#only to be proven on a silver plate i have been wrong about them | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

earlgreydream · 4 years ago

Text

the garden.

| 1940s!bucky barnes x reader | fluff | mild angst |

You walked home from work, seeing your new neighbor, Bucky Barnes, leaning against the wall of his house. His arrogant smirk appeared as you walked up the path to your door, scrunching your nose at the sight of him.

James Buchanan Barnes was irritating. The first day he’d moved in, he and his friends were loud until the early hours of the morning, drunkenly shouting along with his record player. Then, his drunk friends had walked through your garden, trampling half of your flowers and some vegetables. And he was always outside with his stupid smirk, thinking his pretty face was enough to win you over.

Bucky was also gorgeous, and the worst part was, he knew it. You’d seen him in town flirting with girls in the market, and everywhere he went. Even your friends all fought for his attention. When they’d come over, you’d sit outside on your porch and they would all wave to him and giggle. He greeted them, chattering with the blushing and giggling girls who fell at his feet. You always rolled your eyes and ignored him, unamused.

Bucky was fascinated by you, the only girl to never fall for his charm. He was charismatic and had every girl at his fingertips that he had ever wanted. He knew that the two of you had gotten off on the wrong foot, and you despised his smoking habit. However, he had made it his goal to win you back over, but you had proven to be stubborn. You were a challenge, and Bucky was determined.

“Hey doll.” He greeted you as you stepped up onto your porch.

“It’s Y/N.” You scowled at him, and he said your name, winking at you.

He checked you out, admiring you in your high waisted pants and button down. You shook your head at him, going inside your house, closing the door. You put your grocery bag down and started to make dinner, when you saw Bucky on your porch. You groaned and opened your window, looking at him.

“What are you doing here?” You asked.

“My stove is out of gas. Could you put me up for dinner?” He gave you a boyish grin, rocking on his heels.

“Why would I do that?”

“To be neighborly,” he suggested.

“C’mon. Because I’ll buy you dinner tomorrow?” Bucky tried again.

“You’re so full of shit.”

“Y/N, the stores are closed, it’s late.”

“Fine. Get in here.” You gave in, shaking your head and shutting the window. He waltzed through the front door, looking too pleased with himself.

“Plus, I brought a gift!” He held up a bottle of rosé.

“So you can get drunk and ruin my flowers again?”

“I apologized for that. Please forgive me.”

“You’re forgiven.” You said, not convincing him or yourself.

“Where’re your glasses?” He asked, and you pulled a cabinet open, stirring your pot of pasta. He pulled down two glasses and filled them.

“Maybe I don’t drink.”

“You do, this is your favorite wine. I’ve seen you drinking it on the porch swing at least twice.” Bucky called you out.

“Oh, so you stalk me?” You accused.

“No, you just sit outside all the time.”

He lifted the glass to his lips, smiling behind the rim. You drank from your own, needing it in order to deal with him. You noticed his dog tags, resting against his skin with the top few buttons of his shirt undone. He caught you staring, but he held eye contact, wanting to make you blush.

“You fight in the war?” You asked, and he shook his head.

“I will. I haven’t been deployed yet. Me and my friend Steve recruit here, but we’ll go with the next team.”

“Where will you go?”

“Germany, maybe. Or Poland.”

You hummed, thinking that Bucky didn’t seem like the military type. You supposed it was his duty though, and he didn’t want to be labeled as a draft dodger. You strained the noodles and mixed them with the sauce, serving him a plate. Bucky thanked you, taking a seat at your tablecloth.

“Hey, get down, Pepper.” You scolded your cat that jumped onto his lap. You apologized and he smiled, petting her head.

“She has no manners. Push her off,”

“She’s fine. I don’t mind.” He smiled, and your cat jumped onto the floor, prowling for dropped food. You ate quietly, ignoring his silver gaze.

“How long have you lived here?” He made conversation.

“Since I left my parents’ house when I was sixteen,”

“That’s awful young. Why?”

You didn’t answer, pouring yourself another glass of wine, and he tilted his glass for more. You emptied the rest of the bottle into his glass, earning a thank-you.

“You don’t have to buy me dinner.”

“I’m absolutely buying you dinner. We’ll go out, to Brooklyn.” He grinned, and you rolled your eyes.

“Is there any way to get out of it?” You asked.

“I’m afraid not.”

“You’re an amazing cook.” Bucky complimented, standing and taking your empty plates before you could.

“Thanks. I got that-”

“No, you cooked. I’ll do the dishes.” He turned on your sink and began to wash everything, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. You watched him, biting back a small smile.

“I’ll just be getting out of your hair. Have a goodnight, doll.”

You rolled your eyes, closing the door after him. You picked up your cat and held her, watching him walk across the lawn. He waved at you when he saw you watching through the window, and you shut the curtains.

You came home the next day, tired and annoyed from work. You were in a bad mood, and you just wanted to relax.

“James?” You stopped when you saw him kneeling in your yard.

“Y/N, you’re home.”

“Why the hell are you in my yard?!” You demanded, opening the gate.

“I’m sorry, I should’ve asked. I was replanting your flowers.” He said, kneeling in your garden.

Your eyebrows shot up as you saw the rows of freshly planted daffodils, and you walked over to him slowly.

“Thank you.” You were impressed, and he leaned back on his heels.

“I’m... I can’t take you out like this. Let me change, then we can go for our dinner?” He smiled down at himself, dirt and grass staining his pants.

You nodded, hiding your smile behind your hand, feeling butterflies in your stomach. You shook your head, watching him go toward his house. You went inside and quickly changed your own clothes, into wide white pants and a yellow button down. You fixed your makeup, and went to meet him on the porch. You bit your lip, smiling as you opened the door to find him standing with a bouquet of daisies.

“Bucky...” You couldn’t keep the grin off your face.

“I thought you’d like them. I’m trying to be a gentleman.”

“It’s working.” You whispered before putting the flowers in a vase. You walked to his car with him, and he opened the door for you, being so charming.

Bucky lived to see your smile. When he finally earned it with the flowers, warmth erupted in his chest and spread through him. He had truly felt bad about your garden and spent the whole afternoon replanting it for you. He drove you into the city, music playing softly on the radio.

“Where are we going?”

“New York pizza, Y/N,” Bucky looked proud of himself.

“That sounds amazing.” You confessed, your stomach growling. You’d missed lunch at work, and you were starving.

“Pizza is my favorite.”

“Mine too!” Bucky announced, and you giggled at that. He turned and smiled at you, his gaze lingering a little longer than it usually did.

You arrived at the pizza place, following Bucky inside. He put his hand on your lower back, and you felt the butterflies again.

“What would you like?”

“Margherita pizza. I’m a classic girl.”

“Perfect.” He ordered for the two of you, leaning against the bartop while you waited.

“We’ll take it to go.”

“We’re not eating here?” You asked, confused, and he shook his head.

“Got a better idea.” Bucky winked at you, taking the pizza box once it was done.

“Can you take this for a second, doll?” He asked, handing it to you as we stood outside. You took it from him, and he leaned into his car, pulling out a blanket before taking the pizza. He nodded for you to follow, and you walked a few blocks down to a park, where he spread the blanket. You were beaming as you sat down beside him, the glow of the street lights and the stars making him look impossibly more attractive.

“You’ve outdone yourself.” You smiled, biting into a slice of pizza. He looked pleased, and the two of you found yourselves talking until the streets were silent. You were sitting in front of him, when he leaned forward, kissing you. You kissed him back, threading your fingers into his dark hair, letting him move you onto his lap. His tongue pushed past your lips, your mouths moving in sync.

“Will you be my girlfriend?” Bucky asked, surprising you. You were blushing furiously, and you almost said no, but the feeling his words gave you, made your heart race.

“Yes, James.” You pecked his lips and he grinned into the kiss.

That was how you and Bucky ended up spending most of your time together. He helped you tend to your garden, and you taught him about the plants. You were a botanist with a green thumb, and he was in awe of your tender care of your plants. Every night in the following weeks was spent with the two of you gently rocking on your porch swing, drinking coffee, listening to records, or making out. Either that, or you were listening to him read on the couch or in your bed.

You and Bucky had been together for almost two months, when he came home late from work one evening when it was nearing October. You were waiting on the porch, wrapped in a blanket, watching for his car to roll in.

“James!” You called, and he walked up to you.

“Hey, doll.” He leaned down and kissed you sweetly. You looked up at him, and your gaze meeting with sad eyes.

“What’s wrong?” Worry filled you, and he sat down next to you.

“I’m getting deployed. We leave in two weeks.” He breathed, and your heart fell into pieces.

“I’ll wait for you.” You said finally.

“Y/N, you could be waiting for years, or I may not make it back.”

“Don’t say that!” You cried.

“It’s the truth--”

Tears started rolling down your cheeks, and you shook your head. You climbed onto his lap and clung to him, gripping his shirt and crying into his shoulder. He rubbed your back and held you on the porch.

“I want to get married, before you go.” You said, and he turned your face to look at him.

“Doll, you can’t mean that.”

“No, I do. Marry me. Marry me and promise you’ll come back for me.” You touched his face, and he brushed tears from your cheeks.

“I will marry you, and I will fight every single day to come home to you. I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you.”

For months, you and your cat waited on your porch, the cool metal dog tags resting against your sternum. A box of his letters sat on your bedside table, telling you how much he missed you, and loved you, and he wanted to come home to his beautiful wife. All of your friends thought you were mad for marrying a man you’d only dated a few months, the week before he went off to war. A star hung in your window, and every day was spent waiting. Your garden flourished, pumpkins growing as autumn approached. The nights you spent outside began to grow colder, and you waited.

When you saw him, it was like fireworks exploded inside of you. He was tired, he looked wartorn, and he was definitely more muscular. You screamed, tossing your blanket off of you, and running. You jumped over the fence, making him laugh. You threw your arms around him, and he caught you as you jumped into his arms. He held you tightly and spun you around, planting a deep kiss to your lips.

“I love you.”

You were crying as Bucky held you, overwhelmed with joy to see him. You didn’t sleep that night, or the next few.

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky fluff #the falcon and the winter soldier #falcon and the winter soldier #james buchanan barnes #bucky fanfic #1940s!bucky #40s!bucky #earl grey bucky

863 notes · View notes

sixeyesgojo · 3 years ago

Note

Why do you love Gojo so much? I’m sorry if this question has been asked before

Anon, don't worry about asking twice or even three times...

Are you prepared for this answer though? I don't know how long this answer will be... I'll try to keep it rather short though because otherwise it would entail a full analysis of Gojo's entire character...

TL;DR: Love me a man who's a little yum yum, a little cray-cray and uwu uwu.

Manga spoilers?

The superficial aspects I really like in fictional characters: appearance (especially the hair), the strength and teasing attitude. Gojo just happens to have all three of them.

If I take a look at my MAL favorite character list, I have 9 characters on there and 4 of them have white/silver hair. And yes, all of them are super strong in their respective verse, so at this point the formula is "white hair = strong" in my head.

Gojo is also a tease. I like that about him because he's not over the top where it's just mean, unless he's talking to an enemy or someone he hates.

His confidence is something I admire and long for because I lack it. His sweet tooth is also something I personally vibe with because I, too, have an insatiable sweet tooth.

On top of that... a character voiced by Nakamura Yuuichi-san? How can I say no?

On a rather deeper level?

From the first moment I got to know this man called Gojo Satoru, I just knew that his cheerful character hid something deeper. (Most of the characters I'm drawn to do.)

And of course, my hunch proved to be right: Gojo Satoru is such a deep, complex and multi-faceted character. He's also one of the few characters that are not defined by the series but instead, he defines the series. It's shown in the fact that the enemies wouldn't make a move just because he exists.

On the one hand, we have the goofy teacher that annoys the living hell out of Megumi simply by being himself and regularly giving Ijichi a heart attack. He also seems to be super cocky and pretty close to having a God complex or something like that (before you ask: no, I do not believe Gojo has a God complex but that's a post for another day... maybe).

That's what we all see at first.

On the other hand, if you dive deeper into his character, you'll quickly notice some other things.

First of all, he's a "shitty teacher". Gojo sucks at traditional teaching, alright? In that aspect, I think Utahime and Kusakabe do better. If you think about it though, Gojo does not suck at teaching at all.

He simply nurtures his students in his own, sometimes twisted, way, with the intention of bringing out their highest potential for growth with each mission or task he assigns.

He uses uncommon methods for this but not before making sure the students are as safe as you can be as Jujutsu sorcerer. After all, he treasures his students a great deal (as can be seen in pretty much every interaction he has with Yuji and also when Yuji dies).

I've said he strives to nurture his students' growth, yes, but he's also respectful about it: He expects great things from Megumi, yet doesn't train him but instead waits for the younger one to approach him.

Yuji is a different matter in this case. Gojo - as busy as that man is - takes in the student without judging him for being Sukuna's vessel and chooses to personally supervise his growth as a sorcerer when he didn't have to - it just adds one more burden onto his already stuffed plate - yet he did. Because he cares. He cares about not unnecessarily throwing another life away (Yuta + Yuji). And he cares about Megumi's opinion or else he wouldn't even ask?

As much as caring Gojo goes, he's also very much capable of being unhinged and feral, if there is need (Shibuya).

He doesn't seem like your typical shonen anime hero that protects people/is on the side of 'justice' "because it's the right thing to do", but rather, he recognizes the faults within this so-called 'justice' and tries to uproot the cause of it. He's capable of thinking and judging for himself and chooses to constantly go against orders that he doesn't think are appropriate - the execution of Yuta and Yuji are one example. Another one would be him and Geto deciding to call off the merger (and you know how important that was), should Amanai Riko express the desire to live on as a normal teenage girl.

Moreover, the drastic change in character is what makes him interesting as well.

At first, he's a cocky teenager who thinks of himself oh-so-highly, with every right. For the longest time, he believed he was undefeatable, only to be proven wrong in a battle against Toji, a man without cursed energy.

This fall from graces shakes him to his core because what? He's been defeated? And thus, he enters a mindset he probably never experienced before: instability and vulnerability first cloud his mind - and he's not capable of processing it at first, leaving him in a delirious state, to the point where Toji questions himself: "Is this man high?"

On top of all this, his best friend 'betrays' the side he is on and defects; that's gotta be a huge blow mentally... and then he has to finish of said friend as well.

That didn't go without consequences.

After Geto's defection that ultimately lead to death in later years... for the first time in Gojo's life, he displays a weakness that is exploitable, used against him in Shibuya.

His fall from grace is a fall from being the strongest to 'oh, maybe I was wrong'.

Gojo went from being a teenager with no apparent goal to being an adult that wants to change the world to one where his (already deceased) best friend can laugh from the bottom of his heart.

On a more personal note:

Generally, his (pretty easy-going) attitude just makes me happy and has actually brought me comfort in harder times.

Obviously, this manchild is also my biggest muse. I have written fanfiction for other fandoms before but I have never published them but Gojo just makes it so easy, I'm having a lot of fun with his character. Plus, without JJK and Gojo, I wouldn't have come to Tumblr at all and therefore, wouldn't have met the wonderful people I call my friends now 💕

All in all, I love the tragedy in his character as the strongest but his unyielding resolve of staying strong, being strong, being the best he can be. The cruelty he, without a doubt, witnessed over and over again, yet he stays kind and caring throughout all of it. Oh, how easy it would be for him to simply destroy everything? "But nobody would support a mass murderer," he is so big-brained for this.

I don't think there's a single aspect of him I do not love? I really adore this man so much.

And yes, this was rather short and I am sure I missed multiple things but I do hope my answer helped.

Maybe, MAYBE, I will post a full one on another day. But that one would be long as fuck...

#nie answers #anon #why i love gojo satoru #musings #kind of?#gojo satoru #gojo #jujutsu kaisen manga spoilers #manga spoilers #gojou satoru

179 notes · View notes

lady-agni · 3 years ago

Text

Fanwork: Inuyasha

Pairing: InuKag FF // AO3 // ko-fi

Raiting: M

Summary:

After a three year absence, Kagome finally returns to the feudal era. Yet her high hopes for a happy future are crushed and made more difficult by the warring sanctions that are wreaking havoc in Japan. People are dying, disappearing, and something strange is happening with the well

Shout Out: thank you @neutronstarchild for the lovely story cover!

LAST CHAPTER:

Kagome kept crying, flashes of burned bodies and her arrows striking flesh replaying over and over. The screams, the smells. ‘I killed them.’ She felt like she was drowning, the horror of her actions taking over. They had come alive in her mind, accusing her, reaching their charred limbs in her direction, asking her why. In the darkness, it felt like she could still see them. It was like being swallowed into the void with the shikon jewel.

Kagome panicked, clutching at Inuyasha’s robes frantically. “Light,” she pleaded, “I need light, please.”

“Okay.”

The sound of Inuyasha’s robes kept her attention, and she hyper focused on him to drive away her fears. The sound of flint scraping echoed by her ears, and then a lantern came to life. Inuyasha brought it close to them, but kept it a safe distance enough to not knock it over. Without hesitating, he returned to her, wrapping his arms around her, holding her tight, wiping away her tears and fears, whispering to her until they both fell asleep in each other's arms. Body’s tangled intimately, comforting, deep into the night.

CHAPTER 15 : AFTERMATH

A warmth spread slowly over Inuyasha’s skin, waking him from slumber as his body contorted into a lazy stretch. His thick blanket twisted around his toned legs. A toothy yawn escaped him, loud enough to send birds outside his window fluttering away in fright. Golden-skinned muscles tensed and relaxed from the leisurely release. Absolutely content, he turned his sharp nose towards a swirling mix of silver and black tresses, the endearing scent drew him closer, and he took in the soft, sweet fragrance greedily.

Kagome continued to sleep serenely on his chest. Inuyasha’s sun kissed eyes opened slowly, adjusting it’s focus. The vision of her clearing within seconds.

She seemed to glow at that moment as the blur of his eyes receded.

Reaching a clawed hand across them, Inuyasha brushed away the dark hair that had spilled across her face.

It was like a dream, having her there with him again. And not only that, but Inuyasha felt ready. Ready to provide, to nurture, to love. Love without guilt, appreciate her freely without the burden of past promises to people long gone. There was no provisional chip on his shoulder with a point to prove anymore. This was him. This was the real Inuyasha.

And she said she loved him!

Inuyasha pressed his eyes shut when he felt them burn, wiping roughly away any evidence of tears he felt prickling on his lashes. He had not admitted to anyone yet, but his heart still ached.

Of course, he was so incredibly happy, but things like this never happened to him, never!

He half expected at any moment for something to go terribly wrong. Because nothing, nothing ever went right for him. And these last two weeks with the undead and Kohaku being taken away… had proven that. And, Kagome had actually put humans to death.

Inuyasha was overwhelmed with guilt. What could he possibly do to help her? He knew from experience this was not going to be something easily glossed over. It would take time, a lot of time to get over eliminating one person, let alone a whole crowd of them. What if she regretted this? What if she decided to go back home?

Way before, Kagome had a duty. She had a whole jewel she’d torn to pieces, and it had been her responsibility to return to this era and put it back together. But, what about now?

Kagome shifted in her sleep, her face snuggling more into Inuyasha’s chest. Her light snores blooming a warmth into his heart.

Then he noticed his robes wrinkling loose from her ministrations. Golden eyes suddenly dilated, his mouth went dry, and Kagome let out a hot puff of air from full pink lips that had the silver hairs on his chest standing on end.

His face grew hot with a flush. Damn it, but he couldn’t help it! Despite the trouble brewing, he was absolutely jubilant to have her back in his arms. And he’d be a complete fool if he didn’t take advantage of their time together. He had dreamt of her, wept for her, killed for her… and now, he was determined to love her.

Lashes lowering, he leaned his face close and grazed his lips on her tangled head, languidly breathing in her scent. He couldn’t help but blush. Would he ever get used to this; holding her so close and being so intimate?

A lazy smirk lifted his lips, one fang glinting as he swept a clawed hand through her hair, over her shoulder, and down her arm. Closing his eyes, he enjoyed the quiet moment with her. This was worth it. Every minute they had been separated was completely worth having her in his arms again.

Absolutely soothed by her presence, Inuyasha dozed off, not really needing the rest but completely relaxed by Kagome just being with him. Her scent mingled with his, and the fresh, warm air softly strolled in through a window. A rare smile crossed his features, one only ever seen by Kagome and their close friends.

*~CAM~*

Rapid breaths and struggling movements stirred Inuyasha from sleep. Kagome had rolled from his chest and was fighting in the futon beside him. Her skin shone with a thin layer of sweat, her heart thundered in the room, and her face scrunched as she threw her arms and legs wildly about.

With sudden realization, Inuyasha leaned half over her, his silver hair spilling around them as he grabbed her shoulders firmly before she hurt herself. “Kagome,” he muttered, “Kagome, wake up!”

Eyes blowing wide, Kagome startled awake, panting as her senses returned and finally focused on Inuyasha’s concerned gaze. Her face crumpled, tears flooding her eyes as she threw herself on him, shaking with violent sobs. Inuyasha braced himself with one hand, catching them both with the other before they fell back. He soothingly rubbed her back. “Shh,” he whispered, “it’s okay.”

Kagome shook her head and took in a shuddering breath. “N-no,” she moaned.

“Yes,” Inuyasha gruffly affirmed, “you’ll be okay.” He closed his eyes and lamented over the peaceful morning, wishing she could have experienced it as well.

*~CAM~*

It had taken some time for Kagome to collect herself. She burrowed herself deeper in the warm sheets, head covered, swollen eyes pressed shut while savoring Inuyasha's scent, hoping for sleep again. She didn’t want to be up, she didn’t want to face the day. Sleep would help her forget what she had done.

No matter what Inuyasha said, she still felt like a horrible person, a monster.

Before unconscious bliss could steal her away, Inuyasha walked in with a warm bowl of miso soup and a tray of sweet *tamagoyaki. It filled the air with a wonderful aroma, but Kagome folded herself further in the sheets instead. “M’not hungry,” she mumbled miserably.

Sighing, Inuyasha sat next to her, legs crossing and then put the food down. “You need to eat.”

Kagome could hear the concern in his voice and felt even worse. He cooked for her, again. He was being so unbelievably sweet, and she absolutely did not deserve it. The thought had her eyes burning once more, her heart quaking with grief. “Please,” she mumbled, “I don’t want to.”

Inuyasha could hardly believe the sight before him. Kagome had never acted like this before. He completely understood where she was coming from... but this was going to an extent! At least… that’s what he thought.

“Just a bite,” Inuyasha pleaded, staring at the black hair that spilled out of the lump of fabric on the ground. Kagome shook her head.

Downhearted, Inuyasha eyed the food he made so carefully for her. He had folded it neatly and seasoned it as pleasingly as possible, hoping it would bring her some comfort. After all, there was nothing as delectable first thing in the morning as miso.

Not to be deflected, Inuyasha stubbornly grabbed a plate and shoved it towards her as if she could see what he was doing. “You’re going to eat this,” he growled, fang glinting and red sleeves billowing eagerly.

“No!”

“Yes!” He reached across. “You.” Then grabbed her shoulder, “are!” And flipped her roughly over.

The blankets flew, and Kagome’s startled eyes found his stubborn ones as she fell back and landed sprawled before him, chest heaving. Outraged, she sat up, hair flying wildly and jabbed a finger at him, “Inuyasha! SII-”

And a chunk of tamagoyaki was shoved into her mouth.

“Mmmf!”

Inuyasha smirked as she sputtered and choked down the sweet egg. Damned wench tried to sit him! “You’ve got some nerve!” he snarled goodnaturedly.

But once her stormy, puffy eyes turned in his direction; her body thundered with an energy that relieved his worry for her. And then she threw her head back and laughed. A loud, feminine, adorable laugh that shook Inuyasha’s quaint home with joy.

Despite the slight annoyance of her trying to subdue him, Inuyasha felt himself deflate with a sudden sense of ease. Kagome was back… even if for just a little while. And he would continue fighting to bring her back from the darkness consuming her. After all... he had been there once too.

Apples burning, yet pleasantly so; Inuyasha brought another morsel of tamagoyaki to Kagome’s lips. This time, her eyes sparkled with wonder, her lips fell open as she let him feed her, and then she felt the delightful dollop slip between her mouth. She closed her eyes in pure delight. Inuyasha was a damn good cook! When did this happen?!

Humming appreciatively, Kagome fell back, limbs sprawling as her taste buds tingled at each and every sweet flavor. Why had she fought Inuyasha so much about eating again?

After swallowing, Kagome realized she definitely wanted more. Slowly opening her eyes, she watched as Inuyasha cut into another egg and lifted it towards her. His mouth flitted into a goofy smile. Her heart absolutely, positively melted at the sight.

Sitting up, she ignored the burns where her clothes rubbed at her raw skin and leaned forward, keeping eye contact with the love of her life as she took another bite. His own widened at her boldness and they both blushed as he pulled the chopsticks from her lips. She grabbed his lowering hand firmly, affection blooming for him throughout her body, “thank you, Inuyasha.”

“K-keh!” Inuyasha furrowed his brows and looked away to save face, but his heart was somersaulting with glee.

Smirking at how adorable and bashful he was acting, Kagome leaned forward and pecked his cheek. She absolutely cherished him.

Not being able to handle any more of the intimacy lest he pass out, Inuyasha shoved the plate back to the floor and stood up, turning towards the door. “Finish eating and dress up. We need to head to Kaede’s so she can give us something for your skin.”

*~CAM~*

It was little past noon when they got to the older woman’s hut. Inuyasha barged in like he owned the place. Kagome shook her head as she followed after him. Shippo hollered happily and jumped at her before being snatched from the air by Inuyasha.

“Leave ‘er alone, runt.”

Shippo whined as he fought the older man’s clawed hands, “let me gooo! You had Kagome to yourself all ni~ight!!”

Mortified, Kagome sputtered as Inuyasha choked back a cough.

“Aah,” Kaede breathed wickedly, “have ye moved in already?” A sparkle glimmered in her single eye.

Kagome could have died from embarrassment. Thank goodness Miroku wasn’t there, he would’ve never let them live it down!

Before Kagome could respond, Inuyasha threw Shippo towards the back of the hut, the kit merely flipped and caught himself with a trick of his floating enchantment.

Yelling with embarrassment, Inuyasha hollered, “she’s hurt!”

“What ails ye child?” Kaede motioned for Kagome to sit next to her. Kagome lifted a sleeve, showing the suddenly serious woman her splotchy arm. Reddish skin shone raw as the edges curled with peeled back skin. It looked like a first degree burn.

Shippo peeked up from between them and hissed at the sight. “What happened?” His green eyes glistened with concern.

Looking away with shame, Kagome swallowed a sudden lump before answering. “I was washing up and.. and scrubbed a little too hard.”

Kaede got up and rummaged around the containers she’d skillfully collected. “Just your arm, or-”

“Everything,” Inuyasha cut in, “everything but her back.”

Kagome closed her eyes, suddenly feeling queasy and faint. She was so stupid! How could she have done this to herself?

As if noticing her reaction, Shippo began to rub tiny circles on her back. “It’s ok,” he tried to sooth, “Kaede will fix you right up.” His little face was full of determination. Kagome felt like crying from shame.

“Out,” Kaede ushered the two males, “we’ll need privacy from ye prying eyes.”

Kagome thought she’d pass out multiple times as Kaede loosely wrapped her body in long strips of clean cloth. The pain was unbearable.

