, before you go off to get all glamorous for your date … you got mail today. Seems pretty fancy . . . and it looks like it has some sort of foreign postmark. Cor-something? I can’t make out the rest,” she said as she squint her eyes to make out the lettering.

My hand clenched on my closet’s door, an unsettling feeling forming in the pit of my stomach. “Foreign?” I asked, turning to stare at Andy, my jaw clenching. “What do you mean foreign? What’s it say?” I asked, abandoning the clothes in my closet.

Andy had the envelope in her hand and looked at it again. It was a cream-colored envelope. She scrunched up her face again. “Well, the postmark looked weird, and I had to sign some sort of funky slip of paper to acknowledge that I received it,” she shrugged. “I can’t really read the full postmark. Look,” she motioned to the envelope. “It even has a fancy red seal on it.”

My heart beat faster in my chest and my legs felt like they were turning into noodles. A wave of emotions washed over me. Foreign postmark . . . red seal . . . it couldn’t be. Could it? Not after all this time. I mean . . . it’s about two years too late to be reaching out. The thoughts hummed through my head as I eyed the envelope in Andy’s hand.

I cleared my throat, trying to steady my voice. “Does it say who it’s from?”

Andy shrugged nonchalantly, as if the letter she was holding wasn’t the ticking time bomb that it was. “Nope, just some sort of insignia.” Andy handed me the envelope. “Does it look familiar?”

I swallowed hard, my eyes dropping to the seal. My fingers traced the wax seal on the envelope. Did it look familiar? Of course it did. I’d seen the crest hundreds of times during my time in Cordonia. Bertrand and Maxwell had made sure that I was familiar with all of the court’s seals and crests. I wanted to speak, but my voice cracked a little in the process. How could this happen? Fifteen minutes ago I was so excited that Paul was flying home . . . . now all I felt was absolute dread. The butterflies from earlier were gone, replaced by a gnawing feeling of anxiety.

“Ri?” Andy questioned.

I lifted my head. “Hm?” I asked as I felt my eyes glazing over.

“Does it look familiar?” She asked again. I could sense the impatience growing in her voice.

“Y-yes,” I replied softly.

I could feel Andy’s eyes boring into me. “Well? What is it?” She asked. “Who’s it from?”

I licked my lips nervously, and cleared my throat. “It’s the family crest of House Beaumont from Cordonia.” I replied softly. My chest felt tight, and suddenly I couldn’t breathe. I braced myself on the arm of the couch, trying to sit down. I tried my best to remain composed, but I could already feel hot tears pricking my eyes.

Andy scrunched her face up in confusion. “From where?”

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lokikingofasgardslover713 · 5 years ago

Text

Attention Mandatory - Assembly Required

Masterlist

From this Ask

One shot

Pairing: Thor Odinson X (OC) You

Warnings: Fluff

Summary: anonymous asked: Thor doing things to get your attention and getting annoyed coz u are not giving enough of it

A/N: I didn't go smutty because I wasn't sure if that was what Anon was looking for. I hope you enjoy, got kind of angsty but ended in some fluffy kisses. It kind of came out gender neutral, which I like.

Words: +1,400

————

Thor just wasn’t having it. Especially after his return from space and having met you at the newly rebuilt Avengers compound. You were nice to him, polite and understanding especially on bad days.

You began to notice he was craving attention when the god was sure to be at almost every place you were when it was time for a break. It was odd at first, of course you wondered why he took to; wait was he flexing?

You couldn't help but smile and wave. Apparently he had taken that as an invitation to sit with you on the park bench you sat at. Thor seemed very eager as he sat down, sure to keep eye contact and keep you interested with his elaborate stories that had the god gesturing wildly and making you laugh.

Every day following, it appeared he done than same flex but this them he didn't wait for you to invite him over. You had to admit he was very easy on the eyes and he was a break from the usual mundane things you done lately. Being a tech for the team had good days and bad, you were just happy to have an attractive distraction, aside from the usual bickering you had to deal with from Sam and Bucky.

Eventually, you noticed the god was sure to speak to you every time you passed, to give a smile and the one time you did turn to watch him pass, you caught him doing the same. That day you had turned every shade of red as you hurried to hide in the lab.

It made you begin to feel he was doing all he could to gain your attention. You felt flattered, but then again you wondered why. Every time he passed Thor was sure to smile, not to mention when you passed the training room he was sure to show off his strength.

And you weren’t going to lie, you almost walked into the glass door leading out of the compound. Needless to say that earned a laugh but not from the god who had hurried out of the training room soaked in sweat, shirtless, to assure you were ok.

Eventually his attempts became bolder after the discovery you were watching him, evidenced by you almost taking out the glass door. At that point he was rushing to open doors for you when he was around, even going as far as bringing things down to the lab; even when your assistant was more than capable.

From time to time he showed up with nothing, explaining he was just making sure you had what you needed and proceeded to look around the lab to assess if you were out of anything. You laughed at him, in turn he laughed and finally took the stool you offered to sit and watch you work.

You found his presence calming, even if he told old stories but he kept his animation to a minimum after almost knocking your things off the table. Thankfully you were fast and caught the delicate instrument before it fell to the floor and shattered. Thor gave you praises and made goosebumps travel your skin when he hand brushed yours.

His flesh burned hot against yours, but you felt the tingle it left in its place. Meeting his gaze, you gave a shy smile, that was when you noted the lonely look in his eye along with a need you couldn't quiet place. Blushing, you realized Thor was dying for your attentions, all of them.

That led to you asking if he would like to join you for dinner. All too quickly, Thor blurted yes to which you jumped slightly, and he had to calm himself.

"Yes," he responded quietly this time but with a giddy smile. "I would love to accompany you to dinner."

"It's just heated up leftovers," you informed him, but he only smiled bigger.

"Regardless, it is time spent with you," he was sure to inform you.

It soon turned to evenings with the god assuring the two of you enjoyed dinner together by cooking for you himself. And he wasn’t bad, even if he was doing as the AI prompted him to. Many times he craved your attention so much he would forgo changing out of his armor after a mission to enjoy time with you.

One evening he seemed extra attention seeking. So much so he was underfoot the entire day, insisting he help you work, another way of gaining your attention that wasn’t working. It was to the point you had taken enough and snapped at the god.

“Thor,” you had all but screamed when you took a step back only to trip over said god's feet, dropping the tablet and weapon you were working on into the floor. Spinning on him you didn’t mean for your temper to flare so badly but working with Bucky and Sam, who were bickering extra hard today, had been you’re breaking point.

“Jesus Thor! I see you! You don’t have to keep trying to impress me and be underfoot,” you spat out before you could stop yourself. Angered gaze meeting the god's apologetic one that still didn't register as you fumed and cursed under your breath.

“I’m sorry dove,” Thor breathed, letting slip the pet name be had been calling you privately.

The two of you knelt to pick up the tablet and pistol, meeting the gods gaze you immediately felt sick. The pet name, the hurt in his eyes and the fact he was still trying to gain your attention by picking up the pieces of a week's worth of endless work made you upset at your own self.

“Ok. Thor,” you began taking the parts in your hand to place them on the counter with a huff. Instantly you felt his presence next to you, the gods large hands shaking as he placed the pieces he had picked up next to yours.

Turning attention back to Thor you noted his troubled look. No, it was more than troubled, it was wounded, vulnerable and raw.

“I want it all,” the god finally blurted, the look of seriousness had your breath hitching and mind drawing blanks.

“What,” you stammered like a complete idiot, a jolt running through you as he took your hands in his, not realizing you had somehow skinned your knuckles picking up the sharp pieces of the weapon and tablet. His touch was gentle as he appeared to fret over the oozing wound before continuing and meeting your gaze once more.

“I want-I need all your attention. All of it. It’s the only thing I can think about. You make me feel whole after all of this. Every time I look at you and you smile back, it- it gives me hope that it will get better," he blurted, looking over his face you swallowed hard.

