#so if his glasses in stampede DO work to cover that up

[kineticallyanywhere]

so does Stampede Vash wear the glasses specifically to keep light from reflecting off his eyes so that people can't see the Plant pattern because if so that's so hecking clever

[maomango-doodle]

Playing around with the color wheel WEEE

[skzdarlings]

03. sharing a bed series ; skz ; changbin

masterlist.

sharing a bed series part 3/8. because it’s the cheesiest most classic trope and it’s FUN. -

pairing: changbin/reader content info: explicitly plus size reader. sexual content. friends2lovers, sharing a bed trope. lingerie. teasing. reading and watching porn. a bit of spanking. not so much choking but throat-holding. penetrative sex.

;)

-

Oh god, you think, staring at your suitcase full of lingerie, what the fuck do I do?

You like beautiful things and you love lingerie.  Your suitcase is brimming with pretty nighties and delicate babydolls, a luxury indulged for your own sake but completely inappropriate given the circumstances. 

You thought you would have your own hotel room this holiday, but after a few friends dropped out of the trip, there was some last minute shuffling, and now—

“Yah! Where’s my toothbrush?”     

Changbin is your hotel roommate for the weekend.  Just you, him, and a single king-sized bed. 

Oh, and your suitcase full of lingerie. 

You slam the luggage shut, spinning around to look at him as he emerges from the bathroom in a frantic state of his own. 

It takes a second to register his question, your eyes wide as you look him over from head to toe.  His dark hair is damp from a shower and he is wearing nothing but a bath towel.  He holds it shut at his hip, a sturdy thigh flashing when the towel parts.  His body is one mouth-watering slab of big, broad bulk, and you find yourself clutching your own ample chest as if that will stop your heart from stampeding out. 

“Ah, there,” Changbin says, strutting past you.  Absent-mindedly, he says, “I’m almost done, then you can shower.” 

The few minutes it will take him to brush his teeth will not be enough for you.  Your efforts to find suitable sleepwear are completely futile.  In the end, you settle on the simplest nightie with the fullest body, even if it is a bit transparent. 

You take your turn in the bathroom after him.   When it comes time to change, you slip into the nightie and stare agape at your own reflection. 

Oh god, you think.  This is a disaster. 

This is your most conversative piece and it is still wildly sexy.  You love your bigger body and you love dressing to accentuate its features, and this piece is no exception.  Full thighs and fuller breasts and full curves spill up and over the tighter places.  The little panties are swallowed up by your plushy ass and no matter how much you adjust the neck of the nightie, it continues to fall in the most suggestive way possible. 

You look hot.  If anyone else was waiting for you in that hotel bed, you would be fine.   But it’s Changbin.  Your close friend Changbin.  Your close, hot, loud, insane, sexy, confident, drool-worthy, muscle pig friend Changbin. 

You sigh, resigned to your fate.  There is nothing more you can do. 

You pop open the bathroom door and stick your head around the corner.  Changbin is lounging in bed, dressed in a black t-shirt and grey sweatpants, an arm thrown over his head as he watches something on his phone.   His hair has dried fluffy and he is smiling at whatever he’s watching.

“Changbin,” you say.  “Close your eyes.” 

He does the opposite, like the stupid hot dummy he is, looking up at you.  You get a swoop in your gut just from his curious glance, his messy hair, the comfort he radiates laying in your shared bed.   It really is unfair how he is a hundred different styles of sexy at once.  This is the same guy who was working out shirtless on the beach lawn just an hour ago, the same guy who showed up to dinner in designer glasses and a form-fitting jumpsuit, the same guy who was cuddling you in a hammock wearing a big hoodie and board shorts.  Surely he could try and have the decency to look bad at least once.    

“I said close!” you repeat. 

“Ah! What!”  He does it, even if he is confused, lowering his arm and covering his eyes.  “There!  Stop yelling at me!”

“You’re yelling, not me!”

“I’m not yelling!”

You are both yelling.  But his eyes are closed so you make a mad dash for your luggage, tossing your day clothes haphazardly with a little wince for the mistreatment of your pretty things.  But you need to be fast, shoving your clothes in your suitcase so you can dive under the covers before Changbin inevitably gets bored and—

“What are you wearing?” Changbin says. 

“Changbiiiin!”  You turn around with a furious scowl, crossing your arms over your chest.  “I told you to close your eyes!”

“What, forever?  I thought we were done!”

“Well, we’re not!  Close them!”

“But I already—”

“Close!”

He grumbles a curse to himself but closes his eyes, laying back with his arms stubbornly crossed.  You turn away to zip your luggage, shaking your head.  You also fight down a giggle, one bubbling up from the tiniest bit of delight caused by Changbin’s dropped jaw and wide eyes as he thoroughly drank in the sight of you.   

You turn around to find him peeking, one eye open.  He is one second too late closing it again. 

“I saw that,” you say.

“Saw what?” he says.  “I missed it.  My eyes are closed.”

“Uh-huh.”  You walk up to the bed and fold back the covers, eyes on him the whole time.  You put your hands on your hips when he cracks open one eye again.   “Pervert,” you say, with a snort of amusement.

“Me?”  He opens both eyes and gestures wildly.  “Look what you’re wearing!  How am I the pervert?” 

“You’re in boy lingerie so be quiet.”

“What!”   

“The grey sweatpants with the dick print.”  You point to his lap.  “Boy lingerie.”   

“Ahhh! Ah! Hey!  Have some principles.  That’s reverse sexism.  You should be ashamed of yourself.”  He wags a scolding finger you at you.  Then, for good measure, he grabs a pillow and puts it in his lap.  “Stop objectifying me.”   

You laugh in spite of yourself, climbing onto the bed.   You put a comforting hand on his shoulder.   

“I thought I was sleeping alone,” you say.  “I’m sorry.  If you have a big shirt I can sleep in, I don’t mind changing.” 

“You wearing that,” Changbin says, giving you a very thoughtful once-over that makes your whole body tingle, “or you wearing my shirt.”  He lifts the pillow and looks under it.  “What do you think?” he says, as if consulting his dick. 

“You’re so stupid!”  You hate how much you are laughing at this goofball.  You roll your eyes even while giggling.  “I’m going to sleep.  Have a fun conversation with your little friend.”

“Ah! He’s not little,” Changbin says, as if very offended.  “He’s average height and girthy, like me.”

“Nice try but you’re not average height and ew, oh my god, don’t say girthy.” 

“Girthy.”      

“I can’t hear you,” you say, sliding under the covers.  You pull them up to your chin and lay on your side with your back to him.  “I’m already sleeping,” you say. 

“How am I supposed to sleep now!” he says.   

“That’s not my problem!”

He grumbles some more while you snicker.  Eventually he turns off the light and gets under the covers too.  You both go on your phones, the little white lights illuminating the bed.  You glance over your shoulder to see him laying with his back to you, watching videos on mute.  You turn back to your phone and open your reading app, deciding you can squeeze in a chapter or two of your current romance. 

You are reading about the latest duke’s pulsating member and his lady’s quivering thighs when Changbin turns over.  You are too slow hiding your phone.   

“Are you reading porn?” he asks, reaching out and snatching your phone. 

“It’s not porn!”  You sit up to grab it back but he holds it away.  “It’s literature!”

“It’s porn,” he says, bursting into peels of giggles that should be ridiculous coming out of that buff body, but they only make you laugh too.

“Changbiiiin,” you whine through your own laughter, rolling half on top of him to try and grab your phone.  “Give it baaaack.  It’s not porn.” 

“He throbbed as pleasure conquered his senses and ERUPTED LIKE A FORCE OF VOLCANIC NATURE—!”       

“Stooooop!”

“That sounds painful,” Changbin muses. 

You finally snatch your phone back and promptly toss it off the bed.  It lands with a little thump.  

Changbin is laying on his back and giggling like a child, poorly stifled teeheehees that do not relent even when you lean over him with your most intimidating face.   

“That’s not fair,” you say.  “You have to show me yours now.” 

That gets him to look at you with surprise, tilting his head.  You do not miss when his eyes go to your chest, especially because it lingers there for a very long moment.  He touches his bottom lip, flicking his tongue over his thumb absently before finally meeting your gaze. 

“What?” he says.  “Did you say something?” 

“Show me your porn,” you say. 

“My—what!  Get down.”  He bats you away and crosses his arms.  “I will remind you I am a man of principle.  I have convictions.  Unlike you, I don’t keep demeaning pornographic content on hand at all times.  I have too much respect for the human form and the sanctity of intimacy and lovemaking.”  

You blink at him.

“Fine,” he says, and picks up his phone.  “Don’t blame me for any volcanic eruptions.” 

Once he has his bookmarks open, you take his phone and roll over, ignoring his protests.  You hold the phone out and click a link at random, even with him pressed right up against your back as he tries to steal it back.  You wriggle in his lap, making him squeak, either because your ass is pushing at his junk, or because of the video that opens. 

“Oh my,” you say.  

It’s a point-of-view video, a man’s hand sliding down a very soft, curvy body.  Your own body perks with interest when his thumb glides down her wet pussy, teasing her lips apart before sliding inside.  Changbin makes a strangled noise that you hardly register, staring as the man in the video slowly fingerfucks the woman, a woman not unlike you in proportion and general appearance. 

“I can explain—ah, hey! Why are you skipping?”  Changbin’s somewhat embarrassed tone shifts midsentence to indignation as you tap to fast forward.   

“I wanna get to the good part!”

“The good—?  Yah! You’re so impatient!” 

You ignore him, fast forwarding until you see a dick then letting it play. 

Changbin has given up on trying to get his phone back.  He makes a sound of miserable defeat and thunks his forehead against the back of your head.  You bite your bottom lip, flushed from head to toe, your thighs especially squirmy as need gathers between them.   You watch the woman in the video turn over until she is on all fours.  The man pushes inside her and you watch the way her body moves when he thrusts deeply.  His hand comes down in a sharp slap, making you twitch with wanting.

“I like that,” you say, aware of Changbin growing hard against your backside.   You feel him twitch at your comment.   When you skip ahead in the video again, he doesn’t speak.  You stop when the man wraps his hand around the woman’s throat and you smile.  “Like that too.”  

He is rock hard against your ass.  Either he thinks staying still means you can’t feel it or he wants you to feel it.  Testing, you grind slowly against him. 

He grabs your hip through the blankets. 

“Ah, you.”  He squeezes your hip.  “No teasing.” 

“No?” you ask, wriggling just a little more.  “None at all?” 

There is a brief pause, then he slides his hand under the covers to hold your waist directly.  It is a slow, questioning motion, leaving you time to refuse.   When you don’t, he slides his hand down to stroke your thigh. 

You put his phone aside, the screen going dark, its contents forgotten as you turn your head.   He slips one arm under you, his hand cupping a breast at the same time his other hand goes between your legs.  When he kisses you, you open your mouth to immediately deepen it.  He does, licking at you and sucking your bottom lip, grinding in a slow circle against you.   It makes you ache, squirming in his strong embrace, his fingers only just hovering where you need him. 

“Shh, it’s okay,” he says when you start bucking and whining into his kiss.  He kisses you too deeply for you to protest his teasing, but then he finally hooks his fingers in your panties to draw them to the side. 

You get dizzy, either from kissing more than breathing or just his overwhelming presence.  When he touches you and feels how wet you already are, he makes a low sound and curses. 

“Ch—Changbin,” you say, breathy and a little senseless already.  “Please.” 

He moves swiftly, manhandling you with ease and care.  You turn over and he pushes the blankets away to get up behind you.  You whimper into the sheets when he tugs you into a better position, then he is drawing your panties to the side again and stroking your whole pussy from clit to entrance and back again.  His fingers are soaked by the time he puts them inside you, strong arm finding a steady rhythm quickly.  Combined with a couple sharp smacks to your ass, you come apart with a cry, whole body shaking as you grind back on his hand. 

You sink into the bedsheets, eyes closed, panting.  You feel his hand wet hand cup your thigh, then his fingers spreading your pussy open.  You clench around nothing and hear him curse. 

You look over your shoulder at him.  Even though you were the one who came, he looks completely wrecked, his fluffy black hair a dishevelled mess and his jaw clenched, shoulders tense.  You look a little lower, staring at the thick bulge in his sweats. 

It’s him who speaks first, his voice rough when he says, “You look… do you have any idea…” 

“You’re not wearing underwear, are you,” is what you end up saying, giggling.  “Boy lingerie.  Told you.” 

He snorts, grinning, looking more cocky than chagrined.  That expression morphs to curiosity and hope when you reach for a make-up bag sitting on the head-table. 

“Yes,” he says, when you pull a string of condoms out of it.  For some reason, it’s the funniest response he could have given, and you giggle a little more.  Those giggles come to a stop when he pulls your panties down, then rolls down the band of his sweatpants down too.  

Your mouth falls open.  “Wow,” you say.  “You are—”

“Girthy?”

“Don’t make me change my mind.” 

He mimes zipping his lips shut before taking the condom. 

You accidentally untuck the bedspread when he finally gets inside you.  One corner comes undone, and the second one follows when he starts fucking you in earnest.  It’s a good, full stretch, and you moan into the messy bedspread as he grabs your hips to pull you into every thrust.  You swear you see stars when he slides one hand up and around your neck, lifting your head and holding you by the throat as he fucks into you.  He slows down a bit to rub at your clit, making you come and spasm around him, before he drives himself quickly to completion. 

You end up sprawled facedown on the undone bed, your nightie in a state of disarray and your panties god knows where.  He flops down beside you, breathing hard, still pretty much dressed.  Once he’s caught his breath, he looks at you, smiling when he reaches out to brush some hair out of your face. 

You smile back, rolling into his open arms.  You rest your head on his chest and exhale.

Then, knowing it’ll get a reaction because he’s Changbin, you say, “That wasn’t bad.”

“Not bad!” he says, predictably loud.  “What do you mean not bad?  That was amazing.  Come here.”  He’s laughing now, pulling you close when you laugh and try to roll away.  “Get back here.  I’ll show you not bad.” 

[trigunwritings]

The Masks We Wear

Summary: Vash the Stampede is an an enigma. Human and myth, intelligent but a fool, so easy to befriend and yet so very alone. You decide to peel back the layers—both literal and metaphorical—to see the honest, beautiful man hiding behind the mask.

Rating: Explicit

Relationship: Fem!Reader/Vash

To blame what unfolded in the late hours of that evening on having one drink too many would have been easy. Too easy. Each stray bit of clothing lost on the floor, each lingering gaze and gentle whisper to be blamed on the excuse of simple inebriation and a lack of restraint. If there had been an ounce of doubt—so much as a flicker of hesitation—it would have been all to easy to toss your actions aside and pretend that you had misread his own, if only so that he wouldn’t feel embarrassed by it come sunrise.

But it’s just a show. You and Vash know that both of you had sipped at nothing but water since arriving at this quiet little town. But it doesn’t change the fact that you waited, pausing after every forgotten layer, approaching step or touch. Waited to see if he would stop you.

But he never does. Instead he lets you undress him in smooth motions, not in the way that he wants you to do the work, but simply because he doesn’t know what to do himself.

The man looks almost lost, his eyes darting about behind his glasses but never quite meeting your own gaze as hands unzip one thing after another, until he is bare-chested and turning his face away, eyes shut tight.

It’s almost as if he expects something of you. From you.

“Vash?”

After a moment, the man’s eyes open and shift so that you’re more in his peripheral, but still not quite lifting them towards your face. He looks… almost frightened, and it’s only then that your hand passes across his naked chest—covered with scars ranging from thin slices to what seems to have been jagged claws or other machinations—only to feel his heart racing. It pounds so hard against his ribcage that you can’t count the individual beats.

“Vash,” you repeat his name, ducking your head slightly to try and make his eyes catch your own. “Are you okay?”

He is silent for a few moments, but his heart doesn’t slow.

“… I uh… I’ve… never… done this before,” he finally admits with a soft whisper. Vash lifts a hand and gestures, pointing his index finger from himself towards you, then back again.

“Had sex?” you offer, hoping that verbalizing it might help.

Vash turns his eyes forward and says “No,” before quickly smacking his hand to his forehead. “Wait—I mean yes. But also… this.” He gestures again, only this time waving his hand over his upper body. Over dozens of scars that must have years of history behind them all; injuries that didn’t heal correctly, wounds that were too deep.

And that’s when it hits you.

“You’ve never let anyone see you naked before.”

He nods slowly, trying to play it off with a force laugh, “Some people like t’ say that scars are hot, but I think I might have a few too many to qualify. Not uh… much of a looker underneath it all.” The humorous tone sounds so fake that it’s almost unnerving as he adds, “Sorry for disappointing you.”

”Vash,” your tone is perhaps a little too sharp, as the man flinches slightly and quickly ducks his eyes away again. But all it takes is a gentle nudge of your fingertips against his jaw, your other hand reaching up to pluck the glasses from his face so that you can see his sky-blue eyes clearly, bright and wonderful that you could get lost in them.

“You’re beautiful.”

He stares at you. For several long moments it’s as if he had been frozen in time, lips parted just enough so that you can see his tongue behind them trying for form words as his face grows flushed with heat. It isn’t hard to guess that he is seconds away from turning his attention away again, so you hold his chin and force him to hold your gaze.

“Vash, you are so beautiful.”

And that is when, in a gentle but firm motion, you grab Vash’s shoulders and push him onto the squeaky old bed.

What follows is admittedly a bit of a visual blur of clothes falling to the ground alongside the constant creaking of a bed frame so aged and worn that it could collapse beneath your bodies at any moment—considering how much you were focusing on the man atop which you straddled, it easily could have without being at all noticed.

For better or worse, Vash wasn’t very good at masking his thoughts. They were all too plain upon his features as you removed your clothing in turn. Shirt, pants, bra and underwear shamelessly discarded upon the floor all while you did your best to remain astride his lanky hips.

If the crimson hue over his cheeks and ears didn’t give away his interest, then something else certainly did; it wasn’t hard to notice the hard shape pressing in the space between your thighs, separated only by Vash’s pants and whatever he wore beneath them.

“You’re cute when you blush,” you can’t help but tease, hands reaching down to undo his belt as your eyes roamed languidly over his chest and up towards his face. Flushed even more, if that was possible. “Is this the first time you’ve seen a woman naked?”

He glances away, but only for a brief moment as if to fish out the right words from the sea of chaotic thoughts.

“N-No,” he finally whispers, trying to stifle any perceived stammering with an awkward chuckle, “I mean—almost once, b-but I think the lady got my inn room mixed up with someone else’s at the time. Was barely able to explain it before she had her shirt completely off. C-Crazy story huh?”

You lift an inquisitive brow but don’t prod any further, instead deciding to use the moment to pull Vash’s belt free from the loops of his pants, then start tugging them down over his hips and legs.

“Woah woah wait a minute—“ he says, “Do we really uh, need to take those off?”

“You needed to have them off in order to have sex the last I checked,” you say upon tossing them onto the ground. “At least the kind I assumed we were going to have.”

Even in the brief glance allowed from the motion, it’s easy to see that the scars go all the way down the full length of his body; not an inch is without some faded mark, blemish or old wound. Pushing back a sympathetic urge as hands trace up his legs, your fingers curl around the hem of his boxers.

“It’s not like I don’t know what you’re hiding in these, Vash.” Your laughter echoes in the small room, tone and words soft and without an edge, but you’re keenly aware that the line between the man’s consent and non-consent is as thin as as string. When he doesn’t otherwise try to resist or offer other words against the you after several seconds, you move to take off the last layer of clothing on either of your bodies.

If it had been hard to tell that he was aroused by the tone of his voice or the burning of his cheeks, then Vash’s cock would have made it plainly obvious as it bounces aching and flushed from the confines of his boxers.

There isn’t even a spare moment to let him try to make a self-depreciating joke before you’re sitting astride him once more, settled in a way that his arousal presses against the curve of your lower belly.

“… How are you feeling?”

“I… think this mattress could be hiding rocks in it with how hard it is on my back.” Vash offers you the slightest smile, shy but not overly so. “Also, terrible interior design. Zero out of ten.”

“You doofus,” you gently slap a hand down onto the center of his chest and push him down into the bed, “would you like me to stop?”

There is a pause, silence that is filled only by the muted and distant sounds of rowdy bar goers on the floor below.

His heart is still racing.

“… no, this is okay.”

“Good,” you smile, then shift so that both of your hands are pressing palm-down over Vash’s bare chest. You can feel the shape of several scars against one, while the fingers of the other splay over where metal meets with knitted flesh at his left shoulder.

There would be a time to ask and ponder, but this precious moment is not it. Instead of bitterness and the weight of past pains and memories, you want it to be good. You want him to feel good. To feel adored in a way he had never allowed someone else to offer him before.

After the gentle silence of two breaths echoing in tandem, your eyes narrow in mischievous joy.

“I won’t let you out of this bed until you admit that you’re wonderful in every way.”

“I’m not,” Vash says, the rejection sounding stiff and instinctual. Then he tries to shoot you a smile. “You’re the wonderful one.”

“It’s not a competition, Vash.” your hands begin to roam idly across his chest, fingertips tracing idle shapes and along the seams of several old, long scars that looked as if something sharp had torn through the flesh.

