#neckhair | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bohemiansweede · 4 years ago

Text

Big In Japan

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

Fanfiction

Pairing Freddie Mercury reader

Warnings 🔞 unprotected sex

A/N 4th novel about Queen in Japan

Please like and reblog or leave a comment

Thanks

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

*CLICK*

You fired off yet another shot up on stage

You were totally amazed.. no.. scratch that.. A better word to describe it is spellbound.. You were spellbound, he looked like a magnificent creature up there

Owning the stage like the little diva he was

He strutted over the stage spreaded out his arms and with his kimono, it looked just like he had wings

It was something special with this band.. Queen, and of course their frontman Freddie Mercury

You were far from alone with your obsession

Yes.. You were just that, nothing new. You had been captured from the start

Mmmm... according to your friends even nuts

You smiled to yourself and loaded more film into the system camera

When you looked up again, your eyes met.. Just for a brief second.

But it was just that glimpse.. that made it all worth it

You struggled hard at work to afford all your crazy trips

UK, Europe, USA and now Japan

- FREDDDIIIIIEEEEEEE!!!!!!

A girl next to you shouted and made you bounce back to reality

The show was almost over

You knew it was no idea to push through the crowd just to ending up among all the groupies, he probably wouldn't see you anyway

You sighed out loud and saw him throw a bunch of roses into the crowd and when "God save the Queen" echoed out they all took the last bow and waved to everyone

*CLICK*

A last shot and you turned around to walk away

- Miss?

Was it to you?.. No.. You couldn't be

- Excuse me... Miss?

You felt a hand on your shoulder

When you turned around you saw it was one of the crew members

- Would you like to come with me Miss? Mr Mercury wants to see you

-.....

He said what?

It was a slight ring in your ears from the concert, but.. You didn't hear that bad

Did he really say...

- Please...

He held out his hand and showed the way

Like in trance, you followed him backstage

*knock knock *

- Yes? Come in

He opened the door and lead you inside

Once or twice in your life you had been lost for words.. This was it

Freddie stood with his back to you looking at you through the mirror

He fired of one of his addictive smiles and turned around

His kimono had opened up a little and you saw the big amount of chest hair that drove you insane

Still quiet and frozen to the ground you just stared at him

Slowly slowly he walked towards you

He was now just a few inches away

You swallowed thick and bit your lip

He took his big strong hand and touched your arm looking at you up and down

- What is your name darling?

- Y... Y/N..

- Well... Y/N, I know you have been following us around

Did he recognise you.. Hell no.. You were not a stalker..

He closed the gap between you and kissed you softly

- I know what you are after Miss..

- No... I...

- No?.. Don't you want this?

You felt his tounge parting your lips

A soft moan slipped from you when you felt his bulge against your thigh

He cupped your bum and pulled you closer

- Freddie.. I..

You whined and pulled in his long neckhair

- Sssshhh..

His strong arms pushed you down and made you kneel at his feet

Slowly he pulled down his zipper

Your mouth watered just by the thought of his big member

Your finger followed the outline of his underwear

A small drop of precum spreaded out on the fabric

He quickly pulled them down

- Please.. J.. Just... Ahhh

- You don't need to beg me Freddie.. I'm just admiring you

You took a firm grip around his shaft and stroked him while looking up

There was an understatement that he was big

You smiled and licked his shaft all the way from the tense balls and up

- Christ woman

He held around your head and when you opened your mouth to take him in his grip tightened

Your teeth grinded on him and you hummed while you bobbed your head up and down faster and faster

- SHIT.. Don't.. Don't make me come.. Not just yet

- Mmmm...

You opened your mouth snd let his cock rest on the tip of your tounge

- Lay on the couch

You did as you were told

He flipped up your skirt and pulled down your thong

- I would love to take my time and go down on you.. But.. I'm exploding here

- *giggle*, well.. Don't wait then

He bent down to kiss your breast and inserted two fingers while rubbing your clit

Your head fell back

Quickly he removed his fingers and replaced with his cock

You felt he stretched you out, every inch of you felt him

- Ohhhh .. Freddie.. Ahhh

He snapped his hips fast and pulled up your leg so he could fill you up entirely

Your eyes rolled back inside your head and for a brief moment everything turned black

His member swelled inside you and rubbed your spot frequently

- Ohhh Fuck.. I'm coming.. NOW.. AHHHHHH GOD!!!!

Your toes curled and your back arched under him.

Desperately clenching your legs around him he continued to slam his cock in and out of you

- Shit Y/N... AHHHHHH..

He pulled out and seconds after a cascade of warm cum landed on your belly

He smiled and kissed down your neck, your breasts, your hips

In a quick motion he spread your legs more and lifted you up slightly so he could access

- Touch yourself

You did as you were told

His tounge entered you and he started to mouthfuck you

- OHHHH.. OMG

You rubbed your clit in fast circles and it was not long until you came

With a loud scream you squirted down his throat

He let out a little muffled laughter, kissed your innerthighs and crawled up

- I knew it Freddie..

He frowned and looked at you

- I knew you were big

- Yeah? Big in Japan

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

Enjoy more reading in my masterlist

#queen #queen band #queendom #my edits #bohemian rhapsody #Japan #70s #freddie mercury #Smut #Fanfic #Freddie mercury smut #Freddie mercury & reader

23 notes · View notes

imnotwolverine · 4 years ago

Text

The Monster’s Lair - Fangs Deep

Vampire!Henry x Belle - multi-chapter

< Chap 9 | Chapter 10 - Fangs Deep | Chap 11 >

Disclaimer: Dark adult fairytale - mourning, angst, blood thirst (again, no idea how to tag this)

Author’s note: I just reread @viking-raider‘s Fangs Deep, to get some inspo for this long fic and darn is it an absolutely wonderful world she built! Such rich characters and well-set out plot. Lovin’ every word of it! Read it if you haven’t yet!

Now. As I’ll never be able to truly build a world as rich as hers, especially not in this fic, I decided to keep it small, but invest some more words in the castle, history and surroundings in this chapter. Tiny world building ❤️

Thank you darling @thelastsock, for beta’ing for me! 🌹

Word count: 3.657

Reading music: Arvo Pärt - My Heart’s in the Highlands

(Link to my Masterlist)

A week had passed and the snow had blanketed the world until it was whisper quiet. That was, until now.

Loud bells were chiming in the chilly morning air, making the Master flinch at every beat. *Ding-ding-ding-ding* The steelish echo reached far and wide over the snow-covered tree tops, all the way up to the Master’s anguished ears, his mouth silently cursing his vampiric sensitivity.

It happened on occasion that these bells would ring, but never this long, never this hauntingly. And thus the Master had climbed up the many stairs to the highest tower so he could see what was at hand. And what he saw was quite haunting indeed; a large procession of people, standing out on the semi-rebuilt village square, their faces not joyful at all.