"It does get better Thor. With time, you don't need me to-."

"I do, when I feel I have fallen out of favor with you, the self-loathing, the weight settles back on my chest and I can't breathe. You dove, it's you that quiets the chaos that hasn’t quieted for centuries,” he seemed to ramble, his hand holding to yours tight but not hurting, it felt as if he was afraid to release you as he freed a hand to cup your cheek.

“Ok,” you smiled, you knew all too well what he meant, and the thoughts of centuries he suffered compared to your decades made your heart ache. You had to be there for him because you knew what it's like to be left alone to suffer. “You have my attention. What would you like to do?”

That was what god needed to hear. Hastily he pulled you into strong form, hand wrapping to the nape of your neck to place your lips to his in a meaningful kiss full of passion. It was unexpected but you fell into him, your wounded hand still in his as the kiss broke for him to give you a shy smile.

"How about a week," he ventured cautiously, watching you for your answer.

"A week should be no problem," you smiled as he cherished over your cheek.

"A week may not be enough," he laughed, looking down to your wounded hand and shrugging off his long sleeve button down he wore over the t shirt you had told him fit well, and wrapping it around the still oozing gash.

"Then we will take it one day at a time," you breathed as he leaned close to your lips, nose nuzzling at yours.

"Aye dove, I'll follow your lead," he breathed, planting a chaste kiss on your lips before he swept you off your feet and into his arms to carry you out of the lab.

Tags are OPEN! REBLOGS ALWAYS WELCOMED!

Tags: @dark-night-sky-99 @gramaeryebard @katstablook @andiyholly @jovanna-shewolf @nickyl316h @aslandia726 @furstinnajoelle @itsbqueenthings @collinsstanharbour @jazzieomega @moonlightprime @bambamwolf87 @tomhardy41 @get-loki @drakonwild @alexakeyloveloki @scorpionchild81 @moonfaery

#Thor Odinson #thor x you #thor x reader #thor x oc #gender neutral #thor fanfiction

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bitchiloveher · 5 years ago

Text

all these years || part two

pairing[s]:

Sweet Pea x Reader

Veronica Lodge x platonic! reader

warnings: just your feels

word count: 1,700+

♬ : all these years by Camila Cabello

note: it’s here :) sorry I took so long!! I have been working like crazy. It was basically done a few days ago, but I didn’t like it so I rewrote the whole thing :) there will be a part 3... but I'm taking a lil sweet pea break for now to write for some of our other pals

part one

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

Sweet Pea hurried down the steps of Pop’s to his old pick up truck in a daze. He slid into the driver’s seat, mindlessly handing over the Pop’s bag to Josie, then his hand automatically found its way to the ignition, turning the key.

He had four years to prepare for what he would say to you the moment you stepped foot into town again. For a while, he wanted to cry... which he did. He wanted to follow you across the country and hold you so tight that you weren’t able to leave him again. Then, he wanted to yell, very loudly and specifically at you. He wanted to make sure you knew the pain you caused him and wouldn’t have minded if you felt it too. After all that, he didn’t want to speak to you... ever again. He would just see you and look away. No hello, no smile, but maybe the middle finger. Somehow, all of those ideas disappeared the moment he laid eyes on you. All that built up anger and sadness vanished instantly.

“Sweet Pea?!” Josie’s voice pulled him out of his trance.

“Hm?” His head snapped to see her frustrated face.

“What is the matter with you? You look like you’d just seen a ghost.” She replied in a playful, yet somehow harsh tone. He scoffed in response, little did she know. With a roll of her eyes, she spoke again, “Well you forgot my pickles.”

“Sorry.” He shrugged and shifted into reverse. Her hand found its way on top of his.

“Can you go get some?” Her eyebrows raised, like she expected this from him.

His phone rang and he held his finger up to Josie, which caused her to roll her eyes again. Sweet Pea reached for his phone in his back pocket, seeing Fangs’ name appear on the screen, “Give me a sec.” He shut off the car just before he pressed the green button.

“Where the hell are you guys? I want my burger!” Fangs frantically asked through the phone.

Sweet Pea stepped out, as Josie was about to speak again, but he closed the door behind him before she could make another complaint. “Dude, can you chill? We’re leaving in a minute.” Sweet Pea snapped.

“Woah, what the hell happened to you?” Fangs was used to Sweet Pea quick temper, but he could tell something was up.

“She’s back.” He answered criptically.

“Huh?” A confused Fangs responded.

“Y/n. She’s home.” Sweet Pea said shortly.

“Oh shit.” There was a brief pause, “How is she?” He genuinely asked.

“Not sure.”

“How are you?”

“Also not sure, but it really hit me, Fangs.” Sweet Pea let out a big sigh.

“I bet... Did you tell her about Josie?”

“I mentioned her and now I have to go back in to get her some damn pickles.” He huffed.

“Just don’t bring her up again, its kind of insensitive.” Fangs knew how sensitive you could be and always made it his main prerogative to protect you, no matter from who.

“Y/n leaving me like she did four years ago was kind of insensitive.” Sweet Pea responded without much thought.

“Touché”

Sweet Pea glanced back to his truck to see Josie’s irritated expression, “Okay, I gotta go, Josie looks angry.”

“But...”

“She’s staring at me with her angry eyes, dude.” Sweet Pea turned away from Josie and her look that could surely kill.

“Well can you tell y/n I said hi please.” Fangs begged. He tried his hardest to respect Sweet Pea by staying out of the situation between you two, which ultimately ended up with you two speaking less and less until things just faded out. It killed him everyday to not speak to you, until it suddenly became normal.

“You should reach out to her yourself, you know she’d love that.” He smiled at the thought of you and Fangs hanging out again. You were two peas in a pod and he knew how badly it affected Fangs when you left. “Now, if you don’t let me hang up, you’ll never get your burger.”

“Isn’t it funny though how I originally offered to go grab our food? Imagine how differently this would have turned out?” Fangs let out a big laugh before ending the call.

Sweet Pea’s head turned back to his truck when he heard a soft banging noise. Josie was leaning forward, fist made, banging on the front window. It took all of him to not start fuming at how careless she was being. She aggressively pointed her finger towards the diner with wide eyes. Sweet Pea groaned, knowing he had to go back in and also knowing some part of him wanted to. He so badly needed to see your face again.

When he opened the door he saw Veronica’s hand on your back rubbing slow and small circles as your chugged your milkshake. He always loved how you could take one of those down so quickly. Veronica’s head turned to the sound of the door chiming as Sweet Pea stepped back inside the diner, his hands shoved in his pockets, “I forgot a side of pickles.”

At the sound of his voice, your eyes shot straight open and you dropped the straw out of your mouth. Your hands quickly found their way to your eyes to make sure you didn’t resemble a rabid raccoon. Veronica leaned forward and whispered, “You got this, babe.” She gave you a small pat on the shoulder before heading back to the kitchen, “Just a second, Sweet Pea.”

Sweet Pea stood awkwardly by the entrance, fidgeting. His body urging him to move closer to you, he soon gave in, taking a seat beside you. You both sat in tense silence for a few moments.

“So pickles??” You questioned breaking the silence, while looking at your milkshake glass.

“They are…” He searched for an acceptable answer “for Fangs.”

“Fangs hates pickles.” You said knowingly before taking a sip of your chocolatey goodness.

“You have a great memory.” He nodded, forgetting just how much you payed attention.

“You’re allowed to talk about her, Sweet Pea.” You responded, lips pressed tightly together. “I’m just glad you’re happy.” You finally looked him straight in the eyes.

This was his chance to take you all in. You had cut your hair, it was different, but it fit you so well. It made you look older, just like the different way you did your makeup now. The circles under your eyes had sunk a little deeper, but that didn’t take away your beauty, not one bit. Through your eyes, he knew you were the same ole y/n.