His hands lay next to your legs, fingertips just barely brushing against bare skin; if you were to hold your breath, you’d feel them shaking ever so slightly.

Nearly imperceptible, like the mask that Vash wore around other people. But not you.

Not you.

”I see you,” you murmur, leaning down and pressing your lips into the curve of his throat. “All of you. Every inch—and it’s wonderful.” One kiss leads into another, then another, uncountable as each press sweet and purposeful against the myriad of scars across Vash’s upper chest. Even your voice is gentle as it hums against his marred flesh. “You are so wonderful Vash, my Vash…”

A breath catches in his throat every time your lips fall upon his chest. Aching. Wanting. Horny and touch-starved in a way that he never could quite comprehend or realize he so utterly lacked the satisfaction of.

The kissing continues, tracing over his right shoulder until, slowly, your attention moved down his arm and up to his hand that you brought up to your face. As your lips met the inside of his wrist, you murmur, “Do you want me to keep touching you?”

As your eyes flutter open and glance towards his face, you find Vash nodding—silent, but honest. Horribly honest. Terribly, beautifully, wonderfully honest; his flushed face and racing heart could never hide the soft desire he held behind those eyes of his.

Your lips curl into a smile. “Good boy.”

In that moment, there was a shift in Vash’s gaze. Something deep and carnal that blossomed with every syllable of the words that left your mouth.

“Such a good boy, Vash. Let me make you feel good—will you let me help you feel good?”

Another nod, softer than the first but just as sure. Maybe it’s the way you say his name. Most people tended to call him ‘Stampede’ or ‘the human typhoon’ or any number of other titles that often seemed to hang on his shoulders like stones, but you can’t help but love the way his eyes light up whenever you say his name, as if entranced for a single fleeting moment.

It doesn’t take long before your hips shift so that your body is hovering over his cock, seemingly harder than it was before. He isn’t particularly large, but neither is he particularly small either—it helps that you’re just as aroused as he is, but the slow motion down is as much for your own benefit as it is to simply tease Vash in turn.

He whimpers, hands shaking a bit more obviously as his left one comes to gently hang onto your hip. It is cold, but he doesn’t try to force your hips down any faster than you are willing to go.

“That’s a good boy…”

Your voice is breathless and tight. Even when the full length of Vash’s cock fills you, it takes a few moments to collect your thoughts and reign them in properly; every instinct in the back of your mind wants nothing more than to bounce up and down, repeated motions in a carnal need for pleasure, but it doesn’t take more than a moment to stifle them and turn your eyes back towards the man beneath you.

A beautiful, flushed mess.

“It’s okay,” you whisper with a smile. “You don’t need to hold back if you’re about to…”

“IthinkIloveyou.”

A moment passes. Brief. Soft. The words begin to sink in like the precious drops of water from a leaking pipe. Words that had been understood, but not quite spoken so plainly between the two of you—words that you knew Vash had been so afraid of speak.

All you can do is look at him, hoping that the joy and warmth bubbling within is clear across your expression. “I love you too.”

It doesn’t take long before you’re setting a gentle pace, hips bouncing up and down with just enough speed that his cock is barely missed before it is pressing inside of you once more. Languid and loving, careful and continuous. Each blip of pleasure is enough to make your walls constrict around him tighter, which in turn draws out a series of sweet whimpers and moans from Vash’s lips.

“That’s it baby,” you murmur in broken breaths. “You feel so good inside me. So beautiful.”

To emphasize the words, a series of kisses pepper across the man’s chest. Each press of your lips earn a soft gasp of your name mixed with broken pleas for more. You never knew it could sound so arousing to hear him begging.

That alone was its own addiction.

Between soft whispers of encouragement and love, you can hear Vash’s whimpers gain volume and fervency. His own body starts to shift and squirm desperately, hips lifting up to meet the motions of your own to try and bury his cock as deep inside you as possible—and all the while, your name is a prayer upon his lips.

“You can cum.” Your hands finally settle back on Vash’s chest, then move so that your palms are cupping against either side of his face even though his eyes are shut tight. “You don’t need to hold anything back, Vash. Let me help you feel good—cum inside me, baby.”

It doesn’t take any further encouragement for the man to practically sob as he finds a beautiful climax beneath you. His hips move desperately for a few seconds while he spills his seed inside of you and then slow down, all the while his chest is heaving for air. After a thin whimper, Vash’s eyes finally flutter open.

They’re beautiful.

He looks at you for a moment before breaking the gaze to look down towards where his body meets yours in blissful union, and then lifts it back up to your face.

“Are you…?”

“Don’t worry about me.”

The smile that pulls at your lips is filled with warmth and honest pleasure, happy if for nothing else then to see Vash vulnerable and trusting in your intimate embrace. He starts to complain, but you shush the sound with a kiss that lingers long enough for the man to fall into a peaceful afterglow.

“There’s plenty of time for me later,” you whisper upon breaking the kiss. “Right now is for you. Just you.”

He is silent, but it doesn’t last for very long before he asks in a murmur, “Can… we stay like this for a few more minutes?”

A chuckle breaks past your lips before you can stop it, not meaning to make Vash feel bad for asking a simple question.

“Don’t you remember what I said earlier?”

He stares at you, a little dumbfounded, though that might be the orgasm tossing his thoughts around.

With a smile on your lips, you repeat the promise, “I won’t let you out of this bed until you admit that you’re wonderful in every way—even if that means being here kissing you ‘till sunrise.”

[multiverse-imagines]

vash x wolfwood!reader

vash just fawning over wolfwood’s sister, like he’d be staring without him even noticing.

when she notices she’s like “what’re you staring at?” immediately looks away.

she seems mean on the outside; but is very kind and sweet once you get to know her.

also Nicholas and her bicker a lot

if possible can u write this please

A/N: The sister????? The potential for Vash and Wolfy to be… IN-LAWS???!?!?!! Or even more interesting AN ANGSTY TRIANGLE??? OH I AM SO DOWN

I also finished Black Lagoon Recently, so this prompt was very appropriate! How serendipitous. This character totes took heavy inspo from Eda.

So Called Nun

In Vash's opinion, there were only two things in this world that seemed to throw Nicholas D. Wolfwood off his game. Drinking too fast, and seeing those from his past. The latter was definitely true when one night Nicholas was definitely on edge.

"You good, Wolfwood? You've almost drunk that whole bottle and it's not even midnight yet." Vash asked, worried about his friend.

"Don't worry about it, Needle Noggin." Wolfwood grumbled before downing another shot of Jack, the smack of the whiskey causing him to slightly totter in his chair.

Suddenly, the clatter of the saloon doors slamming open caused the patrons to fall silent. Normally, someone slamming into the saloon in attempts to assert dominance you get a simple eye roll. The bar stayed silent at the venue of a young woman… in a nun's garb?

A pair of gaudy sunglasses sat atop her covered head, and her eyes were hazed over with the memories of intentional murder. To the trained nose, she reeked of death and decay, as if those she'd killed clung to her robes in a meager attempt to drag her to hell as they seeked retribution. That's how she looked to Wolfwood who nearly fell out of his chair at the sight of her.

To Vash however, she was truly a beautiful angel! A woman of the cloth who clearly sought out those who needed the grace of God! The shades were a wonderful accent to her eyes that were intensely full of passion!

The woman immediately stomped over to Wolfwood, kicking a chair out of the way to sit down on. She snatched Nicholas' bottle of Jack before plopping down on the chair, kicking her legs up into the table in front of her.

Her boots were anything but elegant. Once sleek combat boots were now cracked and ragged leather, one of which wasn't even tied.

"Nico, Nico, Nico, it's been so long!" She gave him a toast with the bottle before downing a good amount of the remaining portion.

"And what the fuck do you want, dear Sister?"

"Is that how you treat family after not coming home for nearly 6 years? Livio would be so upset." The woman shrugged. She glanced over to the red coated man who was making the most wide eyed love struck face at him. She swore she could see drool in the corner of his mouth.

"And what are you looking at, ya damn Needle Noggin? Take a fuckin picture." She scowled at him. Vash immediately turned his head away from her, looking at the ground.

"Hey, leave my buddy alone. He's basically harmless." Wolfwood rolled his eyes at her, "besides, he's into rough treatment." His fingers tapped Impatiently on the table.

"Ah, I see how it is." A sneaky sneer came over her face. She got up from the chair, standing over Vash, gently taking his chin to guide it to look up at her.

"I'm sorry, little puppy, what was your name again?" Her voice turned smoother.

"V-Vash the Stampede, Miss!" He tensed up at her hand moving to cup his face.

"How adorable. Your wanted posters don't do you justice, really." She brushed her thumb against the beauty mark on his cheek, "Maybe God's blessing can be upon you tonight, Puppy." She teased him.

Wolfwood on the other hand, had swatted the shot glass away so as not to break it in his hand. He flexed his hand to keep it from locking up.

"Did you have a reason you were here, Sis?" He tried to keep the growl out of his voice. It didn't work.

"Ah, yes. About that." Her voice gained an air of intensity as she abandoned teasing the stampede, and walked around to stand in front of Nicholas, "Chapel and Livio are headed home, but not after they terrorize the whole town, and kick everyone but our family out. I can't do anything about it, since I have some obligations that are a little more… binding." She glanced away, dodging her reason for not assisting,

"My point is, I can't help them, but I know you two can. Please make sure everyone is okay, and don't get yourself killed? They've been bugging me about getting you to come home anyways." She chuckled halfheartedly. Wolfwood took a deep breath, and sat forward in his chair.

"Alright. I'll make a beeline that way first thing in the morning. If you clean up early, you can always join us." He looked up to his sister.

"That's a nice thought, but I don't think that'll be possible, big brother." She shook her head. Her voice was softer than before, as if she was peeking out from behind the shield she'd put up.

"Ah, don't go all soft on me now, don't worry, big bro will handle everything!" He gave a hollow smile that would put Vash's to shame as he put his arm up and flexed.

"I'm sure you've got this. Well, I better head out, Nico-ni. I'll buy drinks next time." She smiled, with almost a bittersweet smile as she ruffled his hair. She snatched the bottle of Jack off of the table, and made her way out of the bar, "Consider this collateral!" She laughed maniacally.

"What a woman." Vash practically had little hearts floating around his head.

"Yeah, what an idiot." Wolfwood frowned, now boozeless, and his buzz gone. He leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling, processing his sister's words.

Livio. How long had it been?

He needed a cigarette.

[cerealandchoccymilk]

Trigun Bookclub: Trigun Vol.1, Chapter #03

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More Trigun annotations! I'm doing a deep-read of the Japanese original print (reread) and Overhaul 1.0 (first read) side-by-side, and writing down everything I notice from small details, version differences, translation differences, etc. (and being so so gay about the characters. of course)

As always, here are the non-analysis panels of my dear babygirl (+ memes)...

And the rest is under the cut. i am living in ur brain now <3

[link for if the images aren’t in horizontal rows]

Starting off with the chapter cover of our handsome boy, this is the first time we see him with his glasses! I've seen someone on Twitter make a guide on Vash's different glasses designs over the manga (sadly it either cost money or was only distributed at a con and I don't have it...), so I'll try to pay attention to that during this readthrough.

As I've mentioned in the previous chapter, his antennae used to stand straight up, but they're bent now! They pop back up once in a while but from here on, the default is bent.

I love how gently he sets the girl down, and also the way everyone waits in awkward silence (and confusion) for Vash to move the rubble.

I think this part works excellently as-is, but notes on the nuances of what Nebraska originally said (this was ridiculously hard and the translation is very rough):

①「絶対どこかで不都合を並べた奴��消して来てるのさ」 ②「なぜなら」 ③「現におまえは消される側にまわってねえ……！！」 ↓ ① There has to have been a time when you "eliminated" ("erased"/killed) someone that got in your way (/someone unfortunate enough to [be there]...etc). ② Because... ③ In reality, you haven't taken on the role ("side") of being eliminated...!!

This part's very hard... He's talking about something similar to offense/defense. In this case, it's that because Vash has been avoiding conflict/being in direct danger entirely, Nebraska is saying that Vash must have killed, directly or indirectly, someone who got in the way of Vash's fleeing. I think.

I'm not sure why, but the way this was phrased stuck out to me.

Also, Gofsef's fist had an extra knuckle for one panel.

A translation error - it should be something like "He shot every bullet into the same precise spot... And shifted its trajectory!?"

Vash says "JACKPOT!" in English here, in the Japanese version. also hes soooo handsomeeeeee look at him omgggg kicking my legs back n forth blushing giggling i need to be tranquilized.

Nebraska's straight-up being crushed into pieces here. goddamn.

Not sure if it was removed in one of the reprints or in Overhaul's cleanup process, but in my Japanese copy, there was a "thump" onomatopoea of the guy backing into a wall.

Milly and Meryl are the best comedy duo in the world... They're perfect... The tiny speech bubble actually says something like "They're goofing all over the place..." The word ボケ (boke) is the funny man in a manzai comedy duo (as opposed to the straight man), and/or the jokes that the person in that role makes.

YIPPEE!! (In Japanese, it's one continuous exclamation ↑ like so. Also, there are tiny music notes around the handwritten text in the wahoo speech bubble.)

Vash runs out of breath after celebrating (cleaned up in Overhaul). God he's so silly...

A small error - I would phrase Meryl's line as "[Now, now,] Don't get too ahead of yourself."

I love how in Japanese, Meryl calls Vash "a very dangerous person with chronic troublemaker disease (慢性トラブル症)." I'm saying this from now on.

She also sarcastically says that she's grateful of the stars' alignment that they were able to meet, while gorilla gripping Vash's hand.

Also, I never noticed how fucked up Nebraska's body was!? Maybe the memories just got rewritten by Stampede. but goddamn. gun for legs...giant mechanical hands...

Vash making a Kirby Ꙩ.Ꙩ face my beloved. just a little guy!! with some badass girls!!! The last line is 「…はい？」 which is like what??/huh??/alright?? etc. はい is a very versatile word ☝ lol

That's it for Chapter #03! As always, the Japanese annotations will be in the reblogs. I'll remember to write the post about Meryl's speech patterns sometime soon.

[triplesilverstar]

A dream that's like a far off memory, or a nightmare

Rating: 18+

Pairing: Vash X F!Reader

CW: Body dysmorphia, Pre-Canon, Illnesses, Major Illness, Major Character Injury, Medical Inaccuracies, Medical Experimentation, Medical Examination, Dreams and Nightmares, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Feels, Heavy Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Trauma, Fever, Running Away, Communication Failure, Soft Vash the Stampede, Mild Smut, Not Beta Read, Heartbreaking, Imprisonment, Dark Past, Murder, Cartoon Physics, Vashs' Coat as a blanket, Needles, Nightmares

Word count: Roughly 3K

A/N: Chapter Three of Even sand can't hide all the skeletons in your closet. This one shows a lot of the past for Snipes.

Once the laboratory equipment went off, Luida went about her work prepping the culture and placing it into a needle and switching out the IV bag with the added nutrients for a new one containing the culture, injecting it into the pouch, and giving it a few shakes. 

Eyes filled with warmth as she worked, Vash had fallen asleep at some point while reading and keeping you company. Snoring away with his hand on your head, the tablet having fallen from his fingers between his thighs. 

Work done, Luida removes two sheets from other gurneys in the room, draping one over Vash before ever so gently adjusting you so your head is back against his thigh. The second sheet is placed over your own slumbering form and tucked around you. “When you next wake up you should be starting to feel better.” 

Something doesn’t feel right. Not right at all. As you wake up you hear birds chirping. Songbirds.

There aren’t any songbirds on Noman’s land. 

Opening your eyes you’re greeted by the sight of a well lit room, the sun rays beaming in through the floor to ceiling glass panes, gently warming your skin. 

This is wrong. 

Sitting up and looking around it, taking in your surroundings eats at your soul, but the tears don’t fall, no matter how much you want to cry out in anguish. You’re in your bed from when you were a teenager. And in the mirror on the other side, you stare into the reflection of a set of young eyes. Eyes that hadn’t been broken by the weight of everything you had done, everything you would do.

A blaring next to you, as your alarm clock goes off, the date flashing in the air as you slam your palm over it. You know what today is. 

Suddenly everything moves faster, and you’re sitting at your kitchen table having breakfast. You want to howl. You want to scream, you want to break everything in sight. Your body keeps moving on autopilot, spooning scrambled eggs into your mouth and listening to your parents speak. 

You see them. Yet you don’t, their bodies blurry outlines, faces nothing but swirling static, voices warbled and wrapped that you make out the words but can’t remember their voices. 

“I just don’t think they have the right to show up and tell us they’re here to run the aptitude tests.” Your mother. Right now all you can remember is how people used to say it was like she was made of steel. Unbend, unyielding. Yet, she used to sing to you, a skill you never inherited. “We aren’t one of their colonies.”

“Honey. It’s not like we can stop them, we might not be one of their colonies but they provide financial support for the terra forming core. You know. The place you work.” Your father. The voice of calm in the storm that was your mother, nothing had seemed to phase the man. He used to say it was because farmers couldn’t make the crops grow, just help them along. “Besides, Kiwi here is gonna blow them all away.”

You can’t feel the touch of his fingers on your head, ruffling your hair. God how you wish you could, they should have felt rough, covered in callus from working in the greenhouses. Swatting at his hand “whatever Dad. More like flunk like everything else.”

“You’re smart in your own way Kiwi, don’t let those teachers tell you otherwise.” For a moment you can see it. That megawatt smile your father had that could light up any space, could make everything seem brighter. The eternal optimist. “Alright finish up and we’ll get going.” 

Another jump, as the world speeds on until you’re leaving the modular home. Stopping as you look at the flowers swaying in the breeze, small cornblue petals with yellow centers. Scowling as your father wraps a toned forearm around you, laughing in your ear, wishing you could have returned that hug instead of being a haughty teenager. “Maybe I should start sending you to school with forget-me-nots” 

“Gee. You’re so funny Dad” feeling the sensation as teenage you rolls your eyes. 

Jumping forward, watching the day like it’s a movie being fast forwarded, until you’re told it’s your turn to sit in the simulator cockpit of the aptitude test. A giant machine that has monitors on the outside to see how others do. So far the max anyone has lasted from those being tested is two minutes. You're certain you’re going to flunk as badly as you did the written portion, have the questions having meant nothing to you. 

Teenage you has no idea why they’d be testing for reaction times in a fake flying simulation in a real simulator used for pilots. 

Adult you knows. All too well. 

Strapping in and watching the blurry man press a few buttons, and you remember his smile, a smile that makes a stone drop in your gut and a shiver run down your spine. It had left you feeling greasy. As the simulation begins, you’re told you just need to fly for as long as you can. As the screens change, the man with the creepy smile walks outside and closes the panel, something inside of you flares to life, hand on the center stick and engine controls. The world around you disappears and before you know it, you’ve gone far past the time any of your classmates have lasted. Time has no meaning. 

This isn’t part of the dream. 

You remember this. Remember the weight of the flight seatbelt, the headset of the simulator heavy on your small cranium. 

It was the first time you felt your heart soar, that feeling of complete control, that the world was at your fingertips. You were untouchable, sitting in that cockpit strapped in and flying through the skies. Simulation shifting to flying through sea stacks? A grin broke out across your face, jerking the controls hard enough to spin the view so you sideways. 

The noise of one of your classmates hurling while watching so distance it’s lost in the sound of roaring engines from the simulation. Another change in the simulation, flying through a narrow canyon, unaware the simulation is forcing the gravity of the chair you're strapped to to change. To make you feel the pull of the G Force as you take the turns at high speed. 

A voice in the background. “She’s almost at the end of the simulation.”

“Switch her to the second year pilot program. I want to see if this is just luck.” 

Your chest feels tight, pressure building and the obstacles are tighter, but your blood is pumping, and you start to laugh low in your chest. The exhilaration gives you a natural high and you do hear retching reach your ears as you make a far tighter turn. 

Gravity is getting harder to account for, but your fingers keep hitting controls making adjustments. A part of you seems to just know how much to cut an engine by to make tighter turns and re-engage them. 

“This will fuck her up.” Outside almost all the students are pushed aside as those performing the aptitude tests are watching. Something you had learned from another student later.

An engine stalls. Your body lurches in the capsule, stomach wanting to heave your lunch to the ground. A bellow from your lungs. You aren’t done yet. You don’t know how to restart the engine, but you’re still flying, body taking far more strain with only half the propulsion systems working. Before an obstacle arises you can’t avoid, pulling the stick back as far as you can trying to climb before smashing into the sheer cliff. 

Simulation over. 

Yet not because you crashed. Feeling the world careen as everything goes dark, pulled from the chair and emptying your stomach on the ground. Your father is there. Patting your back, why is he here? Gaze landing on the timer that you had watched for the other, even nauseous and sweating you’re grinning like a mad woman. 

One hour twenty four minutes forty three seconds. 

A voice screaming at those in charge of the simulation aptitude test breaking through the haze starting to take you. “What were you thinking? If even thinking? Max time allowed for any student ten minutes. Don’t care how well doing. Limits in place for reason!” 

The dream shifts. You’re surrounded by darkness, a voice you don’t know, but it sounds like the man from the aptitude test. 