A mourning procession. Not uncommon now winter was in full strength and the crops had failed this year. But not often were these mourning procession this well-attended. This large. Someone had died. And not just anyone. Not even for weddings would the bells toll so long a time, their lilt echoing far and wide. It had to be an important person. Someone..someone..hmm. The Master frowned as the cogs in his old mind started to spin into motion, memories flooding his tired mind.

History will repeat itself. History will repeat itself. History will repeat itself!

‘Okay. Everyone in position!’ Lumiere conducted with his candles, the flames dancing around him as the make-shift stage was cleared, a ghostly napkin and the army of “footsoldier” wardrobes ushering aside. Belle sat up from the large reading chair when two small silhouettes appeared in the shadows cast by the large fireplace. It was difficult to decipher what they were until they hesitantly set foot on the stage, eyes blinking in the bright light. A golden hairbrush and a red leather gauntlet. Lumiere cleared his throat, introducing the two new actors on stage. ‘The Queen mother!’ - The hairbrush dipped her head. ‘And Hamlet, prince of Denmark!’ - The gauntlet turned towards Belle, whom smiled warmly. ‘Go on!’ She encouraged.

The gauntlet almost seemed to glow an even deeper shade of red as he curled a finger up to his chest, as if reaching for his heart - thanking her, before bowing to the rest of the audience. Waiting a moment for the hairbrush to also settle, the scene began, throats cleared and the room silent again.

The hairbrush dramatically swivelled ‘round, her back now turned to the audience before she slowly turned her head, bristles crisping.

‘Do not forever with thy vailèd lids

Seek for thy noble father in the dust, son!’

Letting out a soft sigh - affectionate as only a mother can do, she turned to Hamlet.

‘Thou know’st ’tis common; all that lives must die,

Passing through nature ..to eternity.’

Belle blinked, settling a little deeper in the chair to hide the sudden discomfort that graced her features. When the furniture had offered to act out this so-called ‘Hamlet’, she hadn’t expected much more than some fun diversion. Their short description of a challenged prince, ghosts and true love had sounded like a good bit of entertainment in the long hours of yet another cold day.

But here she was. Here they were, the enchanted furniture acting out a tale of great betrayal, and dead fathers.. Belle’s neckhair rose as Hamlet let out a despaired sigh - much like the one she was fighting to hold inside. Grabbing onto the arm rests she took a deep settling breath, her eyes peering at Hamlet as he burst out in an emotional monologue.

‘ “Seems,” madam? Nay, it is. I know not “seems.”

’Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother,

Nor customary suits of solemn black,

Nor windy suspiration of forced breath,

NO, nor the fruitful river in the eye,

NO, nor the dejected havior of the visage,’

He inhaled sharply, as if ready to cry, head hanging low.

‘Together with all forms, moods and shapes of grief,

That can denote me truly. These indeed “seem,”

For they are actions that a man might play;’

A glove finger reached back to his leather heart as he looked back up at the Queen mother.

‘But ‘tis no play, Mother! I have that within which passes show.

Passes the trappings and the suits of woe!’

The room went quiet, except for the crackling of the fire..and a soft sniffle. Belle quickly wiped away the tears that were burning from her watery eyes, hands hiding her torn expression from the furniture’s curious eyes. For a week now she had tried to accept her faith. Accept her father’s death. Her newly found status as an outlaw. And for a week now she had tried to hide her tears.

But no more.

‘Oh, I’m so sorry.’ Belle sniffled quietly, quickly wiping away the tears as they watered her heated cheeks, an apologetic smile glueing to her lips. ‘I didn’t..’ *sniff* ‘I didn’t mean to. Oh gods.’ More tears were bound to spill when her voice hiccuped, chest tight with sorrow.

‘Sweet Belle. Oh dear! Do not apologise.’ Hamlet broke out his role to walk up to the mournful maiden. ‘We can delay if you-’ Belle shook her head, more anguished tears bursting from her being, shoulders shaking with grief. ‘I just...Wherever I go...bad things happen.’ She removed her hands, face puffy and red now she watched Hamlet shake his fingers in disagreement. ‘No! Milady!’ He hopped up on her lap with ease, slightly shocking Belle who blinked in surprise. ‘Good things are happening where you are, Belle! Do you not see?!’ He pointed in the direction of the long hallway that led to the main staircase. ‘The Master hasn’t been so lively in years, centuries! And we are most glad to have you in our company. We are!’

The rest of the furniture hummed in agreement, but Belle was inconsolable, more tears springing to the surface. ‘I’m-I’m sorry. I can’t. I--.’ She shook her head and prince Hamlet hesitantly climbed onto the armrest as he noticed she wished to leave, her body not missing a beat as she lifted from the seat. ‘I just need a moment.’ She cried, rushing out of the library and into the long cold hallways upstairs.

A moment.

There had been a lot of moments needed in this peculiar household. Mostly by the Master. No matter how often he tried to settle down for dinner or a sociable reading session in the library - at some moment or other he felt that horrid nervousness wash over him again. At first he thought it was just hunger. Insatiable hunger. But after endless hunts it became clear it was not that. At least..he wasn’t hungry for blood. He was hungry for..hmm..dare he say it..a..a heart?

But as the Master had ventured far and wide to calm the clicking of his nervous teeth, he had too noticed something else. Something new. The wounded deer had been just the beginning. Now there were more messy kills - most animals only half-dead when he got to them. There sure must be a young predator on the loose. Peculiarly strong, fine clawed..and leaving little to no tracks. The Master couldn’t help but feel the cold chill on his skin whenever he returned to the castle; something was brooding in these forests. And it forbade little good.

In the past week or so, her foot now healed, Belle had wandered around a bit. But it was only now that she realised how truly large the building was. Even after minutes of walking, she seemed to not have reached the furthest wing, the cold licking at her bare skin as she sniffled back the last of her tears. Throughout the length of the hallway walls there were large tapestries and portraits, telling great tales of the families that once lived here. Stately portraits, hunting scenes and depictions of the build of the castle. With amazement Belle took them all in, large brown eyes also noticing that a few paintings were missing, the lighter shade on the wall leaving a lasting mark of what had once been.

History laced the dusty air here, and it took away what last tears still stuck to her eyelashes. Curiosity, as usual, got the better of Belle. Especially now she heard some sounds coming from the end of the stately hallway.

Was someone there?

With silent feet she moved closer, finding a door ajar, light slipping through the crack. Inside she noticed signs of life; clothes strewn about, a bed unmade. It piqued her curiosity even more when she recognised the clothes. The Master’s.

*CREEEEEEeeekk* The door moved.

OH merde! Shit shit shit!