The older woman reprimanded her and made sure that she was in no way to do this to herself again. After what Kagome was sure to describe as torture, Kaede fed her an herbal tea to numb the pain. Kagome prayed it would kick in quickly.

A giant stack of baskets in the back of the hut caught her eye after a nice warm sip. “What are those?” she asked, not remembering them there from before.

“Ah.” Kaede smiled, “those are gifts for the Time Traveling Miko.”

Kagome tried not to cough from choking on her tea, “the wha?!”

“For you,” Kaede replied, “the villagers were so happy to see you back. Expect to see more soon.”

Kagome didn’t know what to do with that information. Did that many people really know she was a time traveler? Or were they just joyous at her return? Could her time traveling secret be used for nefarious reasons? If someone with enough greed found out, would there be serious repercussions? There was absolutely no way to tell. The only time she remembered the future changing was when she and Inuyasha were separated, and they had somehow communicated through the Goshinboku while her time turned white with snow.

Nervous, she chugged back her medicine and tried not to worry too much. The baskets were many, taking over a fourth of Kaede’s little hut. Some had food, tools, and even carefully picked out cloth. She never realized how much of an impact she had left on the village until now.

Shortly after Kagome turmoiled with the thought, Inuyasha and Shippo strolled back in to ask if she was okay. Kagome smiled and pulled back her sleeves and arms for them to see. “I look like a mummy now,” she laughed goodnaturedly.

They both looked at her with confusion, “a mum what?” Shippo tilted and scratched his head, looking more like the red canine that he was.

Kagome’s heart fluttered and she laughed again, wishing she could squeeze him in her arms. He was just too cute! “They’re people who’ve passed, then been wrapped up with bandages, like me!” she pointed. “Then, sometimes, they even rise from the dead!” She ‘arred’ and launched towards Shippo, then laughed when he screeched and ran away from her, scampering in silly circles around everyone in the hut.

*~CAM~*

Hell.

Kohaku was in pure hell.

Unlike with Naraku, this creature had kept him conscious as it controlled his body. Kohaku had no choice but to watch as it slaughtered countless villages with its other smoke-like, possessed comrades. He’d lost count of how many people he had killed, how many homes they had destroyed, how many families were left parentless or childless. It was like reliving his past, his worst memories come to life over and over again.

Each day his spirit descended further into grief. How long had he been taken? It felt like months. Sometimes he would even black out, not being able to take the sights anymore; the blood, filth, and agony. Siblings and families were torn apart, sometimes the fires the smokey creatures rose from would grow wild and burn down whole villages. The images, sounds, and smells would be forever scorched into his mind.

Kohaku was exhausted and half-starved. Whatever it was that dominated him seemed to forget that he was human. He needed food, sleep, and water. It was a miracle he was still alive.

With a guilt so heavy, he watched as the scenery around him continued to move and change. He thought back on the mess he left his nieces and nephew in. He hoped they were okay.

He often thought of Sango and hoped she was okay, and that she didn’t worry too much about him. He knew it was hard on her the first time he had been taken by Naraku, now he was stuck in a similar nightmare, again.

The only blessing was that this creature seemed to have no interest in Sango after it had taken him. Sometimes, he would hear his distorted voice mention Inuyasha, and it would scheme with its comrades on the half demon's strength, and how much they would benefit from possessing him. Kohaku prayed that they would let the village be.

Then he would hear it speak again, discussing the priestess that traveled with Inuyasha and how it would be impossible as long as she was by his side. The plan was always dropped after that, only to be brought up again days later.

Once in a while, Kohaku would experience relief. If only for a few days, the creature would recede into him, almost as if it were resting, and Kohaku would scramble to find himself food and water. He would pray for a stream and wash his filthy body, wishing he had a change of clothes to wear. Sometimes, he entertained going back home, but he knew the creature would return and possess him again. As much as it pained him to be away, he just couldn’t risk it. So he allowed himself to sleep beside the riverbank, letting the rushing water soothe him to sleep. Finally, his body could properly recharge.

When he woke again, his body was already moving against his will, and the creature chuckled at him in his contorted voice. “You’re stuck with me kii~iid.”

So, after weeks of struggling for so long to take his body back permanently, and spirit almost completely crushed, Kohaku gave up and decided to watch. He sunk into his own body and watched the depths of his soul. It was the only thing he could do.

He decided he would figure out who the leader was, and what the goal of this madness was.

One thing he did know was that they were massing people. They traveled to villages night after night, slithering into burning fires and possessing people within their own homes. Sometimes, they would run into a battlefield littered with dead soldiers stacked so high they could do nothing more but step over them. Bloated flesh popped under his shoes, soaking his toes, bones breaking like paper, and then more bodies were taken. Even if they were dead or half alive; a soldier's body was always more valuable than a common townsman’s. And they would rise from the ground in an unspeakable way, failed clans’ flags flying around them as crows cawed at the sight.

Kohaku didn’t know what he could do with what he was witnessing. But he swore he would keep watch after returning from his countless unconscious, exhausted states. At this point, he thought, it was the only thing keeping him alive. Getting information back to his friends, keeping them safe, and hopefully regaining his body back.

#inukag #inuyasha #kagome #yashahime #fanfic #txt

32 notes · View notes

twistedtummies2 · 4 years ago

Text

Birthday Belly (LeonaXReader)

I wrote this yesterday for my own birthday. I didn’t really go into this with much of a plan, this story is 99% just me freestyling and whipping out some self-indulgent nonsense involving Leona Kingscholar and his appetite. It came out to about 4000 words, which is relatively short for MY stories on here. XD Hopefully you all will enjoy it.

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

Living at the Ramshackle Dorm had, you thought, left you almost impervious to surprises. The 999 Happy Haunts who inhabited the old manor house had tried nearly every trick up their capes to spook you and shock you, and after dealing with so many dark mages for so long – facing demigods and fairy princes along the way – you didn’t think much could startle you. Today, you were going to be proven wrong. You sighed with some relief, removing your obligatory birthday sash and letting it drape over the arm-rest of the sofa as he leaned back and closed your eyes. Back in your homeworld, you had never really been much of a party person. You had never much cared for crowds, even among people you knew well; part of the joy of being one of only two (living) beings who called Ravenswood Manor home was that you were able to find privacy and peace fairly easily. However, despite not being a mage, and despite being so lonely there, your friends and the school itself had gone to a great deal of trouble to provide you with a party. You smiled wearily as you eyed the streamers and other decorations strung about your ground floor rooms. A huge banner reading “Happy Birthday…!” and followed by your name was hung over the fireplace, and piled up next to the spot where you’d installed your television and other such things was a stack of presents you had gotten from all your friends.

Ace had given you a set of playing cards and poker chips, winking as he promised to give you a chance to put them to use. Deuce, meanwhile, had been much more sensible, purchasing some cooking apparel he knew you could put to good use. Riddle Rosehearts, meanwhile, brought you some cherry tarts he and Trey had made together. Cater Diamond also appeared, and had bought a new external drive for your laptop computer. “I would have gotten you a new phone,” Cater had smiled. “But I didn’t think you needed one. Speaking of, BIRTHDAY SELFIE! COME ON OVER HERE…!” Idia hadn’t stayed for the party, but his brother Ortho had been happy to pop in. The two had pitched their cash together to buy you a new game system, along with a new game to play on it. Idia had personally sent a birthday card, as well; according to Ortho, his hands had been shaking so much trying to figure out what to write in it, he thought his brother’s fingers might fall off. All Idia had written in the card was, “Have a nice day,” probably because he had freaked out at the thought of saying anything else. Poor dear. Somebody – you weren’t sure who – had very, VERY wisely remembered to invite Malleus Draconia, who came with Silver. Silver spent most of the party sleeping, but Malleus had been kind enough to bestow a gift of his own, in the form of a leatherbound edition of The Complete Works of Edgar Allan Poe. Naturally, Kalim had shown up, tugging Jamil along behind him. Each had a different gift to give: Kalim had brought a VERY expensive looking carpet, done in the ornate styling of his homeland. “It’s been in my family for…um…uh…” he had paused to try and count the years on his fingers…and eventually ran out of fingers AND toes to count on. “…A very, very long time! Like…SUPER long! I thought it might look nice in your bedroom or the ballroom or something! It’s, uh…it’s not too much, is it?” Gods bless that Baby Otter. He needed so many hugs. Jamil’s gift had been much more reserved: a mancala game box, which he had presented all while trying not to blush under his black hood. Vil had stopped by for a short while; he’d only stayed briefly, claiming the “decadent atmosphere of your gloomy domicile” would mess up his hairdo. (Go figure.) However, he had kindly brought you a gift in the form of custom-made suit of clothes he had ordered from his own personal tailor: some of the finest and most formal wear you had ever seen in your life. “Now you can actually look halfway presentable, instead of resembling a half-baked potato, next time there’s a big event,” he had smiled, as if he had been doing you a tremendous favor. Well. With clothes like this, you weren’t going to argue or complain. Azul had stopped for a brief “hello and goodbye” visit; he actually wanted to stay longer – Floyd, who had been with him, seemed particularly sad he couldn’t stay and squeeze his favorite “Little Shrimp” half to death all afternoon and evening…and in his case, that phrase was probably literal – but the Mostro Lounge was open that day, and he didn’t want to leave Jade in charge of things alone for TOO long at the office. The octopus man had brought you a bracelet covered in small seashells: simple, but surprisingly sweeter than you had expected. Floyd, meanwhile…he just hugged you. “What’s a better present for Shrimpy than a nice, tight SQUEEZE from their bestest, most favorite eel-person…riiiiiiight?” The safety of your spine and lungs demanded you agree and hug Floyd back. Ruggie and Jack had been among the first to show up. The latter had brought a hastily-wrapped DVD: a movie entitled “The Wolf of Pumpkin Hollow.” “I didn’t get this because I actually care,” he had clarified, looking everywhere but at your face and scratching the back of his white-eared head. “Just…everyone else would have thought it was rude if I didn’t get you something. Not that it matters what they think! Just…didn’t want to have to put up with it.” He was such a puppy. He truly was. Not only was Ruggie one of the first to arrive, he turned out to be THE first to give you your gift: a box of doughnuts. All glazed. “My grandma used to tell me: ‘Ruggie, get people the same kinds of gifts you’d want them to get you.’ Well, I can’t think of much I want more than doughnuts!” he sang out with an innocent smile. “You just wanted to have some to eat yourself, didn’t you?” you couldn’t help but smirk. Ruggie had gasped, seemingly offended…only to eventually ask if he could have some. The four remaining doughnuts – which you had to sneak away while the hyena wasn’t looking – were now on a plate in your fridge. You’d eat them later. Others had come and gone throughout the day; none of them had gifts to bring, but they had been happy to pop in, give well-wishes, and enjoy the party for a while. Now, however, all the guests were gone; even Grim had left, as you had asked him for some alone time that night. He and the gang from Heartslabyul were going to have a sleepover as a result. Despite the smile on your face as you looked over at your gifts, there was a hint of sadness to your expression. The one person whose presence you’d been looking forward to most hadn’t come. You’d asked his dorm-mates if they knew where he was or what he was doing, but none of them told you. Most of them very clearly had no clue…except for Ruggie. You got the feeling he DID know, he just wasn’t telling. Honestly, that didn’t settle your mind much. Your smile faded completely, and you closed your eyes once more, sighing through your nose…this time with a hint of despondency. Had he forgotten it was your birthday? Was he with somebody else right now? Maybe he was sleeping somewhere, like the big, lazy kit he was…some part of you – you couldn’t tell what part – kind of hoped that was all it was. He probably wasn’t hurt or sick…if he had been you’d think Ruggie would have told you… You glanced out the window. Evening was turning into night. You huffed softly through your nostrils, and stretched a bit where you sat. The party had worn you out more than you thought. You shook your head to clear it of your more perturbing thoughts, and began to wonder if you should just get to bed early tonight… A knock came at the door, jolting you to a more attentive state. You stood up from the ouch and headed out through the hall to the foyer. You wondered who it was…had one of the guests left something behind? As you approached the door, you adjusted your pristine white suit – another obligatory item for those celebrating a birthday at Night Raven College – which must have made whoever was on the other side impatient: they knocked again. “One moment, I’m here!” you called out, and opened the door. “Who’s-?” You froze, the word “there” dying before it ever reached your larynx. The first thing your eyes took in was the familiar, dimly-glowing pair of green ones staring back at you, as well as the dark mane and leonine ears and tail that accompanied their owner. A scar was slashed across one of the two eyes. The second thing – and the one that truly made you freeze – was the ENORMOUS, bare belly that was only inches away from you. The skin was tanned and smooth and supple-looking, the organ swollen to the size of a large watermelon, and only slightly less taut. The navel looked like the center of a maelstrom, drawing your attention towards that bloated gut as it let out a deep, burbling rumble…just before a black-clad hand slapped over it, hiding it from sight. At the same time, another hand suddenly scooped itself under your chin…and you found your head being tilted up, your eyes now locking on a pair of perfect-looking, velvety lips…which then parted to reveal a gaping, red mouth, dripping with saliva and framed by two rows of pointed, pearly fangs. You barely had time to take in the view of this glistening, slimy orifice…before your ears rang and your nose crinkled as two words were burped up. Right in your face. “HAAAAPPY…BUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRP-DAY!” The belch was followed by a light sigh and a chuckle as Leona Kingscholar patted his stomach proudly. It jiggled at his touch. He smirked as he took in your expression: a loopy, flushed look was on your face. You were swaying so much that if he removed his hand from under your chin at that moment, you might have just toppled over. “Hm-hm-hmmm…did you like that?” he purred, smoothly. You nodded dumbly, still smiling a loopy, dazed smile as the sound reverberated in your ears, and your nose tingled from the lingering odor of the lion’s gut gas: a strong, heady, meaty smell that twined through the pockets of your gray matter, practically putting you in a trance for several long seconds. Finally, you found your voice. “…Where have you been?” “Preparing your present,” Leona said, as if that should have been obvious, and gently nudged you back as he entered the house and swaggered past you. With every step, his hips swung, and you found your blush seemed to be permanent as you watched them rock and sway as he strutted towards the living room. You followed him as if a leash had been tied ‘round your neck, and watched as he flopped onto your couch, gut sloshing with every little motion of his form. He was dressed in his usual clothes, but his gut was so massive it caused his mustard-colored shirt to ride up, exposing his belly to the world. The lion demi growled as he reached down; his waistband was still buttoned up, and clearly it was causing him discomfort. His fingers fumbled for the belt buckle…and he frowned as he couldn’t quite get it to cooperate. “Tch. Figures,” he grumbled. “After that entrance…pain in my ass…” The familiar phrase snapped you out of your stupor, and you chuckled, rolling your eyes. You sat down next to your princely boyfriend, and shooed his hands away. He frowned, growling indignantly, but allowed you to fiddle with his buckle, and finally managed to work it off… POPK! ZZZRRRIIIP! GUHBLORLSH! Leona let out a sound between a sigh and a grunt as – the moment the buckle was released – his trouser button gave up the ghost, popping open as the zipper flew down, the sheer weight and pressure of his belly forcing them open. He sighed as his belly poured into his lap like a mass of mocha-colored dough, wobbling as it noisily burbled. “UUUUUUUURRRRRRRROOOOOOOOAAAARRRRRRRP!” he belted out. “Oof…that felt good…” You blushed bright red, helpless to do anything but nod; you were already starting to tremble at so many…APPEALING things happening all at once. Leona smirked anew as he noticed your expression, leaning back a little further against the sofa cushions as his scarred eye flashed with a superior gleam. “You didn’t think I forgot, did you?” “How much did you eat?” you asked, marveling at the size of his belly as you fingers fidgeted and twitched, looking for something to do. You suddenly felt a little parched… “Mmmmm…not enough,” Leona growled, and grinned wider, revealing his pointed teeth. “I could fit more in there, I’m sure…” He licked his lips in a sultry, almost inviting way. You couldn’t keep yourself from letting out a shaky, shuddering sound as you shivered, a mixture of warmth and cold flickering across your spine. Leona chuckled – his gut bounced with his mirth, and tilted his head back with a sigh. “Ahhhhhh…went to my favorite buffet and helped myself,” he elaborated as he gave his belly a few hearty slaps. “Pure meat, every ounce.” You nodded slowly, dumbly. Leona snorted through his nose, raising an eyebrow as he saw you openly ogle his stomach. “Hmph. Are you just gonna stare at it all night, Herbivore?” he grunted. He waited till you looked up at him before going on: “Go ahead. It’s not gonna rub itself.” Your heartbeat quickened and you smiled widely. Leona grimaced and snarled. “Oi…just rub, don’t gimme those eyes…you look like that brat back home…” You chuckled – it was hard not to giggle, honestly – and gratefully helped yourself to your “present.” Your hands quickly fell over Leona’s bloated gut as he stretched his arms over the back of the couch. You scooted closer, and quivered at the intense warmth of the half-lion’s greedy, globular gut. Your palms and fingers began to lightly run across his girth, stroking his belly, just to get a feel of the texture and temperature. His flesh was silky-smooth, making it so hard to resist just pressing your face against it and nuzzling into his belly… You did resist though. At least for the moment. Instead, your fingers began to knead and massage the belly of your beau, pressing down onto the thick soup you could feel churning away inside his bowels. You prodded experimentally, almost as if trying to distinguish each bit of food from the next…but there was no way you could. Whatever Leona had gobbled up was now little more than a uniform mush being swirled about by his strong stomach muscles. His insides warbled and rumbled, as if in response to your ministrations. Leona sighed, closing his eyes and savoring the way you massaged his distended tanker. In truth, the lazy lion didn’t need much of an excuse to stuff himself…but you didn’t care that much. Whether he did this for himself, or for you, as he claimed, the end result was the same. “Mmmmm…that’s it…keep it up,” he mumbled. “Wasn’t planning on stopping,” you said, more to yourself than him, but he snickered anyway. “Heh heh…good. Prey like you should be happy to have a chance like this,” he said, and playfully patted your cheek, causing your blush to intensify. A spike of ego shot up in you, and you purposefully pressed down harder against his stomach. It let out a HUMONGOUS groan, and Leona’s eyes widened and his cheeks ballooned…before he let out another sloppy, rumbling belch. “BUUUUUUUHHHHHHHUUUUUUUURRRRRRLLLLLLLUUUUUUP! Haaah…oi. Not so rough,” he growled, narrowing his eyes at you, tail lashing and thumping against the sofa cushions. “Sorry,” you smiled innocently. “You had so much hot air in there, it clearly had to be let out.” Leona’s eyes narrowed further. “I could turn you into dust right here and right now,” he said, warningly. “I guess you could,” you said, smoothly, and then traced a finger around the rim of his deep, dark trench of a navel. The effect was instantaneous. Leona tensed up for a second, inhaling sharply through his teeth…then sighed and relaxed, all but melting into his seat, eyes fluttering closed again as he purred louder than ever. You smirked triumphantly, as you stuck your finger into his navel and wiggled it around a bit. “Still want to turn me into dust?” you teased. Leona could only moan. He moaned even louder as you cupped one hand on the underside of his belly: the softest, warmest, most sensitive portion of his abdomen. You gently rubbed your hand against them, and traced your fingers over his sides. You could hear his toes curl in his boots; his tail you could SEE curl into a spiral shape as he bit his lip with pleasure. “I’ll take that as a no,” you observed, a dreamy sort of sigh upon your lips as you were honestly enjoying this just as much as he was, a fact you made clear you when you half-consciously murmured: “You’re so SOFT…” “Mmmm…I’ll be softer once it’s all digested,” Leona mumbled. “Vargas is probably gonna complain…think he’d pester me about that stuff if I ate ‘im?” “I think if you ate Coach Vargas, you’d just get a bellyache,” you said, not wanting to add that someone as egotistical as Leona eating someone as showboating as Vargas probably meant all the weight would to his head… …Cracks like that weren’t funny, and could get you bitten. The second part you didn’t mind as much as one might think, to be fair. …You really needed to see a shrink… Leona just scoffed, unaware of your thoughts as you continued to rub and massage his belly. You gave the side of his belly a few hearty thumps, watching the way his belly shifted and jiggled like a water balloon. His stomach groaned and churned rhythmically, squelches and squeals of liquid being compressed and stirred echoing just beneath the luscious skin of the half-lion prince. It sounded like a huge vat of semi-solid mash being pumped and processed in a factory…a sound some might have considered nauseating, but you just bit your lip, rubbing and kneading more vigorously as you heard pockets of gas being released. As you kneaded and pressed down, Leona would BELCH and BURP periodically. Each was short and low, which only made you rub his gut more vigorously. He gave you a bored sort of look as he realized what you were doing. “Didn’t get enough to drink at your party, did you, you thirsty little Herbivore?” “Not even close,” you responded, without skipping a beat. Leona rolled his eyes, and held up a finger in a “one moment” gesture. He then curled that same finger down, balling that hand into a fist…and pumped his fist against his chest once, twice, thrice…before unleashing a true wall-rattler, which flapped his lips and made him go crosseyed. “GYYYYUUUUUHHHHHEEEEERRRRRWWWOOOOAAAAARRRRRIIIIIPLK!” Leona sighed as the eruption came to an end, and snorted as you squeaked at the sound. “Happy now?” he drawled boredly. “Very,” you peeped, patting his belly thankfully. Leona rolled his eyes as he scratched the side of his gut with his leather-tipped fingers, making it slosh under your palm. You quivered. His lips quirked. “Tch. You’re such a snack,” he muttered. “It’s amazing nobody’s already gobbled you up…” “Just lucky so far, I guess,” you shrugged, and scratched his belly with your own fingers. Leona let out a non-committal rumble…then smirked a bit. “We could fix that, you know,” he purred in a slippery, sly way. You froze, and looked up at him slowly, a little confused and slightly apprehensive. Leona smiled back, eyes half-lidded; the dominant, powerful, but affectionately amused smile that always left you shivering for all the right reasons. Then, one of his his hands lifted, and cupped your cheek. He brushed a thumb against it, and you smiled gently back… …Just before that same hand slid forward, and wrapped around the back of your head. “Here,” he growled, commandingly, as he began to force you downwards. “Listen. Feel.” You didn’t have much choice, and it wasn’t as if you would disobey if you could. You surrendered easily as he eased you down against his belly, pressing your head down and holding it firmly, curling his hand so one of your was right above his navel. You felt your chest flutter as the warmth of his body was now right up against your face, and the deep, thick GRRRROOOOLLLLLLG sounds of his ever-hungry belly echoed in your ear like rolling thunder. You stayed perfectly still; time and place seemed to fade into nothingness. All that mattered was the moment: you were hypnotized by his belly, barely conscious of anything. He started speaking, but it took you a few seconds to realize what he was even saying. “…I’d you’d like it, huh?” were the first words you made out, followed by still more: “I could swallow you alive, Herbivore. You’d slither right down my throat, curl up in my stomach…and never come out. I’d just fall asleep, and let you stay there. It wouldn’t have to hurt: one big burp, and your air would be history. Then, you’d go straight to my hips…my thighs…my ass…even my belly. Every part of me you love most.” He paused, purring as his stomach let out a greedy, longing rumble. “How does that sound for your birthday, Herbivore?” he crooned. “How would you like to spend your birthday – your LAST birthday – turning into more of the body you’re so in love with. To be the snack you’re supposed to be. To spend the rest of eternity as just a part of me.” None of these were spoken as questions. You shivered and let out a whimpering sound – not necessarily one of fear, either – as you heard him lick and smack his lips. He leaned down and sniffed at you, purring in the back of his throat. “Mmmmmmm…I could make that happen. Right here. Right now.” You bit your lip; as his stomach rumbled, you closed your eyes. You could picture yourself inside of there…partially submerged in acid and bubbling goo…embraced on every side by his powerful muscles…hearing him belch with satisfaction above and around you…rubbing over you as you were steadily digestedinside of him… You took longer than most people probably would before speaking. “I know you could,” you said, very softly, then added, “Maybe someday you will.” Leona blinked…then puffed with amusement, his smile growing slightly more affectionate as he ran his fingers through your hair the way a cat might. “Not ready to make this birthday your last, huh?” You opened one eye and carefully shook your head. “If it means next year I could get one as good as this, or better, definitely not,” you responded, without skipping a beat. Leona clucked his tongue, and removed his hand, letting it rest against the back of the sofa. He chuffed as your remained where you were, despite no longer being forced down. “Kinky little morsel,” he mumbled. “Guilty,” you responded in a slightly muffled voice as you freely nuzzled his abdomen, smirking as he purred anew, clearly enjoying it. Leona chuckled, and nudged you, indicating he wanted you to look up at him again. You did…and watched as his cheeks ballooned with gas as he caught a particularly low, gassy burp in his mouth… “HHHHRRRRMMMMLLLLRRRRPH…phoosh.” …Before blowing the residual fumes into your face, almost like a kiss. You nearly fainted dead away. Leona grinned. “Good?” was all he said. “Marry me now.” Leona barked out a laugh and gave your hair a ruffling, then shut his eyes and reclined peacefully once more. “Get back to rubbing, meat,” he growled. “Or I might just swallow you whether you want it or not. Don’t let your gift go to waste.” You smiled and eagerly got back to work, kissing and nuzzling and rubbing his belly worshipfully, without any sign of restraint. Leona’s purring heightened as you pampered his plumpened middle. “Mmmmm…happy birthday, Herbivore,” he growled. “Maybe next year, I’ll add you to my hips…” At the rate things were going…that was starting to sound like a promise more than anything else. If so…you could hardly wait till next year.

The End

#leona kingscholar #leona #disney #twisted wonderland #kink fic #fanfic #vore teasing #post-stuffing #belly goodness #belching #burping #birthday story

99 notes · View notes

kazuzuha · 3 years ago

Text

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ part three

part one ; part two ; part four ; ...

It took me another two years to find a new goal and remember my past one - the latter being that of me exploring the world, meeting new people, seeing the archons, eating new foods, feeling the wind of the highest mountains in Teyvat...

Interestingly, this goal that I had forgotten coincided with the one I had now; running away.

That was all I had in mind in the time gone by, all that truly kept me breathing in that suffocating place. My own mindset was an opposition to my mother’s, her traditional perfectionism trying to mold me into someone flawless, yet, not better than her. My own set of unbearably high standards wore me down, then were further pushed by her hand which ignored the fact that our pressures came from the same place. But I knew. I knew.

It was at fifteen that I fully understood that knowing you are in an unhealthy situation does not call upon the Archons to help.

Father was not around, busy with climbing ranks and taming the snowstorms. If he knew of my ambition, he would have agreed to that marriage proposal I had been given years ago, suspiciously immediately after the Tsaritsa’s interest in me was expressed. It was not that my father did not love or care for me; the opposite stood true. However, he was unaware of how deeply the mental scars inflicted by my mother ran. She was a good wife, a great wife for a Snezhnayan especially. But she was not a good mother. All I had tried to explain, he had already known of, but from a completely different perspective; words convoluted, actions exaggerated - after years of hearing second-hand stories about his child, his image of me became exactly what my mother intended. Therefore, hoping and begging for his help would be redundant. I had to get away on my own two feet.

That being said, I still needed outside help and financial freedom. I made acquaintances amongst my peers, though being taken into a circle of Snezhnayan kids was a difficult task; due to my family’s high standing and my mother’s foreignity, I was either avoided or sneered at. No one dared say much, but those that did were not speaking in welcome. The odds would be stately against my success, if it were not for my observance. Most children were homeschooled and the only way to meet others my age was at a very occasional party or in organised training. There were certain aspects that I saw were well accepted in their eyes; strength, resilience, beauty and charm. I trained in strength, my mind forced resilience, the beauty and charm part could be subsistuted by wealth and social standing. It should have worked. Unfortunately, I did not consider my gender.