“Listen I don’t care, she’s what they’re looking for! Tag her so in a few days we can find her, no one is going to miss some scrawny kid that even the adults of the colony are saying just had good luck.” 

You don’t remember anything like that happening, just blacking out to the sound of voices screaming before coming too. Maybe it’s because of what you know later, when you learned more about what had happened to your parents in your damning quest for revenge. 

Another shift, this time to you waking up in the colony infirmary, a strange man sitting across from you. Well he’s strange to you right now in this moment. Later in life you know him far better. You know him as the man who saved you from drowning in your quagmire of self hatred, who offered you redemption in a way you could see it, your savior. 

Sheppard. While the face isn’t quite as you remember, younger, the first meeting you’d forgotten about till you were hanging in chains in that prison cell after trying to die killing the council.

“Worried for moment. Teenagers not meant to be in simulation that long, damage to cerebral cortex possible, bone density, sense of equilibrium. Glad woke up.” The way he speaks has you reeling, unsure if this was from back then or the years you spent working with him. 

Before you can say anything the blurred form of your parents arriving, your mother pulling you against her in an embrace. “You had us worried sick!” Her fingers running through your hair, soothing away the fears that had gripped you as a teenager. Hearing her tone shift as her wraith was turned on who was a stranger to her. 

“How could you have let this happen?! She could have died. What kind of bullshit was that?!” All you do as you listen is rest your head against her chest, aware you should be able to hear her heartbeat but you can’t. Another reminder this a dream and you just want to wake up. You don’t want to relieve all of this, not when your life seems to be finally looking up.

“Overzealous monitor. Not shedding blame. Lucky she survived unharmed. Miraculous instincts though. High achieving student? Top of physics class?”

“I’m bad at physics” you mumbled the answer out against your mothers blurred form. 

“It’s her worst grade.” Your fathers garbled voice. 

“Interesting.” You never saw it in life but you can picture Sheppard tapping his finger against his lips. “Failure of academic system. Unaccounted hands on approach to problems. Academia requires proof of work, proof of understanding, simulation proof of inherent problem solving capabilities. Solved complex mathematical equations in head to adjust engine outputs to overcome obstacles.” 

“What are you talking about?” Your mother interrupting the random spewed thought process of the man. No doubt he had been lost in his ramblings while his brain worked out the problem and solution. 

“Answer simple. Daughter’s grades not reflective of ability.” The sound of shuffling “more interviews before departure. If later, want future in aeronautics, contact. Recommend for academy based on today.” You had no idea what any of that had meant as a teenager, later in life Sheppard had told you he regretted just having the final interviews after the events and leaving. Said he might have been able to have stopped what had happened. You remembered telling him neither of you could change the past. 

The dream shifts again, and you remember looking at your father, after what felt like hours and hours of interview. “How you feeling Kiwi?”

“Just wanna go home” you had been bone tired after that day, unaware of the future that a single test had put into motion. How in two days time your colony would be attacked, people killed, homes destroyed, others taken to be sold into slavery. And you. You would be trapped under the rubble of your home, on the verge of death before you were found.

Found broken, requiring years of surgery hearing whispers how you were just another failure and while you recovered you grew bitter with the world and if no one could provide you justice. Well you’d just find it yourself. 

You feel groggy, your mouth dry as you try to form some kind of noise, and the pain from pins and needles as you move ever so slightly telling you you’re awake for real this time.  Limbs feeling heavy as you slowly come back to awareness, the edge of your vision is blurry, possibly from the tears you couldn’t shed in your dream. Though all you can see is blackness. A blackness with wavy lines, wavy lines you realize are actually the threads of fabric held together, a warmth under your cheek. 

Breathing hard as you push yourself up on one arm, hand tingling, a sign you’ve been asleep for a while, the fuzz at the edge of your vision slowly fading thanks to your rapidly blinking as your eyes adjust. Swallowing thickly as every part of you is in pain, damn, how long have you been sick for? The last thing you remember is seeing Vash, and something is eating at the edge of your memory. Still torn from the dream of the past and the more recent days.

A needle. 

You’d seen a needle. 

Tilting your head, heart in your throat as your chest is burning, and that fear leaves you as suddenly as it came. The warmth that had been under your cheek was Vash, his thigh serving as a pillow, taking in the deep rise and fall of his chest, wrinkles in the fabric of his turtleneck. His head is lolled forward, the smallest hint of wetness at the corner of his pink lips, he’s been drooling. 

The hand not supporting your weight sliding along the floor, planning to reach out and gently shake your lover awake. Only for your hand to freeze, a tugging from the crook of your eyebrow. In the span of a few heartbeats, your eyes travel down from Vash’s face across his chest and look at your arm. 

A carefully inserted needle, held in place by a patch of thick tape with the clear tubing you know belongs to an IV leading away. The tightness in your chest starts to return, stomach churning as you feel ready to throw up. Your rational mind coming back, Vash is with you, he wouldn’t let someone just jab you with drugs or anything else, not unless you needed them. Taking deep breaths to try and calm your racing heart, you’re safe. Because Vash is here, a concept you would have found so foreign just a short time ago.

A thin line of light between Vash’s thighs grabs your attention, it looks like a tablet, just far sleeker than what you remember seeing from your adventures before Noman’s land. From the placement of his fingers, he must have been reading it before he fell asleep and it slipped from his grip as he drifted off. 

Your heart warming at the thought that he’s been keeping you company while whatever has been going on with your body. Just like after you passed out in the desert, even if it’s for entirely different reasons this time since you doubt you had a death grip on his hand. 

Careful of the IV you reach for the tablet, curious as to what Vash had been reading before dozing off into slumber. The device is cool to the touch, making you wonder if Vash has been asleep for a lot longer than you thought, all the other lights dim around the two of you. It surprises you a little just how light it is, or maybe it’s because outside of the sand steamers and plant engineers you haven’t seen many of them. Certainly not this close either. 

After a few moments of fiddling with the device, you figure out how to power it on, blinking as you're almost blinded by the brightness, and a low hiss leaving you from the pain throbbing inside your skull. 

Shaking your head you let your gaze travel back to the screen, only for your heart to feel as if it’s stopped beating inside of your chest. 

“No, no no no no” a sense of dread washing over you, every fiber of your being torn as a cold sweat breaks out that you know has nothing to do with whatever sickness you had been fighting. Were still fighting. Your heart is pounding away so hard within your chest that your ribs are shaking, fingers going numb as the device falls from your fingers with a clatter. 

You need to leave.

You need to leave right now. Clammy palm pushing your drenched body away from Vash realizing someone has draped sheets over both of your bodies, a sheet Vash must have shifted to cause it to fall. Toes catching on the smooth floor beneath your feet. 

Where the hell are your boots? Sitting back, largely freed from the sheet and missing the weight of Vash’s vibrant red coat as it slides to the floor. Finally taking in how you’re dressed. Grungy and covered in grime that comes from sweating all hours of the day caught in the vice of a sickness, and wearing your loose pajamas. 

The need to run, instincts screaming at you like a wild animal is making your heart still thunder, rational thought thrown to the wind. 

You can’t stay here, you can’t stay with Vash. Not now. Not ever again. He’s far too kind, far too wholesome and now he’ll have learned about the monster just under your skin that he thought he could love. 

Glancing around you finally notice more of the room. It’s a medical laboratory or something similar, heart rate beating fast enough you can feel the muscle hitting your ribs from the inside. He’s just here to keep you from running, to keep you docile. No one can care about a monster that kills for money. They just want to know what’s made you live so long, what’s allowed you to survive against the impossible. 

Humans aren’t meant to live this long, not without aging. 

Panting, hearing your breathing echo around the room and as numb as your fingers are you grab the tubing attached to your arm and pull. Watching the red as the needle is ripped from your skin, aware the wound will bleed, the tissue surrounding it starting to bruise already from the trauma you forced your own flesh to endure. 

Standing on shaky legs, you take a step. Then another. Seeing a familiar data chip sitting on a console next to your ruined locked cylinder, they just want to see for themselves how much you can survive. 

Heading for what you think is a door, watching as it opens into a brightly lit hallway, unaware of the mess you’re leaving behind. A trail of vivid red drops, painting a path of where you’ve been. Breaking into a run, pins running along your feet and legs from not being used. You ignore it. 

Fear.

Fear has you and your survival instincts are running the show that is your brain.

Back to Masterlist for the series

[dozenssporks]

*the camera is tilted upward to show vash clinging to a redwood tree very very far from the ground*

wolfwood: how's it working out for you up there my guy

vash, whining: don't be meeean that was a very big mosquito and I have a very strong startle reflex. if it had been a real threat I'd be up here laughing and you'd be down there being eaten, so there

wolfwood: yuh huh, sure, spiky, sure. Comin' down now or do you want to hug that tree a little longer?

vash: gimme a sec--yeep!

*the camera blurs as wolfwood struggles to track vash's rapid descent from the tree but there is only a streak of red, the sound of vash yelping, and, finally, a crash*

wolfwood: holy mother--are you alive?!

*the camera focuses and vash, draped over a pile of moss covered logs, gives a feeble thumbs up. a moment later a large piece of bark falls and smacks him on the head*

vash, whimpering: I want to go home, maman, s'il vous plaît

*the scene cuts to vash standing at the base of the tree looking scuffed up and rumpled, his glasses sitting crooked on his nose*

vash: ahem! I was recently informed that people leave comments on these videos, which surprised me. I thought it was mostly the cops and, like, fbi who looked at these.

wolfwood: people always have somethin' to say about witnessing a walking disaster

vash, making an angry face: ANYWAY. This was brought to my attention by--well, naming no names, I can tell you she's a real stunner. Knock you right off your feet if given the chance. This lovely lady, too good for this sinful world, has kindly compiled what she believes to be the best comments and questions. Here we go.

wolfwood: please, dear viewers, understand that this creature before you can be explained neither scientifically or religiously. Don't expect to experience clarity today.

vash:, holding up a paper with the questions written on it it's called mystique. First question: "Mr. The Stampede, why is the guy behind the camera called--"

*breaking off, vash presses his fist to his mouth and makes high-pitched noises that nearly pass beyond human hearing*

wolfwood: I've got a bad feeling about this

vash: "why is--why is the guy behind the camera called . . . 'woof woof'?"

*sitting down on the ground, vash bursts into obnoxious laughter, pounding his fist on the ground. the camera tilts and shakes*

wolfwood, sputtering: that's not--that's not what I'm called! Mary, mother of Christ, that is not--

*the scene cuts. vash is back on his feet, facial expression strained as he struggles to remain solemn*

vash: I have been instructed to clarify that my assistant behind the camera is not named 'woof woof', has never been called 'woof woof', and never will be called 'woof woof'.

wolfwood: it's because you keep starting to say my name and stammering when you cut yourself off. This is your fault, needle-noggin, and I'm gonna take it out of your hide later, I swear.

vash, coughing: there's a second part of this question, um, "is he called that because he's a furry?"

*vash collapses to the ground again, shrieking with laughter*

wolfwood: a what

vash: a furry is a--it's a--

wolfwood: I know what a furry is!

vash: from--from personal experience?

wolfwood: no!

*vash rolls around laughing, kicking his legs. the camera jolts up and down while wolfwood marches over and snatches up the list of questions*

wolfwood: aw, geez, they really asked that, you didn't make it up. I can't believe the big girl did this to me--would you shut up?!

vash, shrieking from pain this time: don't kick the messenger when he's down, woof woof!

wolfwood: no, no, no, no. this is not going to be a thing. I will end you, I will shoot you right through your spiky head, I will--

*the scene cuts to vash laying face-down on the forest floor, limp and lifeless. cigarette smoke is puffing from behind the camera and wolfwood's hand can be seen gesturing*

wolfwood: the person who asked that question, I don't know who you are, I don't know what you want. If you are looking for blackmail money, I can tell you I don't have money. But what I do have are a very particular set of skills, skills I have acquired over a very long career, skills that make me a nightmare for people like you. I will find you, and I will kill you. Buh-by.

*video ends*

[adelha-mathilde]

Emergence (Trigun WIP drabble) part 1/??

summary: Vash finds someone emerge from a Plant Tank to look completely different from when they first fell in. A once sleeping Earthling now covered in Plant markings and a few angel feathers.

characters/verse: Vash the Stampede, Luida, Brad, OC / Trigun Stampede

content warning: injuries, blood, mention of serious injury, and other stuff related to healing and medical anatomy stuff.

I literally had this random scene start playing in my head! There is zero planning on my part as to the how and why and when and where it is just full on "this happened" and I gonna write it! And so I'm going to write it out here with no context or formatting HERE WE GO!

The alarms of the still functioning spaceship were going off in full effect as dozens of people started running about. Voices shouting over the din as Vash opened the door to the Plant containment facility. All eyes looking up above as several sections of the ship had caved in after a hull breach. His gaze noting with growing horror that many of the sleep capsules had come dislodged from the upper floors. Most of them were empty of occupants. But one was spewing out smoke as the glass over the front shattered. With the sleeping occupant falling forwards as Vash gave a shout of pure helplessness.

The woman in the capsule crashed into the unforgiving shards of glass for blood to weep from her frame. Vash sprinting over the stairs without thought as he vaulted them with all his speed. The woman was obviously awake. Since she was doing her best to keep herself still as the capsule shuddered and rattled. Several others behind Vash calling out in fear as much as sadness. Vash all but jumped up and onto several of the empty capsules to try and spider crawl himself over to the woman. Who finally opened her eyes to see him. A huff of air escaping her as Vash got next to her on the capsule right next to hers. "Hold still and don't try to move! Help is on the way!"

The woman gave Vash a half smile to note with warm humor, "Wasn't planning on moving anytime soon. This capsule on the other hand might be a different matter entirely. Do you have wings I can't see? Heck of a climb otherwise." Vash paused to then smile at the given indication. His hand reaching over to gently touch at her neck. "Try to stay calm. I'm not leaving you behind. No matter what. I'm going to get you out of this." The woman gave him a kind smile to chuckle at his promise. A sigh soon followed by warm words. "Lord willing. Kind of out of our hands, little bird. But I only expect you to do your best. So we'll say that is what your plan is, okay?" Vash blinked back tears to realize that he was crying. That this woman was comforting him instead of the other way around. While from up above more sounds of screeching metal and popping electrical wires made the danger more apparent. While the Plants in the shared tank below began to stir from the commotion. Petals unfurling for them to lift their heads up to gaze at the two of them. Vash felt his marks heat up as they glowed. Something profound and unspoken passing through the air as the capsules shifted due to the unrelenting demands of gravity. So Vash got a crazy idea.

The Independent Plant moved to carefully pick up the woman from being half out of the capsule to clutch her close to his frame. Cutting himself in the process for their blood to end up mixing together. yet all he did was zero his gaze to those eyes the same shade as his own. His words hard and hurting. "This is probably not going to work. But it's the only idea I have. We're going to fall so my- so the Plants can catch us. They won't hurt us. You ready for this?" The woman gave a shiver to then wrap her arms around Vash. Her words more pained but determined than before. "Already said my prayers for us both. Let's do something crazy, little bird." So Vash grit his teeth to vault the two of them off the capsule and directly down towards the waiting arms of the Plants. The impact with the water like fluid rattling his frame as waves cascaded out and over the rim of the shared tank. Both of them soon gently pulled into the waiting embrace of the Plants as their angel features became more prominent. That unique and cosmic touch giving Vash the feelings of his fellow Plants. Concern. Fear. Hope. Acceptance. Understanding. Sadness. Pain. Love. Faith. Vash soon came to notice there was one color of emotion amidst the others that was not one of them. His eyes opening to stare at the Earthling he still held. Her blood drifted slowly around them as she kept her hands to his shoulders. Some of those emotions in the vastness of feeling being hers. With such revelation came a name for Vash to etch into his very being. Retha Gwendolen Heise.

**********

Vash woke up in a comfy room on the ship for Luida and Brad to tell him what happened next. That the Plants had surrounded the two of them to also use some new kind of energy. Said energy basically reaching up to the capsules that had started falling to melt them into harmless globs of metal that floated on top of the Plant container fluid. But all of the Plants had gathered into one giant flower to then turn most of the lights on the ship off. The ship going into a reserved mode of operation for about 48 hours. But the crew had been able to surmise that both Vash and the woman he tried to save were still alive. With Vash being let go of the flower to float back up to the top of the tank for the crew to fish back out. Vash looked deeply worried to try and get out of bed. But Brad just shoved him back down to tell Vash that the woman was still in with the Plants and that they had no way to get to her. Since the Plants had not moved from that giant combined flower and showed no signs of doing so anytime soon. Luida gave Vash some encouragement in that she believed the Plants were doing what they could to heal the woman before letting her go. Which Vash may find out more after a good hot meal.

Vash took little time in eating to all but sprint out of his room and to the Plant container in his haste. But as the crew had said, the giant flower was still there as before. No changes to report as the ship came back online in full. Vash ended up running up the stairs to just jump back into the tank before anyone could stop him. Which had several crew members yell for someone to get Luida as Vash swam to the flower. His hands touching at the petals to try and force them open. Which resulted in the Independent getting a jolt of surprise that knocked him for a loop as one Plant moved to open her petals and reach her hand to him. Gently wrapping her fingers around his wrist for Vash to close his eyes. The marks on his frame blazing out as his mind got tugged away. His feet soon noticing he was standing on cool sand and some grass. His eyes opening to take in the sight of a beach at sunset. The sun just beginning to dip below the waves as the waves washed against the shore. Scents of water and greenery filling his nose as Vash gave a squack of shock. But soon he felt hands upon his shoulders. Soft voices echoing against his senses. "Do not fret, little bird. The human is alive. They share with us her memories and feelings from the past. Things we now share with the others to take goodness from. We will heal the human in time. A choice was made to make the human whole once more. Even though it will change them to something more than human. Be patient, little bird. Have faith."

**********

Vash heard the alarm go off to vault up on the bed. Which had Brad cuss in surprise and drop all his tools. The mechanic shoving the gunman back down to exclaim with ire, "Stop! You can't go running off until I finish the last attachment! Ten seconds and then go flying off!" Vash nodded to hold himself in place as Brad finished the repairs on his prosthetic arm. Then Vash was out the door and sprinting down the halls towards where the announcements were coming from. Several of the crew already gathering as Luida's voice rang over the communication speakers. "The Plants are opening the flower! The collective seem to be moving back into their original singular spots! Vash! Three of them seem to be still holding onto Retha! You have to see this!"

Vash all but tumbled through the doors to the Plant facility to then skid to a halt. His gaze going wide as he saw the Plants moving back to their individual flower state to dot the tank like stars. All save for four of them. Or three of them with one human they were descending with to the floor of the tank. They let go to curl back into their flower form. Which left one form to slowly walk towards the crew as they milled about in front of the tank. Vash scrambled forwards to all but careen into the surface of the tank. His gaze transfixed on the once Earthling named Retha Gwendolen Heise. Her hair was no longer rich dark brown, it had gone sheer white instead. It had also grown to such a long length it brushed at her toes. She was so much thinner than before. Almost emaciated for Vash to count her ribs along her now pale white frame. Marks glowing all down her skin for her to also have no signs of scars or injuries. A physical body that showed no outward signs of external anatomical genitalia like the other Plants in the tank. Which had Vash flex his fingers as he wondered just how much had the healing really changed Retha. Was she even human anymore or was she mostly Plant?

But Vash pushed that thought to the side as he pressed himself against the surface of the tank. The energy of the Plants washing through the glass to make in more like gel so Vash might pass through it with ease. So the gunman did so to sprint full speed into the tank and right to Retha. That woman he had tried to save over a century ago. Vash threw his arms around her to hug her tight and shudder from head to toe. His coat billowing up for him to press his face into the top of Retha's head. He could feel her hands touch at his sides for her energy to crackle over his senses. A question soon wordlessly answered for Vash to feel her smile. That sensation being the empathic and telepathic link all Plants shared and used with each other. Retha seemed to be able to use it with ease as he opened his mind to let them use words. "Retha! It's so good to see you! I almost gave up hope! But you're okay! Are you okay now?"

Retha's reply back had Vash feel like someone was tickling his mind with feathers that made him give a giggle. That voice the same as before as Retha replied with sweet words. "As well as one might expect, little bird. But I guess I shouldn't call you that anymore. Good Lord, you grew so big and tall. But it's going to be okay, Vash. I would have preferred to not have taken this long. But the others kept me from getting ahead of myself." Retha stepped back for Vash to keep his hands to her shoulders. Since she was now much shorter than he was for him to look down at her face. Those once brown eyes opening for him to see they were now silver grey. But her face was exactly the same as before. Her smile was just as it was in his memory. Playful words of warm happiness enveloping his thought and feelings. "Good to be back, crimson bird. Now then. Let's get me out of this flower vase and back into the real world."

[inkksunawrites]

Soft VashWood where there's love and care, maybe after an abusive relationship?

It's been a hot minute- lemme shake the dust off. May make this multiple parts if people enjoy it. Fandom: Trigun Stampede Genre: Hurt & Comfort, modern AU Warnings: Abuse, blood mention, smoking Word count: 1,505

Support me on Kofi if you like my work?