The Master had apparently heard her - of course he had - his head now peeking around the corner of the door. Clearly he was a little baffled to see her here, so far away from the library or her room.

‘Belle.’

‘M-milord.’ Belle quickly curtsied, red eyes casting down at the floor.

‘Are you well?’ The door was opened further, his hand reaching out to thumb away a stray tear on her cheek.

A most endearing gesture.

Belle opened her lips to speak, but as soon as her eyes looked back up into his she lost all strings of thought. ‘I eh..’ Looking away her gaze once again fell upon the clothes that were strewn about. Quite messy a living space for someone seemingly well-put together. Never had she seen the Master in anything less but gentlemanly attire. Even now, in the privacy of his room.

‘I should go.’ She breathed, turning on her heel but finding her movement halted as his hand curled around her upper arm. ‘No please. I just didn’t expect..’ He licked his lips. ‘..a visitor. Please Belle.’ He gestured her to step inside, floorboards creaking beneath their feet. The room was cold in temperature, but warm in atmosphere. Heavy deep red drapes hung around the four poster bed and the walls were completely covered with paintings; a few portraits, but mostly landscapes or mythical depictions. And books, so many books! Stacked up nearly to hip height, their covers were showing clear signs of the many times they had been read, old leather cracked and pages curled.

‘Do come in.’ The Master slightly bent his head, stepping back to make way for Belle.

‘So..’ Belle nodded quietly, a watery smile appearing on her lips. ‘The Monster’s lair.’

‘Aye.’ He grinned.

The tension was near tangible as Belle carefully stepped over a few books, eyes taking in the great many things that were here to be seen. It was then she noticed a strangely familiar portrait. Familiar not in the straight sense of the word. In fact she trusted she had never seen it before. No. It looked familiar as in..it looked like her. With widening eyes Belle blinked at the exact representation of..her. Belle.

‘Did you paint that?’ Belle hiccupped.

The Master sighed and stepped in besides her, fingers lacing behind his back. ‘No.’

Belle felt a strange eeriness travel up her shivering spine. ‘No? Then..who..’ She swallowed harshly. ‘..what is that?’

The Master’s face contorted with pain as he turned away, eyes however remaining locked on the painting. ‘Tis my late wife.’

Of..course it was. Darn! How did Belle always get herself into such trouble?!

Belle wasn’t sure what to do next. Run? Scream? Cry out in terror? She knew that nobody would come. Nobody would care. She was here, all alone in the Monster’s Lair. And, from the looks of it...this wasn’t the end of the surprises that she’d find in these castle halls. His wife had looked like her? What’s next..? Did he think she WAS his wife, maybe? Is that why he was so strangely obsessed with her?

Then again. She was just as obsessed with him, right? For nights on end she had now watched as he fled the castle to go out, his dark silhouette returning only hours later, panting, lips tainted with fresh blood. The sight had both terrified and intrigued her. The Master intrigued her. To an almost unhealthy extent. Was she becoming a monster now, too?

‘I see.’ She whispered, eyes finding the Master’s stark blue ones as he looked over his shoulder. She could feel heat creep up her cheeks. Oh, why did she feel this way?!

‘I should have told you.’ He sighed, looking back at the painting, the portrayed woman wearing a fine red gown, dark brown hair mostly hidden beneath an early century headdress. Nothing Belle would ever wear, but she had to admit the woman looked dreamily beautiful.

And like her.

Belle licked her nervous lips, her chest suddenly unbearably tight in the restraints of her corset. ‘Is ..is that why I’m here? I mean. Nobody has been here for centuries and now-now I’m..I…’ Her eyes started to tear up with fright. But not for him. No. It was in fact more of a quiet hatred towards herself. SHE was the one who ventured into HIS domains. SHE had called this upon herself.

‘Tis part of the curse.’ The Master said benevolently.

‘So..then I am cursed as well.’ Belle sniffled, gladly accepting the kerchief the Master handed to her, his large frame now fully turning back towards her, eyes gentle. ‘In a way.’

Lingering their eyes met, two souls captured in a dance they didn’t know. But though the steps were unknown, their hearts were more than willing to learn. Why were they feeling this way? They had barely talked to one another except on the few occasions that the Master had ventured into the library or Belle’s room. And despite Belle’s best efforts, he would flee every single time. As if he was afraid of her. Hurt by her presence.

Was it because she looked like…?

Belle took a shaky breath, eyes studying every little detail of the portrait as it looked back at her. Calm. Serene. Though also slightly melancholic. ‘Was she cursed as well?’

‘No.’

‘No?’ Belle huffed. ‘Then why does she look exactly..like me?’

The Master grimaced, his hand gesturing towards a divan. ‘I think you may wish to sit down. A-are you cold? Shall I..’ He bit his lip as he noticed the true mess he had made of his room; clothes strewn everywhere. What an impression he was giving her! His father would have scolded… No. Do not think so. Father is dead. And it’s time to own up to your responsibilities!

With large steps he strode to his wardrobe, its door magically flying open as he clicked his tongue. ‘A..robe, perhaps?’ He looked back at Belle as she sat down on the worn bench, fabric matching the heavy velvet drapes. ‘Eh..ye-yes please. Thank you.’

And so, now warmly wrapped in a heavy robe of luxurious brocades - worthy a land owner of great riches -, Belle learned the history of not only the Master’s wife, but also hers. The Master spoke of the start of the curse, which probably came with the death of his wife. Or, perhaps it had been the Fay witch Morgana, he couldn’t be sure. But either way; the tale was greater than any book Belle had ever read.

Fairy witches, rich lords, poor women, curses and deceit. Forbidden love or no love at all - claimed either way. With surprising richness in his words, the Master spoke, his countenance relaxed as he retrieved details of times long past. He was a good storyteller. Quite surprisingly so, especially after the long nights where he had barely spoken a word. Belle’s eyes did not once venture away from the man as he paced up and down the room, enacting the moments as they had happened.

He was truly in his element.

With gestures at a few of the portraits, he spoke of the curious way the women in her family would always have girls. Procreating yet another generation of young women to carry the curse on and on. And on..and on. From the Master’s sister in law begetting twins, to her mother...giving birth to her. And strange as it was, all women in her family somehow carried the same traits. Dark-haired and bright, they captured the hearts of a Le Comte more than a few times. And quite a few times they had refused a Le Comte’s advances. And even more than a few times a Le Comte took what he wanted anyways, thereby carrying on the curse - him turning into a vampire and the woman not dying long after.

‘But I have no sister. Or nieces..I think.’ Belle added thoughtfully when the Master got to the tale of the here and now.

‘That we don’t know, Belle. A few women have sent off their daughters, in hope to break away from this curse. Not all successfully, I’m afraid. But still. I fear it does not end here.’

‘But you do want it to end?’