He could tell you had been crying and fought the urge to bury you in his arms. He decided to avoid bringing that up though so this situation didn't get any worse. “You never got to tell me how you are.” He assumed that was the best way to continue the conversation.

“If I’m being honest, pretty damn tired.” You responded with a small chuckle.

“That’s reasonable though.” He laughed. “What did you end up studying anyway? I know you were having a tough time deciding.”

You mumbled your answer, just before leaning forward to take another sip of your milkshake.

“Hm?? What was that?” He teased.

You whispered, “Journalism.”

“Can’t hear you... mind saying that a little louder?” He teased while putting a hand up beside his ear, leaning in closer to you.

“I said Journalism, you little shit!” You shouted with wide eyes and a big laugh.

“So you finally gave into destiny, huh?” He smirked.

“Shut up!” You pushed his shoulder back lightly.

“Just saying... I called it.” He raised his hands in defense.

“You did.” You said with a little nod. “It felt so impractical, but I have so much I need to say.” He could see the passion in your eyes. It was one of the reasons he fell in love with you.

“You can’t quite a voice like yours.” He replied honestly with a slight shake of his head. “I’m glad everyone is going to get to hear it now.”

“Let’s hope so, I’m waiting to hear back from an internship in New York City.”

“You’re gonna get it.” He said so completely sure of it.

“You don’t know that.”

“I’m never wrong about you.” He smiled, the love he had for you just oozing out of him.

“So... what have you been up to?”

“Just bought and rebuilt the Whyte Wyrm... nothing big.” He answered smugly with a shrug.

“Nothing big? Holy shit, Sweet Pea. You really did it. I’m so happy for you.” There it was, a smile from ear to ear. After all these years that smile of yours could still made his heart stop.

“Fangs and I have been working on it for a while, longer than it should have taken.”

“Well knowing you two...” You trailed off jokingly.

“We’re actually opening next Friday, you should come by.” You nodded, while staring sweetly into each others eyes. You felt everything in that moment.. all the hurt... all the love.

A sweet voice pulled your attention away, “Babe?”

You knew that voice. You took a deep breath and turned around, a fake smile perfectly finding its way to your face. There she was, “Josie, hi!”

“Y/n.” She responded with a small nod. “I’m guessing you just got home.”

“Yeah, not too long ago actually.”

“Welcome back.” She turned to Sweet Pea, “Sweetie, our food is cold.” She motioned her head back to the door, signaling him to leave.

“Sorry, just waiting for Veronica to bring out your pickles.” He responded while standing up.

Veronica quietly scoffed from behind the register, “I already brought them out.” She motioned to the tiny plastic cup of pickles that were placed right between you and Pea. I didn’t want to interrupt…” Veronica trailed off when she noticed how your eyes grew and head shook.

“I didn’t even notice. Thanks again, V.” He reached forward to grab the small container.

“Maybe cause you were too distracted...” she muttered under her breath.

“I’ll see you around, y/l/n.” You smiled at the name and the countless memories it brought back. His eyes stayed connected with yours for as long as they could, until Josie’s hand found her way into his, pulling his attention as they slipped out.

Your gaze longingly followed him out of the dinner, wishing it was your hand he was holding on to. You sighed, feeling your heart shatter. You shook the thought of his hand in yours again away and went to sip on your shake, just to hear the annoying slurping sound. “I’m gonna need a refill, V.”

—

↳xo m.j.

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rykhafirehand · 5 years ago

Text

Mending What Needs Mending

Perhaps it was the Light's way, thought Marten Weaver as he hitched his plough horse to the heavily laden cart, to send salvation in one’s bleakest hour.

***

She had arrived after the storm, the one that sundered an ancient oak and slammed several of its thickest branches straight through the Weavers’ roof. Luckily, neither him not Emma had been hurt. They hid in the cellar, as they had before, when a pack of ravenous ghouls appeared to ravage their little homestead. They bore it out and rebuilt then; but that was before Tyrras left to join the army. Before they lost Miriam.

Now they were all that was left, and little Emma was only seven. He could not count on his neighbours to help him either. Most of them had found safer places to live. Despair coiled inside his gut. He knew it had been a mistake not to follow them, but he had been too prideful and stubborn. At first, it had simply been a matter of family pride, of hanging on to the land he had finally reclaimed from the clutches of the undead hordes. Now, there was another reason, the simple stone marker sitting among the hazel bushes behind their house.

He threw himself into the work, hoping that exhaustion might help subdue his dark thoughts. Emma, Light bless her, helped to the best of her abilities, but it was unbearably slow going. After several hours, it seemed as though they hadn’t made any progress at all. Just as he sat down with his daughter to share a bite to eat, he heard the sound of hooves entering their yard. Marten motioned for Emma to remain quiet, and slowly took hold of his axe. You could never be too safe in the Plaguelands, and whoever it was, they had not called out or introduced themselves.

His heart was pounding as he turned the doorknob and pushed open the door. When he spied the unannounced visitor, he was struck speechless.

Marten had seen draenei before, but never one like this. Her skin was a pale alabaster white, marked with holy glyphs and uncountable faintly glowing scars. One of her horns had been shattered halfway along its length, yet its fragments remained in place, floating within a silhouette of soft golden light. She had ridden in on a giant, goat-like creature that now stood obediently by what remained of the Weavers’ fence.

The hilt of a greatsword poked out above her shoulder, but she had not reached for it. Instead, her bright golden eyes found Marten and she inclined her head. Her voice was deep and melodic. “Greetings. My name is Paathi.” “Uh… good day,” stumbled Marten, “I’m Marten. Marten Weaver. What brings a paladin such as yourself here?” Paathi gestured towards the ruined roof. “I believe you require some aid. I would be glad to oblige.” “How- I mean no offense, milady, but wouldn’t your talents be of better use elsewhere? We’re just simple farmers.”

The draenei turned her eyes from the damage to Marten. Despite its intensity, the gaze felt… kind. “I am vindicator. I go where I am needed.”

***

As Paathi entered the house, Marten could not help but notice how her very presence lit up the corridor. They went from room to room, inspecting the wreckage. The kitchen had it worst; it lay in shambles, with most of the shelving gone and half the pottery smashed to pieces. The counter and fireplace had luckily avoided the worst of it, but some falling masonry had dented and cracked their large iron cauldron. The draenei picked it up, turning it in her hands as though it were barely a quarter its weight. “That was our only cauldron, and now it’s ruined,” despaired Marten when he saw Paathi’s thoughtful expression. She clicked her tongue and looked up at the devastated roof. “I cannot replace the thatch, but the wooden panels should not be too difficult to repair. See? All the rafters yet stand. I shall require a hand with cleaning up, of course.” “… Cleaning up? It will take ages fixing all of this!”

The paladin tossed the cauldron in the air and caught it with ease. “It will not. Follow me outside. I shall show you something.” She glanced towards the kitchen entrance. “And tell your child to come as well.” Marten turned around, barely catching a glimpse of Emma’s dark locks as she darted out of view.

He led his daughter to the front yard, where Paathi was rummaging through her saddlebags. She produced a small object that when tapped began emitting pulses of light. The paladin then placed this object on the ground and motioned for the Weavers to stand back.

A beam of radiance shot down from the skies, blinding Marten. When it subsided, he saw a gleaming golden anvil with an assortment of tools where the beacon had been moments before. Paathi wasted no time, slamming the cauldron atop the anvil and striking it with a glowing crystalline hammer. “Stop!” yelled out the farmer, “You’ll only damage it further!” Paathi seemed not to notice. The paladin dropped the hammer, held the cauldron in both hands, and let a searing radiance wash over it from her fingers. Mortally terrified of the powers on display, Marten nonetheless found the courage to make a grab for his axe and whirled around, fully intent on stopping the strange visitor…

Clanggggggg.