The scent of Baltic amber and sweet honeysuckle still lingers on his long-since-ruined dress shirt despite the eye watering pungency of the tobacco the punisher usually smoked, tearstains tinted with shed mascara spattered across his chest. He can’t bring himself to wash it yet despite that, sighing long and hard as the grim man reached for another perfectly rolled cigarette with calloused fingers, gaze dull as it travelled the cityscape just outside his balcony window. The sound of heavy rain coming in through the open door soothes his nerves that ticked in the back of his mind, wanting to jump up and strangle the first fucker he saw but it wouldn’t do anybody any good. So he sits on his low creaking bedframe, the covers askew and tossed in his dingy apartment and clutter barely managed between stacks of books, a metal lighter flipped open with a sharp chime. The crackle of something burning is music to his ears, taking a long drag and reveling in the ache of his lungs before it’s released into the air, the smoke almost poetic as anything he spewed into the world seemed to be equally as toxic. The thought earns a dark snicker at the comparison, gallows humor a coping mechanism for what he’d had to sit through for the past few hours lest he go nuclear.

God he wanted to kill someone- that someone being blondie’s ex, but Vash would never forgive him. That’s something that might just send him over the edge.

The thin framed man had shown up on his doorstep only hours prior looking like shit, bruises and cuts along previously porcelain like skin. Previously fluffy blonde hair had turned dull, matted with dried blood that couldn’t be older than a few hours. Wolfwood was halfway through giving him shit for showing up unannounced like that before he noted with a cold chill clawing through his veins the state of his best friend. He would have noticed it right away if it wasn’t for the usual scarlet coat, red having always been Vash’s color that collided too perfectly with his golden hair. Even the glasses were fractured, hairline breaks whispering along the lenses, just barely obscuring the dead eyes of the wearer in the fluorescent lighting of the apartment hallway. Vash barely even got to croak out a hello before he was urgently whisked into the grungy apartment, the door locked shut behind causing his impromptu guest to flinch. He tries to suppress the wave of guilt that follows, shoving things aside from his bed so the man could sit, barely standing straight. “Wolfwood I-“ He starts, but he’s cut off just as quickly. “Don’t start with me, dipshit, you need help. Sit,” Wolfwood almost growls, biting back his tone if only for Vash’s sake. The firmness left no room to argue, Vash’s frail form deflating into the box spring mattress, his coat making him look so small now. It fractures his cold heart more than he ever thought possible, needing to take a breath to steady the hurt that filtered in just looking in that direction. He already knew what had likely happened. A long silence stretches out between them before either of them speak again, words barely a whisper when the blonde finds the strength to speak once more.

“I… I’m sorry.” He wants to curse, get mad at this idiot sat on his bed yet at the same time cradle the poor idiot. Of fucking course he would apologize. The apology earns a terse ‘tch’, making Vash sink further into his coat until it was Wolfwood’s turn to speak once more.

“You don’t get to apologize for the shitty actions of others, my forgiveness don’t work like that, got it?” His words drip like venom, but it earns a subtle nod from him even if it makes him look away afterwards in shame. He never was good at giving comfort, a sham of a holy man. He shifts, kicking aside a stack of books in front of his TV cabinet, dragging open the crooked door and retrieving his medkit with a grunt. Dropping it at the foot of the bed he joins soon after, Vash not even moving. Accepting his defeat, or simply too broken to care. “So, who am I writing a eulogy for?” The lame attempt at his usual gallows humour has Vash aghast, eyes widening with tension, frozen before he realizes it’s his weird way of cutting the tension. It works, eventually.

“…Him.” He tries so hard to not scoff, he does. He doesn’t understand why Vash won’t just move out, get away from there and come live with his friends. Anyone of them would take the sweet man in but even now he’s stubborn, body pliant as a rag and ethanol wipe away the blood and clean scrapes and bruises. Accustomed to pain, he barely even winces from the unrelenting bite of medical supplies, even when the rough bandage across his arm his found, the blood soaking into fabric. Wolfwood doesn’t hesitate, urging the coat off and the shitty bandage so he can stitch up the gash left behind, the monster behind his eyes raging at who did this. “Why the fuck are you still there?” Wolfwood sighs, his emotion draining as he tried to focus. “How many more times am I gonna have to patch you up? You can’t keep doing this blondie, you only have so much of a body to give.” Another pointless conversation, another merry-go-round of morals and ethics. They’d done this song and dance before, Vash always wanting to believe in the good but there was nothing good to that man. Just putrid rottenness that even a tourniquet couldn’t fix. He’d rather just cut out the heart at that point, but Vash… The silence that follows after is deafening, even for Vash. The trembles are felt before they’re visible and the stitching on his arm is barely even finished and sterilized before choked sobs are tumbling from lips. Thin arms wind around him, urging into his chest and clinging tight as though he were the solution to everything, his desperate respite in a storm of emotions and pain. It takes the wolf by surprise, his shock knocking over the bottle of ethanol but he can’t find it in him to care as the contents spill into creaking floorboards and the sterile scent fills the air. Strong arms from years of carrying heavy burdens pulls the man close, holding him so gently even as Vash climbs into his lap like a koala, his impenetrable iron walls against what loomed elsewhere in his life. Tears continue to fall, his tiny form shaking from the abuse he’d endured for so long now, convinced he could make it better or that he deserved every second. Just the understanding of Vash’s line of thought had his gaze darkening, knowing what must’ve happened behind closed doors and gone unspoken. For now, however, he stayed. He listened and soothed, rough hands petting over Vash’s back as choked out cries fill the room. Finally released, ocean waves crashing mercilessly down and all he could do was hold him.

Until it slowed, then stopped. He looked so very tired, fingers gripped to Wolfwood’s shirt and warping the weave with how tightly he refused to let go in the faint light of the evening city. So he lays them down to rest, blankets tucked over his frail form and pillows brought to support his arm, prosthetic looking worse for wear. Vash whimpers, not wanting to be separated so he sits beside him, holding his hand with the gentlest touch. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t frankly honored, able to list of dozens of other friends the man had in this city alone. He always was the social one, while he could count the number of his own on just a few fingers. “…Stay? Please,” he breathes, desperate to not be alone. It only makes his heart break more, mustering up the best smile he could despite how he felt inside.

“Of course, blondie. Can’t get rid of me that easily.” It’s all the man needed, the first genuine smile Vash had all night flashed his direction, so painfully small but real. His eyes fall closed not long after, exhaustion finally catching up. Even bruised and looking like hell, he stirred dangerous emotions in his chest that made him want to shout from their sheer strength alone. The urge to pick up his shitty slam poetry book and write a few verses is tempting. He always felt more creative with his muse around, inspiring him to be a better person. To do better.

Which leads to now, covered in mascara stained tears but not giving a damn, torn between action and inaction.

For once, he chooses the later, kicking off his shoes and shirt, slipping in to cuddle. He’d figure out punishments later.

The only thing that mattered right now was Vash, and making sure this time he didn’t go back.

[ashknife]

A Cheery Lot

Here's my contribution to the 2022 Inklings Christmas Challenge (@inklings-challenge). It's a little cyberpunk, and I incorporated song as the major image. I tried to do something that didn't involve somebody dying or experiencing extreme turmoil. Also, first-person. Hopefully, it worked out. Story after the break.

"Merry Christmas!" "Woot! It's Christmas!" "¡Feliz Navidad!" "Happy Holidays!" "Happy Christmas to everybody!"

The chat on my HUD is a constant stream of holiday wishes. The 25th is just hours away. It seems every shop and house I walk by is full of revelry and cheer. Some dance as they walk to the next party. Some exchange gifts. Some do some last-minute shopping. Some are so caught up in the ecstasy of the moment that they forget to find somewhere more private to celebrate. It's just like a normal night in the city, but with twice the energy. People here like to celebrate, but they do it harder when there's an actual celebration.

Blinking lights cover every building. Businesses augment their signs with holograms of reindeer, trees, and Santa. The usual stable music is set free to stampede our minds until we get sick of it, and then they sing it some more. There's so much to buy, and the sales just make it all that much more tempting. That new air fryer I've been looking at is now half off, but I don't need to get it for myself. Someone else will get it for me, and I will get them something they want. That's how Christmas works. I scratch your back, you scratch mine. Somehow, it's more rewarding to buy things for each other that we would have normally gotten on our own.

I am no different than the rest. I am on my way to a party thrown together by some coworkers. It's one of the few times we get to see each other. Oh, sure, we get a good look each day through our virtual meetings. These glasses we all wear really make that convenient. YumiCorp really did us a good turn developing these. I don't see how humanity got along without the steady stream of information these things provide. I like seeing what's in a building, having a map of where I'm going, being able to work while I go about my day, and watching the constant chatter of the city. Life without them is so boring and bland. Still, there's something different about talking to a warm body and not to a video.

And, like that, I receive a video call. It's Josephina, my manager, wearing a festive sweater and reindeer antlers, both with blinking lights.

"Hey, Henry! How's it going?"

"Hi, Josephina. I'm walking there right now."

"Great! It looks like you're on Broadway."

"Yeah. Just a few more blocks to go."

"You better hurry! The rest of the team is here, and the hors d’oeuvres are almost gone already."

"Should I pick up some snacks?"

"I ordered some more food, but a little more won't hurt."

The map of my walking route displayed a number of stores that were on the way.

"I'll pick up a few things, then."

"Thanks. See you soon!"

The video call disappears. I look at the suggested stores. Most of them are convenience stores, but this one here, Mitchell's, catches my attention. It looks like a hole-in-the-wall kind of place, but the few who've been seem to love it. I think I'll give it a go.

The store is just a few blocks away tucked under an apartment complex. I see why not many have been there: it has a small, faded sign that would be barely visible on a clear, sunny day. I would have missed it if the glasses didn't highlight the sign and front door. I descend the shallow steps to the door and struggle to pry it open. The wood scrapes against the cement as it finally gives, yielding a packed shop full of all kinds of things. I think the owner stuffed an entire Wal-mart into the space of a 7-Eleven, but they also managed it keep it clean and organized. What manner of sorcery is this?

"Irasshai!" I jump at the sudden, cheerful greeting. Standing behind the counter is a thin, balding Asian man with a colorful name tag labelling him as Mitchell. The glasses confirm this. Mitchell nods with an excited tic and a wide grin.

"A new customer!" he says. "I'm sorry if I made you jump. It's a greeting my family used at home a long time ago."

"Where was home?" I ask.

"Japan. Kyoto."

"Is that how you know how to stuff all this in here?" Mitchell nodded.

"Yes, sir! I have just about anything you could need. What are you looking for?"

"Snacks for a Christmas party."

"Of course, of course! Let me show you what we have."

Mitchell nimbly navigates his shop the way a librarian could find a book. He points out different kinds of finger foods for sale, and there were even some hot items I didn't notice before. Never had I seen such efficiency of space. Within minutes, I was carrying bags full of crackers, spreads, and warm tamales. I tap my glasses and make a note of this wonderful find of a place. I started to thank Mitchell when the lights went dark.

"Oh!" Mitchell says. Without missing a beat, he strikes a match and lights a candle. With that candle, he lights a few more, bathing the counter in a sort of eerie, dim light. It feels oddly cozy and comforting.

"It's not often the power goes out," he says. "Hopefully it isn't for too long."

"Right," I reply. "Thanks, Mitchell. I'll be back again."

"You are most welcome, honored guest!" He bows as I step out through the stubborn door.

I step back up to the sidewalk when I notice something: my route doesn't show up on the glasses. In fact, nothing is there but blank spaces. The glasses are on, but they aren't receiving any data. I look around. Darkness. Everywhere there should be lights, there is only inky black. I can hear the indistinct protesting of the crowds. It's hard to see with camera lights. It's cold outside. Frightened people lash out at pranksters who pretend to be ghosts for cheap laughs.

I can't go anywhere by standing around here, so I start toward Josephina's place. It wasn't far, and I have a decent memory, so I try to navigate the streets from that. I'm pretty sure there was a left turn here, and then a right turn there, and it was just few blocks this way down 8th Street...

Wait. This doesn't look like the residential area Josephina lives in. This looks way different. Everythhing looks older, worn, run down. Is this...the ghetto? Was it always this close? I look around to see where I am at, but I cannot make out anything like a familiar landmark or a street sign in this darkness. Am I lost? I am lost. I don't know where to go from here.

Voices. Voices coming from around the corner. It sounds like singing. What should I do? I could ask them for help, but what if they're dangerous? But they're singing. It doesn't sound like trouble. It's risk danger for help or stand here and slowly freeze. I walk closer to the corner where the voices are coming from. I see the faint reflection of light coming from a building across the street. The voices are clearer, coming from a lot. The light flickers, and there is a scent of something burning, like Mitchell's match and candles, but somehow pleasant. I walk to the lot. There is a group of people standing around a couple of barrels. There is a fire in each, and a ring of people surrounds them. Some of the people hold out their gloved hands trying to absorb the warmth of the fires. A stack of logs sits in between the barrels. One of the larger men steps forward, grabs a couple of logs, and throws them into the barrels, one in each. Within a few moments, the fires blaze a little brighter. They're singing Christmas carols. I know them from the music that normally plays all day, but there are no instruments or bass dropping or anything normally broadcast. It's just their voices ringing out into the dark, dead night.

When they had finished their current song, someone pointed at me, and they all turned to see their intruder. They motioned me to join them, so I stepped closer to the fire.

"Hey, man, you don't look like you're from around here," one of the men say.

"Uh, no, I'm not. I live downtown," I say. Amazed chatter followed, accented with "oos" and "ahs."

"Get lost?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I did."

"Where you headed?"

"Parker Street."

"You're about ten blocks off course."

"I see."

There was an awkward silence. A woman joined the group from the dark street.

"Joe's been called out," she says. "Someone got a hold of some fireworks and set them off by a substation. Power'll be out for a couple of hours."

"All that info, and not a lick of common sense," a man says. The group grunts in agreement and shakes their heads. I want to protest, but I wouldn't be here if I really knew where I was going and wasn't dependent on these glasses. I take them off and look at them.

"Hey, four-eyes," a man calls out. I look up. I feel a chill breeze and shiver. I don't belong here.

"Y-yeah?" I say.

"You got a favorite carol?"

"Oh, you don't need to worr--"

"No, man, you're our guest."

"Oh. I..." I had to think for a moment. I never really gave that much thought before. It all kind of blurs together every year. Everyone seems so blissful and happy and cheerful. I guess there was that one upbeat song about comfort and joy, but I never really heard anything but that part.

"There's one that's about comfort and joy, I think?" I offer.

They all nod their heads. Some say it's a good one.

The man who asked starts them off. "God rest ye," and then they all take hold and sing the entire song. A song of faith, joy at the coming of a savior. I never heard such things before. I tried to sing with them, but I couldn't keep up with them except at that chorus part. I looked around uncomfortably and noticed that there was a tree bedecked with a few ornaments and a string of lights. A real one, not something that the glasses tacked on. Next to it was a table with a small plate of food. I approach the tree as they sang. I touch the needles but jerk my hand back as they poke it. I didn't think they would be so sharp. I reach out again and grit through the uncomfortable feeling. It smelled of pine. Of course, it did. But it was a real scent, not something coming from a candle or spray. I could feel the weight of the wood and the sticky sap in each whiff. If the power had not been out, this tree would be illuminated by the pathetic string of lights and the star that crowned the top. It would have been a warm and welcoming sight, especially for these people. This was nothing like the celebrations I walked past earlier.

I could go to Mitchell's again later, or maybe some other store. I brought out the food I bought and set it out on the table. The tamales had cooled some but still held a little warmth, which I offered to the gathered crowd when they had finished singing. I've seen people excited over a meal before, but I've never seen such joy as each person caressed their warm tamal and peeled it open to eat. They hail me as some sort of hero, half-mockingly, and the other half genuine. I brought them cheer. No, that's not right. They already had cheer. I simply accented it.

They crack jokes, tell stories, and ask questions. They want to know what I do. They talk about their hard lives. I am far away from family, but they cherish theirs daily. Some say this is the finest food they've ever had. I don't know what to say. When they finish eating, more logs enter the fires, and the singing begins anew, well-fed and grateful for it. I keep up the best that I can, fully aware that I never really paid attention to music as anything more than background noise. Time loses its meaning, and for a short while, I am adopted into this community. I feel blessed.

After some time, the lights return to the city. People cheer as their tree also lights up with the surrounding buildings. Strings of bulbs alight overhead with no real pattern. They shine over the lot with the little bit of magic they hold. I feel a buzzing in my pocket. I pull out my glasses and put them on. A flurry of activity pours through, and Josephina is calling.

"Henry?"

"Yeah?"

"Oh, good! You're alright! Did you get lost?"

"No. Well, yes. I did. But I ended up at someone else's party while the power is out."

"We're still going here, telling ghost stories, if you want to come."

"It's getting a bit late out as it is. I'll have to take a rain check."

"I get you. Sorry it didn't work out!"

She waves bye and hangs up. I rejoin the party I found myself in. I think tonight, I found the better place to be.

[blankticket]

@amoirsetpacis asked:

Nonverbal 75. Plant boys go on a hike in nature \o/

It was a seemingly spontaneous whim of a proposal by the older Vash, which the two were quick to agree upon: a trek way far out to the Sky-Strewn Isles, and back again… On the condition that they both played a game. First to talk would lose!!

There was a subby that ran out a good distance from the city toward their destination, which covered just enough distance such that they'd still have a good hike together to the place proper. Weather conditions were never something to worry about there, apparently!

The ride's filled with nonverbal entertainment they're quick to find: pulling faces at the other, the shoulder tap trick, the Stampede using his cell phone to take a quick picture of him hover-handing the other (and much blurrier pictures of the subsequent noogie penalty until he rapidly tapped his predecessor's elbow, to signal a plea for mercy).

The hike has them spaced out further, less time and space for ribbing and antics—but more focus onto what's around them, and the peaceful feelings that arose from experiencing that serenity.

Vash finds that the further they trek inward, the more he finds his strength and reflex restored. Eventually, due to the Isles' magic, he's never felt more like himself again. That rediscovered comfort sits in his bones, but it's a bittersweet feeling, knowing it'll have to fade again when they depart.

Reaching the entrance overlooking the main floating islets, they sit, resting red coats, boots, and knapsacks beside the other.

Beyond them is quite the sight: the waterfall, the homes with their open windows, all the grass and laughter and birdsong… Gardens, fresh air, and impossible shores; paradise here inside a pocket of a pocket of the world. Flourishing.

"I don't mean to hurt you."

Yeah, he knows, he knows, he knows he's ruining the damn mood; he knows it's such childish behavior to abruptly outright confess such self-centered guilt, using it as though it works as denial of this new memory they've created together.

Like he doesn't deserve to witness this beautiful view and to have the return of his strength without apologizing for it. He knows it's a selfish move, feels as though his stupid heart's spoiled the trip here, and all the effort the two put in to preserve the deal. As if he'd built a wall of shame to prevent himself from enjoying the moment.

Whether his older self would follow suit or continue with silence, he held no certainties in hope. But he needed to get the apology off of his chest; he owed it. He didn't mind being a loser for it.

"...Sorry that I did anyway."

He had the funny feeling that this other Vash had caught onto his weekly treks out into the Mists, despite only contacting him about the first time he'd done it. After all, his predecessor had had more experience being them. So the timing of his next plan to venture past the edges of Spirale's map, and the slight detour to the Sky-Strewn Isles instead…

It was, possibly, this older brother's way of looking out for him yet again. This trip might've been to share this experience with him; nature, beauty, the restoration of what the Stars had taken away from his body. It could be to simply challenge self-destructive intent: do you still plan on running outta the Mists today, little brother?

The loser of the game brings up his glove-covered wrist, presses it against one eye, keeps it held there. Glasses askew, his shoulders shake quietly. Eventually, Vash covers his face with both hands, and continues to shake in continued silence.

[rotworld]

1: Hellhound

you get an unexpected visitor on the night of a hunt.

->explicit. contains gore, murder, feral behavior, very ambiguous consent (consent not explicitly given but you have a good time), and knotting.

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.

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Molly says there’ll be a hunt tonight.

You’re visiting the village market together when she suddenly stops in the middle of the road, the evening crowd parting around her. Her hands tremble at her sides, her head turned towards the sky. “Do you feel that?” she whispers. “That heat? That prickle in the air? Like a storm, but I know it’s not. They’re coming. Herbs—you need herbs. Can’t be out late.” You don’t feel anything but you take her word for it. They call her Mad Molly, but only when you aren’t around to smack some sense into them. Not just anyone survives being stranded outside on the night of a hunt. You’d like to see them try.

“How do you tell the difference?” you ask her. “Between a storm and a hunt?” 

Molly taps her nose. “The smell,” she says. “Storms are wet. Earth and sky. Hunts are something else. Try and see.” 

You close your eyes and take a deep breath. Crisp autumn air fills your lungs. You smell the savory aroma of meat pies, the musk of herbs, the sharp scent of pickled vegetables, but nothing like what Molly describes. You trip on an uneven patch of road and she catches you, snickering. Somehow, she’s still twice as graceful as you, even without her eyes.