‘I am the one who started it, Belle. I am not one to want anything more than for this to stop. I have caused..’ He looked back at his late wife’s portrait. ‘..great agony. I carry the blame.’

‘No..no..do not say so milord. Is it not that a great many men after you have chosen the exact same faith?’ The Master looked back, eyes thoughtful as Belle stood from the bench. ‘They have. But perhaps..that is the curse too. Poisoning their minds.’

‘Where are those that turned to vampires like you?’

Good question.

‘Dead. For as far as I know, they are all dead. They were too eager, too contemptful. You see, Belle, we can be killed like any man. Especially when the daylight is strong and our strengths wane.’

‘Have they ever tried to kill you?’

The Master lowered his head, a melancholic smile brushing over his lips. It was a silent “yes” to a question he knew she’d ask at some point or other. ‘Did they hurt you?’

‘Belle.’ The Master brushed a hand up over her sleeved arm, eyes meeting hers. He didn’t wish to speak any further on the matter, that much was clear. Belle licked her lips. And the Master brushed his hand further down her arm, capturing her hand before pressing a fanged kiss on her soft skin. Even through his lips she could feel his vampiric canines.

Oh he sure was fascinating as ever.

‘What happens if you bite?’ He stretched back up to full height. ‘Hmm..Either I’d kill you, or..’ He frowned, ‘..you’d become like me. I think.’

‘Unless I love you first.’ Belle said with certainty in her gentle voice, slightly unsettling the Master before her, his hand clenching her fingers more tightly. And Belle? She squeezed back.

‘That is why you were cursed, right?’ The Master remained quiet. ‘For love.’ Belle quirked her head to the side, searching his gaze. He seemed pained, unsure. Scared even.

‘Would you love me?’ He asked, his voice far less honey-rich now uncertainty cracked through its vibration. The Master suddenly seemed so small, fragile, agonized. But Belle didn’t know about the turmoil in his head; first he had forced her to stay here, then her father died, it..no..it could never be. He was still evil! He.. He should have never asked -

‘I could.’

---

How could two words change things? It was a question that kept the Master up through the late nights and long days. Knowing now that he craved not food, but something else. Love? Maybe. Either way, he remained within the castle walls. And with even more fervour he tried to get into the good graces of Belle. A daily routine was set where the Master would join Belle for tea, luncheon, supper and on occasion a moment of dialogue or other diversions in the library. With his stocks well-filled he made sure she would only receive the best. The most fragrant tea, the most succulent meats and the most well-spiced vegetables and stews.

Only the best.

But not for himself. As the sleepless days prolonged, so did his face, his already pale skin becoming near opaque, blue veins thin beneath his skin. Belle had tried to not worry as she knew little of his condition, but as the days progressed, she knew something was amiss. Was he starving himself?

‘You must eat.’ She finally said, her resolute voice travelling over the dinner table where the Master sat with no meal or wine before him. He huffed and waved it off, but Belle persevered, not accepting his grumbling “don’t be silly”. And, thankfully, the Master held a soft spot for the maiden, her voice of reason soon echoing in his skull until he couldn’t help but agree.

He needed to feed again.

As dinner finished and Belle’s plates and cups hopped off the table with elegant leaps - quite magical indeed -, she noticed the shimmer in the Master’s eyes.

He was going to flee again. She knew him by now.

And just as expected, he got up quickly, feet moving towards the door, though not making it far. Belle had grasped onto his arm, fingers locking around his fleshy forearm as he tried to tug himself free.

‘No.’

‘Have you not told me that I required nourishment?’ A beautiful frown crossed his dark eyebrows.

‘I did.’ Belle licked her lips, still glistening from her delicious meal. ‘Take me with you... I want to see.’

The Master gruntled a low disapproval; had the maiden gone mad?! But Belle was headstrong, and her curiosity always won. And so, after a few long moments of Belle holding onto his wrist and the Master gazing coldly back at her, he caved. He was too easy on her, wasn’t he? And in this quick turn of events, he forgot for just a moment what challenges this little adventure would bring.

And what deliciously hard challenges they would be.

Chap 11 >

General Tagsquad: @harrysthiccthighss @tumblnewby @magdelen69 @thereisa8ella @mary-ann84 @darkbooksarwin @summersong69 @madbaddic7ed @luclittlepond @maroonmolly @elinesama

Vampire!Henry Tagsquad: @i-cant-remember-my-old-login @wednesdaybraids @othersideofforty @starstruckkittyangel @strangerliaa @omgkatinka

If you want to be added to or removed from my tag lists, shoot me a message!

#henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill fanfic #vampire!henry #beauty and the beast au #long fic #angst #adult fairytale #the monster's lair #fangs deep

43 notes · View notes

lopez-richter-fangirl · 5 years ago

Note

It's like one wall of hair, can't tell wear the beard ends and the neckhair starts

I hate it

#patreon stuff

6 notes · View notes

mickeylovebot · 5 years ago

Text

THERAPY - fluffy/sad gallavich oneshot

Mickey and Ian had been married for a couple years. They lived together, happily. They took turns making breakfast. They went on dates every couple of weeks. They still fucked all the time, everywhere they could. They were still in love, but now it was comfortable. They weren’t endlessly fighting for one another. They knew they had each other. They knew they could love and rely on each other. They were soulmates, together at last. One night, though...

“Mick. Mickey, wake up.” Ian shook Mickey worriedly. Mickey had been twitching in his sleep, gasping for air.

Finally, Mickey awoke, looking around like he didn’t know where he was.

“It’s okay, Mick. You’re here. I’m here.” Ian tried to reassure him.

Mickey looked into Ian’s eyes and immediately felt a bit better. And then a bit embarrassed. “Fuck.” He complained.

“Are you okay?” Ian laid back down, spooning Mickey and gently rubbing his hand. “That’s your fourth nightmare this week.”

“I’m fine, don’t fuckin’ call it a nightmare.” Mickey said defensively.

“Mickey–”

“Can’t hear you. I’m going back to sleep.” And that was that. But Mickey kept his eyes open, and snuggled back into Ian, silently fearing falling back asleep.

Ian kept his eyes open too, staring at the back of Mickey’s neck, counting his neckhairs, knowing that Mickey was going through something Ian couldn’t fix.

Ian woke up earlier than Mickey for work. On his way out, he kissed a half-asleep Mickey on the cheek and they exchanged “I-love-you”s before the day. Ian worked as an EMT. Mickey worked as security in another south side store. But Mickey was off that day.

“Hey Mick, I’ve got a funny story ab–” Ian said loudly once he’d gotten home. It was usual for them to share what happened during their days. They shared everything. “Mick?”