“It is done,” said Paathi. Before her stood the cauldron, beautifully smooth like the day it had been bought, the crack running across it filled in with some strange silvery-golden substance. Marten stood speechless as the draenei beckoned him closer to inspect her work, completely ignoring the weapon gripped in the man’s hands. She stepped away from the anvil as he approached and folded her arms across her chest. Marten ran his calloused fingers across the cauldron’s slightly warm surface. “… How-?”

“My kind has learned to mend many cracks. Metal… metal is easy.” Her usually impassive expression softened as she offered the farmer a soft smile.

***

It was not the end of unexpected wonders for the Weavers. When offered an axe to help remove the thick branches, Paathi waved it away. Instead, she unsheathed her curved blade, bathing the room in light. It shone as though it had been forged from a fragment of the sun, which, Marten thought with childlike wonder, it may very well have been. Whatever its source, the blade made quick work of its quarry, leaving Marten and Emma with the task of picking up the pieces and stacking them neatly against the side of the house. With the branches out of the way, the Weavers went about removing the other detritus while Paathi mended the cracked walls using the same silvery-golden metal as before.

Marten recalled that he had set aside a few wooden panels in the barn a few years earlier, just on the off chance they might come in handy, and so they did. The paladin wasted no time sawing them into correct shapes and replacing the broken ones along the roof. Evening found her forging new holders for the kitchen shelving. When she sincerely apologised for not being able to replace their shattered pottery, Marten simply hugged her and began to weep. In between sobs, he attempted to explain just how much the help meant to him. Paathi somewhat awkwardly patted him on the head and gently disentangled herself.

At supper, she produced a crystalline lute and sang in her ancient tongue, songs of hope and joy and a brighter future to come. When offered a bed she claimed to need no sleep and instead went for a stroll, leaving her talbuk mount to guard Marten and Emma as they slept.

***

“Please, take some payment, it’s not much, but…” Paathi waved him away. “You have already given me what you could spare.” And he had. Marten had meticulously gone through their pantry and shared a portion of everything he had. Besides, she had little need of money. “Anything you ask, anything at all! You saved us after all!” Paathi looked over the man’s shoulder, at the girl waving from the doorway. She offered a small wave in return. “The truth. What happened to your wife?” Marten’s smile froze and he grew deathly pale. “I saw the grave last night,” said Paathi, her voice tinged with sympathy. The farmer stared at his hands silently for a while, then spoke.

“It was in winter, just after our boy had left for Stormwind. There was something evil on the wind, you could almost taste it… Miriam, she… she worked so hard, getting the harvest in, she must have… the spores, they come in from the east sometimes, if the healers get to you quick enough it’s fine. She was feeling poorly, so we called for them, and they did what they could… but the sickness came back two months later, and I knew what it was, I’d seen what it did in Tirisfal… I couldn’t save her, couldn’t… When she was gone, I built a pyre, nearly half our firewood and a full barrel of oil went up in smoke. You know how hard it is to light a fire in the snow? I had to, or else…” His voice grew thick and he swallowed hard. “I thought I saw her rise, in the flames… It… I… I couldn’t…”

Paathi inclined her head and placed a hand on the man’s shoulder. A soft light limned her fingers, and a feeling of peace washed over him. “I understand. You hold on to this land for the memory of her.” “Not just that,” muttered Marten stubbornly, “It’s my place, where I was born and raised. And now with your help, we can go on.”

The paladin looked at the mended roof. “I have been alive for a thousand of your lifetimes, perhaps more,” she said, and a chill ran down the farmer’s spine. He knew, somehow, that she was telling the truth. “Sometimes we have to mend things before we can truly let them go. But let them go we must. For our own sake, and that of others.” Marten followed her gaze to Emma.

“Why did you help us then?” he asked. “We would have had to leave regardless.” Paathi tilted her head. “Yes. You would have had to leave. But would you have?” The word ‘yes’ stuck in Marten’s throat. He knew it would be a lie, and he knew she would know it to be one. He sighed heavily, and Paathi nodded. “Now, should you choose to stay, you have a roof over your head. But remember; a house is not the same as home. And a grave is fit to be neither.”

***

He stood watching, thinking, for a long time, even after Paathi slipped out of view. Then he went inside, made some tea, poured two cups, and carried them to Miriam’s grave.

He sat silently, sipping his tea, with the other cup placed atop the stone. “Do you remember mornings like this?” he whispered eventually. The wind murmured a reply, but he could not understand it. “We have to mend things before we can truly let them go. I thought… I thought we could pull through, as we always did. I did my best, truly, but in the end… it was for me we stayed, wasn’t it? It was for me you stayed.”

He sat until the tears dried up and the tea grew cold.

And then he let it go.

#World of Warcraft #Ryk being artsy #Ryk being writesy #Ryk's OCs #Paathi

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gamesception · 5 years ago

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Sception Plays KHUx episode 6: unexpected guests

What the heck are ou guys doing here? Like, but, no. Serously, they shouldn’t be here, especially not dressed like that, and especially not crashing a gummy ship. Because gummy ships are made out of the gummie material that shields individual worlds from the darkness between them after the keyblade war, and this is supposed to be before that.

The Foretellers have copies of a ‘book of prophesies’ that contains information that Mom saw about the future from her keyblade. We know from Winnie the Pooh land and Jimminie’s journal in re:Coded that books/stories/collections of data can become worlds of their own in Kingdom Hearts land (presumably Tron land works the same way, just with a hard drive instead of paper & ink). It’s always been possible that we weren’t stepping into other worlds, but rather into the world of the book of prophesies, and that explained why the disney worlds were their future versions....

but would people and things from inside a story book world be able to come out of it into the real world? I don’t think that’s happened before in the series. And if that’s not what’s happening here, then Sception’s daybreak town can’t be the real daybreak town from before the keyblade war.

...

So then, what is going on? My main theories are:

1) This is a dreaming world. After the Keyblade War happens and shatters the old world of light, Daybreak Town and the keyblade wielders who lived there falls towards the darkness and gets stuck in the dreaming state. Everyone there becomes suspended, living out the events leading up to the fall over and over again. This would explain why Chirithies/Dream Eaters are walking around, and since the world could remain stuck like this through the ages, it’s possible for creatures and events from modern times to cross over.

2) This is a digital world created from the book of prophesies itself, since it contains information not only about what happens leading up to the keyblade war, but all the events at least up to Xehanort’s defeat - and possibly a good while after. In this case there was a real Sception, but the character I’m playing isn’t them, just the story book recording of who they were and the things they did, like the ‘Sora’ in re:coded. Simulated Sception isn’t travelling from world to world, they’re travelling from chapter to chapter, which explains how they can end up in what seems to be future versions of disney worlds, and also how versions of characters and events from the future can manifest here.

Anyway, Donald and Goofy (?) broke they’re gummi ship, and somehow rebuilt it as a car. They need me to go around fighting ‘gummi heartless’ to find parts they can use to build it the right way again.

Along the way we revisit the worlds we’ve already been to, fight a bunch of heartless, and pick up another unexpected guest in King Micki.

The enemies sadly have not caught up with me. I’m honestly not sure if they ever will in the regular story levels.

Eventually we find all the parts, and our anacronistic companions return to wherever it is they’re from.

#sception plays khux #khux #speculation #kingdom hearts

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ohmytheon · 7 years ago

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heroes of the dark (1)

title: heroes of the dark

pairing: Uraraka/Midoriya, Uraraka/Bakugou, but mostly friendships and focused on OchaDeku

summary: Uraraka has spent almost a year grieving the tragic loss of Deku, the hero who was supposed to save the world and the boy she loved with everything in her, but she is slowly moving on, acting as the hero that Deku would want her be. She's got her job, her friends, and her life. She's even managed a strange friendship with Bakugou, who bore the weight of Deku's death almost as hard as her. Things are once again looking hopeful. This is, until, Deku comes back into her life and shatters everything she's rebuilt. Except he's not what he seems. Something is wrong with him - with his mind - and Uraraka will be damned if she lets the darkness take him again. If only he agreed with her. If only he wasn't so determined to take her with him.