After beating a boy twice my size in combat, I was not revered as I had previously expected. I was not suddenly accepted into a friend group, was not offered the bitter alcohol they hid under their shirts. I was a foreign girl they could not touch, could not win against. And that pissed them off. The spreading of rumours seemed like a simple childish act at first, but the way people began to view me was set in stone before they even met me, painting me as unattainable, arrogant. A sense of déjà vu made me realise that I was once again losing an exit out of this place. But I was a quick learner.

Instead of my peers at the training grounds, I looked elsewhere. Tagging along with my father under the pretense of learning his strategies, donning my most modest dresses and tint on my lips, I met the younglings of aristocracy. They recognised my situation as their own, shunned for being better than everyone else. The mindset of superiority deeply ingrained in their small heads made it laughably easy to appease them and get piles of information that I made sure to memorize. My graceful actions, soft-spoken words and dainty visuals… all crafted to fit the perfect standard of a young girl beloved by the Tsaritsa.

Manipulation was effortless to replicate and after shedding a false tear over an acquaintance’s loss of a parent, the apprehension of the lack of my care about using others sent shudders down my spine. I hated it. I hated being forced to do the same I had been an object of. Most of all, I was horrified by how good I was at it. A secret account provided by a lovesick fool who turned out to be the son of the main manager of our biggest bank. Five sources of income through illegal trade business from Fontaine. A shy girl who wished for one good friend, the daughter of the biggest weaponry corporation, owning over fifty industrial factories in Snezhnaya alone. In less than two years, I was the biggest shareholder of two major companies.

All I needed was a good public reason to leave and never come back - if I had run away in the middle of the night, the powerful people around me would send hundreds behind me without a second thought. The only ones who can facilely leave are the Fatui - Tsaritsa’s dogs - and, of course, her Harbingers. I have seen my fair share of Fatui, especially when I was still dealing with the mess that was the illegal trading with Fontaine’s machinery. They were soldiers, but they were also people; until you gave them enough power to be drunk on. As for the Harbingers, two of them I had met on multiple occasions; the man I had momentarily seen at Tsaritsa’s side on that balcony was presented as Dottore, or Doctor, though his unhinged expressions pointed to him being a rabid predator, not a healer. He was a shadow; never seen, but always… there. The second Harbinger was my father’s old acquaintance known by the title La Signora, or more favourably, The Fair Lady. As a visionless female aristocrat, I was expected to marry quickly and provide many future soldiers to the armies of Snezhnaya. When I was younger I did not understand the disgust and abhorrence I felt at the thought of my set future. Without dreams, I only wandered. It was not surprising that I began to look up to the notoriously powerful Signora, especially since the silver shade in our eyes was of the same empty shine. Fascinated by her bold disobedience of our land’s customs, I caught myself imitating her walk; young and impressionable, sure, but I also knew that without a Vision, I would never be able to stride as freely as she could.

That is why I spent so much energy and time on getting Mora. In complete honesty, I could have left Snezhnaya a year into my socialisation. In only a few months, I had enough financial security to start a business in the faraway Liyue which flourished past my expectations. Despite resigning myself to using others, the human mind sometimes cannot help but create bonds of affection to others and so, after the first time hearing “comrade” or the late-night conversations with a painfully vulnerable and lonely teenager, I could not help but want to stay longer, although merely subconsciously. I began finding reasons to stay; perhaps visiting Liyue to oversee my business after a scandal was not a good enough plan to leave, perhaps I should save just a bit more before I go on a long journey, what if the branch deal suddenly fails, I need to manage this project myself… The excuses piled up, my very few friendships strengthened and then, I thought; living here for the rest of my life would not be the worst. This idea was proven wrong time and time again, the glares like daggers in my back, enviness of others putting poison in my cups, the bloody display of the rare bunny I was gifted by a prominent and popular merchant, my mother’s slap at the word “Liyue” leaving my mouth.

I was woken up by news of the forgotten childhood marriage proposal being reconsidered.

“My clever girl is all grown up now!” my father spoke loudly, his fork sounding on the golden plate as the guests around him followed his proud tone with interest. Turning to his closest comrade, another one of Tsaritsa’s most trusted, he spoke as if confiding a secret though all invitees could hear him clearly: “Nobody is ever going to be good enough for my dove, but I’m considering accepting that proposal. They’d make a good match, both of their heads full of coins.”

Booming laughter ensued as my smile froze on my lips. He had never discussed this with me beforehand, so why now?

As if he had read my thoughts, Father’s eyes found mine, his bright and naive, sure that I would simply go with it as I had with everything until now. I decided to keep the illusion intact and made myself smile wider.

“Girlie that plays with coins, hah! If that’s what he needs to tie him down, I’d get on my knees myself,” the other man spoke, raising his glass towards me and eliciting another round of hollers.

Not one to stay quiet in rage, I spoke with a light, pretty tone: “Sorry to say this old man, but I’d prefer for the man to kneel down for my hand himself. Your legs might just give out from how long you’d have to be begging on the ground for him.”

The hidden jab of my not even knowing who the man proposing was went past their ears.

“As expected!” the man yelled over the ear-wrenching laughter, slapping my grinning father on the back, while another man, whom I recognised as my only female friend’s absentee parent, spoke up; “She’s really your kid, through and through. Shame you didn’t make a boy, too, with that spunk he’d be one of Tsaritsa’s best warriors by now.”

“No kid of mine would be any good as a soldier,” Father countered, the alcohol in his glass disappearing. “Us Silvers use our heads.”

After he playfully headbutts his comrade, the conversation moves elsewhere and I take my leave. Again, I find myself on the balcony, heaving deep breaths, desperately trying to calm my racing pulse. Vaguely, I think about my wild expression and how others would react if they chanced upon me at this moment, but my unbearable fear does not allow for a stoic attitude.

Ah, right, I wanted to run away.

It is needless to say that I got my plans in order just that night.

I only let my closest friends know of the finality of my departure, sent a personal letter to the Tsaritsa and prepared an entourage of people who wanted to permanently leave Snezhnaya as well.

Tsaritsa’s reply was swift and curt; a permit to leave for business. There was not any mention of a permit to return, but that was exactly what I had been looking for.

I mentioned my journey East to my parents at a rare shared dinner, as if passing news. My mother would have dragged me by my hair if we had been alone; having my father present was imperative. With my mother’s forced silence, I explained that, due to the scandal - which I had painstakingly created myself - I wanted to take charge of the business in Liyue Harbour for three months until I found a capable enough manager to take over the decision-making.

“It is unsavory for women to make the main decisions in a business,” I sighed, massaging the side of my head as if troubled by this gravely. My father nodded, sympathetically, while my mother coldly glared at my theatrics. It was not her that I needed to convince, anyway; she would follow whatever her husband decided. Holding Father’s hand, a physical contact of seldom, I continued: “I want to get this over with quickly, that is why I am going myself. After all, the marriage should not be put off for too long, should it? You told me a few days ago that you wanted a grandson, after all.”

I left three days after that.

The tearful farewells were done in secret, only polite nods were given in the public eye. More people have come to bid me a good journey than I would have expected, my ties reaching further than those of the usual Snezhnayan. I decided to speed up my leave before anyone else could notice.

White mountains and the creaking of snow beneath the heavy feet slowly turned into browns and greens and sloshes of mud. We stayed the night at a guesthouse in Fontaine, the waterfalls washing away the prints of our path. I wished I could have run away immediately, but arriving at the Liyue headquarters was a necessary evil to maintain our facade; if we did not send word, it would have been no different from an escape without planning.

The warm water felt wonderful against my cold skin, accustomed to the harsh weather of the land of Cryo. It was a few hours after sunset and only the sounds of nocturnal butterflies were present. The unchanging moon shone down, reflecting its light into the lake, its shape sometimes a copy, sometimes a caricature.

TBA

3 notes · View notes

chaoticneutralwriter · 5 years ago

Text

Deleted Scene; Off-Chance Meeting

What if Jimin met....Jimin?

guardian demon!Jimin x reader

genre: fluff, romance, angst, comedy, supernatural

word count: 4.2k

Related works: See masterlist under guardian demon!Jimin

A/n: So this was like....a half developed scene that I was going to put in for Interlude: Second Best buuuuut I didn’t want to make the chapter too long because the main focus was guardian demon!Jimin’s POV from the events in the previous chapter. However! It’s been mentioned as a ‘what-if’ so I completed it as a fun deleted scene. Hope you like it and hope yall are doing okay! take care, be safe and I’ll hopefully see you soon again for another update, this time with story progression LOL

BTW! Thanks for the 1,026 follows!! 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺💖💖💖💖💖💖

Tag List: @cherryjiminiee @kokobaekkie @breathebangtan @itsadoozie @thatshylatinagirl @chiminieboi @azulamakesmeblank @sectumsemptae @awkwardwookie @aduky @poisonseashell @shortannoyingginger @caramelmac-chiato @sana-b @jiminstinct

Jimin’s game plan to blend in is quite simple because it really only consists of one step; grab a staff member so that he can duplicate the lanyard ID they have. Even though he promised to not use his powers to you for the most part, it doesn’t mean he hasn’t found ways to work around it. He easily locks onto a target — a male staff exiting the artist room to step out into the hallway Jimin’s in, presumably on a short break as he strides down to stop by a vending machine. The male staff has his head down, eyes glued to his phone for a while until finally, he takes a quick glance up to view the selection of snacks before ducking his head again, clearly in no rush at all.

Jimin’s lips quirk and he makes quick work at slipping closer, steps light and so undetectable that he may as well be a ghost rather than a demon. At the last minute, Jimin cloaks himself, sneaking up on the unsuspecting male just as he reaches into his back pocket to grab some change. The demon’s touch feels nothing more than a draft, fingers barely caressing the back of the colourful lanyard hanging around his neck but it’s all he needs. The male staff carries on, punching in the numbers and watches as the bag of chips falls into the slot below. Taking it, he walks away, none the wiser.

Jimin pays no mind to him anymore, focused on slipping the thin silver chain necklace out from under his shirt and with a soft blow of his breath, the silver chain morphs into the lanyard, a perfect copy. Normally, he would do without a need for something tangible to cast the illusion but this way, he wouldn’t have to use too much magic to keep it up — a weight to the illusion is more believable than simply thin air.

Satisfied, he lets the cloaking spell disperse, rolling his neck a little at the relief that he can finally walk around more freely without the worry of hiding or arousing suspicions.

“Now… where to go?” He mumbles quietly to himself, eyes darting before deciding that he should scope out the way to the area under the stage. Just as he rounds the corner though—

“Woah!”

Jimin’s fast reflexes has him jerking back in time before he collides into the other body. With a step back, his eyes immediately catch sight of the sparkly jacket and they widen almost simultaneously in realization.

Face to face with him was none other than his own mirror, Park Jimin of BTS, only he has honey blond hair and a glowing complexion.

“Ah, I’m really sorry, I wasn’t paying attention.” His eyes are a little wide, stormy grey contacts shining as he apologizes.

For a moment, he’s frozen, stuck rigid in place with shock and split second panic before realizing that he has the safety of his mouth mask and drawn up hood to protect his identity of being the idol’s face stealer. Also the fact that the idol has yet to pass out from shock at seeing his own clone or give any sort of huge reaction was a good indicator.

“A-Ah….” The demon’s voice catches in his throat, and he awkwardly coughs, embarrassed as he ducks his head and mutters gruffly in Korean, “No, it’s my mistake.”

The singer smiles amicably, teeth showing and gaze so warm and so friendly that the demon almost has trouble meeting it.

“Hey now, don’t worry! It’s nothing serious.” There’s a pause, a slight tilt of his honey blond head before those artificial stormy grey irises blink, brows furrowing. The demon starts to actually sweat, eyes refusing to meet as he unconsciously begins to lean back to put space in between. But there’s no escaping the curious gaze of the twenty-four year old singer. “Ah, I— I don’t mean to sound rude or offensive but…. I don’t believe I’ve seen you before?”

Oh shit, shit, shit, shit…

He swears his plan would’ve been completely foolproof if he hadn’t ran into the very person he’s going around parading as. The chances of the demon running into said idol was 1 in 200 and yet it’s as if fate had cursed him with the unwanted luck a fan could only dream of having. But there’s no time to curse heaven and fuck all because his mind begins to race with possibilities of escaping this situation. Maybe he could get away with enthralling the idol for a quick second, trick him into thinking this is all some sort of hallucination from being overworked and then when he’s all good and spaced out, the demon can make his escape. His fingers just about twitches when the singer’s eyes widen and his mouth opens, face alight with an epiphany.

“Are you perhaps new?”

….What?

A beat unknowingly passes between them, with the demon blinking owlishly at the young man, completely gripped in disbelief and the singer staring back expectantly.

 “Am I mistaken…?”

The hesitancy creeping into that question snaps the demon from his stupor and he finally blurts out, “No, I’m new.”

Relief washes over the idol’s handsome face (he’s never gonna get over how fucking trippy this is to watch), shoulders visibly losing some tension and the singer even places a hand over his chest.

“Ah, that would’ve been really bad — I usually am able to recognize everyone on the team.” His eyes creases again from the smile forming on his face. “Why haven’t we met yet, um….?”

“Ju—“ The demon stumbles on his words, thinking at the last second that your impromptu Korean name you had given him when he met Jaehee sounded too similar to the idol’s so his mind jumps to the next one he remembers off the top of his head. “— yeon….Kang Juyeon. This is my first day.”

Jimin the idol makes a noise of understanding, presumably taking his sloppy introduction as nerves in good strides. He inclines his head graciously in an almost small bow that catches the demon off-guard. “It’s nice to officially meet you Juyeon-ssi. I look forward to working with you.”

He bows robotically in return.

“Are you on break right now?” The young singer asks innocently.

“…Yes…” The answer comes out unsure, like he’s testing the waters and seeing where this could possibly lead — hopefully with the idol leaving him be and carrying on back to the artist room, surely much too busy to entertain a seemingly nervous new recruit. To his surprise though, the demon is proven wrong.

“Oh! I’m so sorry, I must be taking up your time. Have you gotten anything to drink or eat yet?”

“Well, no but��“

The idol’s mouth gapes open almost immediately, “Would you like to head over to the catering room now? We can grab something.”

The demon is baffled, to say the least; so taken aback by Jimin’s friendly disposition to someone who he only just met that even though he really shouldn’t be overstaying his welcome like this, a part of him would actually feel guilty for turning down the offer. He’s so glad he’s wearing a mask right now because then the idol wouldn’t have to see the borderline crazed smile slowly stretching over the demon’s lips, the disbelief too strong.

But looking at the original owner of the face he wore, seeing it completely reflect a drastically different personality than his own invokes something in him; a morbid curiosity taking hold and stoking the fire to a long buried question —

Who is Park Jimin?

Beyond the worldwide renown Korean idol and a pretty face with killer vocals and dancing, the demon knows very little about who this person is, this person whom you adore so much. What is it that drew you to him specifically amongst the other members. He highly doubts its looks alone (you’re definitely not the shallow type), or maybe even the amount of talent because from what he gathered, all the members were pretty much on par with each other in all departments.

So what made Jimin special?

He really shouldn’t follow this rabbit down the hole, but he’s a demon by nature and impulsivity is practically his middle name. Without another second thought, he agrees with a nod of his head, “Okay.”

Curiosity really should be a sin.

He gets a blinding smile in response, eyes disappearing and pearly teeth on display (he spies the slight crooked front tooth that somehow only seems to add to the singer’s charm rather than a flaw). They walk off towards the room that acts as a communal dining area for the staff and artists themselves, the large selection of hot foods lined up like a buffet self-serve while there are tables available for anyone who wants to sit down for their meal. There’s only a few staff members gathered there, each preoccupied with their phones or simply grabbing a quick bite to eat before rushing back to where they’re needed.

The singer walks in and of the few people that are hanging around, he inclines his head in greeting to them. The demon has no choice but to follow in order to not draw suspicions (even though he gets a few raised eyebrows from wearing a full hood and mask but is ultimately brushed off).

“There’s a lot of choices here so please help yourself. Don’t be shy.” Jimin gestures, grabbing a plate and going for one of the rolls of kimbap. Though the demon has no intention of eating anything — for obvious reasons, he still makes the effort to thoughtlessly pick out random food items to place on his plate for the sake of keeping up the facade. He gets as far as two scoops of sweet and sour pork before the young idol turns to him and his eyes dart to his modest portion.

“Is that all you’re going to eat?”

“Uh…Yes?”

That immediately draws out a noise of disapproval, handsome face pinching along to match the tone. “Ah, Juyeon-ssi; you need to eat to keep up your strength. You can’t hold back on something as important as that.” Before any words of protest can be formed, a kimbap roll is placed on the empty space of the demon’s plate.

And then another.

And then a spring roll.

And then a hefty scoop of black bean noodles and some rice.

It goes on until his plate is adequately full, the idol satisfied as they migrate over to an empty table. The demon takes a seat and he feels his lips quirk as he observes the fact that Jimin’s own plate only consisted of two kimbap rolls and a few pieces of fruit he’s currently nibbling on. The stark contrast and adamancy is already so telling of his character, sans personal dietary considerations.

“Has the job been hard so far?” The singer asks casually.

“Not particularly….”

“Ah, that’s good to hear. Have people been nice to you?”

“Uh…Yeah, I guess.”

He gets a nod of approval, and the demon vaguely likens the feeling of a mother asking their child if their first day of school went well (or if he’s being generous, an older brother). It’s strange experiencing something so familial yet coming from the idol, it all seems so natural as if they’ve known each other for years and not just in the span of less than an hour.

It’s quite the culture shock — something he admittedly doesn’t have a good grasp on and it’s that curiosity to know that has him daringly (or perhaps, no doubt to his colleagues, foolishly) diving deeper. The wooden chopsticks in his hand push around the food on his plate meaninglessly, a gesture meant to disguise the hidden agenda he has; dissecting the idol and seeing what makes him tick.

His lips instinctively quirk under his mask but he makes sure that it doesn’t translate in his gaze as his eyes focus on the idol.

“I’m sure your job is much more tiring.” He says, taking on a tentative tone, implicating for an open ended discussion.

The singer takes a pause, eyes wandering in thought before he sucks in a breath after some serious considerations, “I don’t really think my job is any harder than some of the other staff here…” He stops, as if collecting his thoughts again and then continues, “I think it’s thanks to everyone’s efforts that the members and I are able to do these show successfully and safely. If I were to really break things down…. I really only do a small part.”

“But there’s no point to a show if there’s no performers.”

There’s a hum in reply to his statement but after the idol swallows the strawberry he’s popped into his mouth, he says, “I can see how you would say that, but I think more importantly, there’s no point to a show without the fans.”

The demon doesn’t miss the gentle affection that slips through — that quiet, soft whisper that carries the words near the end, giving way to something much deeper. It’s something he’s seen before, reflected in himself, and it’s whenever his thoughts wander to you.

Fondness.

His chest gives a twinge at the memory, jaw clenching a little as if to physically repress the feelings that begin to stir.

“You don’t even know the fans….” It comes out more as a low murmur to himself, but the contempt underlying his tone seeps through all the same. It’s just…. How could the idol possibly share the same sentiment he has with you, someone who he’s actually spent time with and come to know all the little quirks to — what makes you happy, sad, laugh, the way you laugh, the little noises you make when you eat something you love, see you at your highest and lowest points, with a group of people (not even a single person) who he’s had less than ten seconds worth of interactions?

It’s far too superficial, too scripted and said too many times with no real meaning. He wants to scoff at how impractical it is.

“Maybe so, but it goes beyond that.” The familiar sound of the idol’s lilt halts the demon’s thoughts quite suddenly, still in that soft spoken way but there’s something else with it. A sureness — steady and unwavering, and just the barest hints of….passive-aggressiveness?

That gets a quirk in the eyebrow; so this kitten does have claws after all.

“There are times where I wonder why there are so many people who like us and support us the way they do.” The singer continues seriously, already getting lost in deep thought. “Probably because we work hard, but who doesn’t work hard? Others make good music and do their best too so why us? We try our best to communicate to our fans but everyone does too…..These sorts of things are something I often think about.”

A pause, as if to find the right words, “But whenever I read the fan’s letters or things they post on SNS to us, saying how much we’ve helped them with our songs when they’re going through a hard time, it makes me realize that we’re not so different. We all have flaws and maybe it’s because we’re not perfect that they like us. Starting off with nothing and then little by little, seeing more people coming to support us…. They’re the ones who put us on the stage, so I— We cherish them a lot. They give us energy and comfort us, and we do the same back, like a deep connection, an understanding.”

The young singer stops in pushing around the remaining strawberry on his plate, a ghost of a smile tugging on his lips, like he’s recalling a particularly pleasant memory. “So we want to give back by making good music and showing them our best. Ah, reminds of something really cool Namjoon-hyung said.” He takes the time to tilt his head, “He said how even if it’s just one person he could help, he’ll continue to keep trying. That really touched me, so even if we might not know them personally, they’re the ones who motivate us and makes all of this worth it.”

Once he finishes, the demon is left a little more than bewildered, overwhelmed in fact that all he could do was blink. Granted, it was a lot to take in, never having expected such an arduous confession but what’s even more baffling to him is the conviction the singer had saying all of it, so earnest in his words. Now, he’s no lie detector per se, but as a demon, he does have a more innate ability to pick up on cues and inflections that would give a person away, revealing their true nature. He’s used to it after all.

And then along comes Park Jimin.

This twenty-four some odd year old idol, thrusted into the cut-throat world that is the entertainment industry, young and bright-eyed, armed with nothing but potential, a good work ethic and a dream, yet comes out on the other side, a little bruised and scathed but otherwise, un-jaded; that young and bright-eyed innocence not diminished, instead it matured into something more resilient.

He can probably count on his finger how many people he can actually say that about. Hell, the only closest people that would qualify would be saints, and even that is debatable.

It’s....irritating because he’s faced with the fact that as much as he had wanted to dislike this person, he’s proven that he can’t.

A rush of air leaves his nose and he has to contain a rueful smile. “You’re a very admirable person Park Jimin-ssi. Not that many people keep to their beliefs so strongly like that.”

He gets a bashful giggle in return, light and melodic.

“Aish, what are you saying? I’m not all that impressive….I think I still have a lot to learn.” The singer almost whines from behind the back of his hand covering the open mouth smile he has. Once he calms, it softens. “All I really want is for the fans to remember BTS for our sincerity. I just hope that I’ve been able to help convey that so far.”

The demon lets out a breathy chuckle, finally getting up from his seat. He gazes down at this young man who’s face reflects his own yet wears it in such an entirely different way — glowing with a passion and radiance that is warm, sincere, kind, compassionate and loving.

Perhaps the way it’s meant to be worn.

And it’s with a bittersweet reluctance that the demon places a hand on the singer’s shoulder, giving it a gentle reassuring squeeze. “Keep doing what you’re doing and never lose sight of yourself. As long as you remember what you’re doing this for, the sincerity of your members and you will be conveyed.”

Stormy grey eyes widen a fraction, a little confused as they blink up at him, clearly not expecting such encouragements (honestly, he didn’t expect this either yet here he is).

“Wh— Um, I—…” The idol reaches a hand up to comb through his meticulously styled hair, tousling a few loose strands as slowly, the apples of his cheeks begin to dust in a pink hue and dark eyes can’t help but watch on in amusement. As if sensing the focus shifting to his quickly reddening face however, the young man lets out a sputter and lightly smacks the demon’s forearm, refusing to meet his gaze. “Ahh Juyeon-ssi! What’s with you saying that all of a sudden to me? You sound as if you’re way older than me when we’re probably friends in age!”

Friends…

“What makes you think that?”

“W-Well… I don’t know how to explain it but…. I feel a sense of familiarity with you when we met. Like, a vibe….” The sentence pewters out into a shy mumble, the tips of his ears matching his cheeks now before comically, grey orbs whip up, suddenly concerned. “Unless you’re not….?”

The snort that leaves the demon’s mouth is quickly covered by clearing his throat but he’s sure the restrained mirth still reaches his eyes as he assures, “No, we’re friends.”

He’s met with a brilliant grin, full of teeth and a twinkle in his gaze. “Oh thank goodness. I would’ve died on the spot out of embarrassment.”

He refrains from rolling his eyes if only to dismiss the overly-dramatic relief that overcame the poor young man. But regardless, it’s his cue to go — he's starting to feel a little too perturbed being near someone so good-natured. With a final pat to his shoulder, the demon begins to depart.

“It was nice talking to you Park Jimin-ssi but you’ll have to excuse me, I have to get going now.”

“O-Oh? Is it really that time? If that’s the case— Ya! Kang Juyeon-ssi! Did you even touch your food? You—!”

“Jimin-hyung!”

“Oh?” Jimin’s attention whips to the new voice that called him from the still full plate of food left on the table. His eyes immediately meet doe-eyed ones, usually dark as coal but are currently a more lighter coffee colour, bringing out more of the brown that’s hidden in its depths thanks to the contacts. The youngest member approaches him with long strides, the sequins on his own stage outfit glitter with each step.

“This is where you were? Should’ve told me you were hungry, we could’ve gone to snack together.”

“Ah, no I was just talking with Juyeon-ssi.”

“Juyeon? Who’s that?”

“Kang Juyeon; that person who was just leaving, you must’ve seen him on your way in.”

But that only gets a head tilt from Jungkook, who swivels his head back towards the entrance, “He doesn’t sound familiar and I didn’t see anyone leaving.”

“….Huh?” Equally confused, Jimin swerves around the tall form of Jungkook to get a look however, to his surprise, he doesn’t see anyone. Glancing around lets him know that at most, there was only three other people in the room, excluding him and Jungkook but they were all immersed on the couch in the far corner, away from the entryway. Does Juyeon walk that fast? “Aye, quit messing with me. He had on a face mask, around my height? With his hoodie pulled up; probably the only one here who does too.”

Jungkook shakes his head, genuinely clueless on who Jimin could possibly be referring to. “No, I swear I haven’t seen anyone around like that.”

The furrow in Jimin’s brows deepen, mouth falling open in disbelief. The scrunched up, troubled expression the older member makes was too good to pass up on teasing so Jungkook can’t help but to lean close, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

“What? Were you speaking to a ghost this entire time hyung?”

“Aish! Don’t say that! That actually gave me chills!” Jimin scowls, smacking the youngest repeatedly on the arm and causing Jungkook to cackle and skip away from the assault.

“Anyways, Namjoon-hyung wants to go over the script again so I went to go find you.”

“Oh, okay. Let’s go then.”

Brushing down his jacket, Jimin gets up, taking both plates with him, discarding his own empty one while Jungkook gleefully takes the one Juyeon hadn’t touched. The two head out and begin to make their way back to the artist dressing room, with Jungkook talking around mouthfuls of food about what Jimin had apparently missed while he was away but all Jimin could think about was his meeting with Juyeon.

There’s no way he could’ve imagined it all in his head — he’s too young to be going senile. Plus, it felt too real for it to be some overworked hallucination (besides, he doesn’t feel that jet lagged). So there’s a perfectly, logical explanation for it. Yeah, he just…walks really fast.