Dusk settles in the sky by the time you reach Molly’s. She gives you a basketful of herbs from her garden, flowering purple stalks of betony and clary sage. “Put the dill and rosemary over your door. The betony, you’ll want that once the night’s through. Clary sage is for the eyes, but you knew that already.” She sends you off with a stern reminder, “Stay inside. Lock your doors. And don’t get in their way.” She taps the side of her face, the whorls of scar tissue where her eyes used to be. “But don’t be scared,” she says quietly. “They can be surprisingly gentle.”

It’s a long trek home from Molly’s, back through the woods and the village square. The shadows are long and the sky dim. Children chase each other, chickens run loose, and a couple of persistent women haggle with the butcher for cured meats. But when the church bells toll, everything changes. Fear grips the market. People scatter like frightened animals. Stalls are hastily abandoned, artisan goods trampled in the streets. Doors slam and windows are shuttered. A town crier rings his hand bell and shouts to be heard over the commotion. He, too, is running. “Hear ye, hear ye! The hounds come to hunt this eve!” You catch glimpses through the stampede, fur like night sky and eyes like burning coals. The beasts come pouring from dark places, shaking the clinging shadows from their coats. You smell ash and sulfur, see the heat haze fizzling around their claws. The howling starts. You’ve never run so fast in your life.

They’re everywhere, slinking through the alleys and prowling between the trees. You see them watching, waiting, their gazes burning into you as you pass. You wonder if this is how sheep feel under the scrutiny of herd dogs. The crowd thins the further you go from town until you’re alone in the woods, sprinting for the soft glow of a lantern left outside your front door. You’re breathless when you stumble inside, hunched over, legs aching. You realize, belatedly, that you lost your basket of herbs somewhere in the chaos, but you’ll manage without. All you need right now is some tea. 

The water is just starting to boil when you hear an ungodly commotion, a wet sound, a clattering, banging and screaming. It takes you a moment to come out from beneath your table and realize someone is knocking frantically at your door, begging for help. “Please, please help me, please I don’t, I don’t want to die, please—!”

Cautiously, you peer through the foggy glass. You can just make out a young man standing there. You open the door and the sight of him churns your stomach. Vicious claw marks cut through one side of his face, leaving the flesh mangled and hanging limp. That wet sound is the splatter of blood every time he moves, dribbling from his face and his hands. The hounds will smell that, clamor for a taste of it. “I didn’t know,” he sobs. “I’m not from here, I didn’t—I had no idea what it meant! The bells started ringing and everyone ran, and I—I don’t have anywhere to go!”

You let him in. He comes stumbling through and collapses, sinking to his knees against the wall. His cloak is torn and the clothes underneath ragged, everything saturated with blood. The first thing you do is clean the wound and cover him in gauze and bandages, anything to staunch the flow and cover the metallic scent. He croaks miserably, pale as death. You aren’t sure he’ll make it through the night, but you’ll do what you can.

“The bells mean there’s a hunt on,” you tell him, sopping up a red, watery mess oozing from his chin. It makes little difference now, but if it were you, you’d want to know. “The hounds are just doing their job, hunting for monsters and infernal things. But we have to be careful. They’ll attack anything that gets between them and their prey, and blood excites them.” 

“Monsters?” the young man says weakly. “Infernal things? What does that mean?” 

You shrug. “I’ve never seen one. It’s just what I’ve heard.” 

“Then how do you even know it’s true? What if they’re just running amok out there, killing whoever they want?” 

“I just know,” you insist. It’s a common rumor whispered around the village; humans are the real prey. The stories of monsters are just to keep them obedient, never getting in the way of a hunt. But Molly told you it’s not like that. She said she saw something. The hounds, she whispered, weren’t what took her eyes.

“Doesn’t that scare you?” the young man presses. “Not knowing what a monster even looks like? Whether or not you’d recognize one if you saw it?” Thin, bony fingers wrap around your wrist. He has claws, you realize, your heart skipping a beat. “It should,” he purrs. His teeth are inhumanly sharp. Eyes flutter open and shut along the uninjured side of his face, yellow and glowing like a creature of the night. He stands, suddenly steady on his feet. Your blood runs cold as you understand that his corpse-like complexion is natural. More hands unfold from beneath his tattered cloak and slam you back against the wall. 

“Let me go,” you say quickly, a frightened tremor sneaking into your words.

The monster you let into your home leans in close, smirking. A long, forked tongue slithers along your jaw. “I don’t think so,” he hisses. “I’m staying until sunrise. If the hounds come, you will send them away. If you don’t…” His jaw cracks at the joints, unhinging, his mouth opening even wider revealing a maw lined with rows upon rows of teeth. “Then there will be nothing left of you come morning.” Just like that, he drops you, watching you squirm on the floor with cold amusement. “Get up,” he says. “We have to prepare.” He doesn’t wait for you to begin shoving furniture against your door, lifting the heavy oak table as though it weighs nothing. You slowly climb to your feet and stand there, paralyzed.

“It won’t work,” you say.

He stops, dropping a chair and letting it clatter loudly to the floor. You regret speaking when those eyes flutter open in shut again, fixing you with an unnerving glare. Silently, he slinks towards you, backing you into a corner. “It will,” he says lowly. “You’ll turn them away or you’ll die. It’s that simple.” 

You swallow a ball of cold, hard dread stopping up your throat. He doesn’t understand. There is no turning away a hound. A long howl cuts through the silence and you both look at the door. Another howl rises in answer, much closer than the first. A glow like distant fire burns in the woods. The monster grabs you with three hands and shoves you closer to the door. It stands behind you, draped against your back with a claw pressed threateningly against your throat. You hear a beast’s trotting steps, leaves crunching along the path to your home. A large silhouette looms outside. There’s sniffing, and then a low growl. Something scrapes against your front door.

“Huuuuuman,” comes a low, velvety purr.  It almost sounds like a man, distinctly masculine but with a deep, animalistic rumble coloring every sound. “I see you standing there. Good evening.” 

“G...good evening,” you manage to stammer through the shock and fear. You had no idea hounds could speak. You can’t make out a face, canid or otherwise, but you see his eyes glowing in the dark, red and blazing. 

“I smell something delicious,” the hound says. “May I come in? I think you might have an uninvited guest and not even know it.”

You take too long to reply. You hear the sound of flesh peeling, the monster’s jaw unhinging behind your head, and scramble to force out the words, “There’s no one here but me!” 

The hound lowers itself. You hear more sniffing, see unnatural shadows swirling beneath your door and seeping into the house. “Are you certain, human?” the hound says. “I’m not often wrong.”

“I’m sure,” you say, as firmly as you can with hot saliva dribbling on your shoulders. You hear one last frustrated, sniff, a huff, and then the hound’s footstep’s retreating as he slinks back the way he came. Neither you nor the monster can quite believe it at first, remaining perfectly still until the fiery glow dissipates and everything is dark outside. The next howl is far, far away. 

“Good,” the monster mutters, sounding nearly as exhausted as you feel. He shoves you away and begins throwing anything else he can find into the barricade. “Now help me with this—”

He smells it only a second before you do. Sulfur. Burning. Hellfire. The unearthly glow sparks to life right outside your door once again. Time slows to a crawl as the monster turns, looking back at you with a snarl frozen on his half-mangled face. All of his eyes open wide and you hear just the beginning of a frightened whimper before flames erupt from the barricade. The fire is red like blood and the force of it bursting through knocks the monster back, sending him sprawling to the ground where it circles him, engulfs him like a living thing and eats him alive.

You can’t tear your eyes away as the flames take the shape of the biggest dog you’ve ever seen, wolf-like and ferocious, one massive paw on the monster’s chest as its maw tears his belly open and rips into his guts. The terrible, sharp stench of death seemingly burns away, overpowered by cleansing smoke and fire. The screams will haunt you for the rest of your life.

When you come back to your senses, the inferno has disappeared. Rings of scorch marks are seared into the floor around a charred corpse so horribly mutilated you couldn’t begin to guess at what it once was. A man crouches over it, licking his bloodied lips. You know he’s the hound. His wild hair writhes with shadows and the fire is still burning in his eyes. He turns to you, stands to his full height, and you fight to keep your gaze respectfully above his collarbones as you realize he’s completely naked. He takes a step towards you. You take two stumbling back.

“I didn’t want to get in your way,” you say, helpless. If he decides to kill you, there’s nothing you can do. “He told me to lie to you. He threatened me.”

“Lucky for you, you’re a terrible liar,” the hound sneers. He stalks towards you like you’re prey, a snarl pulling at the corner of his lips exposing the teeth that just tore the monster apart. “Did no one ever teach you not to open your door to strangers on the night of a hunt?”

“I didn’t know!” Any further excuses die on your tongue when he shoves you, barely more than a gentle push on his part but it knocks you to the ground. He’s on you before you can squirm away and you realize suddenly just how big he is. He’s enormous, a good head taller, all rippling muscle and faded scars. And he’s—you don’t look, but you can feel that he’s hard. His cock twitches where it’s nestled between your bodies, smearing precum on your clothes. “Please don’t...don’t hurt me.”

“I’m not going to,” he says, but it certainly stings a bit when he rakes his claws down your body and shreds through your clothes. He ignores your protests as he shoves the fabric aside and then his hands are on you. He has claws like the monster, but even thicker and more frightening. Somehow, they barely graze you even as he caresses your skin. You flinch when he leans in suddenly, but he doesn’t bite you. He’s smelling you, you realize. His nose grazes the hollow of your throat and he licks you, a rumble building in his chest. “This is what I smelled,” he murmurs. 

You don’t understand. He doesn’t bother to explain, either, but he pulls back far enough to meet your eyes. You expect him to reek of sulfur, but without the fire, there’s only the lingering scent of the forest. His gaze wanders your body and he presses his hand against your chest, right over your pounding heart. 

“I want you,” he purrs. “I’m going to have you.” You nod shakily. What are you going to do, fight him about it? You just watched him burn his way into your house and kill somebody in a flurry of fire and entrails. “Turn over. Let me taste what’s mine.” You hesitate. He doesn’t ask twice. You’re flipped unceremoniously onto your stomach, breath catching in your throat when he tugs your hips higher. 

You feel his breath, scalding like chimney air, against your sex. The wet press of his tongue on your flesh makes you flinch and whimper. It’s hotter than you expected. The warmth is just shy of painful. You bury your face in your arms, face heating in embarrassment, as he laps at your sex like he’s starving for it, saliva dribbling down his chin. You find yourself shivering, moving back against his face, whining when his hands catch your hips and hold you in place. 

You think that growl is pleased, almost affectionate. He adjusts his position ever so slightly, his thumbs pressing into tender flesh to spread you open. And then his tongue is inside of you. You cry out in shock, the sensation foreign and overwhelming. It’s like nothing you’ve ever experienced before. His tongue is long and thick, twisting inside of you, opening you wider as he makes encouraging sounds. “That’s it,” he hisses, licking a lazy circle around your entrance. “That’s it, human. Let me in.”

It’s not long before you’re shivering in his grasp, gasping, even begging. You hear a chuckle, feel his tongue leave you empty and wanting. “You’re ready,” he murmurs. You hear a slick sound. His hand on his cock, maybe, but you don’t get the chance to look and see. His claws land heavily on your head, shoving your face into the floor. He’s going to fuck you like an animal. The thought drifts almost absently through your head as he mounts you, blankets your back with his body and begins rutting his hips against you. His length, hot and pulsing, shoves between your thighs in teasing thrusts, letting you feel how thick he is. What can only be a knot drags against your sex, the friction making you whine. “Do you want me, human?” he growls. “Do you hunger as I do?” 

You make a noise, something humiliating, needy, more animal than human. It’s exactly what he wants. With a playful bite to the nape of your neck, he presses his cockhead against you. He pushes slowly, patiently, his hands smoothing along your sides. You hear him speaking against your skin, rumbling into the side of your neck or your shoulder. The words are low and indistinct but you feel the intent behind them, the desire in every sound. “Fuck me,” you beg him. He makes a bestial sound and with a harsh, forward motion, spears you on his cock. 

It’s blinding, the pain and the pressure, but it’s so good, so filling. Your fingers scrabble over the floor with nothing to hold onto. The hound rocks his hips, driving into you harder and faster, building a rhythm that makes you see stars. “Fuck, just like that,” he pants against your ear. “You take me like you were made for me.” He sinks deeper and your eyes roll back in your head. You can feel him in your stomach, can see the bulge of him through your skin. It’s impossible to hold your voice in, every thrust dragging a yelp or a whimper from your lips. “Don’t hold back,” he growls, nipping at your ear. “Scream for me. I want my brothers to hear you. I want the whole village to know you’re mine.” 

You won’t last long, and neither will he. The exhaustion of the night catches up with you, the primal terror, the relief, the lust burning in your veins. You feel the hound losing rhythm as he loses himself to his frenzy, groaning and growling, driving into you with bruising thrusts. He tries to force his knot inside of you and it won’t fit, you’re sure it won’t. You try to tell him it won’t and he makes a truly inhuman sound, a laugh and a bark and a roar all at once. One of his claws lands on your head again, keeping you trapped and still as he rotates his hips and pushes harder, fucks you harder, drives his cock as deep inside as he can get.

The sound is small. The muted, wet pop of something locking into place. But the sensations are too much, too good, too painful. The force of your orgasm nearly leaves you unconscious. You feel him cum, hear him let out a long moan as his hips move in frantic little thrusts against your ass. He stuff you full and collapses on top of you, his legs hooked inside of yours. You gasp for breath as he keeps rutting, still riding the high of his climax. You smell blood. You feel his jaw come unclamped from the space between your neck and shoulder, his tongue lapping gently at the wound. 

He shifts slightly and your hips are dragged with him, the pull on your insides making you wince. “Sorry. We won’t be going anywhere for a while,” he murmurs, nuzzling into your hair. He soothes you with a hand along your side, peppering kisses between your shoulders. “Hunt’s not over. I’ll have to leave as soon as I’m able. Are you well? I didn’t hurt you?”

You don’t feel terrible, all things considered. There’s a deep soreness that might bring regret in the morning, but mostly you’re content. His heat, the fire at the core of his being, dampens the worst of the pain. There must be some magic at work. You can’t believe he’s still inside you. “I’m okay,” you say slowly.

“Good.” The hound nuzzles his face against you, taking in your scent again. You could almost call the behavior affectionate or gentle, a stark difference from how he fucked you earlier. 

Molly’s words come back to you, the strange little smile on her face. You have some questions for her in the morning.

[p-artsypants]

Between a Rock and a Hard Place (6)

Ao3 

Ladybug watched her golden boy race up the staircase. Even after she lost sight of his sneakers, she could hear his voice. His shouting was drowned out by the choir of middle-schooler zombies that chased after him.

Ladybug scanned the crowd of pursuers very carefully. Just as Adrien had predicted, Zombizou followed the class from behind. Perhaps the plan would work after all.

Just as Zombizou was about to go up the stairs, she stopped to look around. Ladybug ducked down behind her cover of scrap metal to avoid being detected.

After ten seconds, Ladybug snuck a peak back over the metal heap. She caught a glimpse of the last two figures ascending the stairs; Alya and Juleka.

 Looks like Zombizou is covering her ass. Ladybug thought. She bit her lip, unsure how the plan would pan out.

One thing was for certain; Adrien was really going to need her backup in a hot second. She’d better hustle after the zombies or her date with Baby Fabio was extinct.

Maybe I should add my own cave painting down here, Ladybug thought. A tiny ladybug being trampled by one of those mammoths so, in 10,000 years, someone will understand how absolute garbage this day has been.

She blinked. It had been about ten seconds since the zombies had started up the stairs. Time to get moving.

Ladybug vaulted over a bent girder and raced over to the staircase. She slowed down, and crept when she reached the bottom. Cautiously, she craned her head up. 

She could see a dozen torsos spiraling upward through the central pocket in the staircase. Focusing on the end of the line, she saw the pale skin of Zombizou, still rocking the 5-Gum-cobalt-blue hairdo. Juleka and Alya followed dutifully behind her.

This will be… interesting. Ladybug thought.

Far off above her, Adrien was still screaming his head off.

“Hey! Up here, dummies! That’s right! Come and get me!” Adrien goaded.

“Duudde,” Zombie Nino groaned, “We might be zombiessss, but we can, like, totally sstilll underssstand youuu.”

“Oh…Wait, really?”

“Yeeahh,” came the voice of Alix “We’re not dumb; we jussst want to kiss you.”

Kim chimed in, “Yeah bro. Not cool.”

“Especially since my second uncle twice-removed is half-zombie, that’s super insensitive of you to assume that all zombies are dumb. You’re canceled,” said Lila.

“Shut up, Lila,” Adrien taunted, “You’re lucky you're in this fic.”

Ladybug crept up the stairs as quietly as she could, so as not to break the fourth wall anymore than necessary.

At the top of the stairs, Adrien had reached the lobby. He pushed through the doorway and stepped out of the stairwell and into the visitor center. Here, sections of the rock had been framed with informational panels and historical blurbs, all under professional museum lighting. The floor was dark plaster, and the ceiling extended far above the exhibit lighting, disappearing into an inky-black void.

The door barely closed behind Adrien before Ivan’s lips smushed pushed against the window glass. Adrien could hear the impatient zombies quarrel with one another.

“Open the door!”

“Shtop pushimg mee!”

Finally, the push bar clicked-in and the door swung open and the rush of ensuing sneakers sounded like a basketball court.

Ivan, Nathaniel, and Max spilled out into the dark hallway. Each pair of eyes trained on Adrien.

Adrien didn’t stick around. He spun and bolted towards the lobby, where he could see other civilians mingling.

“Run!” Adrien shouted, “Zombies!”

The other guests were confused, and probably wouldn't have understood anyway. But, they did sense the urgency of a breathless teen being chased by others.

A few visiting couples retreated to the check-in counter, but most adults just stood in front of their children. 

It wasn’t enough.

The stampede of middle-schoolers collided with the other guests, knocking some off their feet. Within seconds, Max, Nathaniel, and Mylene had all traded cooties with three new strangers.

“No!” Adrien was practically pulling out his hair at this point.

What could he do? His Miraculous was still recharging, and he didn’t have any cheese to feed Plagg. The stupid tour guide made him throw it away because food and drink wasn’t allowed in the caves. There had to be something around here he could use.

That’s when he smelled it. The room-temp aroma of Gourgères cheese puffs.

Across the atrium was a gift shop with a glass display of snacks. On the top rack in a silver bowl were a handful of crispy golden puffs with Gruyère cheese. Plagg might protest about the pastry bread, but it had cheese and was at least popcorn-shaped.

Beggars can’t be choosers, Adrien grimaced.

Adrien locked eyes with the cashier, a 20-something girl in a black arpon and her blonde hair in a bun. Her face was mortified as Adrien wildy clambered over to the counter.

“Those! I need a handful of Gourgères, please!” Adrien spoke hurriedly. Bodies were still slamming into each other, and screams began to break out in the museum.

This was a bad idea, he thought. Probably should have kept the zombies down in the caves.

Adren winced as Sabrina clambered onto the back of a middle-aged mustachio guy. The two crashed into a trash bin and sprawled across the floor.

The cashier was still in shock, “Hey! No fighting! What’s going on?”

Somebody shoved Kim into a rack of novelty T-shirts that read “One small step for caveman, one giant hole for cavekind.”

Kim looked up from underneath an XL, in his zombified stupor and smiled at the cashier.

“Hey cutie,” Kim schmoozed, “Wanna French?”

Nauseated, the cashier threw a handful of jam packets at Kim.

Adrien persisted, “Hello! Cheese puffs, please!” 

A plump woman in a red petticoat huffed behind Adrien, “Excuse me, young man. The line is back here.” She tapped her shoe impatiently, eager to pay for her box of overpriced chocolates.

Kim freed himself of the merchandise and made goo-goo eyes at the older woman in the petticoat. “I’ll settle for you, Rosy.” 

“Hmm,” the woman sized up Kim. “And perhaps you could explain how your friend here is cutting in line?” She sneered at Adrien.

Kim reached out to grab the woman and plant a wet kiss.

Terrified, she blocked Kim’s lips with her box of chocolates.

The cashier screamed, “What the hell is happening?!”

Adrien threw up his hands. He didn't have the time to explain. He could never convince these boomers that his ancient Chinese ring, which housed a billion-year old genie, recharges its battery with the power of fondue. 

He opted for plan B. 

With a solid CRACK, Adrien walloped Kim across the jaw and sent him careening into a rack of stuffed, prehistoric animals.

“Ouch,” Adrien tried to shake the pain out of his hand. Punches were easier as Chat Noir.

He noticed the other patrons were giving astonished looks. Apparently brawls weren’t appropriate shopping etiquette.

“It’s fine,” Adrien, “Dude bashes his head against the wall for fun. He’s practically invulnerable.”

The other visitors outside the gift shop had begun to run for the exit. Two men had picked up stanchions from a roped-off exhibit and were fending off zombies with them.

Adrien caught Chloe Bourgeois out of the corner of his eye. She was pleading between a security guard and the woman at the reservation desk.

“Omg, like, I totally told you this would happen!” Chloe reprimanded, “Why didn’t you listen to me?”