– Chap 1: Uraraka and Bakugou do their own version of mourning Deku on a day like any other.

notes: When I first saw Villain!Deku stuff, I thought, no way, not my precious boy. Because he is a hero through and through! But damn if the fanart didn't suck me in. However, when I went scrambling for fanfiction, as one does, I found that nearly every single one lacked something: my girl Ochako Uraraka. I desperately wanted a villain!Deku fanfic that had Uraraka as a main character/protagonist, but found maybe one or two tops. Sometimes, in order to read exactly what you want, and so I did despite having that insane BNHA/FMA fanfic already underway. Deku will always be a hero in my heart and I think the heart of this story - however the hell it ends up - will be about bringing him back to where he belongs. I made myself upset writing this.

Love is willing to become to villain so that the one who you love can stay a hero. ― Josephine Angelini, Firewalker

Uraraka woke up falling.

Or at least it was the sensation of falling.

She jerked awake in her large bed, her legs and arms flailing as she was snatched out of the nightmare. For a brief moment, she was tangled in a sea of blankets and sheets and felt as if she’d actually fallen into the choppy water, but then a cool breeze and the sounds of the city blew in from her open window and she went still. She took a moment to stare at the ceiling before she slid her hands over her face and took a deep breath. By the time she pulled her hands away and opened her eyes, her heart had stopped pounding in her chest.

It had been almost a month since she’d last had the dream. Why had it come back out of the blue? She had thought that it might finally leave her alone, but no, it had come back to her last night in an unforgiving way. Even now, it clung to her desperately, hanging in the corner of her mind, as if afraid that she might forget it completely.

She had to get up. She had to get out of bed. She had to get on with her day.

Like she did every morning that she had off, Uraraka took a long, hot shower first. She took her time with her hair and with washing herself, like she could scrub away anything with a loofah. After that, she made herself breakfast in her small but cozy kitchen while the radio played in the background. She walked around her apartment aimlessly in a pink bathrobe and worn through slippers drinking a cup of coffee. It was only when she caught sight of her calendar that she came to a halt.

Oh. It was his birthday today.

As if on cue, the phone rang, forcing Uraraka to look away. She knew that she should answer it, but she also knew what it would be about, even if she didn’t know who exactly was on the other end. She waited until the answering machine picked it up, her single voice telling the caller to leave a message, and then listened as Tsu’s voice left a voicemail.

“Hey, Ochako, I was calling to see if you wanted to have lunch,” her best friend said on the other end. “No sense in lying. You shouldn’t have to be alone today. Call me back, please, or I’ll try again later.”

That was Tsu for you -- straight and to the point. She always said what was on her mind, even if it made other people uncomfortable. Uraraka didn’t mind. She knew that Tsu wouldn’t be the only one calling today, but she would be one of the very few who would be open about why. There was no sense in lying. It didn’t matter what any of her friends said; she’d know what they were up to. It was sweet of them, truly, but she couldn’t let herself get wrapped up in this today.

More than anything, she was desperate for it to be normal. Deep down she knew that her attempts to make it so during the day would only make it worse for her come tonight and she’d probably be calling Tsu babbling through tears, but Uraraka wanted to at least pretend like she was strong enough to handle this on her own. Even if she also knew that she didn’t have to.

Besides, weren’t they suffering too? Weren’t they sad as well? She should tend to their grief. She was being selfish.

Later, she’d call back Tsu later, but for now, Uraraka went about the rest of her morning routine. She took a walk around the quiet neighborhood she’d moved to two years ago. It wasn’t much, but it was very nice in her opinion and it was low in crime, almost as if any villains actively stayed out of the area. She ran errands, going to the bank and the farmer’s market and the like, smiling at neighbors and making friendly smalltalk with the vendors. The sun was out and everyone seemed so happy.

However, when she came home to a silent and empty apartment, no amount of natural light could lift the dark cloud that had been brewing in her mind. She dropped the bags and sunk down into a crouch with her back to her front door and covered her face once more as if to shield herself.

The phone rang again -- had probably been ringing while she was out since her cell was turned off -- and Uraraka once again waited for the voice of one of her close friends. Maybe it would be Iida this time or Momo. Maybe it would be Hatsumi or even Todoroki.

It was none of them. Instead, of all people, it was Bakugou.

“Hey, Round Face, you better be decent because I’m gonna be over there in like three minutes,” Bakugou’s voice said with all the delicacy of a wrecking ball. “We’re going day drinking.”

There was no preamble. No “are you doing okay” or “do you need some company” or “it’ll be alright”. It was just plain old Bakugou blowing his way in. He’d never changed in that respect. When it came to any defensive walls that she might have put up around everyone else, he just blew them up and stepped right over them, like they weren’t even there for a reason, like they didn’t matter to him.

Uraraka could be mad -- probably should be mad -- but it felt nice to not be treated like glass.

A few minutes later, just as he had said, the doorknob rattled and swung open. Having cleaned herself up, Uraraka was busy putting the items from her errand away in the pantry, but that still didn’t stop her from gawking in confusion as Bakugou stepped inside her place and kicked the door shut behind him.

“Excuse me,” she greeted, “but I don’t remember giving you a key.”

“You didn’t,” Bakugou simply told her, like that was all she needed to know. Uh, definitely not. Him having a key to her place was a new development as far as she was concerned. He rolled his eyes. “I made a second copy of it like ten months ago.” Ah, during the dark days when everyone had acted as if they couldn’t leave her alone for more than a day. None of the others had stolen her keys to make a copy. “Never used it before though. Stupid thing acted like it didn’t want to work at first.”

A part of her wanted to hold out her hand and tell him to hand it over. Another part of her realized that it would be futile and she wasn’t sure if he didn’t have a backup just in case she did demand it. Not that it mattered in the end. He could do whatever he wanted. It wasn’t like he came over all the time or something.

“That what you’re wearing?” Bakugou asked as he sat down on one of the stools that were placed behind the counter that separated the kitchen from the living room. She had thought it cute when first looking for apartments. It was where someone could sit down and still chat and see whoever was in the kitchen.

Uraraka looked down at her outfit, black leggings with a baggy, faded red sweatshirt/dress that hung over her shoulders, and a black sports bra showing. It was a lazy outfit to match her slow-going day. She gave Bakugou a shrewd look. “Yes, what’s wrong with it?”

“Nothing,” Bakugou replied with a grunt, but he was still eyeing her strangely.

“Do you want me to change?”

Bakugou waved a dismissive hand. “No, I don’t give a shit what you wear.” Then why the hell had he commented on it? Sometimes, he had a way of drawing attention to the smallest details, somehow making her feel insecure even when he genuinely didn’t seem to mean to. She liked this outfit and she was going to wear it. After all, they were just going to do some day drinking, not some fancy restaurant. “You done?”

“Yeah.” Uraraka turned around to face him. “So where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise.”

Uraraka huffed. “So the same place as usual. Got it.”

The fact that she hadn’t fought this at all was either a testament to how tired she was or proof that she didn’t really want to be alone. It wasn’t the first time she and Bakugou had done something like this, but it wasn’t like it was a regular thing. He was off doing his own hero thing and she was doing hers. They had different lives and even lived in different cities, although he wasn’t that far away.

It occurred to her to realize that they never crossed each other’s paths accidentally anymore -- that every interaction between them was intentional and mostly on his behalf -- but he was still a normal part of her life. They didn’t call each other daily and sometimes she didn’t hear from him for a week, but then he’d shoot her a text or she’d email him an article or they just found themselves at lunch and that was that. It wasn’t an easy friendship -- it never was with Bakugou -- but it was...something consistent.