“Jimin-hyung is here!” Jungkook calls out to the rest of the members. He gets a myriad of boisterous responses and greetings. The sound makes him inadvertently grin.

“Yeah, yeah I’m coming. I didn’t think you would miss me that badly; I was gone for ten minutes.”

Thoughts of his mysterious friend are pushed away for some other time but the wise words he’s been given remain at the forefront of Jimin’s mind. Perhaps the next time he runs into Juyeon, he’ll treat him to a drink or two during the celebratory dinners — get to know him better.

He’s not sure what it is about Juyeon that makes him want to befriend him so intently, like there’s something about him….

Something that’s a little melancholy….and maybe, he dare say, a little lonely.

But to the singer’s dismay, he never really did see him again.

#jimin x reader #jimin fanfic #park jimin fanfic #jimin insert reader #jimin insert fic #bts fanfic #jimin fluff #jimin imagines #park jimin fanfics #park jimin insert reader #jimin x insert reader #bts supernatural au #guardian demon!jimin #jimin scenario #park jimin scenarios #park jimin fluff #park jimin fics #jimin fic

108 notes · View notes

poptod · 5 years ago

Text

Who The Stars Belong To (Joe Mazzello x Reader)

Description: You’re an angel. Congratulations! Now you’re a fallen angel and you crash land through the roof of a building and right into a man’s apartment.

Prompt: Innocent Notes: I don’t usually do fics with real people. I wrote this one a very long time ago and never finished it, but it’s been a bit since I’ve posted (I’m working on something) and this was the best of my unfinished fics :) I mixed a LOT of religions into this. I hope I don’t offend anyone - I myself am not highly religious, but some of my beliefs are in here. Gender neutral. Word Count: 8.7k

I am a storm. I am an oncoming battle, the thunders of a thousand wars, of a million bloodshed plains. I am the breeze of summer and the wisps of winter frost. I am a god beholden to you but nothing to your universe. And in the dead of night, I am your savior.

All you knew was life in the heavens. Being God’s messenger had its perks and all that, like getting to know a lot of the higher archangels, but you would never know what the earth held. Stories were your staple, and other than God’s word, it was what you existed on.

Before you knew it you were hurtling down to earth a hundred miles an hour, watching your home in the stars disappear from view as your eyes became human. The light of God faded away, the guidance disappeared, and you could feel your halo burn into the sky, dissipating into the darkness. Though panic pulsed through you, fresh blood appearing through once empty veins, your expression was calm. As you pounded an imprint through the clouds as you fell through them your wings began to burn, and you became a falling star, a child’s wish to never be granted.

Once your back hit the hardness of ground, you blacked out.

Drearily you opened your eyes, feeling for the first time something you knew to be pain. It floated all throughout your body, caressing you gently and holding you in a grip so unfamiliar. Your throat burned, eyes tired, and your back ached. Shoulders tense and knees stiff you sat up, letting your vision fully develop.

White walls, firm and rigid in their position, surrounded you. To your right was a glass wall, letting you see the massive buildings outside. They seemed to stretch to the sky, clouds drifting lazily by. Gulping you grasped at the sheets around you, clenching with sore fingers at the roughness they had. To your left was a closed door and an open door, one leading to something that just had to be what you’d been told was a bathroom, and the other one with jackets hanging off it.

You tried standing up, feeling bile fill your mouth at the feeling. Was that normal? No matter - you stood, watching as the world began to spin.

That’s funny, you thought to yourself, before promptly blacking out with a nice, thick thud on the floor.

Upon waking up again, the light above you was dimmer than before, and looking to your right, night encompassed the sky. Blinking slowly you turned your head back to the ceiling, trying to get yourself to at least sit up. You were back in bed, you noticed, with white and blue sheets and blankets once more surrounding you. Grasping at the sheets you pulled yourself up, pulling your legs closer to you from their straight position.

From outside the closed door to your left came noise, a banging of pots and a curse. You raised your eyebrows, having never heard them before, but knowing them nonetheless. It was required information, as an angel. Which you guessed you were banned from being for a little while.

What you might’ve done wrong filled your head, but no matter how far back you went you couldn’t think of a thing. You’d done everything asked of you. Every single thing, even if you thought it to be morally wrong, even if you wondered why you had been chosen for the job, you did it. No questions. No hesitation.

Watching yourself in the mirror across from the bed, you tilted your head curiously to the left. You weren’t supposed to look like that. You were supposed to be… angelic. Strong. A storm, with the power of thunder and the will of hail. That was your form. Not this, with its’ flimsy hair, odd eyes, and dull skin.

Another curse from the other side of the door. You turned, watching as the handle jiggled. For a moment you remained unbothered, before very quickly realizing if this was a menacing force you didn’t have your angelic powers. Not to your knowledge in the least, and testing them out wasn’t really an option. If you used them for anything but official use then they would be taken away.

The door opened, and a man holding a plate came in, a concentrated look on his face, auburn hair falling over his face. He looked the least menacing thing you’d ever seen, and your shoulders relaxed. As the door shut behind him he looked up, smiling awkwardly as he walked forward, setting the plate on the small table beside the bed. You looked at him expectantly, still confused in all essence of the word.

He seemed just as confused, glancing to the side, unable to keep your eye for more than two seconds.

“You’re, uh. You should eat,” he finally said, gesturing with his head towards the plate on the bedside table.

You didn’t need to eat, right? Whatever eating really was it looked awful. Well, you knew what eating was. Sustenance to keep humans going, meant to distract them so they didn’t reach their full potential. Too much time spent doing stuff other than getting food, or getting means for food, would’ve been disastrous.

You must’ve been too quiet for too long as he kept going.

“I made pasta. I’m not great with food, but it’s not awful, I promise,” he chuckled, shifting his weight in his anxiousness. You kept staring. He cleared his throat. “Maybe you could tell me what happened to you?”

“What?” You asked, further confused.

“You know,” he said, clearly excited that you could talk, “why you fell through my roof.”

“What?”

He now looked exasperated that you only knew one word.

“You fell through my roof. I tried to take you to a hospital but you begged me not to. Said you’d, uh, ‘put the fear of god into me,’ if I did. Neat trick you did with your eyes, too,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. He seemed to be more relaxed, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

“… details?” You asked further. He paused.

He’d just been home after a late night trip to the store after realizing he was completely out of Windex when you arrived. First was a whistling sound, and he looked up, wondering curiously what it could be. His first thought was that New York was under attack, but quickly proven wrong, you crashed through the roof of his apartment, going through the one empty floor above him, landing in his living room.

Staring at your crumpled form, surrounded by broken wood, dust, and concrete, his mouth fell open, dropping the two bottles of Windex in his hand. The most astonishing part was the fact that you were moving. That, and the giant cuts running down your back, bleeding openly and dripping all over his carpet. The one other surprising thing was the fact that you were entirely naked.

Stumbling only for a moment, he dropped to your side, helping you stand.

“Holy shit, okay, uh,” he breathed out, “what happened to you?”

“Arrghhhh,” you slurred meaninglessly.

“Never mind. Let’s get to a hospital, fast,” he said, and before he could even ask his brain to make the movement for a step forward, your hand was grasping the collar of his shirt, bundling the material in a tight fist, pulling him towards your face.

“I will tear your body apart till nothing remains but your soul and you will remember why you fear God,” you said, and in the moment he heard your voice in double, watching as your eyes rolled up into your head, the red veins glowing against stark white.

“Okay,” he replied immediately, almost dropping you.

He omitted many of these details when reporting this to you, not wanting you to believe him insane.

“You crashed through my roof, and I tried to take you to the hospital but you, uh, obviously said no, and after that you blacked out, so I put you to bed. Hoped you would wake up,” was what he said.

“Of course I did,” you said, miffed, turning to face your reflection once again. It looked… wrong. Where were your horns?

“Not… not of course. That fall tends to kill people,” he laughed nervously.

You swallowed, feeling your saliva burn down your throat. Pushing the sheets off of you you tried to stand once more, watching as the world began to swing into a dance once more. The man stood with a ‘woah there,’ holding his hand over your torso in case you fell. With lazy eyelids your head fell onto his shoulder, not quite fainting but halfway there.

“You’re pretty adamant about this whole standing thing, huh?” He said with a grunt, trying to help you stand on your own.

“I am stronger than the bones your king breaks,” you mumbled.

“I don’t - okay, you’re not hungry, so let’s get you cleaned up,” he said, heaving you across the room and into the bathroom.

The lights blared painfully against the mirror, reflecting directly into your eyes. You moaned, hiding your eyes behind eyelids and his shoulder. Behind you water rushed, falling into the silver and white tub. He sat you down on the toilet, making sure you would stay there, before leaving, promising he’d be right back.

You leaned against a nearby wall, eyelids drooping over burning eyes as you waited for him to return. The water continued rushing, filling the room in a warm haze. You watched as the mirror fogged.

With a creak the door opened, and he came through with a tight smile, putting a towel and a fresh set of clothes on the counter.

“I didn’t want to wash you or anything while you were out. Would’ve been a bit weird,” he mumbled, shutting the door behind him, sticking his hand in the water to test it after.

“Where’d I get these clothes?” You asked in a whisper, and he barely heard you over the water.

“Oh, uh, they’re mine. Yours were ruined.”

“I had clothes?”

“… Yes?”

“Lying is a sin punishable by an eternity of hellfire,” you muttered.

“Okay you didn’t have clothes. Happy? I was just trying to spare you the embarrassment,” he snapped, turning off the water. He glanced at you and in a second, his anger fell from him. “Let’s get you in.”

He wrapped his arms around you, pulling the shirt off your torso and throwing it into a corner of the bathroom. After that he tapped your hips, looking up at you expectantly. You cocked your head to the side, your brow furrowed.

“Lift,” he said, his face reddening with blood. Your nose twitched and, bracing yourself against the lid of the toilet, you lifted your hips. Off came two sets of pants, which confused you greatly.

“Why was I wearing two pants?” You asked, grasping his shoulders tightly as he made you stand, your legs failing you almost entirely.

“That was underwear,” he explained patiently, setting you gently in the warm water. You curled up, pressing your knees to your chest, feeling your rough skin brush against you uncomfortably. With bright eyes you stared up at him, watching him grab various bottles from the counter.

With a cup he poured water over your head, and a pleasant feeling washed over you as it ran down your back and over your eyes. He pressed two fingers to your forehead, tilting your head slightly so it wouldn’t fall into your eyes. He did this two more times, fully soaking your head before popping open a bottle. Out of it poured a white mixture, one he rubbed up against his hands before reaching for you.

You cringed backwards, baselessly fearing what it could’ve been. He paused, drawing backwards and explaining himself.

“It’s to wash your hair,” he said, and as you let him rub it into your scalp, you heard him whisper to himself, “what happened to you?”

You didn’t answer, assuming he didn’t really want an answer, and simply enjoying the pleasure his hands brought. As he dug deeper into your hair you keened upwards into it, letting your eyes close. He let his hands run the full length of your hair once, then twice, before rinsing his hands and pouring water over you to rinse the shampoo from you.

“Enjoying yourself?” He teased as he opened up another bottle. You waited as he turned the bottle upside down, pouring it now over your shoulders. From its cold temperature you shrunk, still letting him do what he thought he needed to do.

He rubbed the white soap into your skin, over your shoulders and neck, up into your cheeks. That was the most enjoyable part - letting him cup your jaw, one hand on either side as his thumbs rubbed your cheeks. Eventually he had to stop, gently washing your nose and forehead.

The silence clearly made him uncomfortable you noted as he washed the dirt off your arms. You, however, didn’t mind it in the slightest.

“Just one more,” he said, holding up the last bottle. You nodded.

This time, unlike the first time, he combed it through your hair. Relaxing into his touch you closed your eyes, once more leaning into him. You couldn’t trust him, not in any way, but…

“Feel better?”

You nodded.

The two of you tried to get your feet to work but they refused, and your wet body flopped uselessly into his arms.

“Sorry,” you said, noticing his own clothes getting soaked.

“It - it’s fine,” he stammered, his face growing hot and red. He held you up, grabbing the towel with one struggling hand and wrapping it around you. Half shivering you sat on the edge of the tub, watching as he leaned over you, draining the sudsy water away.

Eventually, all dried up and in fresh clothes that smelled very specifically of him, you sat on the bed eating the cold pasta he’d given you.

“I can warm it up you know,” he said, watching you eat by the bedside.

You shook your head, the food still hanging out of it. He shrugged, excusing himself for a moment, and coming back with a thin, silver block.

“What -“

“I thought you might want to watch a movie or something,” he said, setting it down and opening it.

Oh, you thought to yourself, marveling at the bright screen. I’ve heard of these computers.

Typing on the board he pulled up a website, clicking quickly on a movie and settling in beside you.

“If you don’t like it I can change it,” he said, allowing you your space on the bed.

White Christmas came up on the screen. The quality was grainy but colorful, the music wonderfully melodic. Music wasn’t a common thing in the heavens. That is to say, the music of the stars would hardly qualify as the music humans knew on earth.

As the movie came to a close he shut the laptop, sliding off the bed, the computer beneath his arm.

“Get some sleep,” he said, watching you shift downwards so your head lay on the pillows. You didn’t really need to sleep, you wanted to tell him. You never had, but for some reason you wanted to close your eyes anyway. As you did, the creak of the door signaled his leave. In the silence of night you wondered how long you’d be allowed to stay.

You didn’t wake again till the next day was halfway through. The man told you so, telling you it was 12, and with your confused face in return, he began to describe time.

“I really don’t understand why you don’t know this stuff. Are you sure we can’t go to a hospital?” He asked gingerly, his head tilted downwards but keeping your gaze.

“If you take me to a hospital -“

“You’ll turn me inside out. I know, yeah…” he sighed, rubbing his face tiredly. “Listen, I’m having friends over tonight. I think it’d be best if you just stayed in here. It’s a bit hard to explain, but I think it’ll be safer, okay?”

Slowly you nodded, half understanding that all you needed to do was stay in the room you were in. You were patient. Millenia of listening to Gods’ slow voice allowed for that.

“They’re coming over in about an hour. This,” he grabbed your wrist, latching a clock around it, “will tell you when that is.”

Examining the silver band, the light above you reflected into the glass, making you shut your eyes tight.

“Don’t do that,” he grumbled, pulling your wrist away from its position.

“Sorry,” you whispered.

“It’s fine. You hungry?”

You shook your head, knowing that you didn’t need to eat. You really, really, really didn’t need to eat, but your stomach growled loudly, your eyes widening as you stared down at it.

“You have no idea how your body works, do you?”

You gulped. How could he ever had found out?

With a sigh he helped you stand, and with his arm around your waist and yours around his shoulders, you limped to the door, heading out into the hallway and the rest of what you presumed was his home. It was nicely lit, with mostly white walls and rather comfortable furniture. You sat on the couch, watching him intently as he prepared some sort of food for you again. He finished, setting the plate in front of you.

“You eat it with your hands,” he told you, already assuming you’d never seen a sandwich before. He went to leave, but you grasped his wrist tight, forcing him to face you. Jarred by your strength his mouth hung open and he gaped at you, confused and alarmed.

“Thank you,” you murmured, staring directly into his eyes.

“Uh… yeah. ‘Course,” he stammered, wriggling free from your lessened grasp. With wary eyes, darting to you in fear, he left the room. Nose twitching, you grabbed the sandwich with your hands, taking a massive bite.

By your last bite, you still hadn’t seen him, but the door had been knocking for several minutes. As time continued the knocking got louder, more furious, till voices came as well, demanding that the door be opened. Pounding footsteps came from the hallway, rushing through the living room till the man, auburn hair flying as he ran past ran straight into the door, ramming his chin against the wooden door.

“Fuck! Ah, sorry, give me a - uh,” he turned to you, still jiggling the door handle, “room?”

“There’s room,” you replied.

“No, go to the bedroom!”

“I can’t stand!”

“What’s going on behind there?” Came the voice behind the door.

“One second guys, just, uh,” he helped you to your feet, “getting dressed.”

“I don’t mind you being naked,” another voice said, drawing a belt of a laugh from the man behind the door.

“They’re… joking,” he mumbled to you, kicking the door open and setting you down on the bed. Though rushed, he tucked you in, fluffing the pillow and quickly turning out the light. Disgruntled, you fidgeted under the covers, keeping your eyes open as you listened to the voices outside.

“I heard two voices,” one of them said, not your man.

“You’re crazy,” the other said.

You buried your nose under the covers. They continued their conversation, talking about things you couldn’t understand, things you knew you would get if you just had your angelic powers back. They allowed you to understand the non-understandable.

“Do you usually eat naked?” One of the men asked, and in an instant you recalled your nearly all-the-way-eaten sandwich.

“No,” your man replied quickly. “That was from a while ago.”

“Someone’s sloppy.”

“Yeah, Jesus Christ, clean up after yourself!”

“I’ll be sure to tell him that when I see him next,” your man said with a laugh.

They resorted once more into language you couldn’t understand, a switch clicking in the room and then the sound of many voices emanating from the living room. Your chest felt restricted, and your stomach still empty, so you dug yourself deeper into the sheets, hoping the uneasy feeling would soon cease.

A few more minutes clutching your stomach and it did not. Perhaps something was wrong with you? You knew very little about the complexities of humans. Maybe you needed to eat more. So, on shaky legs, keeping your arms on the bed you stood, being mainly supported by your arms. Stumbling you made your way to the wall, walking beside it towards the door. He had said not to leave the room, but something felt wrong, so terribly wrong, that you were sure he wouldn’t mind. Your logic was so: he would, most likely, prefer to find you wobbling into the living room rather than to find you dead on the bed. Could you die? You weren’t sure, but chances weren’t a thing you were ready to take.

Walking through the short hallway you kept your hands pressed to the wall, coming up behind the couch that three men now sat on, a large screen on the wall turned on to some sort of entertainment.

Which one was him? None of them were facing you, and you didn’t know if humans all looked the same. Supposedly they didn’t, but to someone like yourself who wasn’t accustomed to their faces, maybe they would all look similar. You went by hair color. The man in the middle had golden hair - that wasn’t your man. The one on the left was taller, with brown hair. On the right was the auburn hair. You tapped him on the shoulder, causing him to look up at you, fear and surprise burning right into your skin through his eyes.

His shock brought the other two from their entrancement with the screen, turning to see you as well. For a moment, everything was silent. They stared at you, you stared right back.

“Give me a moment,” your man suddenly said, jumping over the back of the bed and all but dragging you back to the hall.

“I feel wrong,” you said before he could get angry. He furrowed his brow, confused, but listening. “My chest aches. I feel empty here,” you said, bunching up the shirt you wore and pointing to your stomach area.

He sighed, an exasperated sound, his head falling to your shoulder.

“You’re thirsty,” he finally told you, pulling you with a more gentle touch back into the kitchen and sitting you down on a barstool. He went to grab a glass from the cupboard.

“So, uh, going t’ introduce us?” The blond asked, his voice deep and strange.

“Uh, this is, um,” he tried to say, realizing as he made eye contact with you that neither of you knew each others’ names.

“Mal,” you answered for him. It wasn’t your full, true name, as giving your whole name would give them power over you. That was something you couldn’t find yourself ever doing.

The two men on the couch looked at each other then burst out laughing, making you tilt your head slightly to the left, confused.

“Joey, you could’ve just told us you had a one night stand thing going on, he can join us,” the blond laughed, slapping the taller man on the shoulder. You looked back at your man, supposedly ‘Joey,’ with wide, bewildered eyes.

“Okay first of all, not a one night stand,” he glanced at you, “he’s just a… sick friend.”

“He?” You asked.

“She?” He tried out, but it didn’t help. A silence stretched as both of, utterly perturbed, stared at each other.

“Should we go?” The tall man asked, pointing back at the blond and then himself.

“No, it - it’s fine,” Joey stumbled, handing you a glass of water. “Mal just needs sleep.”

You nodded along. Whatever was happening could be discussed later. He tilted the glass to your mouth, and you opened it, allowing the water to slip through.

“Make sure you’re not breathing when you drink,” he whispered in your ear, quickly jumping back to the couch between his friends. You did as told, almost choking on it but swallowing nonetheless. Feeling your back hurt you stretched, reaching your arms for the ceiling. A sudden burst of pain flooded through your spine, electrocuting your head and tingling through your fingertips.

You let out a strangled, quiet cry, holding your shoulders with your hands. Joey turned to you in a flash, looking at you over the edge of the couch.

“You okay?” He asked.

“Probably,” you answered, shrugging, and gesturing to the screen when he wouldn’t turn away from you. Hesitant, he turned back, watching the delightful characters running around.

Every now and then, over the next few hours they’d go back to the kitchen, grabbing brown bottles from the fridge and downing them rather quickly. You watched from your seat patiently.

“You want one?” The tall one asked, moving to hand you one.

“Uh, that’s probably not a good idea,” Joey stopped him before you could make up your mind, pulling the tall man back by his arm. The man just shrugged, smiling at you, and popping open his own bottle.

“How’d - how’d you two meet?” The blond asked, and by that point you realized that the drink must’ve been doing something to them. They swayed in their stance, their voices clogged and speech dumbed.

“He - she, uh, fell… on the subway. Helped him - her - uh, them, up,” Joey responded, swirling his drink.

“Wait, wait wait,” the tall one turned to you, leaning in close and examining you. You remained rigid. “Are you a guy or a girl?”

“I am the heavens personified. I don’t fall into binary categories that you assign to know the others genitalia.”

All three of them laughed at that. You, on the other hand, found little humor in it. By the end of the evening the three of them became so intoxicated on whatever was in those drinks that you had to convince them, very sloppily to stop, which in the end, they finally acquiesced.

They insisted you come sit with them on the couch, trying to pull you from your seat.

“I want to avoid walking,” you informed them curtly, trying to get them to stop.

“Alright-y then,” the blond said, suddenly lifting you out of your seat and carrying you, laughing and giggling with his friends as he sat you on his lap on the couch. Awkward and confused you shifted, getting comfortable with where you now were.

“Okay okay so - Mal insists on no more drinks, so umm… no drinking games,” Joey slurred, holding his fingers out and counting ‘no drinking games’ on one.

“Beer pong!” The tall one suggested. The blond knocked him on the head as Joey laughed.

“Drinking is literally the main thing in that game, Gwil,” the blond wheezed out. Ah, you thought, so the tall one is named Gwil.

“Uh, Mal knows like, nothing about being alive,” Joey started, and you couldn’t entirely disagree. “So something simple?”

“Truth… or dare,” Gwil suggested in a dramatic whisper, pointing to the blond as he said truth, and to Joey when he said dare.

“What are we, seven?” Joey asked, sticking his tongue out in disapproval.

“You said simple!”

Both Gwil and Joey continued arguing as the blond whispered in your ear, telling you the rules of the game, keeping his voice low to avoid being heard by the other two. You listened intently, leaning into him. In turn, he kept his hand around your waist, keeping you from sliding off.

“Alright, fine!” Joey finally conceded, throwing his hands up in the air. “Do you know how to play?” He asked, looking at you.

You nodded.

“Wow, I’m surprised,” he said, raising his eyebrows.

“I just taught him,” said the blond.

“Her,” Gwil corrected.

“Both!” Joey added.

“Or neither,” Gwil and the blond said at the same time, and the three of them broke into childish laughter again.

As it died, Joey asked, “what were we talking about again?” which really only spurred the laughter on further.

The rest of the night proceeded in similar fashion, growing calmer as the drink went through their systems. You never did get to play that odd game.

“Stay the night, won’t you?” Joey asked them, but they refused, saying they got a hotel room in the city.

“Besides,” the blond added, “looks like you’ve got plenty of company.” Along with this he wiggled his eyebrows, winking. Gwil snorted, saying his good byes along with the blond and shutting the door.

“Joey -“

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he said, stumbling only slightly as he came over to you. Arm wrapped round your waist he helped you up, walking you through the hall, into the room, and into the bathroom to sit you on the toilet seat.

“I’m not dirty,” you stated, watching him rub his face with water running from the sink faucet.

“Should change your clothes anyway,” he said with a sigh, drying his hands and helping you out of his shirt. “Ah shit,” he mumbled, suddenly remembering you needed another pair of clothes to get into. He left the room to look for clothing, door wide open, as you sat half naked on the seat.

Curious as to what your back looked like, hoping desperately that maybe if you just looked you’d get your wings back, you stood shakily, grasping the counter to turn around and look at yourself in the mirror.

Down your back ran two massive tears, open and cracked with blood. Surprised, you reached to touch them, shrinking away from your hand when you did so.

“Jesus,” Joey breathed out, standing in the doorway of the bathroom. You turned quickly to him, wondering if you’d done something wrong. “They must’ve cracked open when you were with me and my friends.”

“What?”

“They looked a little more put together when I last saw ‘em,” he explained, turning your back to him to examine them further. “Not bleeding at least. God…”

His finger traced the outline of them, causing spikes of pain to run through you whenever he got too close.

“You’re sure about the hospital?” He asked.

“I will -“

“Yeah, okay,” he interrupted you, getting your point without your threat. For a few moments more you let him touch you, gently trying to see how bad it was. “I have bandages,” he said as he withdrew. You turned around expectantly.

He sighed, bending down and opening a door underneath the sink, pulling out a long, thin cloth, all rolled up. Slowly, aware of your careful watch, he wrapped the fabric around your chest, starting right beneath your arms and going down to the end of your ribs.

When he finished you grabbed his wrist, tugging him down to you.

“Thank you,” you said.

“Uh, yeah,” he said, slowly realizing that that was just how you thanked people.

In silence he undressed and dressed you, wondering to himself if you’d ever be able to dress yourself. Would he have to teach you? You, on the other hand, were thinking about his friends. They all felt oddly intimate.

He put you to bed after that, brushing the short hair out of your eyes, noting quietly to you that it had grown slightly longer.

“It sure grows fast,” he said, pulling the sheets over your bed. He made to leave, stopped by your grip on his wrist once more capturing him.

“Where do you sleep?” You asked quietly.

“On the couch.”

“Is that comfortable?”

“Yeah, I think it is,” he said with a shrug.

“Alright,” you murmured, releasing him and tucking yourself back into the blankets. He smiled, patting your shoulder and leaving the room.

Routine proceeded from that day on. You would wake up by afternoon, and he would force you to eat and drink, every so often leaving his home, but never telling you why. On those days, he’d usually come back with bags, and oftentimes would help you with bathing.

“You need to learn how to do this yourself,” he told you one day, rubbing soap into your cheeks and neck.

“I like when you do it,” you responded, making him choke on his breath.

“Whatever you want,” he responded, his words rushed out.

One morning when you awoke, he wasn’t there. First you called for him, as he usually noticed when you stirred, but you earned no response. You then stood, walking with a nice cane he’d gotten you a few days ago. ‘Just for now,’ he said, ‘’till you heal.’ Still, no sign at all of him, except a note taped to the door. You couldn’t read it, as all you could really read was Enochian. So you sat. And waited.

It wasn’t long till the sound of his key at the door came, turning the gears of the lock till it opened, revealing him and a man behind him.

“Mal, hey,” he said, opening the door to allow the man behind him in before closing and locking it. In a small motion you waved at him. “This is my friend, Rami. Say hi Rami.”

The man, Rami, glared at Joey (who you’d learned recently was actually named ‘Joe’) before approaching you with his hand outstretched.

“Nice to meet you,” he said, waiting for you to make a move. Hesitating only a second, you slapped his open hand.

From the kitchen Joe snorted, laughing at what you’d just done.