The employee at the reservation desk screamed as a crazed Rose crawled over the front counter. The security guard interposed himself in front of Rose. He tried to restrain her, but with a quick kiss on his forearm, the guard seized up and began to turn.

—

Ladybug heard shouts from the top of the stairs, different from the various yelps of her zombified classmates. Had they reached the lobby so soon?

Her legs were burning from meticulously climbing so many flights without making a sound.

The good news; so was Alya and Juleka bringing up the rear.

Ladybug hadn’t caught sight of the polaroid camera, or of Zombizou yet. However, Ladybug noticed a peculiar red yo-yo wound tightly around Juleka’s waist.

Her yo-yo. Zombizou must have ordered her minions to collect it after Adrien and Ladybug made their retreat; likely an attempt to keep Ladybug from using the weapon against her.

That was their mistake.

Unable to purify the akuma without her yo-yo, Ladybug switched targets. Yes, she had to wrangle the camera away from Zombizou at some point, but using the element of surprise to retake her tool felt like an equal trade.

Now…how to do it?

Far away, Ladybug heard Adrien’s voice.

“Run! Zombies!” he cried.

He’d reached the top. If the zombies had any energy left, they’d break into a run and flood the atrium. And anyone trapped in the building… Uh oh.

Ladybug skipped up the next two steps. Juleka was just rounding the final flight of stairs when she froze, staring at Ladybug in disbelief.

“Ladybug? How did you—?”

Ladybug pressed against the wall and jumped up, vaulting onto the final landing. Alya, halfway through the door, spun around at the noise. On the other side of Alya, Zombizou raised an eyebrow.

Not wasting a second, Ladybug charged Juleka and pushed her against the stairwell. Ladybug used one hand to push Juleka’s face up and away from her own, careful not to place her fingers over the mouth. With the lips seemingly disabled, Ladybug worked on untying the yoyo with her free hand.

Juleka’s pushed and scratched in protest, but Ladybug had recovered the yoyo and stepped back.

Ladybug cracked the whip against the floor fiercely, and Juleka recoiled, second-guessing her approach.

“Hmm, if you want to join our party,” Zombizou chided, “you’ll need to behave. Alya! Block the door!”

The stairwell door slammed shut, and Ladybug’s eye twitched. So much for stealth.

“Alya Cesaire,” Ladybug said sternly “We can do this the easy way or the hard way.”

Alya had pressed her lips against the glass window, making small humming noises.

Ladybug shook her head.

Behind her, the sound of Juleka’s sneakers scuttled into a charge. Ladybug deftly sidestepped and watched Juleka crash through the door and topple over Alya.

Ladybug stepped over the dazed girls, “I warned you.”

Zombizou had moved to the central atrium, and now stood next to the bathrooms Marinette had visited so long ago. Zombizou stared sharply at Ladybug proceeding down the hall. The teacher raised her polaroid camera and snapped a photo of Ladybug.

FLASH.

“Oh, Ladybug. What a sour expression. Why don’t you take a load off? All this superhero-ing must be simply dreadful!”

Ladybug continued walking steadily down the hallway, spinning her yo-yo. “Don’t worry. I will. AFTER I deal with your akuma.” 

Zombizou sighed, “Oh please. You could be missing out on the love of your life! Why, even your precious Chat Noir seems to have abandoned you!”

A thought occurred to Ladybug.

Ladybug glanced over Zombizou’s shoulder and scanned the pandemonium beyond. A distinct yelp came from the snackbar in the giftshop. There, Ladybug spied Adrien defending a cashier girl from several zombified students. Adrien was hurling gopher plushies with mining hats that bounced harmlessly off the classmates. One lashed out, tearing his shirt. The cashier girl pulled him back over the counter to safety, but the students had them cornered.

Zombizou followered Ladybug’s gaze, “Hmm? Oh… perhaps there is someone who’s caught your eye?”

Ladybug flinched. She had Zombizou right where she wanted, but she couldn’t stand to watch Adrien in peril. It was like reliving the caverns all over again; an endless cycle of throwing away the mission to save her precious boy.

Zombizou laughed, “Oh my, I can see it in your eyes. This must be a real pickle for you. Want my recommendation? Life’s short; Live a little!”

Ladybug cursed under her breath. She could end this all right here. She wished she had Adrien’s instincts.  

Stuck in decision paralysis, she watched in horror as a tattered Adrien scrambled through the coffee utensils for a new weapon. The cashier girl was cowering on the floor behind his leg. Adrien finally snatched an electric foam maker and tried to ward off the zombies.

He looked like a sad, French remake of the Army of Darkness poster.

FLASH. Zombizou cackled delightfully over another new polaroid.

“Ooo, the tumultuous concern written all over your face…How delicious!” Zombizou said

Like a chipmunk in a toaster, Adrien couldn’t hold out much longer. The zombies were crawling their way through more racks of furniture. For a brief moment, Adrien caught Ladybug’s eyes. Then he went back to shoving fistfuls of eclairs into Nino’s mouth, who had gotten tangled in a navy sweatshirt that read ‘You Rock!’

Zombizou sighed, dismissing Ladybug with a wave, “Oh, Ladybug. You’re so predictable, I can read you like a book! Go on, go save your little friend.” 

Predictable… Ladybug thought. This entire day had been unplanned. Getting stuck with Adrien in the elevator. Learning his true identity. Barely escaping with their lives. Kissing him in the dark depths of a cold and mysterious cave. In Marinette’s wildest dreams, she’d never be able to coordinate something like that. But she’d rolled with the punches each step of the way.

If Zombizou thought she was predictable, that’d be her undoing.

Perhaps Chat Noir wild’s nature was just what she needed.

“Okay, sure!” Ladybug grinned smugly. “Alright, Zombizou. Pucker up!”

Ladybug wound up and slung her yo-yo in a straight line. With a roll of her eyes, Zombizou sidestepped, as she had done before in the Grotto below. The yoyo went wide, zipping onward and wrapping itself around a commercial trash can outside the gift shop.

Zombizou let out a mirthless laugh “Will you ever learn?” She shot one of her signature kisses at the tethered Ladybug.

Ladybug pulled with all her might against the taught cable. The tension slingshotted Ladybug directly toward Zombizou, and the oncoming kiss. Ladybug leaned back, spinning herself into a missile-like projectile.

She sailed right underneath the floating kiss, like two ships passing in the night.

Surprised, Zombizou only had time to kick her leg up, before the rocket-propelled-Ladybug swept it. The teacher fumbled to regain her balance. She hissed at Ladybug as she careened by.

“What do you think you’re doing?!”

“That’s my secret, Cap,” Ladybug laughed, “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Ladybug skidded to a stop outside the gift shop, flying past the heavy trash can that traded spaces with her.

Zombizou had forgotten about the equal and opposite reaction.

With a solid SLAM, Zombizou bucked head first into the disposal bin. 

“Aaaii! Gross!” Zombizous voice sounded like a metallic echo inside the can, “Why does it smell like cheese in here?”

As her shoulders braced her entire body from being deposited, Zombizou lost grip of the polaroid camera. It skidded across the atrium floor.

Acting purely on instinct, Ladybug ditched the camera and began judo-flipping the classmates surrounding the snack bar. She inched closer, making a path back to Adrien.

Reaching the cash register, she saw the carnage behind the bar.

Adrien was wrestling with Sabrina, the two of them covered in milk and condiments. It looked like Adrien had exhausted everything in the kitchen that wasn’t nailed down to defend himself. Either that, or he tried to bake a cake with his fists.

Nino, still garbed in cave merch, was having a full-faced conversation with the cashier girl. Soon this museum was going to have more zombies than a Michael Jackson music video.

Ladybug dragged Sabrina off Adrien by the collar. Like a dog, Sabrina relentlessly chomped back at Adrien.

“Ladybug!” Adrien beamed “You came back!”

Ladybug smirked, “Yeah. Couldn’t stand to see all these girls fighting over you.” She gave him a wink.

Kim and Mylene were climbing over the service counter now. Most of the classmates were swarming the gift shop. The rest of the zombified visitors? Who knows? Perhaps they had fled into the outside world by now.

It was time to end this.

Ladybug pushed Sabrina into Kim and Mylene, causing them to spill over a pile of cashews and whipped cream. Ladybug offered her hand to Adrien, and he graciously stood with her help.

Nino and the cashier girl had grown bored of trading saliva, and had turned back to grasp at Adrien’s sneakers.

“Yikes!” Adrien recoiled his foot. “Bro, Alya’s going to kill you if she finds out you kissed another girl”

“Whoooseee Alllyyaa?” the cashier girl droned

“Noboddy, she meeanns nothhing to me babe,” Nino droned back.

Adrien shot a concerned look at Ladybug, “Where’s the akuma?”

“Don’t worry,” Ladybug quipped “I left it right over….” but when she looked at the atrium floor, it was spotless. Well… mostly. There was candy, tattered clothing, puzzles, somebody’s purse with a lot of vitamins spilled out, and a bunch of litter from the garbage can. 

But no polaroid. You know, the important thing.

“Uh… Gotta go!” Ladybug stepped onto the snack counter and lassoed her yoyo around a concrete pillar. She wrapped her arm around Adrien and swung like Indiana Jones out of the gift shop. They zipped by a sign that said ‘Our Gifts Have Sedimental Value!’

Ladybug and Adrien landed outside the reception counter. The entire entrance of the building had a glass facade. The evening sunset had begun to sink behind the forest's trees; golden light filtered through the smudgy glass doors and wreathed Adrien’s golden hair like a halo.

His mesmerizing eyes locked into Ladybug’s.

“You saved me, milady.”

“Duh,” she giggled. She gave him an earnest kiss.

She felt Adrien’s lips conform to hers, and the warmth returned. For a moment, time stood still. Adrien closed his eyes, and felt the light of the sun pale in comparison to the warmth of Ladybug’s embrace.

A mechanical click broke the eternal silence.

FLASH!

Ladybug and Adrien blinked their eyes open. Standing in an exhibit offshoot about limestone and erosion, a trash-caked Zombizou aimed the polaroid at the two of them. She had snuck away to the shadows, recovered the camera, but somehow had forgotten to take the banana-peel off her forehead.

Zombizou huffed, then snorted, until finally letting out into a deafening cackle. The polaroid slid out and into her diabolical fingers.

“Now that…” Zombizou snickered, “...Is a kiss to remember!”

“Did she get that on camera?” Adrien whispered. His face suddenly flushed red.

Ladybug wound up her yoyo for another try at the camera, but she saw Zombizou tense reflexively.

Right. Ladybug reminded herself. Predictable.

“Hey, Adrien. Mind helping me out?”

“Sure, what do you neeeAAAHAIAH!”

Ladybug grabbed Adrien by the arm and flung him directly into Zombizou.

Startled, Zombizou took a step backwards, but she already was flat up against the rock exhibit.

The flailing Adrien smashed into Zombizou, pancaking her face into the rock. It imprinted Ms. Bustier’s profile into the limestone for the next millenia. Adrien rolled off of her onto the floor, mostly just confused.

The camera clattered to the floor, and Ladybug dove for it. She clenched her hands around the leather strap, and lashed the camera against the museum floor. 

The polaroid exploded into a hundred clattering pieces. At last, the manifestation of negativity, the akuma, fluttered into the air. It shed an eerie purple light across Ladybug’s face.

It almost brought a tear to her eye.

Before the sprite could fly away, Ladybug swiped it into her yoyo. The akuma rustled within the yoyo, until the purifying process was complete. When the tool stopped shaking, Ladybug knew it was safe.

“Bye-bye, little butterfly.” She said sweetly. 

The purified butterfly floated out of the museum entrance through a shattered window. The sunlight shone through its thin wings, and she watched it disappear into the evening sky. She could already feel all the tension built up over the day dissipating.

“Miraculous Ladybug!”

With a brilliant flash of light, a feeling of calm emanated throughout the Grotto de Lascaux. A massive pulse of positive energy coursed through the forest and engulfed the surrounding sky. 

Near and far, everyone affected by Zombizou’s infectious kiss had a sudden realization of clarity. In a second, their tattered clothes restitched. All the spilt candy and collectibles re-sorted themselves into their containers. Deep below the surface, a symphony of metal untwisted itself into an orderly vacuous tower of ingenuity as the elevator reformed. There, deep in the earth, the shattered rocks and spires reformed into their millennial majesty.

The world, as Marinette knew it, had returned.

When the light faded, Ladybug (still in her superhero attire) looked around.

She saw Adrien slowly stand to his feat. His hair was neat and his clothes were tidy. There wasn’t a scratch on him. But he was dazed, like he was still recovering from the rest of the Miraculous Cure. Glancing around the museum lobby, Ladybug saw her peers recover from their daze. She crept past all of them, checking to make sure everyone was in good condition. Satisfied with her work, Ladybug snuck back into the bathroom.

Outside, Alya and Juleka helped each other to their feet. Nino examined himself, free of the gift shop sweatshirt, and blushed when he saw the cashier girl readjusting her apron.

Nathaniel helped pick up a toppled sign. Rose shook hands with the security guard. Ivan stopped chomping on a granny’s leg.

Inside the bathroom, Ladybug made a cursory glance to make sure she was alone. She relinquished the energy of the miraculous and transformed back into Marinette.

With a heavy sigh of relief, she leaned against the sink. As she caught herself, she slowly raised her head to meet her reflection. Her eyes were tired, but she allowed herself a satisfactory smile after a hard day’s work. She ran some water to wipe the sweat off her brow.

Outside the restroom, she could hear the hoops and hollers of the classmates. Everyone began to cheer joyously about their new freedom from Zombizou’s curse.

“Yooo! I don’t have to kiss you dorks anymore!” Alix laughed.

“For real! My cheeks were starting to hurt!” Sabrina giggled.

“Uh, yeah! Totally! Soo exhausting.” Chloe coughed conspicuously.

Marinette let out a small giggle as she dried off her face. After what felt like an endless day, it was finally over. Sure, her and Adrien would have to work out the whole business with their identities. But that could wait. For now she’d saved the day.

And she had some smooching of her own to do.

Calmly, she walked out of the restroom. She was about to regroup with the others when she saw a small polaroid resting on the floor.

“Huh?” Marinette stooped down to pick it up.

It was a photo of her, or rather Ladybug, walking confidently down the hall twirling her yoyo into an energetic blur.

Weird. She thought. I thought you would have disappeared with the cure…

Marinette pocketed the photo. Hopefully, it was the only one. It’d be her little secret; a small memento of her craziest field trip.

Marinette rounded the corner to meet up with her class.

Then she saw them.

“Uh oh.” —-

After the events in the Grotto, Ms. Bustier’s class had regrouped and returned to the tour bus. Now, the vehicle sped along, piercing through the trees of the countryside.

Marinette rattled in her seat as the bus tires rumbled down the bumpy road. She sat alone, in front of Alya and Nino. Adrien sat across the aisle from her, also alone. They had decided to play it cool for now, each pretending nothing had happened between them that day.

She had been smiling and nodding to her fellow classmates for about ten minutes now, trying to pretend she wasn’t completely melting down on the inside.

Photos. All of the other students had photos. Everyone was waving, passing, and sharing their favorite polaroids from the field trip.

The girls were giggling to each other and taking pics with their phones that they would upload later. The boys were wheezing over something stupid.

Nino waved a photo in front of Adrien.

“Bro! This is the first pic Zombizou took after she got akumatized! Look, there’s Ivan, Kim, and Rose without their pants on!”

Adrien smiled weakly and took the photo, feigning innocence of any knowledge of the events.

Another photo passed around from Alix.

“And here’s one of Zombizou making out with the tour guide! Ooh-lala!”

Near the front of the bus, Ms. Bustier turned around, face beet red.

“Hey now,” she ordered, “Don’t be passing those around! Children? Children!”

There was a chorus of laughter from the boys.

Kim was rolling, “Dang, Ms. B, that’s a lot of tongue!” 

Ms. Bustier curled up into a ball, imploding from embarrassment. “I am so fired,” she whispered.

People were still chuckling when Alya showed Marinette another photo.

“Girl, you missed out on so much. Look; this is when Adrien came down and distracted all of us, so Ladybug could set up an ambush at the top of the stairs! How amazing is that?”

Marinette gave Adrien a knowing look, “Wow… that’s very brave of you, Adrien.”

“Aw, it was nothing.” Adrien winked.

Alya nodded, “Honestly, it was probably the most amazing moment of the day. I mean superheroes collaborating with civilians to stop akumas? That kind of collaboration has unlimited potential! Think of how I could optimize the Ladyblog to help out Paris’s heroes!”

“That’s the most amazing moment of the day?” Nino snorted “Aren’t you forgetting this masterpiece?”

Nino handed his polaroid off to Marinette, and her face went white.

It was the photo.

“WHAT?!” Marinette squealed. She covered her mouth. Not because she didn’t know, but she’d forgotten this moment was immortalized by time.

Perfectly captured in center frame was the glorious kiss between Ladybug and Adrien, backlit by golden evening light.

Everyone watched with anticipation as Marinette sat in silence, eye twitching.

“Isn’t that friggin epic? My homeboy helped save the day, and got a kiss from Ladybug! And he didn’t even need to turn into a zombie” Nino was emphatic.

There were ‘Oos’ and ‘Aahs’ from the rest of the class. The others were pushing each other for just a glimpse at the photo.

“Whoa! Did she really kiss Adrien?”

“What? No way!”

“Yo, Ladybug’s got the hots for Adrien! Sick, bro!”

Alya nudged Marinette, teasingly, “Sure. I mean, who could resist Adrien?”

“Y-yeah, haha” Marinette said weakly. Her expression was frozen in shock. She swallowed hard, trying to move any facial muscle she could. She held the photo shakily in her hands.

Alya frowned, “You really missed out on a lot, Mari. What were you doing all that time?”

Marinette, still white in the face, met her gaze.

“I, uh… you know.. I… was….Bathroom.”

“‘You I-uh-waz-bathroom’?” Alya wheezed.

The other students roared with laughter.

Kim’s voice was so high pitched. He nearly screamed from laughter. “Damn, Marinette! You were pooping the whole time?”

“Somebody remember to get the grotto fumigated!”

“Maybe Ladybug cured that too!”

Chloe’s eyes squinted in scrutiny, and she leaned in.

“Wait, wait, wait. That’s bull. I went upstairs to warn everyone about the zombies. I even checked the bathroom. There was nobody in it!”

The snickers died down, as everyone looked at Marinette expectantly.

Marinette watched in horror as her cover story began to fall apart.

“I… You didn’t… Um… because…”

Only the bumps in the road and the sounds of the bus filled the excruciating silence.

“You probably didn’t see her in the bathroom,” Adrien smirked, “because she was too busy making out. With me.”

And Marinette thought the silence before was bad.

Chloe erupted, echoed by several other people. “SHE WHAT!”

Marinette snapped to look at Adrien, her arms grabbing the seats around her as though she physically needed to support herself. She gave him a panicked stare.

What are you doing? Marinette mouthed.

Adrien slowly got up, crossed the aisle, and plopped down next to Marinette. He carefully took the photo of Ladybug’s kiss out of Marinette’s hand and examined it for all to see.

He gave a small shrug, feigning indifference over the polaroid.

“Look… Ladybug’s great and all. No disrespect. But, Marinette’s got her put to shame.”

With that, Adrien casually ripped the polaroid in half; the proverbial idol smashed beneath Mt. Sionai.

The others watched in disbelief. Marinette glanced nervously at the other dozen gaping mouths. She could feel her stomach winding up, similar to the feeling she got whenever she was climbing up a roller coaster.

But Adrien wasn’t finished with his performance;

“Yeah, it’s been a secret for a while now. As a… Well, as a celebrity, I didn’t really want Marinette worried about the press or paparazzi. We just wanted to sneak away for a moment alone.”

Adrien just smiled at the group and glanced back at Marinette. He gave her another wink, totally confident his story would work.

Marinette just stared at him, her heart pounding. Judging by the other’s faces, only about half of them bought it. Most were still in disbelief Adrien had confessed he and Marinette were dating.

Surely, I have died. Thought Marinette. I never escaped the elevator, and my crumpled body is lying at the bottom of the shaft. I must be in heaven, if Adrien is publicly confessing his love for me.

Although, based on all the crippling nervous energy going through her, this could also be hell.

Chloe wiped away her astonishment, and got angry. She stood up and pointed an accusatory finger at Marinette.

“That still doesn’t explain why I didn’t see her in the girl’s bathroom!” 

There was silence again, and all eyes were on Marinette and Adrien. Somehow, after everything that had happened today, this was the craziest moment of Marinette’s life.

As cool as a cucumber, Adrien peaked over the back of the chair. He raised a smug eyebrow.

“Did you check the boy’s?”

Realization dawned on Chloe’s face. Suddenly, it was true. 

An eruption of gasps, cheers, and more uncontrollable laughter. Nino was fist bumping with Adrien and Alya was shaking Marinette’s seat like a gorilla. 

The bus rolled down the highway, returning to Paris. For a stretch, the bumps in the road were outshadowed by the absolute pandemonium of celebration within the bus. Excitedly, the teens recounted their experiences as zombies. Of course, everyone had questions about Adrien and Marinette. Alya wanted to know more about how Ladybug got Adrien to help fight the akuma. Everyone continued to pass the photos and giggle as the sun eventually went down, and with it, the excitement. 