The fact that Bakugou never truly changed made her feel good, even if he was different than he had been at school. She wouldn’t quite say that he was soft, but he wasn’t as sharp around the edges anymore. He could definitely still be cutting when he wanted to be and she didn’t doubt his temper for a second, but he’d learned how not to blow up at the drop of a hat.

They walked a mile down the street to a bar that was reasonably nice. It had a good outdoor sitting area and a surprisingly nice selection of craft beers and variety of whiskeys. They even had better than average food. She had found the place shortly after moving here when exploring the area. According to Bakugou, it was the only good place around her neighborhood. If they had lunch or dinner, it was either by his place or further into the city.

It was a nice day, so they got an outdoor table and Bakugou immediately ordered for them, “We need two orders of gyozo and your most expensive bottle of sake. Scratch that. Make it two as well.”

“Bakugou!” Uraraka gasped.

“What?” Bakugou scoffed at her as the server scurried away. “I’m not drinking shit sake.”

Uraraka’s cheeks turned a little pinker. “But...it’s…”

“It’s what? I make a boat load of money. This is nothing.” Bakugou was, as usual, not modest, but he wasn’t outright bragging either. It was what it was. As one of the top pro heroes, he did make great money. She admittedly made good money as well, enough to support herself happily and give her parents a comfortable life, but old habits would always die hard.

It didn’t escape her that his words implied that he was paying for all this. He wasn’t going to say that outright either, but if she so much as moved to pull out her wallet, he’d snap at her. This was him being...nice. Helpful. A friend. She took it, knowing that, even though he wouldn’t admit it, today was almost as big of a deal for him as it was for her. Maybe just as big. He wouldn’t tell her the exact truth and she wouldn’t force it out of him.

When their alcohol arrived, along with two waters, Bakugou shoved one sake bottle over to her side of the table and then opened his to pour himself a cup. His courtesy extended as far as paying and nothing more, but it only made her smile. “What are you even doing here, Bakugou?” she asked, the smile still on her face.

“I’m drinking,” Bakugou replied almost childishly. When Uraraka set the bottle down and gave him a look, he huffed out a sigh. “You know why.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“I know that,” Bakugou huffed again. He pointed a finger at her. “But here’s what’s gonna happen anyway: we’re gonna avoid talking about him; we’re gonna get drunk and then we’re gonna talk about him; you’re gonna cry yourself out; I’m gonna make you laugh, carry your drunk ass home, and put you to bed; and then you’re gonna thank me and go the fuck to sleep.”

It wasn’t funny in the slightest. This was a serious matter that was going to end with her in tears. She didn't like admitting that though and hearing it said to her out loud made her hackles raise. “Do you think I'm that weak that I'll just cry all over you?”

“I'm not underestimating your strength, Uraraka,” Bakugou told her bluntly, his use of her name telling her how serious he was. She didn't think he would ever use her first name. She'd probably have a heart attack if he did. “You're basically the strongest person I know. Anyone else would've fallen apart and crashed, but not you.” The appetizers arrived and Bakugou picked up his chopsticks, pointing them at her accusingly. “Now you better eat because I'm ordering a stupid amount of food.”

Just like that, they switched gears. It was easy to do with Bakugou, who could drive a conversation like he would a sports car, completely in control and at a breakneck speed. He delved easily into his most recent hero activity, going from a huge villain takedown that she had seen in the news but just had to hear straight from the source to his most recent complaint about one of the sidekicks he seemed to loathe but kept around just so he could complain about the guy.

Bakugou was the kind of guy that could talk about himself a lot -- and you were somehow happy for it, because it was entertaining and you didn’t want to talk about yourself. And right now, Uraraka didn’t want to talk. She wanted the blissful ignorance that came with just listening to someone who could make the world spin around them. She liked his stories, always peppered with colorful language and vivid imagery. It immersed her in his world and swept her away from everything else.

They were each on their second bottle of sake and had ordered some more appetizers and Uraraka hadn’t even blinked. She’d sat there raptured, laughing at inappropriate moments that had him griping at her and throwing in teasing comments that made him smirk. It was an easy flow. She always forgot that until they were right here in these moments. That it could be easy. That she could breathe. Even with him.

“I saw on the news what you did last week,” Bakugou told her abruptly. His cheeks were pinker than he would ever admit, the sake finally taking its toll on him. She knew that she was worse. It was getting closer to the evening now. They’d been here for so long that the sun was starting its slow descent behind the city skyline. The orange haze made Bakugou glow like fire, his sandy hair and red eyes sticking out even more than usual.

Uraraka smiled shyly into her glass of water. “It wasn’t much.”

“It was fucking cool is what it was,” Bakugou corrected. “You saved ten people from a burning building and then helped catch the bastard that started it? Fucking cool.”

Deep down, Uraraka knew that she had done a good job and after consuming a terrible amount of alcohol, even over the span of quite a few hours, she could admit that she was proud of herself. But it was hard to do that when the one person that mattered the most -- the one save that she needed to do -- had slipped right from her fingertips. Not literally, of course. She hadn’t been able to touch him at all, missing him by mere inches. She could still feel the swish of empty air when she’d desperately reached out for him.

She had to save those people. She had to save everyone. She had to make up for who she hadn’t. And she hadn’t. She hadn’t saved him. She’d missed him and she’d fallen out of the sky to catch him and she’d still-- she’d still--

Oh, it was happening. Just as Bakugou had told her it would.

Despite being knee deep in drinking, Bakugou spotted it as well, the sudden shift in her demeanor that told him it was finally time. Her eyes dropped to her hands in her lap and he set his cup back on the table and leaned back in his seat. She suddenly wished that she hadn’t drank so much. She didn’t want to talk about it like this -- she knew that she wouldn’t be able to control herself -- and yet she also knew that she wouldn’t have talked about it at all if she hadn’t been in this state.

Uraraka could go weeks without talking to anyone about it until some reporter asked her how Uravity was faring after her devastating loss of Deku.

“I know it’s been almost a year,” Uraraka finally said, her voice so damn small, “but I still miss him.” Bakugou didn’t say anything for once. This was her time to talk. This whole thing was her time to talk, but he’d filled up the space until she was ready. “I still… It doesn’t happen nearly as often anymore, but I still sometimes forget that he’s gone. I’ll come home, expecting to smell take out and a hint of smoke from where he attempted to cook a fancy meal and failed, or I’ll roll over, half awake, and reach out for him -- and there’s just nothing. He’s not there. It’s like he was never there to begin with.”

Any of her other friends would’ve reached out to hold her hand, switch to the seat next to her, get up and wrap their arms around her shoulders. Bakugou didn’t do any of those things. He just stayed in his seat, watching her, and stayed silent, listening. His face was remarkably passive considering who he was, his eyes unreadable. Most of their friends didn’t think Bakugou was capable of patient listening, but she knew better. She knew that there was a quiet before the worst of storms and this one was hers.

“He was this...huge part of my life and not just because we were…” Uraraka rubbed her eyes. “And when he was gone, he was just gone. I didn’t even get the chance to say goodbye. He didn’t let me.”

After almost eleven months, she didn’t know whether to be angry or upset anymore it. He’d done what he did because he was a hero. It was who he was. He’d saved her life because she couldn’t save his and in his eyes, if his fate was sealed in order to save hers, then that was that. There was no other option. He had been ready to die to save someone else.

But it wasn’t fair because he was so more important than her. His place in the world was more than hers could ever be. The ten people she’d saved from an arsonist was nothing compared to the hundred he’d saved during an earthquake. She would never be the hero he could be and yet he’d still sacrificed himself to ensure she would live.

“And I’m just expected to move on with my life,” Uraraka said, tears slipping down her face. Just as Bakugou had said, she was going to cry in public. How humiliating. “Did you see that article online the other day?”