“What?” Looking up at Rami, he looked equally amused and confused.

“You’re supposed to shake his hand,” Joe explained, waking over and demonstrating the proper greeting movement with his friend. Slowly you nodded, shaking Rami’s hand, feeling the warm roughness of his palm.

“You may call me Mal,” you said, looking him in the eye. He chuckled, nodding.

“He’s flown in from L.A. to stay a few days. I don’t -“ he turned to Rami, “- did you get a hotel room?”

“Not yet, but it shouldn’t be a problem getting one if need be,” he said, setting his bags down near the door.

“I only have one bed, but I guess someone could share,” Joe said with a shrug, pulling two beer bottles out of the fridge and relaxing next to you, Rami on the other side of him as he turned on the television.

After a while of being rather annoyed by a plot you couldn’t understand, you nudged Joe, telling him so.

“Take this,” he said, handing you his laptop. “Go wild.”

You fiddled with it, grabbing your cane and walking back into the bedroom. Sitting on the bed you opened it on your lap, immediately coming face to face with a search tool. If Joe had only known what you would do, he would’ve never handed you the laptop, as this was most definitely one of the worst decisions in the world. Instead, he left you to your own chaotic devices, and the first thing you looked up was ‘do i need to eat?’, which lead to ‘how do human organs work,’ to ‘what are sex organs,’ and, one can guess where that led.

Eventually that led only deeper into the Internet, to what drugs were, into drug arrests, and every sinful thing put on the news, to odd songs about sex and drugs simultaneously, and movies about rockstars.

“Hey, you doin’ okay?” Joe asked, his hands on either side of the doorway, leaning into the room. Silently, you turned the computer around to a headline reading, ‘Florida Man bites off his brother’s penis after he walks in on his brother having sex with his cousin on his favorite Dragon Ball Z blanket.’

“Jesus Christ, I can’t leave you alone for two seconds,” he grumbled, shutting the laptop and tucking it under his arm.

“It’s been an hour,” you reminded him helpfully. He ignored you.

“Rami can’t find any affordable hotel rooms, he needs to stay here for the night. He’s got a room for tomorrow onwards,” he informed you, helping you up and back into the living room, setting his computer on the bar counter.

“I told him I can sleep on the couch but he won’t listen to me,” Rami said, tapping his fingers on the back of the couch, watching as you sat on a barstool.

“Absolutely not. I won’t stand for it,” Joe responded, flopping onto the couch to sit beside his friend.

“Then where’s your friend going to sleep?” He asked, gesturing to you.

“We’ll work it out. It’s late, you’ve got work to do in the morning,” Joe said, tugging Rami off the couch and pushing him to the bedroom.

“Right, of course Mom,” he grumbled as the door shut loudly behind him. You simply watched, stoic and silent, as Joe returned into the living room, hands on his hips.

Mumbling mostly to himself, he helped you over to the couch.

“Are we sleeping together?” You asked as he stood. Stammering, he attempted an answer.

“Uh - sort of I guess? I mean, you - you don’t have to, you’re always talking about how you don’t need sleep, but I still think you should, not necessarily with me, but I just mean you need to sleep, and I guess since there’s only the couch left you could sleep there and I’ll just… sleep on the floor?”

“Is the floor comfortable?” You asked.

“Um, not really?”

“Then sleep on the couch,” you said, pulling the back cushions out to make room for him.

“Uh….”

You patted the couch and, stumbling only a second, he sat beside you. Reaching behind him, you grabbed a pillow from off the edge of the cushions, setting it up for his head on the end of the couch. Gently, you made him lie down, wrapping him up in a blanket hung over the back. He stuttered something incoherent, watching and only protesting mildly as you stood, taking the short trip to the light to turn it off. Setting your cane down, you crawled in next to him, pressing your body against his in the tight space.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you,” he said, his voice cracking as you put his arm around you for your own comfort, “where did you come from? Do you even remember?”

“I was an angel,” you answered honestly, fully believing that he’d take your word. What you didn’t expect was for him to hold back a laugh, looking down at you.

“Really?”

“I fell from heaven. My form changed. I’ve never been to earth before now.”

“Well that certainly explains a lot. If it was believable,” he muttered, shifting under the blankets you’d gotten to be more comfortable.

“It’s the truth. I am bound by ethereal powers to never lie so -“

“You could just as easily be a person lying,” he interrupted, now unwilling to meet your eye.

“Ask me a question about God, or the world... something you’ve always wondered,” you tried, hoping he’d ask something you knew about.

He waited, his head now facing fully away from you as he thought. Outside a storm grew, but the only thing you could think about was him.

“Which religion is right? Is it the Christians?”

“All of them are right. Every god or goddess to ever be told of exists. They congregate every now and then. I sit by Gods’ side during those meetings. The god Jewish, Muslim, and Christian people believe in, that is.”

“What happens when we die?”

“Whatever you think.”

“What?” He turned to you.

“If one believes they will become the clouds, they will become the clouds. If they believe nothing happens, they die. Their consciousness is wiped. There is a heaven, reincarnation, and a hell, but not much happens in hell.”

“Wait, what happens in hell then?”

“I haven’t been there often,” you said, recalling the last time God had a meeting with their son. “Lucifer is actually rather calm. It’s just… imagine if a bunch of criminals and people who thought they were awful were put into one area. There isn’t any torture or demons, just people who believed they were going to hell.”

“Okay, lots of questions about that -“ he laughed, “- so it’s basically Afterlife Australia?”

You shrugged. In honesty, you had no idea what Australia was, but he was probably right. You trusted him as far as you could.

“And if someone who was a good person, but just really hated themselves and thought they would go to hell, would they go to hell?”

“That’s what the angels Kiraman Katibin, Phanuel, Nakir, and Abathar Muzania are working together for,” you said, and in that moment you realized you probably shouldn’t be trusting this information to a human. Nonetheless, you continued. “They… judge, sort of. Like Ma’at and her 42 judges for Egyptian afterlife, for those that believe in that.”

“… interesting.”

He left it at that. You snuggled in closer, his breathing grew harsher, but the both of you fell into easy sleep. By morning, he awoke first, jostling you awake when he reached for a note on the table. Leaning over to look, your cheek resting on his shoulder, you asked what it said.

“Nothing,” he said quickly, his face warm. “Jus’ that he’s left already.”

“Oh.”

“God, I need to get off my ass,” he muttered under his breath to himself. He stood, stretching his hands to the sky, before releasing the tensions with a deep sigh. Plodding into the kitchen, he turned on the sink, pulling down another glass and drinking from it once it filled to overflow. You picked the cushions back up off the floor, putting them back into place.

Making his way back over to you, he collapsed back onto the couch, relaxing into the cushions.

“Really hoping you don’t kill me for saying this, but I’m half convinced you’re insane,” he sighed, rubbing his forehead. The whole situation with you was clearly stressing him out - even you could tell.

“How may I settle these worries?”

“Prove it. But if you’re fallen, you probably don’t… have any powers, or whatever.”

“I have scars down my back from my wings,” you reminded him.

“It could just as easily be that you were tortured, badly, and to cope with it you’re imagining that you’re an angel. All this information you’re giving is just personal beliefs. Stuff you could look up on the internet.”

“I… don’t know if I have any power left,” you said quietly, and your heart began to ache, weighing heavily through your body. Your touch possibly had power - humans loved to touch. It was essential to their lives. Maybe, just maybe, your touch had power.

“You think of ways to get the truth. I’ll make breakfast,” he said, grunting as he stood and patting your knee.

You sat, the crackle of frying eggs in the background as you buried yourself in thoughts. Your wings and halo were gone, you knew that for absolute sure. The feeling of them leaving you, how it tore you from yourself, stretching and pulling till it finally ripped, burning as everything you knew evaporated away. What was left when all was taken from you? Even your eyes, the ones that allowed you to look upon Gods, that let you return home and fully see the truth, the heavens and all that you loved, they were gone too.

Your soul. You still had that, didn’t you?

Grabbing your cane from the fallen position it had taken on the floor, you came to stand behind him, tapping him on the shoulder. He turned down the heat of the stove, turning around to face you, jumping back when he saw how close you were.

“I still have my soul. I’m… I’m not sure what I can do with it, but,” you looked up at him, eyes glittering a very suddenly bright blue, a change from your usual color, “can I try?”

“Af-after breakfast. Eat something first,” he stammered, grabbing plates from behind him, filling them with the eggs and toast, before setting it down on the table and sitting down. Your nose twitched once, but you sat down across from him, eating what he’d prepared, all the time wondering what would happen.

As the two of you finished he grabbed your plates, and from then on, essentially ignored you. Dodging you, not speaking to you, telling you to get more sleep, all of it you knew was more of an avoidance of the subject of your soul. In your weakened state, there was little you could do but let him force you to sleep.

So you slept. Into the next week, you slept. By the second day when you hadn’t woken up Joe began to worry, sitting at your bedside, making sure you were still breathing. Every evening his friend Rami would come over, asking where you were, and he would say you were sleeping.

“You should take them to a hospital,” he said, worry lacing his tone though he did not know you.

“I want to, but whenever I suggest it they pretty much make death threats.”

By the time you woke up, he was prepared to call the hospital, and Rami had already left, heading back to L.A.

“What are you doing,” you asked, monotone as you sat up, watching him about to dial the number on his phone.

“You’re awake!” He exclaimed, dropping his phone and rushing to hug you. “I thought you were dying!”

“I can sleep for extended periods of time. It’s to accommodate for my life span,” you informed him curtly, your arms plastered to your side as he squeezed you.

“That’s called a coma,” he spoke right into your ear, sighing as he released you, sitting beside you on the bed.

“Sounds like your problem.”

“It certainly feels like it. Why didn’t you warn me?”

“You were trying to get me to sleep, so I did.”

He glared at you, mentally noting to himself that you were petty in a very special way. Helping you out of the bed, cane forgotten, he kept you upright, leading you into the living room and onto the couch. From there he fed you, made sure you drank, and suggested a bath. You agreed.

Hoisting your arm around his shoulders, the two of you made your way slowly to the bathroom. There he did the usual; undressing you, filling the tub with warm water, and pushing up his sleeves to his elbows. Helping you into the tub, he sat on the edge, pouring shampoo onto his hands.

“You’re sure you’re okay with me doing this?” He asked, still unsure about the whole nudity you had.

“It seems to me you’re the only one bothered by it.”

“Wow, okay. Called out,” he said, chuckling to himself. “The tea is scorching.”

“What?”

“Nothing,” he said with a snort, still smiling to himself as he rubbing the shampoo into your scalp. You let yourself enjoy it, pushing into his touch with a blissed out expression.

“You should join me,” you mumbled as he pulled away. He halted, staring wide eyed at you.

“I should what?”

“Join me,” you repeated, watching carefully as a sudden smile grew on his face. He turned away, shaking his head, but still smiling in a dumbfounded way.

“Maybe you’re right,” he said, ignoring your request to rinse his hands, “considering how little you know about human etiquette. Wouldn’t be too surprising if you never visited earth.” He mumbled his words, voicing his thoughts in an airy fashion.

“If you would just let me show you -“

“Mal,” he interrupted you, facing you with a sudden seriousness. “If souls are real, and if what you’re saying is real. Don’t you think it’d be dangerous? I don’t know what you’re planning, but using your soul has to be dangerous.”

“Might be. I need your trust,” you pleaded. “I will go to great lengths to get it.”

“Why?” He asked simply, tired of wondering quietly.

“Just for a moment, believe me,” you asked of him, and he nodded. “As an angel, we are built to never make our own decisions. God’s guidance is bright, and our halos blind us. Physically, we can trust no one but our God. When I fell, I… I was left alone. No longer blind, but able to make my own decisions, but in the way that I’d never done that before, I was still blind. Wh-What I’m trying to say is, I’m not built to trust anyone other than God. Joe, I trust you.”

Sometime in the middle of your speech he had stopped breathing, staring at you as unmoving as you usually were. Knowing his silence was filled with his thoughts and not his passiveness, you waited, watching for his movement.

“Okay,” he said. “Prove it.”

Moving slowly, you sat on the edge of the bathtub, naked as the day you fell from the sky. You reached for him, starting at his hand and moving up. Breathing unevenly, he kept his eye on your hand as it moved, up to his shoulder and up his neck, resting on his cheek. Pushing your other hand underneath his shirt, you came up to where his heart would rest. Closing your eyes, you let your head rest on his shoulder, pouring all the energy you could right into where your hand was.

In an instant you could feel his heart beat harshly through his skin, fast and powerful. Intaking a deep breath, you continued to try to intertwine your souls, or to at least let your own soul burn through his skin, enough to leave a mark. Anything to prove yourself.

As you withdrew he finally began to breathe again, taking deep breaths as you drew your hands back into your lap. Slowly he raised his shirt, having felt the intensity of what you’d just wrought, showing a soft golden glow emanating from his chest. His breathing started to pick up, growing faster as he realized you were telling the truth.

“I -“

“Don’t scream,” you said as his mouth opened wide.

“I wasn’t gonna scream,” he said, his voice choked and tight.

“… do you believe me now?” You asked softly, looking up at him earnestly.

“Don’t think I have a choice,” he murmured.

As his breathing slowed, an urge ran through you, one you allowed. Hesitantly, you moved closer, resting your forehead in the crook of his shoulder, closing your eyes and relaxing your muscles. He wrapped his arms gingerly around you, letting you lie still in his hold, running his touch down your spine.

“You’re really an angel, then?” He whispered, a rhetorical question you both knew the answer to: yes.

“I was. I’m human now. I belong to you,” you mumbled against his skin, your lips warm from the heat radiating off the soft skin of his neck.

“You belong to yourself, now. No one can take that away from you, especially not me.”

You remained silent, contemplating your words as you matched your slow breathing to his, your hand pressed against his chest.

“I want to belong to you.”

Moving from your position against his shoulder, you met his eye, close enough to feel his breath. He waited for you, patient as your gaze flickered from his lips and back up to his eyes.

“I need to be yours,” you murmured, leaning further in, a distance he met you in the middle for.

It was a strange sensation, his lips moving against yours - alien and familiar all at once, and when he pulled you closer to him you could feel yourself melting. Your chest shuddered with the force of your emotion, one you might’ve identified as love, had you known the words’ meaning.

I love you, he murmured against your lips, loathing to part from your warmth, but the desperate need to speak his mind overpowered his hate. You hummed when he kissed you again, cradling his jawline in your hand and rubbing your thumb over his cheek just as he’d done to you.

And in every way you allowed yourself the comfort of belonging, just as he held tight the reverence you gave him.

#joe mazzello x reader #joe mazello imagine #joe mazzello #female reader #male reader #gender neutral reader

69 notes · View notes

nokomiss · 4 years ago

Text

deadtedkord replied to your post “taking prompts!”

more excellent jaysteph bonding please you're stuff for them is amazing!!

Even in Gotham, it’s hard to get takeout at 4am.

So after a particularly grueling night fighting crime -- not Arkham-escape bad, but involving the Condiment King teaming up with Mad Hatter for easily one of the grossest in every imaginable way nights Steph could remember -- the troops all ended up at the Cave, fighting over who got into the showers first. The troops in question being Bruce, Damian, Tim, Jason and herself. Steph saw the writing on the wall immediately and booked it up stairs to shower in luxury before Bruce could complain about ketchup in his fancypants rich people showers.

After convincing herself that she couldn’t, actually, just live in the bathroom at Wayne Manor for the rest of her life, Steph reluctantly got out, wondering if she could convince Bruce that installing the same shower at her decidedly less luxurious home was actually a necessary crime fighting expense. The water pressure alone had relieved a few lingering muscle aches she’d been nursing a few days.

She ransacked various rooms for a new, mustard-free outfit -- she had clothes stashed away somewhere, but everyone knew other people’s clothes are far superior, especially when they were Selina’s yoga pants, which she was never returning because damn they were amazing, Cass’ fuzzy socks and Tim’s softest hoodie.

By the time she returned to the cave, smelling like coconut and feeling like a champ, the boys had managed to clean themselves up and were bickering about food.

“I got Stromboli’s to deliver at 3 last week,” Damian was insisting, even though the Batcomputer clearly showed that they were closed.

“Maybe we could bribe someone at Batburger? They’re open all night,” Tim suggested, sounding doubtful about the prospect.

“There’s food here,” Steph suggested, because she, too, was starving.

Silence for a moment, then Bruce said, in a voice that almost sounded sheepish, “Alfred isn’t here.”

Steph felt a little bad about the smears of ketchup she’d undoubtedly left in the bathroom. “Did he… did he take the kitchen with him?”

“Pennyworth is the only one permitted to use the kitchen,” Damian said loftily while also not looking at anyone directly.

“Yeah, but… we’re hungry,” Steph pointed out.

“They don’t know how to cook,” Tim said, gesturing towards Bruce and Damian. “They’re really bad at it.”

“Like you’re any better,” Damian snapped. “Remember when you set the microwave on fire?”

“I didn’t realize there was still a spoon in the bowl!” The tops of Tim’s ears were turning bright red.

Steph looked at the only person in the room not howling about their own ineptitude in the kitchen. “Please tell me you’re not as useless as they are.”

“I’m insulted that you would think I am,” Jason replied. “I certainly didn’t grow up with a butler.”

Steph sighed, and said, “Wanna go make some food?”

Jason looked at the other three, who were suddenly very focused on writing the night’s mission report. “If it means we’re done with the paperwork, yeah.”

So she climbed the steps to up to the manor for the second time that night, and when she entered the kitchen she suddenly understood the silence and sheepish looks.

“I have seen active crime scenes less disastrous than this kitchen,” Jason said with an awed tone.

“How long has Alfred been gone? A year?” Steph said, staring. “And the question is, is he ever gonna return if he knows this is waiting on him?”

“Probably he will, but he’ll finally snap and murder them all in a dishes-fueled rage,” Jason said, poking at the mountain of dirty china piled haphazardly in and around the sink. He poked at a dish. “I’m pretty sure someone ate Spaghetti-Os out of fine china. Is this a real silver spoon?”

The spoon in question had curdled milk clinging to it.

“Okay so ten minutes ago, I would have told you there was no way anything could be grosser than Mad Hatter flopping around in a pool of mayonnaise,” Steph said, “but oh, how I have been proven wrong.”

“How do they even function as human beings?” Jason wondered. “Was it always this bad? I mean, I lived here. I know Bruce is an absolute moron in the kitchen. But…” He looked around. “Wow.”

“Do you suddenly feel so much better about yourself as a person?” Steph said. “Because I gotta say. Really feeling good about myself right now.”

Jason offered a hand to high five, and Steph did, happily. They rummaged through the pantry side-by-side and found that the staples were still intact, though anything ready-made had been ransacked. The fridge offered up similar bounty -- takeout leftovers of questionable providence, some wilting produce, and basics.

“Pancakes?” Steph suggested once she saw the state of the waffle iron -- had someone tried to make a grilled cheese on it? -- and pulled out the dry ingredients. “I’m not willing to eat anything that requires a condiment right now.” Thankfully maple syrup had not been one of Condiment King’s weapons of choice.

“I’ll make eggs,” Jason said, pulling out a carton. “And there’s some fake bacon of Damian’s.”

“We are a breakfast-making machine,” Steph said. It was true, too -- away from the chaos of crime fighting, she found that working alongside Jason in the kitchen was surprisingly easy. Steph stared at the sink again, and said, “I think that it’s time that certain vigilantes learned the domestic arts.”

“Yeah, we can’t let Alfred come back to this,” Jason said. “He’s too valuable. If he quit--”

“We’d never have his cookies ever again,” Steph said in horror.

“Maybe we could steal Alfred,” Jason said after a pause. “Like, let nature take its course, then swoop in and take Alfred for our own.”

“Share custody of him,” Steph said, nodding. “We could put him on a rotating schedule, and give him days off, and… I don’t know. Let him join a book club, instead of spending all his time with these disasters.”

They spent a few moments in quiet contemplation of a life where Alfred showed up and made creme brulee at any hour of the day. Then Steph sighed, giving the pancake batter one last stir before letting it sit and moving to the stove, clearing off several crystal goblets with what looked like coffee dregs in them before finding a griddle. “There’s only one flaw with our plan.”

“The thing where Alfred loves Bruce like a son and would never abandon him to die alone and hungry in his filthy mansion?” Jason flipped the fake bacon.

“That’s the one,” Steph said, deciding the griddle was hot enough and spooning pancake batter onto it in cute little shapes. She thought that Damian’s should be hearts, and she experimented with bat-shapes for Bruce.

Jason peered over and saw what she was doing. “I want stars.”

“Of course you do,” Steph said, though she tried to make one as soon as Damian’s hearts were done. It turned out a little wonky, but still recognizable. She was awesome. “Gotta be difficult, right?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jason replied, cracking eggs into a bowl. He glanced at the kitchen door. “Are they hiding in the cave in shame?”

“Like, it’s wrong, but the fact that I think they are makes me really happy,” Steph said. “Like, kind of makes up for all those times they acted like I was a moron for not knowing something.”

“Right?” Jason said.

“I mean, how do you master dozens of different kinds of kung fu, but never once master the grilled cheese? I was making my own grilled cheese in kindergarten!”

“There are only three ingredients,” Jason agreed. “It’s a true embarrassment.”

“We should nominate him for Worst Cooks In America,” Steph said. “I really want to see Bruce on reality television, and that would be comedy gold.”

“Just seeing him get an invitation to be one of the worst of anything would be fucking amazing,” Jason said. “Like, congratulations, sir, you suck at this.”

“You suck so hard we want to feature you on television,” Steph snickered. She flipped the last of Bruce’s pancakes onto a plate before they burned, and began making Tim’s. She tried to make a coffee mug shape, but it turned out looking like a blob, so she made teddy bears instead.

“I mean, I kind of get why they’re so terrible at it,” Steph said, “given their upbringings. But I would have literally starved if I hadn’t figured out how to cook early on. Takeout was not an option.”

“Right? Only for special occasions,” Jason said. “The rest of the time, you had to make shit yourself.”

“Exactly,” Steph nodded. They didn’t really talk much about how they were the ones in the family who’d grown up poor, who’d spent a lot of time raising themselves because their parents hadn’t been capable of it. She knew it was why Bruce had compared them so much -- there was a startling amount of similarities between their childhoods, from their mothers’ drug problems to their fathers’ criminal inclinations -- and for once, it felt nice to be the ones with the necessary skills while everyone else floundered.

They grinned at each other, then put the last of the food onto the plates. Steph grabbed the maple syrup, and stopped short, staring at the calendar on the fridge. “Four days!”

“What?” Jason said through a mouthful of fake bacon.

“Alfred has only been gone four days,” Steph said, pointing to the note on the fridge, “and he left prepared meals.”

They gazed in wonder at the chaos around them.

“He’s going to be back tomorrow,” Jason said suddenly, pointing.

“Okay, so we feed the troops, then we start Mission: Learn to Do the Damn Dishes,” Steph said. Sleep was for the weak.

“Yes, ma’am,” Jason said, and followed her to the breakfast nook, setting down Tim and Damian’s plates and going back for the rest. “Wanna tell them now?”

“Let them have a final meal first,” Steph said. “Then we’ll light a fire under them.”

Jason grinned. By the time Bruce, Tim and Damian came out of the Cave, she and Jason had polished off half of their meal, and Steph had to admit that delivering a lecture to Batman about chores was one of the highlights of her week. Possibly the entire month.

It took until dawn, but Alfred came home to a kitchen that no longer looked like it had witnessed the collapse of civilization.

#deadtedkord #my fic #batfamily #stephanie brown #jason todd #this is literally just steph and jay making breakfast and trashtalking everyone else's lack of cooking skills #totally a valid bonding experience

24 notes · View notes

artemismoon12writes · 4 years ago

Text

Title: A Vested Interest

Daltonfic Big Bang: Week 3, Day 5, Dwodd

Ryan Cobb still didn’t know about his desk chair, so money was still up for grabs. Nice.

“Fuck off!” Derek yelled, looking across the large, white and glass hallway of the Ohio Brooks Parker Galleria Mall to the Hot Topic.

“What is it?” Bailey asked, not turning from his sink full of dishes. He was up to his elbows in coffee mugs and dessert-stained plates. “Is Sebastian coming up to ask for another job application?”

“Shut up Bailey, you know it’s only because he thinks Julian’s hot, not because he wants to work here. And no; it’s not that asshole.” Derek gestured across the hallway; Bailey couldn’t see it because he still had his back turned, uncaring. “It’s that fucking asshole and his boyfriend!”

“Who?”

“You know, the assistant manager and that hipster guy!”

“Oh Dwight?” Bailey asked. “What’s wrong?”

“They’re fucking again!”

Bailey made an amused noise. “Good for them.”

“Good for them!?” Derek exclaimed, “What the hell does that mean?”

“Well, if you could get laid at work you would.” Bailey said, hiding his laughter. “I’m glad you don’t for the record; I don’t want to clean that up, but it’s a little funny.”

“Exactly- how is it that the goth who isn’t even in charge of that place is getting laid and I’m here in a fucking Starbucks like a loser?”

While Derek was ranting, he was ignoring the girl at the register. Bailey shot her a look, commiserating before drying his hands to take her order.

“And if we’re really splitting hairs here Bailey, shouldn’t he, I don’t know? Be doing his job? Instead of letting his little hipster boyfriend fuck him in the changerooms?”

Bailey rolled his eyes, grabbing a larger sized cup for their customer and waving her panicked look aside. It was the least he could do since she was putting up with Derek’s ranting.

“Jeez, Derek if it bothers you so much, just join in our betting pool and you at least could make some money off it.” Bailey said, steaming the milk like it was just another normal day. Which, working with Derek for at long as he had, it kind of was.

“Betting pool?”

Their customer interjected, “I’m from the Barnes and Noble next door; we’ve got it going with us, Clay and the boys in the store, Bailey and y’all, and then then Chels and the Pet Co. downstairs for how long it’ll take the manager to catch them.”

“All those people know? And Ryan still hasn’t figured it out?” Derek asked, confounded.

She shrugged, “Yeah, well, Pet Co. was waiting for the two month mark to send Ryan upstairs at the right moment; but Todd and Dwight were just talking; I’m thinking Clay ran interference so the bet’s still going.”

Derek looked caught between anger and intrigue. He looked at her with a scowl before, “Put me down for fifty bucks on two weeks from now. Ryan’s not an idiot, he’ll realize.”

“Not if he spends all his time downstairs with the fish tanks.” Bailey pointed out.

“Why is he even managing a Hot Topic if he loved animals so much?”

“He’d never sell anything if he worked downstairs, that’s why.” Their customer pointed out, wandering back to the Barnes and Noble with her drink. “Good luck boys!”

Oh it’s on, Derek thought, not realizing how difficult a task it would actually be to accomplish.

---

Two months of this nonsense aside, Dwight Houston had not set out to completely disregard professionalism and decorum when he got this throwaway job at the mall. His mother raised him better than that- or so she kept saying. He was only here for the sole purpose of keeping his car and proving he was responsible- nothing more. If he had enough knowledge of alternative culture to tell people why Hot Topic was the worst place to shop, that wasn’t his problem. He was merely the solution.

When Todd Hendricks, or “Hipster Guy” as he referred to him for the first two weeks in his head, walked in, there was no master plan to get back at his manager for promoting him in this insanity. No, it was only a short conversation, based around Todd’s utter incompetence.