But he couldn’t see Mickey. He checked every room frantically, finally making his way to the bedroom, where Mickey was curled up in the corner, shaking and sweating, staring blankly at the floor. “Mick.” Ian ran over and kneeled down next to Mickey. “Mickey, baby, what’s wrong?”

Mickey didn’t respond, didn’t even blink. Ian looked around for anything, a broken window, a mark, anything, and finally saw Mickey’s tattooed knuckles strained because he was holding his phone so tightly. Ian managed to loosen Mickey’s grip, which Mickey was still unresponsive to.

Ian saw that the phone was open to the middle of an article, where a teenage boy was talking about how his father abused him in detail. Ian started tearing up, realizing what Mickey might be going through.

“Mickey, can you look at me?” Ian asked Mickey quietly. He knew what it was like. He’d seen it a million times as an EMT. And he knew that’s how he’d looked whenever he was having a panic attack, whenever he was having a flashback, whenever his meds had gone out of balance. Mickey blinked. “Mickey, please. Look at me.”

Mickey finally, slowly, looked up at Ian. Ian had never seen him so scared.

“You’re safe.” Ian said. “You’re safe here. Nobody will hurt you here. He’s not here.”

Mickey kept staring at Ian. Tears were starting to well up in his eyes as well.

“C’mon, let’s get you up, get you to the couch.” Ian took Mickey’s hand and arm and tried to help him up. Mickey was almost burdening Ian with his entire weight. He could barely stand. But they made it to the couch, where Ian sat beside him, facing him, holding him. Tears were pouring out of Mickey’s eyes now.

“It’s okay. It will all be okay, Mick. You’re safe.” Ian tried to soothe him, like he soothed his patients, like he’d been soothed before. Eventually, it worked. Mickey fell asleep, to which Ian laid him down gently and put a blanket over him. Ian couldn’t bear to leave Mickey like that and fell asleep too, sitting up, holding his hand. When he woke up, Mickey wasn’t there. He went searching again and found him lying on their bed, staring at an opened beer bottle on the side table.

Over the years, Mickey opened up about a lot of things. He was getting more and more in touch with his feelings, which was miraculous, really. But Ian knew that something this deep would be hard to get out of him. So all he did was lie down and spook Mickey again, silently, and to his surprise, Mickey spoke up.

“I’ve stabbed people,” He began, “I’ve been shot. I own like a million guns. I’m the shortest guy I know and I still have a fucking great right hook. I have guys that will listen to anything I ask. I’ve tried to kill people, a few times. And yet somehow, somehow...” His voice cracked a bit. He couldn’t say the rest, but Ian understood.

“Mick,” Ian almost laughed at the ridiculousness, “You’re still tough. You’re still the guy who will throw a punch at anybody for anything, hell, half the time you don’t even need a reason. You’re still the guy who people should be afraid of. You’re still the guy who’s endlessly sarcastic and sometimes cold. You’re still the toughest guy I know. And... you’re still the guy I fell in love with. And if I wasn’t so in love with you I think I’d be scared of you too.” He whispered that last part. Mickey gave a somewhat sad chuckle. “But he’s your dad, Mick. The piece of shit who raised you, if you can even use that word. Of course it was gonna bother you eventually...”

Mickey said nothing, for a moment, and turned around to face Ian. He had that same look in his eye that he had for years. The look that said the blood pumped in his veins for the stupid redhead in front of him. He still looked sad, worried, angry, but the love he felt for Ian got through all of that. He gently cupped Ian’s cheek and looked him right in the eyes. “But why now?” He said quietly. “Why is that bastard giving me nightmares now? I didn’t even have fucking nightmares when I was nine years old.”

“Well,” Ian pulled Mickey closer, “You’re relatively safe now. You’re not constantly thinking about the next drug deal, the next shooting, the next time you have to beat a guy for mistreating one of your prostututes. And you never dealt with it... so, your mind decided to deal with it now.”

“I don’t want him to have power over me like this. Not anymore.” Mickey said with a clenched jaw.

“I know, baby, I know.” Ian kissed him softly and then Mickey laid his head on Ian’s chest.

He wrapped his legs around Ian’s and listened to his slow heartbeat. “What do I do now?”

Ian knew what to do next. But he figured he’d leave it for the morning. He’d let Mickey just rest. He’d put on Mickey’s favourite show and make his favourite food for dinner. And in the morning...

Ian quickly ended his call when Mickey came to the kitchen for breakfast.

Mickey raised his eyebrows. “Who was that?”

Ian hoped he’d have more time to think of how to tell him. “Um... a therapist.” He said honestly.

“Oh, why, your meds out of whack again?” He asked casually as he put a waffle on his plate.

“For you, Mick.” Ian admitted quietly. Mickey’s mouth hung open.

“No. I’m not goin’ to a shrink.” He said sternly.

“You need somebody who can help you, Mickey.” Ian pleaded.

Mickey shook his head. “You help me. I don’t need a doctor. I’m not bipolar, or depressed, or anything. It’s just a fuckin’ nightmare.”

“I’m not... I can’t be there all the time. I can’t make your nightmares go away. But a therapist could help you deal with it yourself. A therapist could really make it all go away for you.��

Mickey stared right at him, speechless. “I said no.” And Mickey went for his jacket.

“Mick–” Ian tried to stop him, to sit him down, to talk about it.

“I’m goin’ for a walk before work.” Was all Mickey said. He looked at Ian once more. He looked like he knew, deep down, that maybe Ian was right. And then he quickly kissed him on the lips, said “I love you.” And left.

The day trudged on slowly for the both of them. Ian was sick with worry about Mickey. Mickey was sick with guilt about leaving Ian in the dark like that. They both waited impatiently for the end of the day, where they could talk. Ian came home first, and was pacing around the apartment, trying to find something to do, something to clean, to keep his anxious mind off of it until Mickey got home.

And when Mickey finally got home, Ian shamelessly rushed to the door and took Mickey by surprise with a kiss.

Mickey grinned into the kiss and pulled away. “What was that for?”

“I was worried.” Ian said breathlessly.

Mickey rolled his eyes. “You don’t need to–”

“I do.” Ian interrupted. “You’re one of the very few people I actually care about. I do need to fucking worry.”

And Mickey, seeing the distress Ian was under, let go of his emotionless pose. “I’m sorry.” He said with eyes that were just as sorry.

“Can we talk about it? Therapy?” Ian asked.

“Fine. But just talking.” Mickey was already on the defence. But he would listen. For Ian’s sake.

Ian nodded, “Okay, come in, I made tea.” He didn’t admit that he made tea because he needed something to distract himself with.

“Tea?” Mickey muttered to himself.

Ian set the tea down on the coffee table. From the few times Mickey had tea, he remembered: one sugar. And black for himself.

Mickey sipped his tea and watched Ian awkwardly. Neither of them knew where to start.