“Oh, the one about whether or not you were dating that pro hero… Kamui Wood?” Bakugou wrinkled his nose in distaste. “A bit old for you, isn’t he?” It was a brief attempt to lighten the mood and Uraraka made to laugh but then she started to cry instead, so all in all, a bit of a fail. She appreciated it though. “Fuck what they have to say. No one expects you to do anything except live. Take all the time you need. Never date again. Who gives a fuck?”

“That’s easy for you to say,” Uraraka mumbled. “You apparently have a new lay every week.”

Bakugou rolled his eyes. “That’s fucking stupid.” He smirked at her. “It’s every other week.”

That half laugh/half cry slipped out of her again. She couldn't react any other way. Bakugou didn't snap at her for it, but he didn't pity her either. There was no “poor little Uraraka lost her boyfriend” coming from him. It was understanding that there were some chasms that couldn't be filled; sometimes they had to be climbed.

“He was supposed to be the greatest hero there ever was,” Uraraka whispered. It was a testament to how much he had grown that Bakugou didn’t respond to that statement at all. “And I couldn’t save him. I couldn’t do anything.”

“Bullshit,” Bakugou snapped, not meanly. “You nearly died trying to save him. You literally plummeted in a free fall in an attempt to reach him again. The only reason you didn’t kill yourself trying to save him was because he had the foresight to see how blind you were to yourself.” They’d gone over this before, but they needed to again, one more time. She knew he was right. She knew she was being irrational. But she needed to hear it said once more. “If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine for not aiming right. I couldn’t get you to where you needed to be to reach him in time.”

A spike of panic flashed through Uraraka, a painful tug on her heart. He had never said anything like that before, only that it wasn’t her fault. “Bakugou, you did your very best. You did everything you could.”

Bakugou tipped his head back and closed his eyes. “Did I though? I keep asking myself if I could’ve done more. Maybe if I’d gone out there with you, maybe if I’d been able more damage to that damn villain so that Deku wouldn’t have had to use everything he had against him mid-air over a fucking ocean.” He sighed and leaned forward, looking terribly uncomfortable at having opened up. “All I could do in the end was make sure that you didn’t go under too. That’s what he wanted. I knew it the second he used the last bit of his strength to push you away from the water right before he hit it.”

That was the nightmare though, wasn't it? That they had done everything they possibly could've done to save him and they had still failed. What kind of heroes did that make them?

The moment Deku had leapt from the cliff, the blast off so strong that it had knocked them all back, Uraraka had known that nothing was going to be the same. It was either stop the villain now or let the city explode. They'd watched from their pathetic spots on the ground, covered in blood, sweat, and mud, as Deku collided fist first like a rocket into the villain and exploded with a power that none of them would ever be able to grasp. There had only been a moment of cheer and relief before they had realized that Deku was falling towards the ocean and falling fast.

He was always falling in her dreams and, just as she hadn't that night, she could never reach him then.

“I keep thinking that one day I'll wake up and it'll just be normal that I'm by myself.” Uraraka bit her lip. “One day I'll be able to put on my suit and not question myself about whether I'm worthy enough.”

Bakugou bolted forward in his seat so fast that he bumped into the table, the empty sake bottles and their glasses clinking as they trembled in the wake of his anger. “Don't you ever fucking question yourself like that, okay? You're an incredible hero. Deku knew that. You could tell that by the way he looked at you like you were the fucking moon and stars.” When she didn't look totally convinced, he clenched his hands into fists on top of the table. “You had your whole world turned upside down and most people would have shattered. Two weeks after, you went back to work, back to saving lives, back to kicking ass. I'm still pissed at you for that. You needed way more time.”

“I couldn't sit around and do nothing!” Uraraka told him hotly, tears flooding her eyes again. “I couldn't just stand there and act like the world had stopped turning, even if it felt like it had for me. That's not the kind of hero Deku was and I wasn't going to let it be me. There were still people that needed to be saved, needed to be helped, and I promised myself that I would do that for him. That I'd do it for me -- to prove that I was worth it.”

There was a shadow over Bakugou's face, one that she couldn't quite place, as he said in an uncharastically quiet voice, “You've always been worth it. He knew that right from the start.” The words were spoken with no less aggression than usual despite how quiet he was.

But they were just the right things to say. Uraraka could feel the walls bursting inside of her, punctured by such a simple statement. She curled her legs up in the chair so she could wrap her arms around them and press her face into her knees. Tears spilled out of her eyes and he let her cry. She didn’t care if there were people around them. She didn’t care if anyone she knew saw her. She didn’t care if the paparazzi showed up and snapped pictures of her weeping and made some ridiculous tabloid (although she was certain Bakugou would blow a gasket and physically haul them away). She just let the tears come until they stopped.

Eventually they did. As all things did, her tears came to an end. When it happened, she took a deep breath and lifted her face, the cool breeze of the evening chilling the tears on her face.

Bakugou took one look at her and screwed up his face. “You look like your face is melting.”

“It’s my makeup, you idiot,” Uraraka told him.

“Next time be prepared for emotional shit and wear waterproof makeup.”

Despite everything -- the pain, the absence, and the longing for something far gone -- Uraraka felt a little lighter. She also felt the beginnings of a headache, but that was usually what happened after drinking and a heavy cry spell. Bakugou pushed a water towards her and she accepted it gratefully. “You’re shit at comforting, you know.”

“Good thing I’m just here to drink,” Bakugou responded. “Now go clean your face before people start to think that I broke up with you or something.”

Uraraka thought to comment on him not caring about what people thought, but agreed that she did probably look like shit. Besides, a splash of water against her face would help her feel fresher. She hurried to the bathroom so she could fix herself up, fishing out her phone in the process. The amount of missed calls and unanswered text messages made her cringe, but truth be told, she’d forgotten all about it while they’d been talking. The first and only person she responded to was Tsu, who she knew would spread the word for her.

Ochako Sorry I haven’t answered any of your calls. I’m fine.

Tsu Are you sure? You haven’t answered anyone. We’ve been worried.

Ochako Again sorry. I’ve been busy. Had my phone turned off.

Tsu Busy?

Ochako Been with Bakugou for most of the day.

Tsu Explains why he didn’t answer our texts. We thought he was just being an ass.

That made Uraraka giggle a little, though it brought a few tears to her eyes as well. Everyone was handling this their own way. She should’ve talked to everyone earlier, but it had just felt so daunting. The idea of telling all her friends that she was fine, it was hard but she would make it, no she didn’t need them to come over -- it had been overwhelming. And then Bakugou had blown in and just swept her away from all of it like it was nothing and he didn’t care what everyone else thought they should do for her.

Still, she felt guilty for ignoring them. Her friends were hurting too. Deku’s...death hadn’t affected only her. It would be a day late, but she would talk to them tomorrow. Maybe it was the alcohol flooding her veins, giving her a false sense of confidence, but she felt like tomorrow was going to be a new day. Like she was going to wake up and know in her heart that, no, things would never be the same again and she would always miss Deku and love him too, but she would be the hero he knew she was and she would smile for real when she thought back to him.

When Uraraka returned to the table, Bakugou was pouring the last bit of their sake into her cup. “Oh, no, no, I can’t.” He raised an eyebrow and pushed the glass towards her. “I can’t!” She laughed a little. “Did you see how I was walking over here?”

“Yeah, not wobbly enough,” Bakugou countered, putting all the pressure on her. She concentrated on the cup, picked it up, and then drank it. Granted, it wasn’t much, but it was enough to make her feel woozy. He grinned at her, all teeth and vicious, and then stretched back in his seat like a cat, his t-shirt raising up to expose skin. “That’s much better.”

Uraraka eyed him and put her hands on her hips, which might have been a little intimidating if she wasn’t swaying a little on the spot. “Trying to get me drunk to take advantage of me?”

Bakugou stood up slowly, as if he had nowhere else he’d rather be than right in her space, and said, “Who says I need to get you drunk first?” in such an outrageously suggestive low tone that Uraraka burst out laughing.