“If she’s a real goth, she will not want anything we sell here. This is emo shit, New Oracle in Glensdale is the real space for crystals. This is just plastic and Yellow 33!” Dwight shook the fake silver jewellery at the customer and his wide rimmed glasses, plaid shirt, and rough, red scarf. “Your sister will not like this.”

“But that’s why it’s funny. Because it’s not authentic.” The customer (who would be known as Todd) said. “She’ll hate it and it’ll be hilarious.”

“It’s offensive! You say she’s a witch, then it’s doubly offensive.” Dwight said, motioning to put the piece back up on the highest shelf with the pole hook.

“I’m her brother, she’ll know it’s a joke.” He argued. “I’m not here to rock your goth purist boat.”

“I am not a goth,” Dwight said, putting the offending piece out of reach. “I am a post-industrial punk with spiritualist leanings; its completely different.”

“Sure.” Was the response, grinning like he’d not proven anything.

Dwight groaned, “Clay, back me up here; the Vampire Diaries spinoff jewellery is not something we should be promoting to any self-respecting goth.”

His part-timer, Clay Rizzo, poked out from behind the piercing display where he totally wasn’t trying to steal new lip rings. “I don’t know Dwight; I am one of those emo pieces of shit, so maybe I’d recommend it?”

“I get no support around here!” Dwight said, stalking to the back of the store. “Impossible!”

Todd looked over to the part-timer, decked in the unofficial uniform of all black and a hundred emo-band pins. “I think I’m dropping by more often.”

Clay gave him an evil grin. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

---

From there it escalated; Todd coming in multiple times a week just to annoy Dwight. Well, that’s what Dwight assumed until Todd asked for his phone number.

“What? Why’d you want that?”

Todd looked at him like he was an idiot. “Because I’ve been flirting with you this whole time? Were you not…”

Clay, unknown to the two of them, was watching with Robin and Jake from behind the t-shirts. They were supposed to be executing the planogram; but why do that when there was drama to observe?

“I was not.” Dwight said robotically. “Uh, okay, that’s…”

“I literally looped a tie around your neck and pulled you in, and you didn’t realize I was into you?”

Clay, who remembered that exchange, had to be smothered with a Haven shirt but Jake to stop him from making noise.

“In my defence, I’m not used to people flirting with me.”

“If you’re not interested, that’s fine. I just thought-”

“I’m not not interested?” Dwight interjected before Todd turned away and walked out. “I’m just, uh, not used to … this?”

“I can work with that.”

It somehow progressed, in spite of Dwight’s inherent awkwardness. Jake, Robin, Jasper, and Clay respectively waving the pair off whenever Dwight took his lunch break now.

“They grow up so fast.” Clay said dramatically while Dwight gave him the finger. Todd just smiled at his conspirator and told them to take care of the store. Not that he worked there. He was there often enough he’d take to reminding Dwight about stock orders, schedules, and that Jake had a family dinner coming up so someone had to get it covered. The store had never run so well as it did when Todd started dating their assistant manager.

---

“Where did you guys put the Manic Panic?” Ryan Cobb, actual manager of Hot Topic, called out from the stockroom. “There should be a packing slip for a 3 pack of each colour, but all I see is overstock of those short-shorts!”

“I don’t know, ask Jake,” Dwight said, standing on a step ladder with Jasper spotting him. “He was in last night when the delivery came in.”

“I’m asking you. How can you be my assistant manager and not know where the hair dye is? We have that Chang girl coming in later and I promised her we’d have her order in!” Ryan called. “I’m going on break, that dye should be on the shelf when I get back.”

Ryan left, once again for supposedly fifteen minutes- but the entire staff knew he’d be gone for the rest of the day downstairs to play with the parakeets Pet Co. just got in.

“Oh, you’re in trouble.” Robin said, amused.

“Shut up.” Dwight muttered. “I bet Jake just put them somewhere weird. Call him and see what’s going on.”

“I’ll call him. He told me nothing came in last night though.”

“Perfect, just fucking perfect.” Dwight groaned.

“What’s wrong?” Todd asked, coming in with a cardboard tray of drinks. “I just saw Ryan go by, if he’s actually in the store for any minute I’m scared the place will burst into flames.”

“Once in a blue moon, it happens I guess.” Dwight admitted, climbing down the ladder to receive his kiss on the cheek and the green tea Todd brought for him.

“What’s happening?” Todd asked, taking his own coffee off the tray and pushing the sugar-laden third and fourth cups to the part-timers he’d been subtly converting to his side. Jasper particularly grabbed his eagerly, gushing thank yous.

“Jake might have lost a delivery.” Dwight paused, “Or not? I don’t know about the warehouse, but they’ve been fucking up recently anyways. I swear I can’t find last night’s order but the stockroom does look like shit…”

“You have a computer? There should be a record of orders received and rejected? I know not everyone still does things hard copy.” Todd suggested.

“It’s in the manager’s office!” Robin volunteered. “Not that we’re allowed in there. It’s for Ryan and Dwight only.”

“Well, they can’t fire me so I don’t care about that rule.” Todd said, taking a sip of his coffee and beelining to the back room.

Dwight scrambled to follow him. “No! No! No customers in the back!”

“Oh come on, if Ryan’s going to get mad at you about it then I might as well try to help.” Todd said, finding the tiny room easily and placing himself in the desk chair like he owned the place. “Password’s hottopic123, very creative, not hacking proof at all.”

“It’s a formality, that’s why it’s on the post-it.” Dwight grumbled, reluctant to admit he was grateful for the help.

“Okay, well according to your emails it’s right there. They’re not sending it because of the USPS strike. I don’t know why Ryan didn’t notice that.” Todd said after a few open tabs and a control+f.

“Oh that’s why.” Dwight grumbled, pointing to the open tabs on tanks for tropical fish. “He was distracted.”

“Why is he in charge of a Hot Topic if he doesn’t want to even work here?” Todd asked, looking through the pages. “Like, if you’re desperate you could work for the raptor sanctuary; they’re hiring.”

“Wait, you know the raptor sanctuary?” Dwight asked, intrigued. “I have an owl there.”

“I’m sponsoring Rowena, the prairie-”

“Merlin.” Dwight finished. “Yeah, she’s the one who the workers are teaching how to do the flight tricks right?”

“Yeah.” Todd paused, “You’re Castiel’s sponsor? I thought that name was stupid.”

“It’s not stupid! It’s a good name!” Dwight said before realizing Todd was joking with him. “Oh, okay.”

“So, if Ryan is going to ignore the email in his inbox in favour of spending all his time at Pet Co. I propose we do something to get him back.” Todd said, spinning around in the chair and closing the door to the office. It was more like a cupboard with how much room there was.

Dwight looked at him suspiciously. “What do you mean?”

Todd locked the door, “You’ll see.”

---

Robin wasn’t sure what was happening until he went to knock on the door and heard it. Shit. Maybe Dwight was cool.

First thing he did was tell Jake over the phone, who told Jasper, who told Clay- who told literally the entire mall by the time he’d made it in for his closing shift.

“Who knew the dude had it in him.” Jake said, punching in, careful to give the office door a lot of room. “I mean, I would do that but Dwight’s always struck me as a bit of a-”

“A nerd?” Jasper supplied.

“I’m so proud of my dads.” Clay said, already on the top of a stepladder switching out t-shirts. “Like, I can’t use that office so I don’t give a shit- but it’s also hilarious. How long do you think it takes Ryan to notice?”

“First, they’re not your dads.” Jake said.

“Todd gave me a gold star for my pins last week, they’re my dads.” Clay said, half joking, but mostly trying to annoy Jake.

“Okay, fine. Secondly, Ryan isn’t going to notice shit. If he hasn’t notice you’ve been stealing lip rings to wear while at work he is not going to notice Dwight’s boyfriend fucked him in the office.”

“Or did Dwight fuck him?” Jasper asked.

“I don’t care.” Jake dismissed the comment. “Either way, it’ll be, like a year before Ryan realizes something is up.”

Clay grinned, “Care to put your money where your mouth is?”

“You’re on.”

The pot, by the time Pet Co., Barnes and Noble, Starbucks, and Radio Shack got in on the action, was somewhere around $400. The only ones unaware, were the couple in question and Ryan Cobb.

---

“Shit, Clay! This isn’t what it looks like.” Dwight said hurriedly, Clay pulling open the curtain to the change rooms enough to poke his head in.

“Really? Because it looks like you’re just passionately embracing Todd.” Clay shrugged, “I could be wrong.”

Todd would have normally made a quip back, but he was too close to reply. “Uh, not a good time.”

“Well, you’ve got almost no time at all for this quickie because Ryan is on his way back. AKA, he’s on the elevator and if you’re here balls deep-“

“I will curse you so hard-”

“You’re already hard, I get it. Put some pants on, wrap it up.” Clay said, flipping the curtain closed. At least the two of them were polite enough to not make any of the part-timers do cleaning duties on these occasions.

Either way, Clay has a vested interest in not alerting Ryan right now. The pot was up to $800 now, and he would need that for next semester’s books. College was expensive.

---

In the end, it wasn’t Ryan who caught them; it was the night security guard who got them outside in Dwight’s ridiculously out of date Chevy. With an ‘indecent exposure’ strike on his record, Ryan had to let Dwight go. The betting pool wasn’t sure if this meant the bet was on, or off.

The next week, when he found Todd wandering past the Hot Topic to the men’s bathrooms with one lanky, gothic boyfriend in tow- he shot Todd a thumbs up and informed the rest of the mall the game was still on.

Ryan Cobb still didn’t know about his desk chair, so money was still up for grabs. Nice.

#daltonficbigbang2020 #daltonfic #mat #lols #otp #dwodd #dwight houston #todd hendricks #derek siegerson #bailey tipton #clay rizzo #jake paige #ryan cobb #jasper miller #robin woods #oneshot #artemiswrites

5 notes · View notes

blissedoffbarnes · 6 years ago

Text

Iron Man 3.5 Civil War things that I think about a lot:

The fact that T*ny literally VAPORIZED BUCKY’S ARM. Not just blew it off, it d i s i n t i g r a t e d. There’s nothing left of it, there’s no bits on the ground, not a single plate or a fucking metal finger. Not a glimmer of silver that was left behind. It’s completely gone.

After his arm was blown off, when he simply grabbed T*ny’s ankle to attempt to stop him hurting Steve, he kicks Bucky in the head with his stupid metal foot. Super soldier or not, a heavy metal boot to the head is going to seriously injure someone.

This is not to say that what happened to Rhodey wasn’t bad, it absolutely is and Rhodey deserves a metric ton of respect. However, if Sam hadn’t dodged that beam by Vision and it hit him in the same place it hit Rhodey, it would have killed him immediately. Sam doesn’t have armor to protect his chest. If he’d fallen from that height (yes, perhaps he’d have a parachute like he did in TWS, but the beam still could have severely injured him.) Sam tried so hard to be fast enough to catch Rhodey – someone he respects and likes despite their differences – and felt so bad about not being able to do it. He apologized for something that wasn’t his fault, and still got a shot to the chest that knocked him completely ass over tea kettle because of T*ny’s impulsive bullshit.

Pretty much the whole of Team Ir*n M*n switched sides after the fact. Natasha helped Steve and Bucky get to Siberia before the fight even ended. Rhodey literally says fuck the Accords by dismissing Ross when Steve, Sam, Wanda, Natasha, and Vision show up in IW. Vision is on the rogue Avengers team by the time we get to Infinity War. T’Challa is able o see reason by the end of CW and, it can be inferred that he turns Zemo in rather than letting vengeance continue to blind him (which takes a certain strength of will considering he’s standing next to the man who killed his father, that he was present to witness, and it happened no more than a handful of days beforehand and he was still able to control himself.) The only one really left is Peter, and that poor kid is just trying to impress someone he looks up to. He doesn’t know all the facts, he’s been conditioned to think that Steve’s wrong no matter what he says or does. And look how he gets treated in Homecoming.

Steve is the only one shown actually reading the Accords. If you consider the fact that not everyone has an eidetic memory like Steve (proven in TFA when he accurately places HYDRA bases on a map after a few seconds glance at one in the base he rescued Bucky from) it’s a stretch at best to think that everyone was able to read and absorb all the information, put forth motions for changes, etc... in the perhaps 3 day period between being presented with the Accords and them being ratified in Vienna.

Steve nearly caves and you can see that it kills him. When he’s talking to T*ny about the Accords in Germany, and T*ny tries to sway him with the pens that belonged to Howard (dick move, btw); its resignation and manipulation, not belief, that leads him to nearly sign. Bucky is Steve’s weak spot in this film and T*ny uses the fact that they can help him if he signs as a point to try to grind down Steve’s resolve and it nearly works until he mentions Wanda.

Wanda Maximoff clearly understands that she’s done wrong. She understands that she’s made mistakes and that the way she began wasn’t honorable. Wanda beats herself up over what happened in Lagos (she’s self-depreciating when Steve tries to convince her she wasn’t entirely at fault [”Turn the TV back on, they’re being very specific.”], she doesn’t want Steve to take any of the blame because she feels like it’s all her fault.) Wanda understands. She wants to use her power for good, she wants to change. When Clint tells her in AoU that it doesn’t matter what you did or what you were, if you step out that door, you’re an Avenger; she takes that to heart.

#anti civil war #anti tony stark

887 notes · View notes

alternislatronemhq · 4 years ago

Photo

Congrats, ELLIE, you have been accepted to AL for the role of SEVERUS SNAPE (FC: aneurin barnard). HOLY CRAPOLY, ELLIE! This app was absolutely fantastic! I couldn’t pull myself away from reading it and was just seriously BLOWN AWAY. This is everything I ever could have dreamed for in a portrayal for a character as central to the plot as Severus is! You truly have a gift and I’m so excited you’re here! Please send in your blog (no sideblogs for first characters, please) in the next 24 hours and be sure to take a look at our new player checklist. Welcome home (once again), we’re so excited to have you join the family!

OOC

name — ellie. age — 20+ pronouns — she/her. timezone — GMT. activity level — i’m not a very fast writer tbh, but i don’t have any other hobbies or rl obligations to keep me from rp atm so i should be able to maintain more than 3 paras a week.

IC Overview

name — severus tobias snape. faceclaim — aneurin barnard, louis garrel, richard harmon. age — 26. gender — cis male.

sexuality — demisexual, biromantic. He lacks the terminology for it, and simply regards sex as yet another social endeavor for which he is ill-equipped.

patronus — doe. yes, it still works. no, he doesn’t understand why or how. he is most certainly not pure of heart. the memory he calls on to summon the patronus is his first dinner with the evans family, where mrs. evans piled his plate high with steak and mashed potatoes and peas, and lily snuck her broccoli onto his plate discreetly while trying not to make a face, and petunia was spending the night at a friend’s house across the street and too far away to ruin the lighthearted atmosphere. they joked and laughed and cleaned the dishes afterwards. it was the first proper family dinner he’s had in his life.

boggart — voldemort. Not, specifically, for the man himself although he is a rather striking figure on his own – but rather for what the man represents to snape. Voldemort represents how far snape’s ambition and thirst for power and knowledge will take him if left unchecked. He represents a hungry and gaping and greedy part of snape that will take and take and take, and grow hungrier and greedier still, uncaring. Losing control in such a manner – allowing himself to be led astray by a mad man and his mad men, doing their bidding and spreading pain and grief and loss, thinking himself so righteous and vindicated – the worst parts of himself, unvarnished, laid bare for him to see. Snape has long since discarded any illusions of himself he may have entertained before the war. He knows the parts that make him up. He knows what he does and why he does it. He knows how far he will go without an anchor — and he fears being unmoored and unrestrained most of all. Fears what he will allow himself to do, without a pragmatic set of rules and ethics to keep him in line.

IC In Depth

personality traits —

+Loyal: snape’s loyalty is difficult to earn, but impossible to lose. He has a thorough, comprehensive, all-or-nothing approach towards loyalty. You either have it or you don’t. All of him or none of him. He will give you his soul – his strength, his work, his honour, his dignity, his life, his word – or he will give you nothing. Thus far, the only people who have earned his loyalty are lily evans and albus dumbledore.

+Sharp: snape is clever and perceptive, his intelligence owed in large due to the many hours spent in his mother’s company as a child, listening to her stories and her theories and her careful instruction. She was not a pleasant woman, nor a kind mother, but she taught him the power of knowledge at a young age, and the sharp glint of intelligence in his eyes matched hers.

+Hardworking: say what you will about snape’s character flaws – of which he has plenty, and of which there is quite a lot to say – but his work ethic has always been and will always be impeccable, beyond reproach. He never does things by half. He is a hard worker who spares no efforts once he sets his mind to a task.

-Antagonistic: he holds firm to an unpleasant disposition and hostile countenance. It is his nature to be wary and suspicious and to hold others in low esteem until proven wrong. Snape takes most attempts at social interaction with a grain of salt, expecting mockery and insolence and responding swiftly in kind.

-Bitter: snape’s biggest motivator is spite. He’s a man of well-groomed grudges, what can he say? growing up in poverty with a bitter mother and an unpleasant father, both of whom were uncreative in how they let out their frustrations and rather liberal in tossing about blame for everything that had gone wrong in their lives, had left him with quite an armful of ill-advised coping methods and a less than stellar personality overall.

-Selfish: it’s not that he’s incapable of love and affection. He is demonstrably and regrettably capable of both. He has, as well, displayed a certain capacity for selfless action when it came to his precious few loved ones. Sometimes. But, well. Well. It’s not his default. He spent many years with his head firmly stuck up his ass, seeing and caring about nothing but his own interests and his own ambitions and dreams finally being realized — and nearly lost the only thing in his rather pathetic life that held any meaning whatsoever. And he is still selfish by nature. Even in the years since he’d come to dumbledore to yet again pledge his allegiance to yet another all powerful and all conniving old wizard – the irony of which was not lost on him, not for a moment, rest assured – selflessness is still an installed feature that he must think consciously of before implementing. And, most of the time, it is not something he chooses to do.

-Deceptive: if snape was the sort to keep count of such things – and, as a spy, he most assuredly is – he would truthfully disclose that, in every relationship he’s built in his life since he was old enough for hogwarts, there is a layer of deception that must be adhered to at all times. An intermingling web of lies and half truths and omissions that must be observed with careful attention, lest the whole thing unravel and spill out his doom. He’s a spy. At least now it’s become part and parcel of who he is. At least, he now has a quasi-noble purpose to attach to the rather sticky threads of which he is – secretly – fond. He can admit, if only to himself, that he doesn’t know how to build a relationship without some form of deception to maintain throughout.

character biography —

PROLOGUE.

he stands on his tiptoes over the wooden chair, stirring with the ladle in both hands. clockwise, clockwise, counter-clockwise…. let the ladle rest against the side of the cauldron for thirty seconds. the liquid is two shades off. he adds a pinch of powder, and the color adjusts.

mam’s sharp eyes follow his every move. she nods, stiffly. tension uncoils from his shoulders. “when you get to hogwarts,” she says, brusque, “you’ll be at the top of your class.”

it’s not explicit praise, told more like a command, really, but it’s close enough. emboldened, he asks, “will i ‘ave friends at ‘ogwarts?” he looks up. watches. “lots and lots o’ friends?”

mam blinks. the silence stretches. she pats his head, drops her hand down to his shoulder. “of course, sev. lots and lots. now help me pack everything away before your dad comes home.”

ACT I.

can a place be both hell and home?

well, if it can be — if it’s possible to love and hate a place with equal intensity, if it’s possible to feel like a jigsaw puzzle slotting into place at last and still look over your shoulder and jump at every sound — if it is, then to severus, hogwarts was that place. the home that was unsafe, the home with danger at every corner, the home with no way out. no way out but through.

it’s not s’pposed to be like this, he’d thought, eleven and still a touch naive. this can’t be right. but what did he know about homes and safety, anyway? was Spinner’s End not the same, except smaller and with less magic? did he not look over his shoulder and watch his every step just the same?

being a halfblood matters, more than he thought it would. and being a slytherin matters, but not in the way he’d thought. a poor, dirty, halfblood slytherin with a nasty attitude and an uncouth accent stood out like a rotten stink. hogwarts was magical and whimsical, but it was just a place, just like any other, and the students were just students, and the bullies were just bullies. and sev was still sev, wand or no wand. hogwarts did not fix him and make him better. it did not give him friends on a silver platter.

what it gave him, instead, was knowledge. yes, he spent years the target of relentless bullying, made more enemies than friends and few acquaintances who were in between, but the library was his home. He devoured knowledge with a single-minded intensity, filled with such joy at learning new concepts and spells that it made everything else he had to put up with worth the effort. He badgered his teachers relentlessly with increasingly complex questions, and often times concerning lines of inquiry, and experimented with new spells and potions early on — first with lily, then without — filling notebooks with ideas and information and half formed thoughts. At the age of thirteen, he’d begun working on his own grimoire, writing down his own potions recipes and his modifications to existing potions. All the great potions masters have their own grimoires, why shouldn’t he start his own now?

He isn’t sure when his views began to shift. Somewhere along the way, the facade he’d put on for his housemates began to seep through the cracks and into the boy underneath. it became so much easier to hate muggles and then muggleborns, to blame them for everything that went wrong in his life, to use this hatred as an outlet for all his frustrations he already had with his own life.

By the time the dark lord called, severus was well and truly indoctrinated. It didn’t take much to convince himself that this was the right thing to do.

ACT II.

He takes the mark.

Things… escalate.

They ask him to do terrible things, and he does them fastidiously. He does not feel satisfaction or pleasure when killing and torturing, though he hardly lets that stop him from doing exactly as he’s instructed, to the letter, and sometimes beyond. Vying for the attention and approval of the man who held his soul in the palm of his hand, indifferent to it’s fate, careless in his handling unless the little halfblood proved himself useful. And he did. He proved himself clever, gifted, loyal, ruthless. He worked hard to earn his place, knowing the alternative.

It’s not like he doesn’t know he’s in a genocidal cult. At some point, even the most indoctrinated could see what this was. The dark lord wanted servants to do his bidding, not allies to share in the glory and the power. The dark lord was strikingly clever, imposing and powerful, and stark raving mad.

But severus was marked. He couldn’t put himself at risk, couldn’t think of stepping out of line with his master’s mark upon his arm. The only way out was through.

severus was thorough. he followed instructions to completion, with a single minded focus. he did his work with a professional detachment, a nonbeliever in the guise of a devotee.

And then, he came upon a prophecy.

ACT III.

The dark lord’s fall is a gift that severus doesn’t know what to do with. He’d spent so long treading a worn thread like a tightrope over the brink of hell itself, that the thought of letting his guard down for even a moment sends his every sense screaming DANGER! DANGER! DANGER!

He feels like a man who’s been running full pelt, nonstop, like he was running his whole life and suddenly the ground is pulled from beneath him and he’s free-falling into nothingness. Lily is safe. Unhappy, but alive, and for that he is more grateful than he could’ve ever imagined.

But he is alive, too. And for all his plots and schemes, it didn’t occur to him that he’d make it to the other end of this war in one piece. Not since he turned spy.

The question mark hangs over his head all the way through the chaos following the dark lord’s fall. Severus, sitting through trial after trial, feels as though his ears are stuffed full of cotton and his senses are veiled through with fog. Only in the aftermath of his own trial, when dumbledore rests a hand upon his shoulder and grants him a proud smile does severus begin to hope.

Dumbledore saves him. He gives him a home, a job, a purpose. He guides him through the darkest hour of his life.

Even through the fog, Severus can see it: the headmaster’s true intentions. He knows he must be of some use to the headmaster still, that dumbledore is simply working to gain his true loyalty. That all severus had really done on that stormy night was trade one master for another.

But dumbledore, for all his machinations, is still a good man. There are worse masters to grovel to, as he very well knows. And lily is safe, just as promised. It’s only right that severus pay back his due.

ACT IV.

Once he finds his footing, severus gets busy. He integrates himself with the remaining loyal death eaters as seamlessly as possible, works to maintain at least civil relationships with high ranking order members — with a few notable exceptions — and begins to, brick by brick, build his life from the ground up.

The following years are filled with quiet self reflection. Severus grows more critical of himself, of his actions, of his beliefs. He pulls apart his motives and his reasons for joining the dark lord, inspects his role in the war unsympathetically, the impact he’s had on the lives of others. He does not like what he sees. but he does not look away.

He’s created violent and dark spells for the dark lord during his service. Spells with no counter, or a secret one. Spells the death eaters all knew and used. If he had died in the war as he’d come to expect to, these spells would’ve been his only legacy. His only contribution to the wizarding world. unparalleled violence.

This is who he is. This is what he’s done. He cannot undo it, he cannot be forgiven. but he can strive to be… better. And he does.

beyond the waiting and watching and listening, severus shifts the bulk of his focus upon his work. He creates and tests potions with the needs of the wizarding community in mind, puts his brilliance to good use. He follows a strict code of ethics, to the letter, holds himself to task when it is not properly adhered to. He takes responsibility for the things he releases into the world. He builds himself a respectable reputation in his fields of study, his articles and discoveries published in peer-reviewed journals and papers, his work talked about in academic circles with something like respect.

As the whispers spread and the death eaters prepare for their next move, severus shifts to a ready stance. He has more to fight for — more to live for, now — than he had five years ago. He is ready.

plot ideas —

oh, god, i’m SO excited to explore what snape post-war would’ve been like if he didn’t lose lily. what happened in the books is that lily’s death and his role in it sent him down a spiral of self loathing, guilt, and suicide ideation – and he wallowed in his grief and his guilt for the rest of his life. the trajectory of his life after lily’s death shifted to protecting her son and serving dumbledore. he stopped thinking of his own ends and started viewing himself as a means to an end, that end being the physical safety of lily’s boy (disregarding, of course, the mental wellbeing of potter’s spawn) and while there was growth in his own views over the years i can’t help but think it was greatly stunted by his own grief.

what i want to explore with snape is growth. realistic, nonlinear, steady growth over the years after the war, where he becomes more critical of both himself, his motives, his thinking, and the impact of his actions on other people and the world. he grew up a precocious child with no proper adult guidance, and all his life lessons he’s learned through first hand experience. and like any other 17-year-old, he thought he knew everything. He was reckless and arrogant, and he made terrible choices confidently, with no regard to the greater consequences. post-war snape is painfully aware of his own shortcomings, is trying to be better, not for the sake of being a good person but for the sake of proper self discipline and self control. he never wants to lose control of himself and allow his ambitions and his greed to take him to such lengths again. he wants to have a more positive impact on the world around him, even if he himself is still an objectively bad person, even if he himself is still selfish and deceptive and eaten up by greed.

so how can a bad person be good? by doing good things, even if he’s doing it for the wrong reasons. and snape is doing it for the wrong reasons, he’s well aware of that. He doesn’t have the intuitive grasp of right and wrong that lily always had. He can’t simply do what feels right, as that never turned out to be the right thing at all. Instead, he does what he calculates as having the most positive impact on the biggest number of people, regardless of whether or not it feels right to him. He acts in the interests of the greater good.

It’s a very utilitarian approach. Not dissimilar to dumbledore, who took snape in after the war and was more or less his mentor figure the years following. but unlike dumbledore, snape does not disregard or dismiss the individual lives of people he comes across, is very mindful of his own personal impact in the individual lives of the people around him. in canon, snape is horrified at dumbledore’s plan for harry. dumbledore asks him how many men and women he’s watched die, and snape’s response to that is ‘lately, only those whom i could not save.’ this interaction perfectly encapsulates the differences in morality between the two men. snape is capable of making sacrifices for the greater good and strives to work towards ending the war, making moral compromises towards that end. but his faith in the greater good is limited. When it comes down to it, snape is loyal to people, not causes. And often, since he’s made the conscious decision to become a better person, risks his life for the sake of others.