“I need you to be okay.” Ian blurted out.

“I’ll be okay.” Mickey tried to reassure him. But Ian knew that nobody would be okay after what Mickey’s gone through.

“Why don’t you want to go?” Ian asked genuinely but still with anxiety.

“I dunno...” It was the truth, he wasn’t sure. “I don’t want anybody picking inside my head.” Anybody but you, he thought.

“What if I go too?” Ian asked, out of nowhere.

“What? With me?” Mickey asked in a way that already said no.

“No. On my own, just... I’ll tell them things too. About Frank, maybe. About never having a real parent. About Monica... I’ve been through, uh, half the shit you’ve been through but I probably need it too.”

Flashes of moments flew by where Mickey had to be the protector, the comforter, the one who held Ian when he cried, when everything came back up. He remembered how his chest tightened and how he’d do anything for Ian never to feel that way again.

“I don’t want to either,” Ian continued, “I don’t like bringing that shit up. But if you will, I will.”

“You’ll really talk to them? About everything? A stranger?”

Ian nodded quickly. “If it means you’ll do the same.”

“Fuck,” And Mickey’s wall had been broken down. “I’ll try it. I guess.”

Ian looked both surprised and ecstatic. He immediately pulled Mickey into a tight hug. Mickey pretended to be annoyed.

“Thank you, thank you.” Ian said quietly, sincerely.

“I said I’ll try it.” Mickey pointed out as Ian pulled away from the hug.

Ian couldn’t help but kiss Mickey, holding the back of his neck gently. He kissed Mickey’s cheek, jaw, neck.

“If this is the gift I get for going to therapy maybe I’ll go quite a bit,” Mickey joked.

“Shut up.” Ian smiled. They looked at each other so genuinely, so adoringly. “I love you.” Ian said, as if it was coming out of his mouth before he knew it, as if he was admitting it for the first time.

“I love you too.”

And just like that, Mickey was taking another step in his life, for Ian, like everything was, always for Ian.

Ian sat thankful, comfortable, and mindlessly kissed the silver band on Mickey’s ring finger. And Mickey noticed, and felt warm inside. And they were okay, together.

#gallavich #mickey milkovich #ian gallagher #ITS WHAT HE DESERVES.#MICKEY DESERVES THE LOVE #i love him 🥺#ian x mickey #my writing

30 notes · View notes

thecardsimagine · 6 years ago

Text

Thanks for requesting! I decided I will do headcanons, because it fitted the topic better!

Lucio

With what all he has already witnessed in his life - from demons to magician - you’d think he was a little bit more open to the idea of a celestial princess, but he flat out thinks it’s some sort of normal kingdom on earth which he has yet to conquer. He’s charming and suave, wanting to dig his way into the kingdom, and he’s incredibly pleased to be invited when she has to go to political meetings and talks

He’s soon to find out that inbetween the few normal countries she has to tend to with her presence, there are also a few that don’t seem to be as real as he would like it and he soon beginns to wonder if he has made a mistake. Lucio would like to bail out at some point when it gets to upsetting for him, the other celestial royals sure to point out just how bad of a leader he seems to be, hitting his ego hard - but he find himself unable to, when she asks him to stay for her sake, putting honey on his broken ego. Soon enough Lucio won’t be able to see that it is her who is in controll and not him and his stupid idea of becoming king to another throne

Julian

Julian has seen Asra do his thing, and his neckhair stands up straight the moment he mets the celestial princess. Then again, if she’s a damsel in distress the first time she arrives here, how could he not help her with as much as is possible for him? He can’t provide her the royal treating she deserves, but he does offer up all he has to give, from a bed to food to a lot of salty bitters on his costs

But accompaning her is a different thing. He feels so small and insignificant next to all the people they meet. Though he endurs it for her, also knowing its her way of being grateful to him for his hospitability before, its not something he enjoys most of the time. Only when he gets to exchange knowledge with other creatures who teach him about alternative medicine or their work progress, it makes his presence worthwhile and he is always well welcomed to most parties because everyone can’t help but like him

#Lucio #julian #julian devorak #The Arcana #The Arcana game #The Arcana Imagines #The Arcana Headcanons #The Arcana Scenarios #The Arcana fanfictions #Count Lucio #lucio the arcana #the arcana lucio #The Arcana Julian #julian the arcana #Ilya #Ilya Devorak #Dr. Devorak #Dr. Julian Devorak

79 notes · View notes

oddeyesyuya · 8 years ago

Photo

Some basecolored WIP which I definitely finish

My AU Yuya with little Dragon Zarc for my Partner @zarc-yuuya <3 <3

#arc v #art #fanart #au #arc v rp #yuya sakaki #AU Yuya #zarc #little dragon Zarc #awww damn I love it so much omg q.q~~#Supreme dragon king Zarc in chibi version #And Yuya with dragon Ears and Neckhair

23 notes · View notes

paigesturning · 5 years ago

Text

The Grandiose Burden of Being my Caretaker - 2

(Author’s Note: This chapter makes reference to eye trauma, and mentions self-harm in humans, specifically the chemical effects of it on human brains. Also there’s lots of blood, though no graphic violence. If this is not something you want to deal with, the unbolded part of this is a summary: In this chapter, things are getting weirder. In addition to Caret apparently being able to feel the movement of grass, Partridge’s old scars begin to bleed. Throughout the chapter, something mysterious seems to be stalking them. Partridge begins harvesting the blood she’s loosing, and designs a magical dagger, one that keeps the user alive during bloodletting, while inhibiting any biological responses that would cause them to become addicted. Caret learns to smell things. When Partridge and Caret head into the woods to activate the dagger, they come across the creature that has been stalking them, and discover it was a benevolent-yet-ominous collection of souls that call themselves We-are-the-Dead.)

"Hey, Caret, could you come take a look at this?" I shouted behind me while I looked in the mirror.

No response.

"Caret?" I looked around and left the changing room I had built. She wasn't in the living room/bedroom/dining room either.

I found her outside, working on the cave she was carving into the cliff face.

“Hey, Caret!”

She stopped mining and turned toward me, before dropping hard off the wall. “What’s up?”

“Look at my hair.”

“...Mhm?”

“How much longer is it than when we first met?”

She blinked, “Uh, 2.3 centimeters? About? Was that all you wanted, or....?”

“Well, look at the color of it.”

“Liiiiiiiiiiiight blue?”

“And I don’t have any roots!”

She didn’t seem as stoked about my discovery as I was. “And, I’m to take it that you don’t usually grow blue hair?”

“I… I dye it, Caret.”

She crossed her arms, “Well, excuse me, you come from a weird magical dimension. How was I supposed to know that?”

I must have recoiled or something, because she softened, “I’m sorry, it’s just that I’m distracted. I’m running the calculations for my generator, tracking something, and trying to talk to you. I didn’t mean to snap.”