The alcohol made it so much worse. She felt like she was shooting from one emotion to the other, but this one she embraced. It felt good to laugh. It had felt good to cry in all honesty. She’d been hiding from it all day, but now that she’d done it and it was out in the open, she felt relieved. She barely caught sight of the checkbook on the table, already taken care of, before Bakugou all but pushed her out of the bar so she wouldn’t try to sneak a peek at the damage. He knew her too well.

Unfortunately, he had also known that that last bit of sake would do her in. The walk home would’ve been painful if not for the cool breeze that brushed against her. They did it in silence, him with his hands in his pockets and her with her hands clutching the strap of her purse. More than likely it was because both of them needed to focus on walking without looking like a couple of drunk idiots, which they probably did anyways. Bakugou was doing a pretty good imitation at not being drunk, but his steps were sluggish and his eyes kept sweeping over to her like he was making sure she was still standing.

By the time they reached the steps of her apartment, Uraraka found herself groaning and slumping against him. Her eyelids were so heavy and she was so tired. Her mind screamed at her to just drift off where she stood. She didn’t want to walk up the stairs. She was only on the second floor, but it seemed so far away. Maybe she could get away with sleeping in her car. That seemed like a reasonable idea right now.

“I knew this would happen,” Bakugou sighed, even though it was his fault for getting her this drunk in the first place. She turned to tell him that when he bent down and slid his arms underneath her, picking her up like she was nothing and holding her bridal style in his arms. Uraraka let out a tiny squeak. “I told you that I was gonna have to carry your drunk ass home.”

The first two steps he took were far too wobbly and she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her face into his shoulder, almost certain that they were going to fall, but then he tightened his grip on her, tensed up his body, and made quick work of the rest, powering through it by sheer will. At her door, he once again used his copy of her key to let them in and kicked the door shut.

Once inside, she thought he’d let her down, which seemed like a terrible idea since her legs were jello and she felt out of it from hanging in the air, but he didn’t. He gripped her just a little tighter as if to let her know that he wasn’t done and, just a tad bit drunk, she didn’t fight it. Instead, he slowly made his way through her dark apartment until he reached her bedroom and carefully laid her down on her bed. It was far too gentle for someone as chaotic as him, but maybe it was the alcohol, dulling his emotions for once.

As Bakugou grumbled about her always leaving her damn window open for any old villain to crawl through and closed it for her, Uraraka opened her eyes and looked at the ceiling, suddenly remembering how she had done the same thing this morning after waking up from the nightmare about Deku’s fall and her twice failure to touch him in time. “I had the dream again last night.”

A breath of air escaped from Bakugou as he returned to her bedside. “Do you want me to call Tsuyu or…?”

She shook her head. “No, I’ll be fine, just…”

“I’ll stay,” Bakugou said in a decisive tone. “On the couch, I mean. Can’t really drive right now anyways.”

They looked at each other for a beat too long. Uraraka knew it was too long and Bakugou surely didn’t look at anyone that long, but alcohol had a funny way of making barriers seem nonexistent. The urge to reach out and squeeze his hand hanging at his side was so sudden that she didn’t even think about not doing it. She felt him tense up at first when she did so, but then he loosened up and squeezed back before she pulled her hand away.

Uraraka raised an eyebrow at him and he gave her a questioning look. “Are you just going to stand there? I’m not sleeping in this.” Bakugou narrowed his eyes at her for a second, a sharp quip on his tongue, before he decided against it and walked towards the door. “Hey, Bakugou.” He stopped to glance back at her and she gave him a tired smile, the moonlight from her window casting a faint glow on her. “Thank you.”

“Whatever, Angel face,” Bakugou dismissed, though she saw the pleased look on his face. She didn’t bother telling him where the blankets and pillows were for him to use. He knew where they were. Having done this a few times before, usually when Bakugou was in a foul mood and needed someone to vent to that wasn’t Kirishima, he was at least a little familiar with her couch.

She took a deep breath as she sat up in bed. Round Face. Angel Face. Bakugou was always full of nicknames for everyone that he came in contact with. Back at U.A., it had been because he’d never bothered learning names and then it just stuck for him, if not anyone else. He called (most of) their former classmates by their names now, but still fell back on his tried and true nicknames for them.

A deep wave of sadness swept over her again for a brief moment. It had been almost a year since he’d been called Kacchan. She wondered if he missed it, but knew better than to ask. As far as he was concerned probably, the name had died along with Deku.

After changing into shorts and a t-shirt, Uraraka fell back in bed and crashed quickly, as if she’d lost all strength to fight the battle against the alcohol. Hopefully the amount of food and water she’d consumed would prevent any sort of hangover, but only the morning would tell. Luckily, the alcohol had the effect of dampening any dreams she might’ve had, so that by the time she woke up, there was nothing to remember except Bakugou’s words and that last look she’d seen on his face. She considered it a blessing that there was only a faint thumping in her head that would go away in an hour or so.

Uraraka took her time getting up. She stretched in bed and yawned before snuggling up with her covers a little more and simply listening to the birds chirping and the morning traffic spilling in from her open window. When she finally got out of bed, she noticed just how quiet her apartment was. The last time Bakugou had crashed on her couch, she’d thought his snores were going to wake the dead, not that he’d ever cop to snoring.

Peeking outside of her bedroom, Uraraka found it empty, though he’d charmingly left the pillows and blankets bunched up on her couch. Such a gentleman. She shook her head and went to the bathroom to start her morning routine. She really needed to go to the gym today. Then she’d start her round of apologies for going off the grid yesterday and ignoring everyone else’s pain.

For just a little bit longer, she wanted to stand in this strange morning bliss. It was like a small weight was off her shoulders. Not all of it, but just enough where she could stand up straight again.

After finishing in the bathroom, Uraraka padded into the kitchen to make breakfast, only to find a bowl already made next to a note in Bakugou’s writing that said, Eat this!!! So he could cook breakfast but not fold up blankets? That man was full of surprises. He probably got up at the crack of dawn regardless of how much he drank or fought the night before. No rest for the wicked or those wanting to be at the top.

Smiling to herself, she took the food and went back into her bedroom to pack all her stuff for the gym. She hummed under her breath as she did so, feeling better with every bite and passing second. It was going to be a good day. She was going to do some wonderful things. She was going to live her life. That was what Deku would have wanted. Not just to push herself as a hero, but also as a person. He had been so thoughtful.

Uraraka was still humming pleasantly when she walked back into the kitchen to clean out her dish when a voice abruptly shattered everything.

“Good morning, Ochako.”

Instead of falling to the ground, the bowl floated up to the ceiling the second Uraraka let go of it to form fists and spun around. Her heart had leapt into her throat because for a half a second she’d opened her mouth to say a name that she’d spent months unable to speak, but no it couldn’t be. This was just a setback, like when she woke up sometimes and forgot he wasn’t in bed next to her or how she’d leave the shop down the street and think she saw a flash of his green hair moving around the corner.

But then she turned around completely and her hands flew to her mouth and her heart dropped into her stomach. Uraraka barely managed to whimper, but the name tumbled out of her mouth. “Deku?”

There he was, Deku, her Deku, like he’d never been gone. Sitting in the chair that they’d bought at a flea market and he’d refurbished for her just because he thought it would make her smile. It was undeniably him, alive and well and in her living room. His unmanageable green hair. His vibrant green eyes. The freckles that never left his face even as his body grew taller and stronger. Out of all things, he was wearing a black suit and matching vest and his tie -- her lips trembled at the sight -- his tie was still done far too short. She would’ve burst into tears had she not been so stunned.

However, when Deku smiled at her, a cold chill ran down her spine and the thought run away came to her mind when she had only ever run to him before. And she knew. She knew there was something wrong with that smile, something not quite right, but then none of this was right. “I missed you.”

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