The bus wouldn’t get back to the city until late, where their parents would be waiting for them. After the novelty of Marinette and Adrien getting together had faded, some students had fallen asleep. The cabin lights had dimmed, leaving the passengers in darkness. Most just resorted to their phones, uploaded pictures and commented on each other’s feeds. Ivan couldn’t help but loudly snore in the back row, causing Mylene and the girls to snicker. Alya curled up and nodded off against Nino, who quietly listened to music. Glowing from her phonelight, Ms. Bustier quietly updated her resume.

In the darkened quiet of the bus interior, Marinette leaned against Adrien. Their fingers entwined in a loving grip, resting on his leg.They hadn’t said much to each other in a while, but there was a mutual understanding that things would be different going forward. This was a whole new chapter in their life, one that made Marinette’s heart race anxiously…but also in a good way.

Adrien whispered quietly in her ear “Was that okay?”

Marinette hummed affectionately, “It was certainly something.” She squeezed his hand tighter. She still had to remind herself that it actually happened; he had actually said those words.

“I mean, would it really be so bad if we hooked up?” Marinette could hear the smile in his voice.

“Hmm,” she played along, pondering the thought, “Oh, I don't know. I can’t think of any reason it would be…Oh, what’s the word…unprofessional?”

Adrien caressed his thumb up and down her index finger.

“I’m not worried about that. We make a great team,” he whispered.

She whispered back, “I think we make a great couple.”

Marinette felt his hand on her chin, guiding her lips to his own.

The bus broke free of the treeline, and continued toward the Parisian city lights. It was a lovely night, the sky above a deep blue with lazy, wispy clouds that settled into a rust-red horizon. From far away, the building lights twinkled like fallen stars. The streets stretched wide enough for the lamps and cafe lights to illuminate them like diagonal rivers of light. A timeless moon shone brightly over the city. It bathed any and all who would bask in its presence with the same eternal light of our ancestors.

All of it absolutely riveting…unless your eyes were closed, kissing the love of your life.

[chironshorseass]

hello yes i’m OBSESSED with your writing so if you’re still taking prompts maybe “please look at me” bc i also have an unhealthy relationship with pre-tlo percabeth angst and live for pining percy

SYD U GAVE ME THIS AND I JUST HAD TO PUT ALL MY PROMPTS ASIDE!!! because how could i not!!!

for what i wrote, i kind of mention this clarisse one-shot.

anyway enjoy <3, since I sort of went crazy with percy being powerful :) like i always do :) and of course, pre-tlo percabeth :)

read on ao3

The waves had grown restless these past few days. Violent, brutal. The night was quiet, the moon hidden beneath darkened clouds, drenching the camp in heavy ink. Percy knew many demigods proclaimed it as the quiet before the storm. They couldn’t have been more wrong.

All he heard was noise.

He’d been like this—unsteady, overwhelmed—for some time, now. Everywhere he went, he felt like a ship sailing into giant waves, water crashing against his deck, threatening to bring him under.

Grover would’ve understood, maybe. But Grover, like the moon, had vanished. That only left a few of his other friends—and of course—Annabeth.

Percy couldn’t avoid her gaze, no matter how much he wanted to. She was always there, watching. Maybe she awaited the day when he’d sink to the power of those waves that plagued the beach, that plagued him. Maybe she anticipated with bated breath on the day when he’d turn sixteen and he’d have to make one decision that would change everything.

Nevertheless, she’d drift away from him. Then come back, again and again.

It drove him crazy, how much their relationship had changed with the times and circumstances. Only now, Annabeth wasn’t what bothered him.

His gut was.

It tightened and loosened, the same way the currents flowed to the rhythm of his rushing blood. He could hear that now, too.

His blood. The sea. The clashes against rock.

Everything was beating to a powerful symphony of drums.

But worst of all was his gut.

Something had gone terribly wrong.

Percy knew there was a war. He had nightmares about it, in fact. Nightmares leading to frantic waking-ups from the feeling of lava burning into his skin. But he hadn’t sensed the war’s presence so strongly in all his three years of attending camp as he did now—and he felt it, because the source of conflict had to do with the sea.

The shadows of cabin three clung to his skin in a comfortable blanket, but he couldn’t ignore this dread. It had trickled patiently into his system for a week now, culminating to this exact moment. He couldn’t sit still. He had to leave. Now.

Not long after stumbling outside while shoving his armor on did he hear the conch horn ringing as a warning. The lookouts had seen something. His legs moved faster.

Doors of other cabins began to smash open, and with it came the spilling of panicked campers. He was already way ahead of them, though.

“To the beach!” someone cried.

Percy arrived just in time to see Chiron assemble with Michael Yew and Austin Lake. The sons of Apollo. They’d apparently been the ones on night duty. The centaur saw Percy before the others made out his heavy footfalls.

“Percy,” Chiron said. “Thank the gods you’re here.”

“There’s something,” he gasped, doubling over once he’d reached them. “There’s something out there,” he finally managed to say, gulping mouthfuls of air. “The sea.”

They already knew, however. The conchorns were signal enough. But what was more obvious was the glimpse of the giant tail, jutting out of the water like a spear cutting through flesh.

The breath he’d managed to find from his mad dash was stolen away at the sight of the monster.

“Yeah,” Austin said, swallowing. “There’s something out there, alright.”

Chiron eyed Percy warily. “My boy. We are dealing here with something I fear that you are only capable of stopping.”

“Yeah, well...it looks like a pretty big fish. I—”

A howl punctured the atmosphere—probably the same sea monster he’d seen earlier. Percy gasped, feeling a stabbing jolt in his stomach. He didn’t know why this sudden change of the sea was affecting him so, but he had to stay strong. So he stood up straight and concentrated on his breathing.

“Are you alright?” Austin asked, studying him.

Percy looked at Chiron, who met his eyes as well. You have to be, his teacher seemed to say.

“I...I think so.”

Michael chose the moment to turn his back on the sea, blowing the conchorn once more. He shouted at the incoming campers, “Greek fire! We need Greek fire!”

The rest of the multitude showed up right away, Hephaestus kids priming canons while others exchanged weaponry. Through all of it, Percy’s gut became a pressure cooker, a fist closing around glass, about to break. He cried out in agony just as a tidal wave shook the world. Falling to his knees, his arms encircled his middle, muffling that pain. He wanted nothing but to make it stop.

He vaguely heard a sound of surprise, coming from someone nearby, then the rush of hands holding onto his shoulders. They helped somewhat, a comfort to the madness.

The hands were warm and soothing. The voice of the person became clearer. He knew that voice. He knew those hands.

Annabeth appeared in his vision, all worry lines and pinched eyebrows. She said something to him again, but the words might’ve been ghosts; the stampeding blood behind his ears was too thunderous to make out anything else.

He closed his eyes and concentrated like he had earlier.

Sharp as a blade, his senses switched to the outside world.

“Are—are you okay?” Annabeth was saying. “You doubled over, and I…”

“No.” He opened his eyes to meet hers. They matched the storm that raged across the sea. “I—I’m not okay. I need to stop this, I need—”

“We were just discussing strategy,” she said. He was glad for the distraction she’d offered. “The Scolopendra isn’t just any ordinary sea monster.”

“The Scolo what?”

She helped him stand up, steadying him with her arms.

“The Scolopendra,” she repeated. “A child of Keto. It’s one of the biggest sea monsters in existence, and it won’t leave the camp border.”

“No shit.”

Annabeth ignored him, glancing backwards at where the monster had last been seen. “There’s no telling what it can do. There’s barely any recordings of it.” She swiveled back to him. “Chiron says that it can control the tide. It might be capable of drowning the camp if we don’t kill it.”

“I won’t let that happen.”

“I told Chiron that we needed to try my strategy first. As in, bombing it with Greek fire before we go with the last approach.”

“And what would that last approach be?”

He had some idea, but before Annabeth could speak, the creature shot out of the water, faster than lightning. He only caught a glimpse of the crayfish-like tail and rows of webbed feet before it disappeared again.

“That looks like a giant shrimp,” he declared.

A giant shrimp that was probably capable of crushing a decently-sized trireme. Shrimpzilla, he was about to call it, as a way to lighten the mood. But he thought better of it, once he saw the hard line of Annabeth’s lips as she watched the campers rev up the Greek fire.

The Scolopendra dared to peek out of the waves for the third time, giving the chance for Beckendorf to yell out an order. Instantly, canyons discharged the green substance directly towards the monster.

It roared defiantly, maybe in pain, maybe in anger. No one was sure, because as soon as the night sky lit up with green flames, the Scolopendra crashed against the water like a wrecking ball. For a moment, all was silent.

No one dared breathe.

Annabeth squeezed Percy’s shoulder. She looked hopeful, as if relieved that she didn’t have to go with the second plan.

Chiron’s tail twitched. Beckendorf held out a hand, urging the campers to wait. Some stood anticipatedly, swords ready. He saw Clarisse in the front line, her electric spear aimed at the sea and crackling with energy.

Percy sensed what was about to happen next before he heard it.

“Annabeth,” he said frantically. “Annabeth, we have to go. Now.”

“What? But—”

“NOW!”

He’d already separated himself from her, yelling at the rest of the campers to leave. They didn’t have the chance; milliseconds later, the Scolopendra appeared. It bellowed with the power of a thousand hurricanes. Many campers covered their ears.

To everyone’s horror, it had closed in on the shore, its back legs likely reaching the sand floor as it rose to its full, terrifying height. Lightning crackled, and with it, came another roar.

“No,” he muttered. “No, everyone get out!”

Too late. The monster had already spit out a million gallons’ worth of salt water.

Instinctively, Percy let out a yell and threw his hands out.

The water halted in midair, rippling like a broken mirror. It was as if time had slowed down, as if Kronos himself had been the one to interfere. But Kronos wasn’t interfering. It was all Percy—with nothing but his willpower. A bead of sweat rolled down from his temple.

Annabeth reached him just as he cried out and threw the water back to the sea with everything he had, forcing the giant shrimp to hide as well.

He caught his breath while Annabeth looked back and forth. From him to the sea, from the sea to him.

She shook her head at no one in particular. “The plan didn’t work.”

“No shit.”

Then she gazed at him again. “Thank you for doing that, Perce.”

“Yeah,” he breathed. “No problem.”

“About the second plan...”

“I have to kill it, don’t I?”

“I...maybe. But we can help—”

“It isn’t a maybe. It is a certainty,” a voice said, strong and firm.

They both turned around.

“Chiron,” Annabeth said. “How can he possibly—”

“He’s the only one capable,” the horseman said. “You know that better than most.”

Her eyes flicked to Percy. Memories flashed through his mind. A quick, burning kiss. A promise. Then, the way fire engulfed him. The call of the sea. An explosion, strong enough to wake one of the most dangerous monsters of all.

When the bombard was over, he understood. He had to face this monster alone, like he had with the telkhines.

“Okay,” he finally said.

“Okay, what?”

Chiron nodded at him, ignoring Annabeth’s question. Without glancing back, he retreated to where the rest of the demigods were watching by the sand dunes as a precaution.

“I need to face him alone,” Percy told her, once Chiron was gone.

“No! Percy, that thing is bigger than—”

“I’m the only one that can’t drown, Annabeth!” He grasped her shoulders so that she was looking directly at him. “If anyone can do it, it’s me.”

“Don’t think I can’t see what’s going on with you,” she said, voice bitter and rough. “You’re distant, like, like the ocean is—”

“We’re both growing distant, ‘Beth. That’s not the problem right now.”

She pushed his hands away. “And that’s not what I’m talking about, and you fucking know that!”

Before he could reply, the monster's call came again. A reminder that this night wasn’t over.

“Please. Just trust me on this, Annabeth. I have to try. It’s our last option. You said so yourself: it may be capable of drowning the entire camp.”

She said nothing, not even sparing him a glance.

“And—and I don’t know why I’m like this! Maybe it’s because I can feel the ocean getting agitated, or because the war is getting worse, or—”

He realized it, then. Annabeth's tears. They were silent rivers, flowing gently down her cheeks and into her mouth. Flowing down to where everything ended up, to the sea.

“Hey,” he said, approaching her slowly. He took both of her hands in his, but she repelled away from his touch. “Please, ‘Beth.”

This time, he cupped her damp cheek, moving it in his direction. “Please look at me.”

And when she finally obliged, her gaze was fractured with glistening tears, like diamonds.

“I can’t lose you again,” she whispered.

Percy had yearned for too long; he let go of that rope tugging him in the opposite direction and instead let Annabeth in. They melted into each other, both shamelessly giving away the little warmth they preserved. It was the kind of hug that felt like a lifeline, the kind that made them both sway like the tide.

“I missed you,” he mumbled into her curls.

She held him tighter. “I missed you, too.”

“But I have to fight this one myself.”

Annabeth pulled away slightly—and when he saw the look on her face—he knew that she knew.

-

“HEY, SHRIMPZILLA!”

The Scolopendra reared its head, even uglier up close. Its nostrils flared with hairs, beady eyes staring down at him. When he charged, the monster bellowed and threw itself in the water, sending sprays taller than a house.

But none of it touched Percy.

He didn’t stop running, a plan in mind. Meanwhile, the sea churned around him in one giant mass of power, but it parted with each step he took, forming a trail of now exposed ocean floor. Water collided with the sky, flying with the salt in the air.

Hello, friend, it seemed to say. Or rather, hum. The sea was a song, and he was just there to dance to its melody.

The Scolopendra had disappeared again.

He didn’t look back, though he knew the entire camp was there, watching—maybe in awe, but he didn’t care enough to find out. He kept walking, alone, surrounded by a pool of green and blue. Was this how Moses felt, In those stories he’d heard? Bricks of ocean water, flinging up into the sky, just so that Percy could pass. The feeling distracted him from the objective.

That’s what he’d argue later, because Percy can’t explain how the monster managed to sneak up to him that easily.

The pool of green seemed endless. There was a moment where nothing moved, not even the water. But then something did tug him violently, up, up into the sky.

For a second, he couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t scream out, the breath stolen from his lungs and the icy rush of air when flung into the sky nauseating. The only feeling he knew was of the Scolopendra and its death grip on his entire body.

With each second, the roiling waters grew farther and farther away. The Scolopendra’s growl, however, couldn’t have sounded closer. Sharp claws sank into his chest and arms. If he didn’t react now, he’d be eaten before the next flash of lightning struck the sea.

Somehow, he managed to uncap Riptide.

And with a scream, he stabbed, as hard as he could.

-

“Hey. Want company?” A soft voice said.

He craned his neck around.

Annabeth subconsciously made the world easier to look at. Especially now, as she stood behind him in the pier with the last vestiges of harsh sun striking her back. Her stance was stiff, hesitant. He understood why.

So instead his eyes bored into his lap. He shrugged.

That was a sign enough for her. She crouched next to him, pulling her legs under herself and then flinging them out to where the wooden planks ended and the open air began, toes nearly kissing the placid lake.

She sat next to him, quiet as the wind. It took a few seconds or minutes or hours before she decided to speak.

“I’m sorry.”

From his peripheral vision, he could tell that she’d been studying him instead of watching the reflection of herons flying above the water. Something he’d thought she’d been doing. Apparently not.

It also took him seconds or minutes or hours before he could respond.

“What for?”

She exhaled, “Letting you go alone. Being a part of the campers who…”

She didn’t finish that sentence. He knew why.

Being a part of the campers who abandoned you alone after what you did.

“S’okay. I get it.”

A lie. He didn’t get it.

“Doesn’t make it right.”

He stared at his hands. “Guess not.”

The details of the fight were yet to go away. The memories were still fresh—like his mother’s batch of cookies whenever he came home from camp. Teeth were ever-present in his mind. And those webbed hands. Those twisted sounds as a monster choked on its own blood.

Afterward, everyone had taken a step back. Even Annabeth and Chiron seemed to contemplate him as though he were doomed. Maybe he was.

“I wish Grover were here.”

“Yeah,” Annabeth sighed. She kicked her leg up, swatting at some mosquitos. “Me too.”

“He’d pull our shit together, fix everything.” He found himself sounding wistful, longing for a missing piece of himself all of a sudden.

She didn’t reply to that. They both missed their best friend. Now, more than ever. Percy tried to not dwell too much on the fact that Grover hadn’t responded to his Iris Messages or to his calls from their shared empathy link.

“I’m sorry.”

“You already said that.”

“No, Percy. I’m serious.”

“I know.”

“Just look at me.”

He did the opposite, gazing at the trees to his left. They were a deep, mystical green. The colors looked like the ocean, where he’d displayed his powers for everyone to see. Worst mistake of his life. He realized that tears had begun to form in his eyes; he quickly blinked them away.

“Percy,” Annabeth insisted.

Her tone wasn’t hash or demanding—but rather, a light pink sky. A hand brushing his, sweet and tender. He noticed that it wasn’t just his imagination; glancing down, he found her fingers ghosting against his knuckles.

“Please look at me.”

This was eerily familiar. It hit him, then, that he’d said those exact words when she’d panicked about him going alone to fight the Scolopendra.

Hesitantly, his eyes focused on her face. Her freckles were there, golden like the rest of her. Only now, her eyes were rimmed with tears.

Something changed inside them both. She stared at him, he stared at her. Her face contorted, and the both broke down, crumbling like ruins with the slightest gust.

“I’m so sorry,” she sobbed, clinging to his shirt.

“Me too,” he murmured back.

He held unto her as if she were a life force, breathing in her lemony scent. Tears were exchanged, mingling in the other’s hair. They held each other, an embrace that didn’t deserve to end. It only made him cry harder, while Annabeth held him closer.

“Why are you sorry?”

He couldn’t say it out loud.

I’m sorry for why we’re like this. I’m sorry for scaring you. I’m sorry for leaving.

Instead, he pulled away. He studied her, every single feature, from those grey eyes and that upturned nose to those curls that no longer appeared to look like a princess.’ They were just Annabeth’s.

“I scared you,” he said.

His arms loosened around her, just now realizing how long they’d hugged, but their hands stayed interlocked—like some sort of middle ground.

She regarded him, eyebrows furrowed. “I can’t ever be scared of you,” she said matter-of-factly. “You’re my best friend, Perce.”

He looked away. “Everyone else was.”

“I should have gone to you after—I just...I thought you were angry at me.”

Their hands separated. “Why would I be angry at you?”

“Because I let you handle all of it alone. The monster, the campers—”

“‘Beth.” He took her hands again, cupping them with his. “I couldn’t ever be angry at you.”

“That’s not true,” she said wryly.

An observation, not an accusation. Still, that didn’t make it hurt any less. He recalled the shouting, the fights. The only thing they looked for in those moments was to hurt the other, twist and pull at any chink in the armor they could find.

She winced, remembering that, too. “Sorry.”

His mouth twitched. “You’ve said ‘sorry’ too many times. It’s getting repetitive.”

She hit his shoulder playfully. “Well, I mean it.”

He didn’t retort anything back. They found peace in this lake, once again gazing at the horizon.

“It’s not true what you said, either,” he said, his mind lingering on what she’d told him earlier. “You’re scared, as well.”

The sound of the incoming crickets carried on in Annabeth’s hesitation.

That is, until she said, “I am. Scared. I’m scared.” He glanced over. She was staring in his direction, but she wouldn’t meet his eyes. She cleared her throat. “I didn’t know you could do that.”

“Neither did I.”

She laughed, breathless. “See that’s what scares me. What else can you do? Honestly?”

He shrugged, turning away from her.

“How’d you do that, anyway?”

“I defeated it, didn’t I?” It was better to deflect than to answer her question.

Defeating the monster should’ve been what mattered, anyway.

“Percy.”

“Annabeth,” he said, in the same condescending tone.

“All I’m saying is that you could hurt yourself. You don’t know what you’re capable of. And then when your birthday happens—”

“You think I’m going to destroy Olympus or something?” He shook his head. “I should’ve known that you’d side with the gods on that, too. You think that they should kill me?”

“What? Percy, I’d never—”

He whirled, facing her, and finally let go of all those pent-up thoughts that just like the sea, wouldn’t leave him alone.

“Just admit it, Annabeth! Admit that it freaked you out that I blood bended or whatever the fuck Chiron called it! Admit, that it freaked you out how I killed that monster! That I’m fucking cursed!”

“Percy Jackson, you are not—”

“Yes, I am. Why would my dad give me powers like that? Huh? Just say it with me: you’re scared—of me.”

Her eyes were red, face hard as stone. Just like her voice when she said, “Look. I just wanted to help. But if you want to sit in your self pity, then go for it! You clearly don’t need me.”

She made no move to leave, however.

Their eyes held, until the anger from both of them melted. He huffed out a breath, shoulders hunching. “We can’t ever stop fighting, can we?”

She sighed.

“Guess not.”

“I won’t do that again.”

She lifted her chin. “Why?”

“Like you said. Scared you.”

That made her purse her lips.

“You’re not cursed, Percy. You know that, right?”

She reached for his hand. It was becoming a strange routine. Finding comfort in hand holding and then dismantling it as if it never happened.

“You’re mostly right all the time, so.” He squeezed her hand. “I s’pose I’m not cursed, then.”