I took a step closer and worried my fingers together. “It’s fine. What are you tracking?”

“There’s a… something? I dunno, it’s hard to explain. It’s kind of like when you feel the wind move differently through your neckhair when someone gets close to you, even if you can’t describe why you know someone’s behind you. Except it’s like the grass around the house is moving differently.”

“You can sense grass movement?”

“Well, that’s the weirdest part: no.”

“Uh huh.”

“There’s something really strange about this place,” she said, scratching her eye, “Your hair, being able to feel the grass around me. Like, that’s weird, right? Plus, your stigmata.”

I shrugged. She’s tried to explain what exactly stigmata is to me, but frankly it seems far fetched. Only about three days after I met Caret, the scars on my hands and chest would occasionally start bleeding again, even though there wasn’t a proper wound. Just blood. “Sure, it’s not something I’ve seen before, but blood magic is weird. On one hand, it could be something about the world, but it could also be a combination of the residual blood magic and something about the world. Sort of like... “ I squished my fingers to interlock, “Baking Soda and Vinegar.”

“Were you planning on starting the blood magic back up soon?”

“Basically as soon as I can find a ruby, yeah. I need one for the knife.”

She made a face and stuck out her tongue, and climbed back up the cliff. I’m pretty sure she muttered “gross” under her breath.

I almost missed the smell, like ash, coming from the woods, as a cloud passed overhead.

“You smell that?” I asked, basically to myself, as Caret returned to drilling her hands into the stone above. I started moving toward the tree line. I was… drawn to an old, dead tree. It had been there since I began building my cabin. At the time, I hadn't noticed anything about it, but now there was something about it that stood out to me, a quality about it that I hadn't recognised before. Yes, I decided, this tree had allowed itself to be hit by lightning, to save the other trees. I didn't even think about how strange that thought was until I heard Caret's voice shouting at me.

"I am trying to focus, can you please get out of the grass?"

Caret and I were laying on the ground, listening to music.

By which I mean, taking turns singing songs at the other. She was way better at it than I was at it, but I think having a music library built into your brain, with speakers in your neck is cheating, honestly.

"No, no, the guitar was more like a… Wubwubwubwubwubwub, you know?"

"Nah," she said, "I think you might be thinking of like, a brass instrument or something? Maybe a tuba?"

I laughed, and wiped some blood out of my eye. "It was a guitar, I swear to Kom."

I heard her fans kick on, and when I glanced over to her she was looking at me intensely. "You're bleeding again."

"I… yeah, but it's fine."

Suddenly she was upon me, one hand on my cheek and pushing down, the other on my eyelid and pushing up to get a better look at the blood. "I can't believe you," she said.

"Ow!" I cried, "can you plea-"

"When did you do this to yourself?" She interrupted, "When and why?"

"I… the bleeding happens automatically, you can't get mad at me just because the world is weird."

"Do you think I don't notice? That the blood comes from old scars?"

"Well, sure, it’s from my work at-"

"I know."

"... Okay so," I hesitated, "why?"

"I don't know how anyone can do this to themselves, even for power. I," she cringed, "I don't even feel the way you do, and I still couldn't do it."

"It's just… normal where I'm from. Some people integrate stone into their flesh, some people take on animal aspects, some people drown themselves… some people do bloodletting," I put on an affectation, "that's magic baybey!"

"Well that's not how it is in Third York," her hands loosened up, just cupping my face. I could feel myself warming up and started to wish i had lost a little more blood.

"In Third York, before I was decommissioned, there was a wave of deaths from self inflicted wounds. People would get high off their own endorphins and endocannabinoids and accidentally kill themselves.”

I put my hand on her’s, and barely got out a soft, “well, duh,” before her head snapped like she was looking through the wall. “Shh!” she said, as her fans sped up further. Something black and fluid blasted past our window and chills went down my spine. I tried to move but even though Caret wasn’t pressing hard on me, she was immovable as a statue.

“Plea-”

“Shh.”

“Please let go.” I whispered. One of her eyes glanced down at me, and she let go and stood, before grabbing a sword off of the table.

Slam

I turned to look at the door. It was quiet again.

Slam

Sl-TANG, Caret’s sword pierced the door, followed by a loud scuttling. Caret audibly relaxed, her fans spinning down to a more reasonable level.

“Is it gone?” I whispered. She nodded and walked toward me, before wrapping her arms around me and laying the two of us down on a bed. I was glad for the company. After that, I wasn’t going to fall asleep alone.

Water flowed all around me, while I floated on my back. “Thanks for doing this with me,” I said to Caret as the blood flowed from my neigh-unopened skin, and into the basking pool.

She shrugged from her place next to the slate container I created. “Oh, it’s whatever, you know?”

“Nah,” I said, “I know it bothers you. But I don’t super like being alone when I do this.”

“Why not?”

“I’m always worried I’m going to get too relaxed and fall asleep and drown.”

She didn’t say anything for a moment. I closed my eyes and laid back. “Well, if you want to stay awake, how about I explain what I’m doing with my cave?”

“Sure!” I said, enjoying the water swirling around my body, the quiet darkness of the whole experience, as Caret started in on explaining the cavern.

It was… complicated. I got the sense that if I was from her universe I would have understood it. There is, apparently, a stream in the mountian, which she has powering a turbine, which helps run a screen, which she’s using to run diagnostics on her senses, I think? She also said that something about this process is making plants grow everywhere. I got the sense that she wasn’t sure why though.

“Think you’re done?” she asked at the end of her explanation.

I cracked an eye open, and lifted an arm out of the water. No blood, just scars. As usual. I nodded and closed my eyes again. "We're good."

"Can we please wash the blood off you?”

I stood up and stretched a bit, “Mhm, yeah.”

“You smell… I mean, like blood.”

I stopped. “You can smell now?”

She waved her hands around, “This place wants me to smell, I guess?”

“Yeah, uh, that checks out, I guess. Makes about as much sense as any other damn thing that’s happened this whole time.” I rubbed a temple. “Right. To the shower?”

She nodded and we went up the stairs, out of the house, and around the back to where the “shower” was. Honestly, it was just a hose that led up to her cave. I have no clue what it hooked up to.

She turned it on, and blasted me straight in the face. “You know, I’m going to have to make some bandages. This is getting ridiculous.”

“Aackpffthpfth,” I said, before she moved the stream off my mouth, “Tha-that’s true.”

She ran it up and down my body. “Honestly, I still don’t completely understand why blood magic. It just seems so high-risk. What even is the point of it?”

“Well, like… It’s hard to describe. For one thing, it’s a power source, you can make lights, weapons, pepple-”

“People?”

I shook my head. “No, they’re called Pepple? They’re… vaguely person shaped, but made of, you know. Viscera?”