Another thing i want to explore with snape is his interpersonal relationships. Because, god. Come onnnnnnnnn. His two best friends are lily evans and lucius malfoy. For fucks sake. Lily who cut ties with him when they were 16 and whose husband he is partially responsible for sending to an indefinite coma, yikes, and lucius, for whom he feels the most straightforward affection and who he’s actually quite prepared to stab in the back when the time comes. And it will come, soon enough.

He has….. Complicated relationships. And complicated views on intimacy. He has a tendency to separate his feelings from his duty, which sometimes leads to him doing terrible things to people he cares about. Lying, stealing, manipulating, etc etc etc. it does not mean, to him, that he cares about these people any less. Regrettably, he cares too much, and can’t stop caring once he starts. It does not mean the people he cares about are safe with him. And i want to explore that, especially in his relationships with lily and lucius, as well as his fellow death eaters.

Speaking of the death eaters. Snape was already a high ranking death eater before the dark lord fell, and he’d worked very hard the last five years to integrate himself irrevocably within the ranks of the remaining death eaters. He’d observed their dynamics and worked to make himself seem as loyal and irreplaceable as can be. No doubt he formed many a bond with many a member, not all of them built on lies. And he would take special interest in the hesitant, wavering loyalties, poking and prodding to see how he can use them to further his own position within the death eaters ranks. There’s a lot of potential for inner-politics and sabotage within the DE.

extra —

Mockblog @ sevsnpe.tumblr.com

headcanons:

Snape had a thick manchester accent growing up that was very quickly packed away and replaced with ‘respectable speech’ a few weeks into his stay in the snake pit. When he’s angry or emotional he speaks very slowly and deliberately, his voice dropping in octaves and growing very soft and precise. it becomes very difficult for him to keep control of his speech. He slips on occasion when he and lily are alone.

Eileen sold wonderful ailment-soothing ‘tea’ for her neighbours. severus helped her brew these concoctions regularly as a kid, when he was still too short to reach the tabletop without standing on a chair.

Snape looks up to dumbledore and seeks his approval. It infuriates him to no end, that so much of his own decision-making hinges on the older man’s opinion of him, that he cares what albus thinks of him at all. But after the dark lord’s fall, snape was lost and fumbling, trying to make sense of the world, of himself, of his next steps. He desperately wanted to be a better man, but had neither the tools nor the guidance to do so. if albus hadn’t taken him under his wing, he doesn’t know where he’d be now.

he’s a heavy smoker. he picked up smoking post-war and is not in any hurry to quit. he can stop whenever he wants to anyway.

he maintains a private library in his rooms at hogwarts. he’s as possessive of it and as territorial as a dog. he’s accumulated a very impressive collection of rare books and journals over the years, and a long list of contacts in the private book collectors and book sellers circles to go with. a disproportionate number of his books are highly illegal and officially labelled ‘dark’.

the bulk of his focus, after the war, is split between two things. integrating himself further into the remaining circle of death eaters, and his own personal research into the mind arts, potions, and dark magic, which he conducts in his capacity as potions master and professor at hogwarts. he’s made several discoveries in potions study and published multiple articles in academic journals over the last five years, building himself a respectable reputation and body of works within his field. beyond the fact that such academic pursuits are his passion, his work gives him tangible proof that he is capable of positive contributions to the world around him. that he is capable of doing good, even if he himself is a bad person. his work and his growing reputation gives him something to look forward to after the war. it’s something unrelated to the death eaters and to lily, it’s something completely his own. he is very defensive and protective of his research.

Once or twice a month, snape visits muggle london and spends a few hours in a public library. It’s calming, reading books to simply pass the time. He won’t admit this to anyone, but the connection he has to the muggle world is something he’s learned to accept and even take comfort in from time to time.

#al:accepted #severus snape #harry potter rp #hp rp #marauders era rp

1 note · View note

madsmikkelsenschesthair · 5 years ago

Text

Blood of the Dragon ch.5

Summary: Rhaegar and Cersei arrive in Kattegat to retrieve their daughter and Bjorn must leave Kattegat and look for his father and the rest of missing men.

Warnings: swearing, crying, angst, forced to leave home, some violence

A/N: UwU daddy Björn to the rescue

Freyja wanted to run deeper into the woods. She wanted to run away and come back until her father had left or find a way to hide in a different village but Hvitserk and Sigurd were walking on each side keeping her from running. She clutched the pup closer to her chest, they were walking painfully slow taking their time when Sigurd pushed all of them into a bush suddenly and pulled Ivar with them. They all cursed at him and the pup growled.

“What are you doing?” Ivar snapped. He hissed at the pain radiating from his legs.

“Look” Sigurd turned Freyja’s face to the harbor. There were three huge ships, bigger than the ones she grew up with. Ten times bigger if not more. Their sails larger than a house, black as night with a red three-headed. Freyja trembled. They were here. They were really here. Smaller boats sailed to the docks; more knights wearing the same armor as Uncle Jaime while the others were made of steel. No golden crucifixes around their necks or armor, no priests, Pope or Bishops with their stern faces or proud gaze. Just normal knights and in one of those boats, Freyja saw three figures surrounded by the white cloaks. She recognized the man from her dreams more handsome in person with a golden crown on top of his head, the woman with hair as short as a man and as gold as her brother’s hair wearing a silver crown and on her lap was a little boy black of hair. A large crowd formed on the beach they couldn’t see them but they knew their family was already at the front ready to greet the royal family.

The knights stepped off the boat first, with poise and order stopping on the edge of the docks with their swords raised. Next came more knights with steel shields with a roaring lion on it and behind them Rhaegar Targaryen, his wife, and stepson. The children watched all of Kattegat fall to one knee with bowed heads. They were all silent for a moment when they stood up once again. She couldn’t tell what they were saying but from the way Rhaegar embraced Bjorn and his mother, she could tell he was beyond happy to see them again. The little boy and the boy greeted them as well but formally. Then Rhaegar began to look around, searching for her. Hvitserk pushed her back to the woods and to Sigurd, he said, “Help me carry our brother”. Freyja took this as a sign and hurried into the trees with the boys right at behind her.

She knew where to run. Deeper into the forest, past their secret meeting place and climbed the hills. Freyja didn’t want to go anywhere. She wanted to stay here where she was raised and loved by everyone not with strangers she barely knew about. The small hut came to view, the same one she came to every time she wanted a laugh or hear stories of the gods, Helga always held her and braided her hair.

“Floki! Floki are you home? Answer me!”

The touched-in-the head Norseman came out of his home looking around for the owner of the voice and grinned when he saw them running to him but soon wiped it off as he noticed the look of distress on their face.

“Children what’s the matter?” Floki almost fell as Freyja bumped into him.

“My father, King Rhaegar is here! I don’t wanna go!”

He hurried them inside where Helga looked up from her tasks by the fire. Hvitserk and Sigurd set Ivar down on a stool and plopped down on the floor breathless. Freyja put her scared pup on the floor, she had not realized she was shivering from the cold or fear she did not know.

“What’s the matter, sweet Freyja?” Helga knelt before her and Floki double locked their door so no one would go in.

“My father is here. Rhaegar is here to take me away. I was with Bjorn and this knight named Jaime Lannister approached us” Freyja grew quiet for a moment, Helga leaned in eagerly and Floki eyed her urging her to keep talking. “Ragnar is missing. The war’s been over for years now and ever since then they haven’t seen him”

It was a devastating blow for Floki. He had to lean against the post for support. His best friend lost in an unknown world, a world he thought he knew too well but was proven wrong. He should have gone with him. He should have stayed by his side like he always did.

“Why didn’t the king send a raven letting us know about Ragnar’s disappearance?” Floki asked, his eyes avoided her face now.

“I don’t know either. I ask myself that same question” The girl bit her bottom lip nervously. “I think that’s what Jaime was going to talk about with Kraka and Lagertha but they shooed us away so we wouldn’t here”

“I don’t understand. You won’t be children forever”

“We don’t either,” Hvitserk said, “I think it was because Jaime is a knight and they didn’t want him to take Freyja away.”

“Do you think they’ll find us here?” The wolf pup jumped on to her lap and snuggled against her for heat.

Helga gasped and touched a soft little ear. “A direwolf! What’s his name?”

Freyja patted the pup’s belly. “I just got him today. I was thinking of naming him Fenrir. After the son of Loki”

Since she was a little girl, Freyja loved the story of Fenrir the terrifying wolf awaiting Ragnarok. The most terrifying of Loki’s children, Freyja was never afraid of the tales like the other children.

“The name suits him. He does look like the son of Loki”

A pounding at the door made them jump and Fenrir growl. They all backed away from the door, the boys took out their ax and swords and Freyja gripped the dagger in her hands. Hvitserk and Sigurd covered her body with theirs ready to fight off anyone who would try to take her. Another pound shook the whole hut followed by a demanding voice, “Open in the name of the King!”

“Which King?” Floki called back.

“In the name of His Grace Rhaegar Targaryen!”

They all looked at Freyja. As much as she wanted to curl up and cry instead she held her head high and slid the dagger back in her belt. She took a deep breath and without looking back she opened the door letting in the sunlight reflecting off the armor of the knights. There were twenty of them and with them was her family and her father with her stepmother. They had her surrounded. Nowhere to run now. All of them walked outside and her family came to her side with Bjorn wrapping his arm around her shoulder protectively. Freyja felt safe and protected from all these strangers but could they stop Rhaegar?

Uncle Jaime looked awkward standing between both families but soon fixed his posture. “Freyja I would like you to meet your father, Rhaegar. Your stepmother Cersei and her son Robbert Baratheon second of his name. Come forward my dear, say hi to your father”

Freyja stood there frozen staring at the strangers watching her with eagerness in their eyes along with Bjorn’s arm still around her gripping her shoulder. It wasn’t when Lagertha gave her a slight push did Bjorn reluctantly let her go.

‘Don’t show them any tears, Freyja. Show them you were raised to be strong’

She walked to where her Uncle Jaime was and Rhaegar left his wife’s side and embraced his child in a suffocating hug, he was kissing her cheeks and crying. This shook Freyja. She had never seen a grown man cry let alone a King.

“My sweet Y/n you are as beautiful as your grandmother. Look at you! Pure Valyrian beauty!”

Freyja looked over her shoulder, her eyes begging her family to help her. Her father hugged her again this time more gentle and sweet. Her stepmother Cersei stepped hugged her too and kissed her forehead.

“Hello little dove, how are you?”

Cersei was a beautiful woman with the same pretty green eyes as her brother. Her son didn’t have her eyes but instead they were so blue she could see her reflection yet the little boy looked sickly and frail still he smiled shyly at his new sister.

There were so many emotions swimming inside her, Freyja couldn’t quite comprehend what was going to happen. They were here. They were truly here and she didn’t like it.

Knives scrapped their golden plates, the meat carving so easily. Freyja avoided eye contact with her parents and looked down at her plate; potatoes, black bread, meat, and honeyed vegetables with mead in a golden chalice. It was silent and eerie with four strangers sitting at their table. Normally it was filled with laughter and stories sometimes the occasional catfight between Ivar and Sigurd but tonight was different. Everything was. Even Kattegat was quiet. The only comfort was the warm bodies of being sandwiched between Ivar and Sigurd. Fenrir laid on top of her feet snoozing away without a care in the world.

“Y/n-I mean, Freyja, do you like it here?” Her stepmother said breaking the silence.

“I love it here!” she answered quickly now looking up. “I love it. This is my home”

“Wouldn’t you like to live in a castle instead? A castle with so many rooms and a beautiful garden and Kingswood you could explore. The garden is like you stepped in a tropical world with exotic birds and flowers”

It sounded lovely. The garden sort of reminded Freyja of the Garden of Eden, the one Athelstan talked about when she was little.

“I’d rather stay here instead” Freyja went back to looking down at her plate, tears started to form again.

“But you will have your own room and bathroom. The rooms are bigger than this entire Hall. And you will also own many pretty dresses like me”

“You will also be a Queen one day” Her father added. “Wouldn’t you like that?”

“No. I want to be a shieldmaiden instead” Freyja looked up again from her plate, she could see how cold her Father’s eyes went but she didn’t care.

The table was silent once again but now everyone was looking up from their plates.

“A...shieldmaiden?” Uncle Jaime asked.

“A female Viking warrior. They get to go on raidings with the men and fight in wars” she explained biting a huge chunk of bread with spread honey.

Her stepmother nodded knowingly. “And you would rather live like that than rule a Kingdom?”

“Can I be both then? A queen and a shieldmaiden?”

“I once bedded a shieldmaiden” Jaime blurted out, they all stared at him. Freyja and the younger Ragnarsons giggled.

The boys were asleep but Freyja laid awake to listen. Sigurd and Ivar were snoring slightly on each side of her and Ubbe and Hvitserk were stretched out in their own bed. The grownups were still outside the room talking. Their voices hushed and soothing.

“She should stay here. This world is all she knows” It was Lagertha.

“Y/n is the daughter of a King. One day she will be a Queen and she needs to be taught our ways” Her father answered.

“Freyja is very happy here. She loves the only home she knows and gets along well with the boys” Bjorn intervened. He wanted her to stay.

“She will marry one of Ragnar’s sons, Your Grace” she heard Athelstan say, “It is a prophecy just like her prophecy is that she is the promised Queen”

They were silent, thinking of the Priest’s words. Freyja waited impatiently for their talk. She couldn’t sleep not when they were talking about whether she stayed or no. Freyja pulled herself closer to Ivar, hugging his waist.

“If it is so then when she is of age she will marry one of his sons,” Stepmother said with a low chuckle. “has she bled yet?”

Freyja blushed.

“She has. She’s been bleeding for two years now” Kraka answered. “She is a woman now”

“Leave her Your Grace,” Bjorn pleaded “she is very happy here. She can leave when she is ready. I know it in my heart she will not be happy”

“Are you her father Bjorn?” Rhaegar didn’t sound angry but hurt that he would say such things.

“I raised her as if she were my own. Loved her. Taught her lessons your people never will. Protected her while you were fighting a war never sending a letter only to ask for help” Bjorn was angry now. Freyja understood, he was fighting to keep the child he loved like a daughter, a child he raised only to be taken away from his arms. He was a father to her even if they weren’t blood of blood.

“I’m sorry my son but we must listen to His Grace. Freyja is her father and he knows what is best for her” Lagertha wanted to sound tough though Freyja saw right through it. Her heart shattered. Her father was that powerful, huh? Laying in between her boys no longer felt comfortable. Freyja wiggled out of there like a fish and tiptoed to Hvitserk’s bed. He was snoring loudly now and Freyja pulled back the furs and huddled in. Hvitserk, still in his deep sleep, wrapped his arms around her small frame and Freyja felt safer.

“I will go on a raid then. In search of my father. I cannot bear being in the same place without my Freyja”

Tears pooled in her eyes, a painful lump in her throat formed and Freyja hugged Hvitserk tighter. She didn’t want to go. This was her home, her entire life was here and what was she going to do in a land far, far away? Freyja, as much as she looked like her father, was far different than they were. Freyja was raised with different ways, different gods, different languages. Their accents were so smooth compared to hers and her family’s. It sounded much smoother than Athelstan’s. Their way of dressing was different too. Was she going to dress in one of those heavy looking dresses now? Were they going to force her into a new religion? Freyja prayed to the Gods it wasn’t Christianity because if it was she will abandon the crown and snuggle her way back to Kattegat. Freyja wasn’t ready to leave her home, she was sure she wouldn’t fit in Kingslanding with their stupid accents and their stupid customs. She was Freyja Thorsdottir and until the day she dies, it will remain so. The couple sitting at their table were strangers even if Rhaegar was her father and Cersei her new so-called mother, they couldn’t just come into her world and rip her away from it.

The next morning, Freyja stood on the docks saying her goodbyes to Floki and Bjorn. She and Bjorn embraced not wanting to let each other go. Bjorn smoothed her hair one last time and kissed her temple and forehead several times. It was a heartbreaking scene to watch. They both knew it will be a while before they saw each other again. If ever.

“Take me with you, Bear, Please take me with you. You are the only father in my heart”

Bjorn pulled away and caressed her cheeks. “I can’t right now, sweet Freyja. I will one day and together we will see the world.”

“Even India?”

He chuckled. “I will take you to India. I have something for you” Bjorn reached into his bag and pulled out a necklace with a Thor’s Mjolnir amulet. He put it around her neck and said, “Never forget where you came from. It doesn’t matter if you sit on an Iron Throne or you rule a village like Kattegat, you will always be Thorsdottir, little princess. You have the Gods by your side”

Freyja clutched Mjolnir and hugged Bjorn one last time. “Promise me we will see each other again. Promise me Bear”

“I promise little princess”

And with a broken heart, the pair parted ways for the first time and it will be a long time before they could reunite once again. Bjorn left her as a child-woman with big doe eyes and angelic face and the next time he will see her she will be a full grown woman wearing a crown and different silks. Freyja will forever be his child, his little girl. The gods had finally given him a child to love and they had taken her away, ripped from his arms like savages ripping out a heart from a warm body. He couldn’t bear to turn away until she and all of Kattegat was a tiny dot in the horizon.

https://grimfrost.com/collections/jewelry/products/valhalla-wolf-chain-set-1-silver Freyja’s necklace.

@lettersofwrittencollective @faeeryy @i-only-signed-up-for-fanfiction @blonddnamedhandz @wanderlust-imagines @mellxander1993 @-thatgirloverthere-

IF I FORGOT YOU PLEASE MESSAGE ME

#blood of the dragon fanfic #game of thrones and vikings #vikings fanfic #hvitserk x reader #sigurd x reader #ivar x reader #game of thrones fanfic #game of thrones writing #game of thrones imagine #vikings imagine #vikings writings

69 notes · View notes

clumsydarknut · 5 years ago

Text

The Spirit of the Hero - Chapter 5

My take on the AU by JoJo over @linkeduniverse . Posting this in celebration of finally acquiring a NES and SNES plus the gold cartridges of Zelda I and Zelda II. Took me a little longer to get a good handle on this one. Longest chapter yet. Enjoy.

Beginning | Previous | Next | Most Recent (More to follow!)

The morning air was crisp and cool, frost glistening on every surface. Though the sky was still dark and the forest almost black, Link – now named Courage – knew the sun was up and simply hidden by the mountains to the east. It would be at least another hour before the sky lit up, and another hour beyond that for the light to penetrate the towering trees. Still, their party needed to set out.

The night before had been an interesting one, to say the least. Setting aside the strange revelation that he now traveled with eight other variations of himself, the discussion on why they were brought together, how they ended up here, and what exactly is going on was plenty for his mind to chew on. Despite all their theories, they had only been able to determine one thing: someone was in danger, and a lot of it. The rest, Time had said, they couldn’t figure out without more information. It was agreed they would head to Castle Town – hopefully to speak with the Royal Family – and that they would break camp as early as possible the next morning.

Courage took another breath, enjoying the near-silence of the sleeping woods for a moment longer. I’ll have to wake them. We can’t afford to wait for true daylight. He stood and looked to the fire where Light sat. They had kept it going for the sake of their islander, who couldn’t manage to keep warm without it. Wind was curled up in three extra blankets not a foot from the firepit and still shivering. Courage had done plenty of travel and was very used to acclimatizing quickly, but to live your whole life on a warm, tropical ocean and then be dropped in the middle of a pine forest at the start of winter? That would test even his abilities.

“It’s time, then?” Light asked softly.

“From the looks of it,” Courage replied, then gestured to the quivering bundle, “Wake him last, though. Doubt he’s had enough rest in this cold.”

Light nodded and stood, making his way to the next-closest bedroll. Courage knelt next to Wild and put a hand to his sword before nudging the man gently.

Just as he expected, Wild jolted awake and drew his sword halfway before realizing who was there. Courage smiled. I suppose we all have that in common. He motioned for Wild to sheath his sword and to try to stay quiet, nodding his head in the direction of Wind. Wild nodded in return, calming his pant and setting to preparing breakfast.

The others awoke in a much similar way. Most started to draw swords and rose with a burst of adrenaline. Light almost had an ear taken off when he nudged Twilight, for which Twilight apologized profusely. Courage approached Legend with that reaction in mind, but to his surprise Legend didn’t stir after a first, second, or third nudge. It wasn’t until Wild sprinkled some pine needles over his face that the man showed signs of life, and those signs were… less than ecstatic.

Once Legend was awake and no longer bloodthirsty, they set to breaking camp. Light and Courage were already fully equipped, having been on watch, and most of the others only had to strap on their weapons. Time and Warriors, however, had opted not to sleep in their armor. The time it took Warriors to don his vambraces and Time his plated cuirass allowed for Wild to roast some of the frozen boar, which, when Wind awoke, he found he desperately needed.

“I c-can’t believe how w-well this is warming me up,” he chattered from inside his blanket cocoon.

“Pink safflina does that,” Wild stated through a mouthful, “as do sunshrooms, if you cook them. Handy in a pinch.”

“These will help, too.” Light held out a pair of boots. Wind dropped his breakfast and shoved them onto his feet.

“Ohhhh man that’s so much better,” he sighed, flopping back on the forest floor.

“I’ll need them back eventually,” Light intoned. “You can probably get your own when we get to Lehara.”

At that Wind heaved himself back into a sitting position, shoved the rest of the boar steak into his mouth, and leapt to his feet. “Weshl ngu bem!” In one motion he had his gear off the ground and on his back, and without another word was headed down the road. The other Links exchanged surprised looks and hastened to get going themselves. Courage quickly rolled up the abandoned blanket cocoon and stowed it in his enchanted pouch, jogging to catch up with his lobster-shirted friend.

Courage had expected the journey to be less quiet than it had been with only five of them, but he was soon proven wrong. While Legend’s occasional cursing was joined by Wind humming here and there, no one said a word. Rather than tense, though, it seemed peaceful. I suppose, Courage thought, we all have probably spent a fair amount of time alone. He certainly had.

Courage’s mind drifted to his time in the labyrinths. He’d been so young then. How old had he been? Could he even remember? Maybe somewhere around thirteen, fourteen? That time was so foggy. Even if he had known how old he was when he encountered Impa, the ancient underground of Hyrule didn’t show the passage of time. Devoid of light, warmth, and populated only by monsters, the months he spent there – or perhaps years; he did not know – had left him without a lot to say. When your lantern went out and all you could do was feel your way along the walls, silence was survival.

More than that, silence was safety. In the dankness of a decrepit dungeon, it gave him comfort to hear all that was going on in a room. To know with a surety that nothing could sneak up on him. To always have the upper hand. Silence gave him that. In silence there were no surprises, and when surprises included blades to the gut, it was better that you didn’t encounter any. Whether or not the other Links shared his reasoning, he had no doubt that they had their own.

The walk went rather quickly, for being so quiet. Midday came and warmed their skin as they paused to pass out some of the deer jerky, then passed quickly into dusk as they came up on the town. The forest gave way into outlying farms leading up to a mess of buildings set on a river. Lehara was less of a town and more of a small city. Courage hadn’t seen many of this size, and felt something twist in the back of his stomach looking at the complicated streets. It made him uneasy, being only able to see where the town began and not where it ended. Too much potential for surprises.

“Courage?”

Courage gave a start and turned to Time. “Hm? What?”

“He asked if you were alright,” Legend sighed, tilting his head. “’Courage’ is seeming less and less like a fitting name. You look like you could be sick.”

Courage gave him a short glare and turned to answer Time. “I’m fine. Just got a bad feeling is all.”

Time nodded. “Let’s find an inn quickly. A heavily armed group of our size is sure to draw attention.”

“I need my own boots, still,” Wind piped up. He kicked the toe of one foot into the ground and looked sheepishly at Light. “They’re, uh, a bit small.”

“All the more reason to find an inn,” Warriors put in, stretching his arms over his head. “The innkeeper – if he’s worth his salt – can tell us where the best cobbler is.”

The group set off into the town at a quick pace. The streets were nearly empty, with only a few stragglers rushing about their last-minute errands. Courage noticed suspicious glances being cast out from under the awnings of roadside stalls and windows that quickly slid shut. The feeling of mistrust wasn’t new to him – in his time the people were necessarily suspicious of everyone – but feeling it on this scale was something else. I guess I am traveling with some pretty conspicuous partners. He generally didn’t wear much chainmail and blended in well with any crowd of travelers; Time’s full suit of armor, however, did not.

“Mommy,” a little boy squealed, clutching his mother’s apron, “Is that man a soldier?”

The boy’s mother patted his head and glanced warily at the group. “I’m not sure, sweetie, but it’s rude to point like that. Come along.”

Time chuckled as the woman scurried away, herding her son along in front of her. “I forget how extravagant this armor is.”

Warriors raised an eyebrow. “Is that not your usual garb?”

“I wouldn’t say that it is,” Time replied, examining the back of his gauntlet. “I’ve certainly used this equipment before, but not often, and not for a very long time.” He laughed. “I suppose, though, that even if I were dressed more plainly, your fine tunic and pauldrons would still draw the same attention.”

Warriors chuckled. “You’re right, but in my case that’s what they’re meant to do.”

“Over there!” Twilight rushed to the front of the group, pointing down the street. Courage quickly found what he was looking at – a carved hanging sign of a gluttonous cyclops with the name “The Drunken Hinox” embellished in tarnished silver underneath. On the street below was a barrel with a plank leaning against it that read “Lodgings Available” in a messy scrawl. The Links exchanged nods and pushed open the door.

The bottom floor – as expected – was a tavern of sorts. Considerably larger than the one at Beaverville, the spacious room held a dozen tables and had a small stage on the opposite wall from the bar. Courage breathed a sigh of relief at seeing most of the tables full and hearing raucous singing fill the air. Their party would likely go unnoticed, even with their heavy gear. Assuming they didn’t stir up any trouble, of course.

“G’devening, young masters.” A short, round man with a shiny bald head and scraggly red mustache called to them from behind the bar. “Here for a drink? Finest ale in all of Hyrule is served right here!”

“Actually,” Legend said, stepping up to the counter, “we’re here for the ‘inn’ part of your fine establishment. How much is one night?”

The man looked at the party and stroked his chin. “Nine of you, eh? Well, each of my rooms only has two beds, but I suppose if you paid for four I could give you three and haul an extra mattress into each of them. That’d run you… 800 rupees?” The man ignored Legend’s dumbfounded face and picked up a stein and a washcloth. “No, 850 with a ninth breakfast thrown in. I can discount you on the rooms but my wife’ll have my head if I discount her work in the kitchens.”

Courage could barely believe his ears. 850 rupees? He’d never so much as seen that much money, let alone spent that much on a room. Based on the expressions the other Links bore, he wasn’t alone in that. What kind of economic boom is Hyrule in right now that an inn warrants that kind of pricetag?

Light choked out a cough before cutting in. “Sir, I’m sure this town has many other inns where we can find a better price. Surely you can cut that down a little further?”

The man smiled. “Now, son, I know what you’re thinking. ‘He’s taking us for fools and raising the price for us cuz we’re from out of town’, right?” The man knocked on the sign above the bar with the back of his fist. “I don’t roll that way, young master. My prices are set right here. Lehara gets enough travelers for me to make a living without that kind of dirty work.”