“I’m right most of the time?” she said, eyes twinkling.

“Okay, fine,” he conceded. “You’re right only sometimes.”

She opened her mouth in mock-offense. “Percy Jackson—”

He cut her off with his laugh, a laugh that fit with the music of the crickets. She rolled her eyes, something that he’d missed achingly, now that he saw her do it for the first time in what seemed like forever.

Scooting closer, she nudged him. “I could help you. Alongside Clarisse.”

His eyes widened. “You knew about that?”

“She’s my friend, too.”

“Of course she is,” he muttered.

Him and Clarisse...they might’ve had a rocky relationship when he’d first arrived at camp, but now, he didn’t know what he’d do without her help—without her friendship. They both understood the other in a bizzare, not very common way. She’d helped him hone in his powers, but it had yet to be something he’d wanted to admit to Annabeth. To everyone else, for that matter.

“I get why you didn’t want to tell me,” she said. “But...I do want to help. You’re my best friend, and, and I also want to spend time with you. If...that’s alright.”

“It’s alright by me.”

Annabeth gave him a look.

“Yeah, yeah. I know.” He tried for a smile. “I guess you could come along, then.”

His grin was shared with her, though her eyes were serious. “You’ll see. We’ll figure out your powers. What you can do, why you can do it, why the sea is affecting you…”

“All of it?”

She nodded. “All of it.”

They left it at that, though what they didn’t leave was the canoe pier. Not until the sun hid under the trees, spilling its ink of reds and oranges across the horizon.

The golden of the sun was replaced by the silver of the moon for the night, then it rose again for the day.

And in between, the waves lapped against the shore, constant and content. The ocean had calmed. For now.

[viastro]

second life | xu minghao

ミ★ synopsis: in which jun and jeonghan pick out a book titled, Second Life, and find a message written to someone on the title page. it’s only then that they learn the untold story of two lovers who met at a library 35 years ago.

ミ★ genre: soulmate!au (kinda ?), multiple lives!au, fluff, light angst

ミ★ warnings: major character death (it’s not bad i promise)

ミ★ word count: 4,219

ミ★ pairings: xu minghao x female reader

ミ★ notes: hi guys! when i wrote this oneshot, i couldn’t think of any other published book, so i decided to reference @sunlightwoo​‘s series, Second Life, which is really good so make sure to check it out ! i’m going to be a bit busy these upcoming weeks because i have finals soon, and i also just got a job as a boba barista ! i’ll try to post a oneshot at least once a week, but we’ll see how that goes HAHAHA as always, make sure to give lots of love to minghao <3 i hope you guys enjoy this one !!

“Who would wanna go to the library over the amusement park? And why is it you instead of Minghao?” Jun rolls his eyes at Jeonghan’s questions as the two of them step into the city library. They bow their heads in the elderly librarian’s direction, before walking further into the pretty empty space.

“Minghao keeps telling me to read more cause he’s tired of me bothering him.” Jun mutters as his eyes trail across the numerous books on the shelves. Jeonghan purses his lips, before nodding his head in agreement, knowing that Minghao is on the verge of possibly committing homicide if Jun barges into his apartment one more time unannounced.

“This looks nice.” Jun says quietly to himself as he pulls out the story titled, Second Life. He opens the cover, only to tilt his head at the writing scrawled on the title page. Jeonghan raises an eyebrow at Jun’s confused expression, so he leans in close to check out what he’s looking at. 

for yn,

as a reminder for a fairly wonderful day. i hope for many more to come. 

affectionately yours, 

xmh

“I guess this book was donated?” Jeonghan asks, glancing down at the page to see that it was published long before the two were alive. Jun nods his head, and they head over to the front desk to rent the story. 

“Ah, no one’s checked out this book in a long time.” The librarian says softly, hand grazing slightly over the written words. Jun and Jeonghan share a glance, before turning back towards the elderly woman. “Do you perhaps… know the person who wrote that message?” 

She glances up at the two handsome men, seeing their curious expressions on their faces. The librarian lets out a smile, nodding her head as she stamps the sticker in the book and slides it back in Jun’s direction. 

“They were a beautiful couple. I was just a young girl starting my first job as a librarian when they first met here, actually.” Jun finds himself growing more intrigued, as does Jeonghan since the two appear to be holding onto the librarians every word. 

“Can we hear their story?” Jeonghan asks, and they watch as the librarian smiles, before nodding her head. She gestures for them to move towards the couches, and she walks out from behind the desk and sits in front of the two. 

“It’s a bit of a long one, if that’s okay.” The librarian warns, and Jun and Jeonghan shake their heads, telling her that it’s no problem. She lets out a sigh, glancing out the window to see the yellow rays from the warm, summer sun shine into the library. 

“It was a beautiful spring day when they first met.”

Fucking hate pollen, you think grumpily to yourself as you rub your nose in an attempt to hold back the monstrous sneeze that threatens to escape if you inhale one more breath of the spring air. You notice the library around the corner, and quicken your pace as you walk over to escape from the allergy infested air. 

Once you’re there, you practically rip open the door and jump inside the quiet building. You let out a sigh of relief once the door closes behind you, and you pause, realizing how loud you must’ve been when you entered the library. So you turn your head slowly, just to find the relatively young librarian standing there with wide eyes, and you let out a small smile. 

“I’m so sor-” The words die in your throat when you feel that familiar feeling in the back of your nose, and you quietly try to fight it back. 

god, please. I’m in the place that’s supposed to be quiet, so if you humiliate me and make me sne-

You let out a loud sneeze that resembles the sound of the large stampede of wildebeest that killed Mufasa in the Lion King, and it makes you want to shrivel up and die right in the entrance of the library. You wouldn’t mind, really. It’d be a peaceful way to go out, just right here. In this library. Actually, it’d be rather pleasa-

“Do you need a tissue?” You turn your head to see the young librarian holding out a tissue box from her desk, and you let out an embarrassed smile. Shaking your head, you lift up your hand to tell her that you’re fine, only to stop and turn when you hear the door open from behind you. 

A tall man walks in with long red hair that’s parted down the middle. He’s wearing a black turtleneck with a sheer blue button down over it. Running a hand through his hair, he glances up from the floor and locks eyes with you once the door closes.

Love at first sight. You never believed it, didn’t understand the concept, really. Even thought it was stupid. How could you fall in love with someone just from a first glance? 

So why is it that you can’t seem to be able to breathe as you stare up into his deep, brown eyes that seem to hold millions of thoughts as they bore into yours. Feeling heat rush up to your cheeks, you turn away first, and he quietly coughs into his shoulder. 

“Sorry.” You mumble as you step to the side, feeling embarrassed for just staring at the ethereal man with an awed expression. You’re sure that he thinks you’re weird, and you debate on ways to escape the library while also being able to handle your allergies.

if i just shove the pieces of tissue up my nose, then i won’t sneeze every five seconds. brilliant.

However, the thoughts come to a stop when you find his hand outstretched towards you. Slowly, you glance up at the man, just to find a small smile on his face as he stares at you. 

“Hi, I’m Minghao.” Biting the inside of your cheek, you slowly reach out and grasp his hand softly, letting out a grin when you do so. You watch as his eyes seem to twinkle in the sunlight, and you wonder how someone can be so ethereal as you say, 

“Hi, I’m yn.”

“This book is taking a rather tragic turn.” You mutter as you turn the page, and Minghao glances at you out of the corner of his eye. He bites back a smile when he sees you upside down on the beanbag chair, reading Romeo and Juliet as you do so. Letting out a breath he responds, “You’ve read that book three times already, you should know that it’s not a good story.”

Rolling your eyes, you close the book and shoot the pretty man a glare. Minghao giggles when he sees you grumble to yourself about him always attacking you whenever you pick up any work of Shakespeares. You don’t blame him, Romeo and Juliet sucks, but you read the story for entertainment purposes. 

“Always ruining my fun.” You complain as you move to the aisle to pick up another story. Minghao grins, placing his book down after marking his spot and following after you. 

It’s been three months since you and Minghao met at this library, and the two of you have been meeting here almost every weekend just to read together. You’ve discovered that Minghao is not only physically pretty, but his talent and personality is truly unmatched. While Minghao has noticed that you shine brighter than all the stars in the sky whenever you speak of a book you’ve come to love. 

Secretly the two of you have developed feelings for the other, but as always, neither of you have made a move.

“Are you going to pick out another boring story?” Minghao teases from beside you, and you shoot him a glare, “You stink.”  

Minghao smiles, about to poke fun at you again, only to stop when he takes notice of the young librarian standing at the end of the aisle, holding up two glasses of water. You turn to glance in the direction Minghao is staring in, and immediately grin when you lock eyes with Areum.

“Areum! Are you going to read with us today?” You ask as you and Minghao walk over, quietly thanking her for the beverage as you both take a sip. She grins, shaking her head, and you immediately pout. “Why not?”

“I’m still on my shift, and I know how much you two enjoy your time together.” Areum says with a wink, and you feel the warmth rising to your face in an instant, quietly cursing Areum for her comments about you and Minghao. 

Minghao clears his throat when Areum wiggles her eyebrows at him, and she smiles brightly at the two of you. “I’ll try and join you guys when I finish my shift, but just come to the front desk if you need anything.” 

You both nod your head and watch as Areum turns and leaves the aisle. Letting out a breath, you turn and pull out a soft yellow book from the shelf, before walking back over to you and Minghao’s designated reading spot in the back of the library. 

“What lame book did you get this time?” Minghao asks, and you scoff as you sit back down in the comfortable chair. You turn over so that you’re upside down, and he giggles at your strange position. “You’re lame.”

“Rude.” You grin at his response before holding out the book you chose, watching as the silver letters of the title reflect back at you. “It’s called, Second Life, I actually haven’t read this one before.”  

Minghao purses his lips at the unfamiliar name, and you turn the book around so that he can also get a good look at it. Nodding his head, he pulls open his book again, “It seems interesting.” 

“Wow, that’s the first time you didn’t call one of the books I chose, lame.” You joke, and Minghao chuckles. He shrugs his shoulders, turning to glance at you, only to find you already staring back at him. 

Feeling the air shift between the two of you, you turn away after staring at each other in silence, and open up to the first page of the story. Minghao bites the inside of his cheek, before looking away and going back into his book as well.

The three unspoken words are left lingering in his brain as he glances over his book to take a peek at you, only to look back down.

“Do you believe in love at first sight?” You ask as you watch Minghao look through the numerous books on the shelf to try to figure out what to read. He halts his movements, turning to glance down at you. “Do you?” 

Shrugging your shoulders, you glance down at the book you hold in your hands as you recall what you felt the first moment you and Minghao locked eyes. The pretty man purses his lips, feeling his heart thump within his chest as he finally pulls out a book he decided to read. 

“I didn’t, originally.” Minghao begins, and you raise an eyebrow. He stays quiet for a second, debating on whether or not he should continue as you tilt your head to the side at his silence. Running a hand through your hair you ask, “What happened that made you change your mind?” 

Minghao turns towards you, and your eyes widen slightly when you take in how nervous he looks. He bites the inside of his cheek, rethinking his decision one more time. 

you can back out, there’s no reason to say anyth-

“Then I met you.” Minghao says softly, completely ignoring his rampant thoughts, and the two of you stare at each other in silence for a long time as you let his words soak in. He lets out a sad laugh at the shocked expression on your face, running a hand through his pretty red hair as he nods his head with a tight-lipped smile. “It’s okay, I understand-”

You take a step forward and wrap your arms around his waist, making the rest of Minghao’s words die in his throat. A smile forms on your face when you feel his arms tentatively wrap around your body, his hand moving to cradle your head. 

“You love me too?” Minghao asks, sounding breathless due to the shock of the feeling being mutual. You nod your head, closing your eyes when you hear his rapid heartbeat against your ear. 

“At first sight.” You mutter softly, and Minghao smiles at your words. He rests his cheek on the top of your head, and the two of you stay like that for a while in the library aisle. Books that are in your grasp now forgotten as you hold each other.

Areum glances up when she hears the doors to the library open, and lets out a small smile when she sees you and Minghao walking in, fingers intertwined as you both immediately head towards the front desk to greet the young librarian. 

“Hi Areum!” You whisper excitedly, and Areum greets you and Minghao with just as much enthusiasm. Minghao watches with a fond smile when the two of you begin to discuss any strange customers walking into the library, and Areum grins when she catches sight of this.

You and Minghao have been dating for six months, and still manage to come to the library almost every weekend. Areum is sure that the two of you have read every single book in this library by now, but she doesn’t question it. She enjoys your guys’ company. 

“I’m going to set up our spot, are you gonna talk to Areum?” You ask Minghao once you and Areum finish your conversation on the guy who walked into the library just to look for any dust. Minghao nods his head, and you shoot him a thumbs up, before walking over to the reading spot. 

“Did you need something, Minghao?” Areum asks as she begins to sort through the books atop of her desk. Minghao nods his head, glancing over in the direction you walked off to see if you’ll hear anything. She raises an eyebrow when Minghao pulls out a book from the pocket on the inside of his jacket, watching as he places it in front of her. 

“Second Life? Are you returning this?” Areum asks, and Minghao shakes his head. He purses his lips, before pointing at the book with his finger as he grabs a pen. “I was wondering if I could buy it. It’s the book yn was reading when I confessed to her, and I think it’d be ni-”

“Of course!” Minghao’s eyes widen slightly when Areum scans the book, having not expected it to be that easy.

“Really? Are you sure I don’t have to go through a process to get the book or like-”

“Nope, just pay the cost and the book is yours. It’s not a big deal.” Areum reassures with a smile, only to internally slap herself when she realizes she’ll have to order another one later in her shift. 

Curse Minghao and yn for being the most precious couple ever.

“Thank you so much, Areum.” Minghao says as he hands her money to cover the cost of the book. She grins, nodding her head as she hands back then leftover change. Once the transaction goes through, Minghao open the book to the first page and clicks the pen. 

“Are you going to write a message?” Areum asks, and Minghao nods his head with a small smile on his face. She watches as the words make their way onto the page, and she feels her heart warm when he places the pen back down on the table. 

“Thank you so much for letting me buy this. I’m gonna go head to the back with yn, are you gonna join us to read later?” Areum nods her head with a smile, and Minghao shoots her a thumbs up. He turns and walks to the back where you are, and Areum lets out a happy sigh. 

“Never thought soulmates could be real until I saw those two.” Areum mutters to herself, chuckling when she hears you let out an awe, most likely due to Minghao handing you the book as a present. 

“Maybe I should leave the painting to you, huh?” You say as you take a step back to stare at your canvas, and Minghao hums when he turns around from his own creation to take a look at yours. He lets out a smile at the numerous smiley faces and flowers you painted, thinking that the painting is rather endearing. “I think it looks nice.” 

You scoff with a playful grin, pointing over at his painting that numerous different colors, all splattered onto the canvas. You don’t understand how he was able to make paint splatters look beautiful, but this is Xu Minghao we’re talking about. The most talented man you know. 

“Says the reincarnated Picasso over here.” You joke, and Minghao rolls his eyes. He places his paintbrush into the cup and walks over to you, wrapping his arms around the back of your shoulders and resting his chin on the top of your head. 

“Yours is sweet, it speaks volumes on your personality.” Minghao explains, grinning at the excessive use of yellow. You squint at the painting, turning to glance up at your boyfriend, causing him to smile down at you. “Which is?”

Minghao purses his lips, glancing back at the painting once more to think about his response. He giggles, looking back down at you with a teasing smile on his face. 

“Someone who doesn’t know how to paint.” You reach out and slap his stomach, making him double over in laughter as you chuckle in response. Minghao lets out a happy sigh, finally calmed down from his joke as he stands back up at his full height. He leans over and presses a soft kiss to your lips, before pulling away and grinning. “I’m kidding, art is whatever you want it to be. I’ll hang this up in my room when it dries.”

You roll your eyes with a smile, watching as Minghao walks back over to his painting to start cleaning up. You watch as he quietly hums a song to himself, and you let out a content sigh, ignoring the pain in your head in order to enjoy what’s going on in front of you. Minghao feels your eyes on him, and he turns back to see you smiling softly at him. 

“Mmm, you’re staring again.” Minghao murmurs as he places the paint tubes back into their container. You shrug your shoulders, a sad smile on your face as you stare at your pretty boyfriend, “I just like seeing you.” 

Minghao pauses, a slight blush rising to his cheeks as he proceeds to continue cleaning up. You grin, before turning back to start cleaning up your area as well, grimacing from the growing pain in your head that you’re trying to ignore. Minghao turns and catches sight of the sunlight casting a glow on your face, and he smiles softly. 

“I like seeing you too, yn.” 

Areum walks over to the front desk, moving to check back in the books that were returned, only to hear the bells of the door. She raises an eyebrow, only to let out a smile when she sees Minghao walking in. 

“Hey Minghao! Where’s yn? The two of you haven’t been here for a few months.” Areum says cheerfully, only to feel her heart fall slightly at the sad smile Minghao sends her way. He bites his lip as he walks over and rests his hands on the top of the desk. 

His long red hair isn’t styled like it usually is, instead just laying over his forehead. She takes notice of the dark bags under his eyes, and the slight hollowness to his cheeks. Areum opens her mouth to ask if everything’s alright, only to stop when Minghao places the soft yellow book face up on the desk. She stares at the cover, and slowly looks up at Minghao, trying to see if what she’s thinking isn’t true when she locks eyes with the pretty man whose face always held a smile when he was in the library with you. 

“Yn’s gone.” Minghao mutters softly, thumb grazing over the letters of the title on the book. Areum clenches her fist tightly together at her side, refusing to believe his words. Minghao bites the inside of his cheek harshly, before pushing the yellow book he bought towards Areum’s direction. 

“It’s yours now. Thank you for the kindness you showed yn and I whenever we came here, I know she appreciated it a lot.” Minghao tells Areum, before turning around to walk out. Areum’s eyes widen slightly, and she walks out from behind the desk and stands right behind the tall man.

“W-why does this sound like goodbye? You’re coming back, aren’t you?” Areum asks, eyes frantically searching Minghao’s when he turns to glance at her. He reaches out and softly pats Areum’s shoulder, giving her a smile that no longer holds any light. “Maybe if my second life is kind to me, then I’ll be back.” 

And with that, Minghao turns and walks out of the library, leaving Areum to stand there, sadness overcoming her heart as she watches his figure slowly shrink until it disappears.

“His name is Minghao?” Jun asks once Areum finishes the story, and she nods her head, taking a sip of water to fix her parched throat. Jeonghan and Jun share a glance, before turning back towards the librarian. “Did you ever hear from him after that?” 

Areum nods her head again, letting out a small smile. “He sent me a letter from Singapore a few years after he left the library, but I learned that he got into a car accident a month prior to when I received it. He passed at an early age, but I’m glad to hear that he was doing alright. It’s been maybe, 25 years since he passed.” 

Jeonghan purses his lips, glancing at the book Jun grabbed. He leans forward in the seat, and Areum glances up at him. “We actually have a friend named-”

“I didn’t think you guys would actually go to a library.” The three turn to glance at the sound of the voice, finding Minghao standing at the doorway with a bright smile on his face. Areum’s eyes widen, and she slowly stands up from the couch in shock at the sight. 

It’s Minghao, she thinks to herself as she stares at him. His hair is now its natural shade of black, a contrast to his long red hair years ago, but it’s still a similar length. He looks up and locks eyes with Areum, and he tilts his head to the side, a smile still on his face as he bows in her direction. “Hello, I’m Minghao.” 

Jun and Jeonghan glance at each other when they see the shocked expression on Areum’s face, and the pieces of the puzzle slowly make their way together when suddenly the bell on the door rings again. The three of them glance at the door, and Minghao slowly turns his head, just to feel his breath get caught in his throat. 

Your eyes widen slightly at all the people crowded near the door, and you stop when you realize someone is right in front of you. You glance up and lock eyes with the prettiest man you’ve ever seen, and all the thoughts in your brain disappear at the sight of him. A familiar feeling floods your senses, one that you can only relate to the feeling of coming home. 

Unbeknownst to you, Minghao is feeling the exact same thing. Except he feels more emotional as he stares down at you, heart pounding against his chest when he catches the sparkle in your eye.

Areum’s mouth drops open when she sees the exact same scene she saw 35 years ago when you and Minghao first met. Her heart thumps against her chest, and she slowly raises her hand until it rests against her heart as she stares at the two of you. 

“You look familiar, have we met before?” You ask in a small voice, letting out a smile when you catch sight of the redness to his ears. Minghao clears his throat, smiling when he sees the brightness to your eyes. “I was going to ask you the same thing.” 

The two of you stare at each other for a moment longer, before you extend your hand in his direction. You tilt your head to the side with a shy smile on your face, “Hi, I’m yn.” 

Minghao bites the inside of his cheek, grinning when he reaches out and grasps your hand. He feels warmth flood his features at the contact, finding you both beautiful, and familiar. It’s as if he’s experiencing deja vu when he says, “Hi, I’m Minghao.” 

Jun and Jeonghan turn and look at the soft yellow book resting on the table, and Jun let's out a breathless chuckle. He runs his hand over the title, smiling when he looks back towards you and Minghao. 

“His second life. He found you again in his second life.”