“Dear God,” She deadpanned, “Go on?”

“Well, all of that’s fairly advanced. On a micro level, it makes you like, way harder to kill? A lot of soldiers get into it. Adventurers, rune disposers too.”

She made a face, “You weren’t a soldier, were you?”

“No! Hell no. I,” I felt my face warming up, “Actually, I was trying to impress a girl?”

“Get on your knees, I need to wash your hair,” I did as I was told, and she came up behind me as I tilted my head back, spraying water through my undercut, running her fingers through my hair. Her voice was close to me now, a sensation that I seemed to always find out I was way less used to than I thought. “Did it work?”, she asked quietly.

I flushed. “Oh, uh. No. Turns out I uh, wasn’t her type.”

“What was her type?”

“Not… uh. Trans?”

“Oh. Screw her.”

I laughed a little too loud, but… who can blame me, it cut the tension. I may have snorted. Accounts differ. “It was fine, honest. It just got kinda awkward. And I was just... Young. Kinda stupid. I shouldn’t have gotten my hopes up, and I shouldn’t have chosen a field of work just to impress someone. Buuut at least now I bleed randomly and freak out my only friend, so. Put one in the win column?” I said sarcastically.

She got really quiet and furrowed her brow.

“Did I… We are friends, right?”

“I…” she said, trailing off.

“Oh god, I was joking but we are, right? Like, I won’t even be mad just surprised.”

“I really… Love you. Like a lot.”

“Oh. Woah. I love you too. You’re my best friend.”

“Ditto,” she replied. I didn’t often see her flustered, but I was pretty sure this had done it. She sprayed me in the face again as I sputtered, before she dropped it. “Alright get your bits clean. I’m not doing those.”

I found a ruby. The knife had been made, along with the necessary preparations. It was a full moon that night. I had a pig. I had some blood saved from my basking pool. We were in a clearing in the woods.

“I’m still… fuzzy on why we have to do this,” Caret said, trudging along behind me.

“Well, it’s partially tradition. But it also helps to activate the knife itself. It’s good to charge it a touch before you use it on yourself.”

“I don’t love that you’re testing it on an animal.”

“I mean, if all goes well it shouldn’t feel anything. Or even die,” I turned back toward her, “Theoretically you could do it on me. Wanna do some stabbing?” Her face said no. “I’m just saying, it’s an option.” The first time a new knife is used, it’s easy to be overzealous. Mostly because the anesthetic affect takes a moment to get calibrated for the first time. It’s meant to just make it so you don’t feel any pain and stay lucid, but some people have reported passing out from it their first time using a new one. Not a risk you want to take, especially with a knife in your arm. Even one that doesn't let you die.

“Really it’s not testing anyway. It’ll work, it just needs to get started up. This is how we do it.”

Cerat raised an eyebrow, "and the black robes, those were super-duper necessary, I guess?"

"It's just… the uniform they had us in back at the academy. It's comfortable. In more ways than one."

“Can we just get it over with?”

I nodded, and drew my blade. It was fairly simple. I won’t go into detail. I cut into it, filled a bowl, poured it over the knife. Just as I was finishing up, I heard a spinning up over from Caret’s direction.

I saw her before I saw the other thing. In her hand was an oak wood crossbow which I had the privilege of watching her carve, and decorate with pink dye. What she was pointing at was far less adorable.

It seemed humanoid, mostly. It was naked, with pallored, greenish skin, skin swirling around itself, with weird, empty faces appearing and disappearing, each frozen in a wail for the half-second they were around. The face was similar, so big, with sagging meat, that it almost seemed larger than the body, the eyes and mouth were huge and empty, cartoonishly so, the gape of it staring me down, as a bolt entered the eye. The eye-hole. The hole where the eye ought have been.

It didn’t seem to get a reaction, but the mouth waggled, and the creature began to make a noise.

“Hhhhhhhhihhhhhhhhhhhhh”

“Caret?” I shouted, panic mounting.

“I’m thinking,” She replied coolly, as she loaded another bolt.

Another bolt loosened, this time into it’s endless dark maw.

“Hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh-”

“It’s still not working!” I said, raising my dagger.

“Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii”

Caret's stance changed as she held up a fist and shouted, "Hold!"

Everyone was motionless, apart from the swirling faces of the figure. Caret spoke up again. “Clarify your name and intentions,” she commanded.

“We are We-are-the-Dead. We have been meaning to introduce ourselves,” they said, stretching each word out, as if it was a labor.

“So should I call you like… We?” I muttered to myself.

“To what end?” Caret asked.

“To get to know those what live.” they said.

“Why’d you wait until now?”

“We are shy,” they said simply.

“And that’s why you’ve been following us around?” she asked.

I blinked.

“Yes. We have been… unsure of how to introduce ourselves. We are the collection of those who have passed on,” I realized the looks on each face wasn’t some horrible wail, but an expression of extreme nervousness. They seemed far more comfortable now, though their presence hadn’t become comforting. “Someday, all will be part of us. It is only sensible that you should know us first.”

Caret narrowed her eyes, “Is that a threat?”

They shook their collective head, “An observation. A philosophy, perhaps. Everything joins the collection eventually. We-are-the-Dead. We all will someday be… the dead.”

Caret seemed to loosen up a touch, pointing the crossbow towards the ground. “Right. Are you staying some place?”

“We are staying… Around. Not many things die. We welcome anything that joins. We were about to welcome a brand new soul,” They gestured toward the pig, “or so we thought. But we travel, and meet the others.”

“Others?” I asked.

“To the sunrise. Away from the woods. Into the sand. Into the mountains. Even in the great empty space, someone roams.”

“So… What now?”

“What are your names?”

“Partridge,” I said pointing at myself, “Caret,” I pointed at her.

“It is nice to see other faces. We remember…” They trailed off.

“Yes?” I asked.

They shrugged, “It’s no matter. We shall leave you be.”

They turned to walk back toward the woods, their body flopping and wriggling as they moved. Over their shoulder they called, “We shall see who else we can meet. And then, we shall all meet again… One way, or another.”

Like that they were gone, returned to the darkness. I looked at the knife I was holding, and tucked it into my bag. I looked at the pig, and untied it’s harness. As it ran off, I headed over to where Caret was poised. She seemed not-quite-ready to relax.

“So that was fucked up.”

She nodded.

“Think they’re dangerous?”

“Who knows. How’s your knife?”

“It worked. Pig survived it, it should work for me now.”

“Great. Let’s head back. I want to lie down.”

We started walking back home. “‘Clarify your name and intentions,’ though?” I asked

“Oh, hush. Old habits.”

#Fiction #Mythology #The Grandiose Burden of Being my Caretaker #Isekai #my writing

1 note · View note