Courage squinted at the board, and sure enough, his prices were listed there, however faintly. 200 still seems ridiculous, especially where one night was only 30 in the next town over.

Wild laughed suddenly, startling the other Links out of their stupor. He sauntered up to the bar and leaned over it, turning his back to the rest of the tavern and blocking any strangers view of the three, shimmering gold rupees he placed on the counter. Courage could barely believe his eyes.

“900 rupees for nine travelers in three rooms seems a fair price,” Wild hummed, “wouldn’t you say? ”

The shock that overtook the Links was nothing compared to that which hit the barkeep. Courage nearly jumped out of his skin when the stein the man was cleaning hit the ground with a loud clatter. It wasn’t loud enough to draw the attention of the whole room, but a few drunkards down the bar glanced their way. Exactly what we need.

The barkeep stammered his reply. “Y-you don’t seem to have much sense for bargaining, son, I wasn’t asking for that much.”

Wild slid the shiny gold gems discreetly across the counter. “Oh I know, but decent people deserve decent rewards. I can’t imagine it’s easy to compete in a hub town like this with a policy of honesty.” The long-haired man took on a sly grin. “It’s not like I’m short on cash anyhow.”

The innkeeper’s eyes were nearly as round as his figure now, but he took the jewels and nodded. “R-right this way, young masters…”

Wild sauntered after the man much more confidently than his awestruck fellows. Is he really that naive? Courage kept his hand on the hilt of his blade as they followed the pudgy little man out of the room. This is the second time he’s flaunted something valuable within earshot of others. Doesn’t he know that makes him a prime target?

“Here you are, sirs,” the man said, gesturing to the three doors at the end of the first floor corridor, “I’ll have my staff bring you those cots right away.” He pulled two large key rings out of his apron pocket and fingered through the heftier. With a changle he unhooked three marked keys and handed them to Wild, gave a casual salute, and waddled back to the tavern.

Wind clapped Wild on the back with a whistle. “Wow, Wild, didn’t know you carried that kind of cash on you.”

Wild smiled and examined the keys with fascination. “These are high-quality keys. I sure hope he didn’t give us his best rooms.”

“Oh shut up,” Legend growled, snatching them from his hands. “I hope to the Hylia he did. We’ll need them with the giant, flashing ‘rob me’ sign you just hung on our backs!”

Wild looked taken aback. “’Rob me’ sign? What?”

“He’s right,” Light sighed. “You really shouldn’t flaunt your wealth like that.”

“Flaunt?” Wild scratched his head and looked at Wind, who was equally confused. “I wasn’t- I just- the man’s a nice guy!”

“Unfortunately,” Time added solemnly, “I don’t think the innkeeper was the only one privy to our conversation.”

“And even if no one else heard exactly what was going on,” Twilight added, “I’m pretty certain the people down the bar picked up on the fact that something interesting happened.”

Wild opened his mouth to respond, but Courage couldn’t stand to let tensions rise any higher – he may agree with the others, but berating Wild now wouldn’t change what happened.

“Making a scene like this isn’t going to help,” he cut in, passing a level stare around the circle. “We have more pressing matters than a few thieves in a random tavern. Let’s just settle in for the night.”

“You’re right,” Warriors said firmly. “We need to focus on the big picture right now.”

The men shared uncomfortable looks but all hummed in agreement. Courage felt a twinge in his gut. He still couldn’t remember what had happened after he began his toast at the feast. Is she safe? Is she even alive? Dear Farore please let her be alive.

Sky broke the tense silence with a change of subject. “Let’s decide on rooms. That’s a good place to start.”

“I call Twilight!” Wind shouted excitedly.

Courage felt himself relax. She’s fine. I’ll take care of this mess soon enough and then I’ll be back. He put a hand to the lump in his pouch and smiled. I’ll be back soon, Zelda.

Wild rolled over uncomfortably on the feather cot. It was well past dark now – likely past midnight – but he still couldn’t sleep. Not that taking one of the nice, plush beds would have helped; he took the cot on purpose since he knew it wouldn’t matter. He hadn’t slept comfortably since… since before he could remember. Sure, there had been the occasional specialty bed at an inn or spa somewhere that made it so he could at least dream something, but even that hadn’t been deep or particularly restful.

He chuckled to himself. He had tried a Zora waterbed once, but if one even so much as wiggled a toe the watertight mattress would tremble and make all sorts of noise. When he had finally drifted off, he shifted his arm, startling himself awake and leaping off the bed with a screech, sword in hand. He grinned at the memory. That poor innkeeper nearly had a heart attack.

Luckily he didn’t usually need much sleep, either. He hardly slept the night before in their camp, and didn’t feel particularly tired now either. Did he even remember what a good night’s rest felt like? He couldn’t recall. He’d never really wanted one anyhow. At least, not more than to see what the difference was. Was there a difference? Would he function better with more sleep?

A knot formed in his stomach and his smile faded. He ran his hand over the web of scars on his arm. Did I function better? Something tugged at the back of his mind – a gnawing feeling he couldn’t place, but couldn’t ignore. Impressions trickled into his consciousness. Complete blackness. Water. He was underwater. Weight on his chest. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.

He shook his head and pulled his hand away, rolling onto his stomach and shoving both fists under his pillow to stop himself from tracing the wounds. I don’t need to think about that.

That was one disadvantage of not sleeping much – it left one far too much time to think. In his opinion, though, there were far more advantages than disadvantages. You didn’t absolutely need it, for instance. If you were in a rush, you didn’t really have to stop for camp. You were also less likely to get caught off guard. You could be your own watch when you camped on your own, and an extra set of ears when you had companions. In general he considered it a blessing.

Sky shifted in his bed, shaking Wild from his thoughts. He listened as the man’s breathing fell back into the slow rhythm of sleep. Courage lay in the other bed, his breath almost imperceptible. Wild was glad these two were the ones rooming with him. The others had all gotten so upset with him earlier. Had it really been such a big deal that they had to go and lecture him on it? He had been discreet, hadn’t he? At least he wasn’t actively showing it off!

He frowned. So I’m being obvious, but Time and Warriors with their expensive armor aren’t? Time’s pauldrons have gold inlays! And Legend’s got like, 30 shiny jeweled rings on each hand. Why are they so worried about me making us a target? Honestly if any of them are half as good at swordplay as I am we really shouldn’t have to worry about bandits at all.

Almost as if summoned by his thoughts, he suddenly felt a hand grab his hair and yank his head off the down pillow. He gasped as a sliver of cold metal met his throat.

“Where’zzz yer wallet?” a raspy voice slurred quietly into his ear. Wild felt a boot press down on his back as the man pulled harder, and he swallowed the cry that attempted to escape.

“C-cabinet…” Wild breathed. The man didn’t seem to hear and yanked harder, and Wild hissed.

“Where’z yer wallet?!” the man said louder. His breath smelled of booze and the way the knife wobbled against Wild’s skin said he was very drunk, never mind the fact that he was no longer maintaining any semblance of stealth. “Tellme whereitiz! I’llzzslit yer throat!”

Wild heard feet hit the floor as the man started to scream. Courage’s voice started to call out to him but the man drowned it out.

“Donnntry it, boy!” the madman shouted. “Whozzzzswordoyou think’m using, huh?” Wild felt the steel sliver into his skin just a hair as the man cackled maniacally. “Damn, kiddo, if I didn’know yer friend’ad sucha hefffty wallet I mightajustaken thizzz beaut!” He leaned into Wild’s back and gave a tug. Wild couldn’t stop the yelp.

Footfalls sounded in the next room and Warriors’ muffled but commanding voice penetrated the wall. The bandit tensed and pressed the sword closer.

“ShhhhhhhhhhhhhHHHHHH!” he demanded, “Dammmmmitnow there’zzzno clean getaway. I tol- told you to be quiet!” The man removed his boot and yanked Wild to his feet, keeping the blade against his neck. If Wild weren’t so preoccupied with his life hanging in the balance he might have stopped to admire Courage’s ruby-encrusted blade – or the miraculous fact that the inebriated bandit hadn’t slit his throat by accident already. Instead, now that he could somewhat see the dark room, he searched desperately for a solution.

His own sword was tucked under the cot on the opposite side from where Courage now stood. Courage had the sense not to go for either of their bows, which were locked safely in the cabinets with their other possessions. Even if he had a weapon, though, the drunkard had Wild safely caught as a hostage – even if the others burst into the room right this second that wouldn’t free him from his grasp. He doubted he could overpower the man without getting cut in the process – any movement would drive the pristine blade edge right through skin and into his trachea. And most amazingly, how was Sky still asleep?

“Put down the sword,” Courage urged calmly, “We’ll give you our wallets, just let go of my friend.”

“Hellllyou will!” the man jabbed back. “Gimme the cashhhfirst!”

“Easy, easy,” Courage continued, inching toward the cabinets. “Give me a second to get them.”

The man quavered and wobbled slightly as Courage turned to unlock the pine cupboards, barely visible in the dark. The click of the key in the lock made the man flinch and Wild inhaled sharply as the blade jolted slightly. Courage exhaled and wrapped his hand around the brass doorknob.

Just as he moved to swing the doors open, the other Links crashed into the room holding lamps and swords. Courage jerked around and started to shout a warning and the bandit screamed at the sudden interruption. Wild felt the steel shift and he sent one final plea to Hylia. Please, let Zelda be happy.

Everything went quiet. Time came to a halt. No pain. No hurt. Just silence.

And then, a gurgle of blood.

Wild opened his eyes slowly and registered a few drops of crimson trickling down his bare chest. The thick liquid was sticky and warm, staining his skin and scars. But, still, the pain didn’t come.

Wild turned to look at the bandit and suddenly realized why. He was an ugly man, with a ratty brown beard and wild eyes. Eyes now open in horror as he choked on his own blood, coughing and bubbling more up over his lips. His sword arm lay severed on the mattress below, and through his torso was run a very familiar blade.

Sky pushed the man off the sword with a grimace, hefting it in his hand and frowning down at the dying drunkard. Even covered in blood, the sword glowed like a star. The holy light of the blade shimmered off the gem set in the deep blue hilt, which was carved in the shape of Hylia’s sacred bird. At the base of the blade was inscribed the most ancient symbol in Hyrule – the crest of the Triforce.

The Master Sword.

#linkeduniverse #the spirit of the hero #zelda #legend of zelda #fanfic #fanfiction #fan content #fan narrative #original nes #blood! blood! your organs

83 notes · View notes

one-trigger-lullaby · 6 years ago

Text

Part 1 of Lance losing a leg and having more in common with Shiro than he ever thought possible

This was supposed to be just one part, but it’s going to be a few so, buckle in? Plus, let’s be real I wanted to write this so I could write Shiro and Lance bonding which will def be like 100% of part 2.

His leg is not where it is supposed to be.

That is the first thing that registers within Lance's mind as he wakes up in a world of white, his left leg far lighter than his right.

His memory is foggy at best, unable to tell him why he is where he is. Why his left foot doesn't feel the way it did before.

He thinks maybe it isn't there anymore.

He doesn't truly register it for a moment. His blue eyes are dull, pointed up at the ceiling and his hand leans down to wrap around what is left of his leg.

His hand is shaky and trembling as it slides down his hip. His hand stops quickly, cupping the stump that ended mid-thigh. His knee, calf, ankle, toes, they aren't there.

It becomes real.

The grief is heavy as it enters his system, clogging his pores. Tears make a sheen over his eyes and he hangs his head. He tries to hold it in but sobs are quick to make their way through his throat and out of his mouth, he is unable to halt the terrible sounds of grief.

He sobs in earnest, mourning as if he's lost a friend and not just a limb. It's a weird feeling, being so attached to something you never gave much thought to before.

Entitlement to something uncertain.

A comforting weight drops onto his shoulder, "Lance? Hermano?" the voice is soft.

Lance looks at Hunk through blurry vision and sniffles, "Hunk."

He's sure he looks wrecked because Hunks expression shatters and, next thing he knows, Lance is being wrapped up in a bear hug. It's the warmest hug he's ever had, but it's also the saddest.

Hunk rubs his back as he sobs, his large hands smoothing his hospital gown down.

"It's okay," Hunk mumbles, his own voice heavy with thickened tears, "It's going to be okay, hermano."

Lance's wails are loud and grieving, he doesn't believe Hunks words. How can he?

Nobody needs a leg that can't stand on its own.

Hunk is his rock, he holds Lance through the worst of his pain and grief.

He vaguely remembers him holding him as he bled out, too, ever reliable.

Lance still doesn't let go as his sobs quiet, but Hunk doesn't ask him to, he just rubs his hair gently and whispers calming words into his hair, telling him it will be okay.

Everything will be okay.

Hunk doesn't know how long he sits there rubbing his friend's back long after he's fallen asleep, he just knows his face is itchy with dried tears that had dripped silently down his cheeks.

His heart has never known the ache it feels now. He's never understood the pain he sees every time Keith looks as Shiro's arm, the guilt and remorse every time Shiro rubs its stiffness away before now.

He selfishly thinks his hurt is worse. He had to hold his best friend as he bled out, dying in his arms. He had to live in that moment knowing that even if Lance survived the horrific ordeal, he would never return to the way he was before. He will never be the same.

He hopes he's proven wrong.

There's a light knock on the open door and Hunk shifts gently to peer around the curtain. Shiro smiles softly, if not a bit awkwardly, "Can I come in?"

Hunk purses his lips and nods. Shiro walks in, his eyes going to Lance near immediately, a sympathetic pain on his face. He sits on the edge of the bed, quietly observing the way Lance curls in Hunk's arms. "How is he?"

"Not good," Hunk admits, his eyes shining.

His answer gives Shiro a sad twist of lips. Shiro puts a hand, his flesh hand, on Hunk's arm, "He's going to be okay. Pidge is making him a prosthetic as we speak. He'll get used to it like I-"

"He isn't you," Hunk cuts sharply in his eyes lock on the crown of Lance's head. His stomach twists in guilt, a heaviness settles. He mouthes over an apology, but it doesn't make itself known. His lips clamp shut and his eyes shoot down.

Shiro gives him a sad smile, "It's okay. This is hard on everyone. And...and it's going to continue to be hard but Lance isn't going through this alone."

No, Hunk thinks, he won't be alone, he won't have to suffer alone like-

"Like you," Hunk can't help to say. He checks Shiro's expression, but it hasn't changed.

"Like me," Shiro agrees in a soft tone. "He won't be alone, we'll all be there to help him adjust."

Hunk rubs the side of Lance's cheek gently. "You'll be more help than I will be." Hunk's heart pangs at the thought, but he knows it's true; none of them understand what Lance is going through as Shiro does.

"You being there for him will be enough, trust me."

Hunk wants to.

His healing is slow and sluggish, even with the help of a healing pod. Pidge comes in a few times to measure every bit of his existing leg along with the remaining stump on the other. She barely looks at him, her shoulders heavy with guilt and determination to right a wrong that she believes has been committed. Lance wants to reassure her but doesn't have the energy to. Doesn't really know what it is she thinks she did.

Lance hasn't seen Allura though Coran comes in often, even when he doesn't have to check Lance's injury, but he isn't surprised, he's sure she's busy looking for a new paladin.

For the good of the universe, he tries not to be bitter.

Shiro, Keith, and Hunk are the most frequent of his visitors. Hunk isn't a surprise, but Keith and Shiro had been an unexpected addition to his daily routine.

Hunk smiles as he walks in, a steaming bowl of something that smells heavenly in his hands as Shiro and Keith walk in behind him. Shiro waves quietly and moves to sit in a chair at his bedside as Hunk lifts the bowl onto Lance's tray. Keith just stands in the corner, staring at his feet.

"It's supposed to be sort of like pea soup but...not with pees?" Hunk says with a small chuckle, his smile only dimming a bit when Lance doesn't make a move to smile with him, his eyes staring down into the bowl despondently.

Lance robotically lifts the spoon from the soup and dips it back in, blowing on the hot liquid for a second before putting it in his mouth. It doesn't taste like much, but he doesn't know if that's his fault.

Hunk sits opposite to Shiro and starts rambling about something that Lance isn't in the mind to pay any attention to, all of his energy in feeding himself and nourishing his broken body. The others seem to be enjoying whatever he's saying though, as Shiro laughs and Keith seems, at the very least, engaged.

Lance lets himself zone out as his hand brings soup to his lips over and over until he has emptied the whole bowl, his stomach full of warmth.

Hunk takes the bowl away and says he's going to be right back after he puts it away. Keith follows and Lance thinks it's for lack of better things to do.

Lance moves his head to stare out of the window. Shiro stands, "Have you rubbed your leg today?"

Lance shakes his head and doesn't look down as Shiro removes the blanket from his stump. The healing pod sped up the healing process enough that his leg didn't need to be bandaged so Shiro only had to unwrap the brace Coran had fitted him with before digging his fingers into the ridged, deformed skin.

Shiro's hands are magic as they eased the tense muscle underneath his skin and rid him of his phantom pain. Lance lets his eyes slipped closed as he appreciates Shiro's ministrations, appreciates that Shiro doesn't require him to converse.

Shiro understands, and for that, Lance is grateful.

Lance feels somewhat optimistic the day Pidge comes in with his new prosthetic.

Only Shiro and Coran are present as per his requests, and Pidge still doesn't so much as look at him as she explains how she made his new leg.

She doesn't look happy as she presents him with his beacon of hope.

"Shay lent me some Balmerian crystal to power it, so it should work fine for a long time without needing to be replaced completely. I added a compartment or two on the sides where he can store weapons or other things during missions," Pidge says, running a hand down the shiny blue and silver plating.

"How durable is it?" Coran inquires, pinching his goatee between two fingers.

"It's made of tougher stuff than Shiro's arm is, actually. I picked up some of the minerals from Lrn when we visited and I decided to keep it around and now it'll be Lance's leg, so..." Pidge trails off.

"Then I guess we should get Lance set up with it as soon as we can," Shiro smiles at Lance and Lance weakly smiles back. Shiro's smile broadens and he pats Lance's shoulder.

"That sounds wonderful. Are you ready, my boy?" Coran asks.

"As I'll ever be," Lance says uncertainly, staring down at the handcrafted prosthetic that would soon hold him up.

Metal would meet-- replace flesh and Lance would earn to walk on a limb he couldn't feel.

Shiro gently jostles his shoulder, "Coran is going to put you to sleep now, we'll all be here when you wake up."

"Hunk?" Lance asks as Coran sits at his side with a needle.

"Sure," Shiro agrees softly, "he'll be here, too."

This time when Lance drifts off, he has hope.

Lance awakens slowly, his eyes opening to Hunk's smiling face. "Hey, buddy, how do you feel?"

Lance groggily shifts his head to the side, seeing Shiro and, just behind him, Keith. Coran is at the foot of his bed. "How do you feel, my boy? Tip top?" he asks.

Lance pulls himself up on weak arms and shifts until his back is against his pillows, wincing as his stump stings. Then he notices. His leg is heavy, heavier than his right but not unbearably so, and it occurs to him that there's something there now.

Lance looks at Hunk, his eyes wide, "My leg?"

"Do you want to see?" Shiro asks, his metal hand resting over his new prosthetic. Lance swallows and nods.

Shiro pulls back the blanket and Lance is amazed at the sight of the two legs together. His right is mocha-colored and covered in bright white and pink scars, a stark comparison to the gleaming metal that covered the left, accented with blues that match his eyes.

They're both the exact same size and length, crafted with a delicate precision that makes Lance's heart warm, knowing that Pidge must've spent hours upon hours perfecting this for him, even the bolts that hold metal plates down are customized with the Voltron insignia painted in blue.

He starts getting teary-eyed, he can't help it. He sniffs hard, "Where's Pidge?"

Hunk and Shiro share a glance, hesitant, and it's Keith that answers, "Sleeping. She hasn't gotten very much."

Lance nods slowly, a small smile etching onto his lips, "It's--really nice." His brow furrows.

"But it's a lot?" Shiro guesses.

Lance hums. It is a lot. Just under than a month ago he had two flesh legs and now...now he was missing the scar he got when his younger sister bit his knee during one of her games of 'Shark attack,' and the scar he got the first time he crashed his bike when he was seven. He can almost see the outlines where the scars would be on his flesh leg, and he feels loss.

They were all gone, and he fears that if he spends enough time in space, his memory will disappear too.

"Are you okay?" Hunk asks in concern. Lance doesn't answer.

"Can everyone give us a moment?" Shiro asks kindly. The three look hesitant but nod and leave, letting the door fall shut behind them.

"What's going through your mind?" Shiros asks softly.

Lance's opens his mouth, a lie on his tongue, but he pauses, looking into Shiro's eyes. His jaws shut. This is Shiro, he reminds himself, he understands.

"It's flawless," Lance says in a hoarse whisper, finally letting his hand roam over the smooth metal.

Shiro's brow creases, but he looks like he understands and it's a relief. "Just because the blemishes and imperfections are gone doesn't mean that they never existed in the first place, Lance."

"I know, but...I don't know when I'll get to go home and I feel like if I don't have them, then..." Lance's throat becomes clogged with tears.

Shiros firmly grips the hand that has started to clench itself around his leg, "You will go home, Lance. All of us will, one day. But this leg doesn't have to be anything more than just the thing you use to stand on. Your memories are always going to be yours, this leg will never change that."

Lance nods weakly but doesn't feel convinced.

Shiros sees this and continues, "I know what you're going through, Lance, but it won't be this way forever. Tomorrow you'll take your first steps on this leg and the rest will only get easier."

Lance meets Shiro's eyes, lip quivering, "Promise?"

Shiro pulls him in for a hug, "I promise."

Pidge isn't present when Lance takes his first steps, but he doesn't expect her to be, he understands how hard she's worked for him and hopes she's resting well.

Shiro's hand is steady on his arm as he puts his feet flat on the ground, taking a deep, nervouse breath."You ready buddy?" Hunk asks from his right.

Lance stares down at his feet, brown and silver, and nods.

"Alright, take it slowly," Shiro says, gently supporting his arm as he starts to lean up.

Coran is watching him carefully as he stands, watching for any problems or signs of pain.

Lance leans heavily on Shiro as he straightens, bracing his arm against his chest. He's shaky, but he's standing. Slowly, he comes more into himself and supports his weight completely on his own legs. He rotates his hips and makes a face, "Feels weird."

Shiro chuckles, "It takes some getting used to."

"Slowly take a step towards me," Coran says, his expression lighter as he sees Lance able to stand on his own without so much as a flinch.

This time, Lance holds tightly both Shiro and Hunk as he lifts his flesh foot, letting all of his weight rest on his prosthetic.

His foot falls without incident and he bends the prosthetic as effortlessly as his real leg, dropping it down in front of the other. A grin splits his face as his friends cheer.

"You've done it, my boy!" Coran cries with a happy smile.

He hears a sniffle to his left and notices that Hunk is crying, but not a sad cry. Even Shiro has a tear in his eye as he looks down at Lance with pride.

Hopelessness has blossomed into the ability to change and overcome.

"Where's Pidge?" Lance asks.

"In her room, I think, but maybe you should-" Hunk is cut off abruptly when Lance pulls away from him, taking a few small but steady steps away.

Shiro follows with him with a look of fond exasperation and catches him when he stumbles in the doorway. "Be careful."

Hunk and Coran follow, Hunk nervously but Coran ecstatically, ready to brace his back if he falls forward.

"It really is amazing you're able to walk so soon," Hunk says in wonder.

"The healing pod sped up his recovery enough that his muscles haven't atrophied with his time in bed," Shiro says.

"I love alien technology," Hunk says with an earnest, happy sigh. Lance can't help but agree.

Lance tells the others he wants to talk to Pidge alone, thinking back to how Pidge had been acting around him as of late and unable to help thinking that it is partially his fault, and they agree albeit hesitantly.

So he is left by himself in front of her door. He knocks and, without any other warning, the door slides open to reveal a bleary-eyed Pidge. Lance frowns, "I thought you were resting?"

Pidge's eyes widen, "Uh-" she pauses, her eyes roving around as if looking for an escape, "-should you be up right now?"

"Yes," Lance replies slowly, "can we talk?"

Lance can see Pidge swallow, "No, that's probably not-"

"Please?" Lance says, "I probably shouldn't be standing on this leg."

Her eyes flash down to said leg in an instant, grimacing at its wobbliness. She doesn't look happy about it, but she waves him in.

He hisses through his teeth as he gently sits on her short bed. She takes a seat at her desk, her eyes cast to her hands clutched between her knees, a look Lance has gotten used to seeing on her face.

"So," Lance starts, "what've you been doing?"

Pidge chews her lips for a second, pondering. She shakes her head, "Why are you here?"

Right to the chase, then.

Lance frowns, his left hand moving to absently scratch at the hard surface of his leg. Pidge's eyes follow the motion. "You haven't--I mean...are you okay?"

Pidge's head lifts, surprise clear in her wide eyes. She doesn't say anything, and Lance takes that as a sign that he should continue.

"It's just--I know I haven't exactly been...present... but I didn't mean to make you feel unwelcome or-"Lance cuts his rambling off abruptly, looking at Pidge from underneath his eyelashes.

Pidge just looks more confused, 'What?"

Lance doesn't understand and tilts his head to the side, hoping she continues without verbal prompting.

Pidge's lips twist uncertainly and she casts her eyes to the side, "You didn't do anything."

"Then why?" Lance asks. He feels like he knows, somewhere in the back of his mind, like an inkling.

Pidge's fists clench in her lap and then she says, in a voice so quiet, "It's my fault."

"What?" Lance looks at her with wide, confused eyes. "Pidge it wasn't-"

"It was," Pidge hisses. Her eyes are glassy as she says, "It was, Lance. It could've been prevented and...and it's all my fault."

"Pidge... no one could've..." Lance trails off as his throat clogs itself, he tries to control himself and his thoughts. "...it wasn't any of our faults; we couldn't have predicted it." But I wish we could've. I know we all do.

Pidge shakes her head jerkily, her head hanging so her bangs fall in front of her eyes. Lance can see tears dripping down her face. "I saw the soldier. I saw him but there was too much going on and I didn't see what was in his hand and-" she's cut off by a sob. She moves her hand over her mouth and looks up at lance, grief-stricken, "-I'm so sorry."

Lance moves before he thinks about it, carefully and slowly dropping down to one knee before pulling Pidge in for a hug, "It isn't your fault."

Pidge sobs, loud and ugly as she clutches at him like he might disappear. Lance feels her tears dripping down his neck and, before he knows it, his hands are shaking as they wrap around her back and his eyes are leaking the embodiment of his own sadness down his cheeks.

Lance shushes her shakily, "It's okay, it's okay Pidge, mi hermana."

"It's not," Pidge sobs, "It isn't okay and I'm sorry."

Lance starts to gently rock her, "It's not your fault, Pidgey, I don't blame you."

"You should," Pidge insists.

"No," Lance says gently, sniffling. "I should blame the Galra who did this to me, not you. You didn't do anything but give me the ability to stand on my own again. You didn't do anything short of amazing."

Pidge shakes her head, "I had to. I couldn't deal with...I did this to you." Her words are punctuated by another wracking sob.

Lance leans back and uses the pads of his thumbs to wipe underneath her eyes. Hse gives her a small smile, "I love you, Pidge. You wouldn't do this to me."

Her face is crumpled as she nods shakily, not fully understanding but accepting. Lance pulls her back into his arms and he holds her for a long time.

He realizes that he is not the only one who needs to heal.

(Part 2) (Full work on Ao3)

211 notes · View notes