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endcryst4l · 4 years ago

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fairy tale

the sequel to favorite galaxies! the song that is referenced later on and is the title is fairy tale by homemade haircuts :] (read the third part here)

After multiple pleads of Tommy, Wilbur and even Phil, Techno finally built up enough courage to ask you to come over again.

“I did it, (Y/N)’s coming over for dinner tonight.” Techno told his family when he came downstairs from his room. Phil and Wilbur cheered, Tommy began jumping up and down. Techno chuckled, “they said they were going to bring dessert as well, but needed to know whether you guys preferred vanilla or chocolate cake.”

“Aw they don't need to do that.” Phil said before Techno cut him off, “That’s what I said as well but I wasn’t able to change their mind.”

“Chocolate?” Wilbur suggested and they all nodded, Techno off to his room again to talk with you.

“Hey (Y/N)?” he said as he unmuted himself in the discord call. “Shit!” you yelped, “Sorry, you scared me.” Techno laughed, “Sorry, sorry. They said chocolate. They’re all really excited to see you again, especially Tommy.” “I’m really excited to see them too. How have they been doing?” you asked. Techno smiled, “good! Wilbur hasn’t stopped asking to meet you and neither has Tommy. He’s literally been asking about you multiple times a day.” You aww’ed and Techno smiled, excited to see you again. “That’s so sweet. I’m really excited to meet Wilbur and see Tommy again, he’ll love the dessert I’m bringing.”

“What are you making?” Techno asked. “Ahhh that my dear is a secret. Now I must go to work on it.” you said and Techno huffed, making you laugh. “Hey I’ll be there tonight, okay? Don’t get too sad, bye Tech!” “I’ll try, bye (Y/N).”

You smiled to yourself as you stood up to make chocolate cupcakes with galaxy frosting.

After finishing piping the cupcakes, you smiled. They looked pretty good, you couldn’t wait to see Tommy’s reaction to them.

Your hand reached to knock on the door when it suddenly opened to reveal Techno with Tommy in his arms. “(Y/N)!” the toddler yelled excitedly as he reached for you. “Tommy!” you exclaimed, hugging him and shooting Techno a smile. “How have you been, big guy?” you asked Tommy. “Good! I made more drawings today.” he told you. “All of which are galaxies by the way.” Techno added, gesturing for you to come inside. “Oh really? Show me!” you said to Tommy and he nodded, climbing out of your arms when you reached the living room.

“Hey (Y/N)! It’s good to see you again.” Phil said when he saw you. “Thanks for letting me come over again.” you smiled and you turned to Wilbur, “nice to meet you, I’m (Y/N).” Wilbur smiled, “Oh trust me, I know. Neither of my brothers have shut up about you. Nice to meet you too, I’m Wilbur.”

You laughed and turned to look at Techno, whose face was now a deep red. “Wilbur I’m going to ki-” he began before Tommy interrupted him. “Look!” he said and he held up one of his drawings. You quickly shot Techno a wink before complimenting Tommy on his drawings, also telling him some new facts you came across online.

Techno’s eyes widened, his face an even deeper shade of red. He stood there frozen for a split second before he heard a small snicker of Wilbur. That asshole. Phil smacked his oldest son, making Techno snort. Deserved.

“So what did you make for dessert (Y/N)?” Phil asked. “That’s a surprise. Speaking of, is there anywhere I can put it?” you answered and he nodded, getting up to lead you to the kitchen. “You really can’t show me?” He tried again and you chuckled, “okay then, but don’t tell them anything.”

He zipped his mouth shut and you grabbed the container from your bag, opening the lid to reveal the cupcakes. “Holy shit (Y/N) these look great! Oh my god Tommy will love these.” he said. “Aw thank you, I really hope so.” you said as he got out some ingredients so the container would fit. “Is there any way I can help with dinner?” You offered but he firmly denied again, calling out for Wilbur.

“Yes father?” he said when entering the kitchen. “You’re helping me with dinner.” Phil answered and Wilbur saluted him. You wondered how the three brothers could be this different. “So (Y/N), what did you make for dessert?” Wilbur asked, making you laugh. Different yet all the same. “All of your curiosity is making it very hard but I’m not telling you.”

Wilbur pouted at you and you shook your head no, you weren’t going to slip up now.

You felt someone tap against your leg and you looked down to see Tommy. “Hey Tommy, what’s up?” you asked as you crouched to face him. He leaned in to whisper, “Techno told me to come save you.” You giggled and followed Tommy back to Techno, who was sitting on the couch. He smiled when he saw you walking to him, he missed you already. “What’s up?” you asked, sitting next to him. Tommy quickly crawled in your lap, melting the boy in front of you.

“I- uhm I listened to the playlist you sent me and I really liked it.” he told you and your eyes lit up, “really? What song was your favorite?” “I think it was called Fairy Tale? The band name was something with haircuts in it I believe.”

You felt your stomach explode with butterflies at the realization he was talking about the love song that reminded you of him. Thoughts were now flooding your mind, about if he thought of you when listening to the song, did he even realize what the lyrics were, did he just liked the song with no further intention, does he like y- “(Y/N?)” Techno suddenly said, snapping you back to the conversation. “Hmm? Oh- Fairy Tale! That’s a good song, one of my favorites as well actually.” you answered blushing. Techno grinned and took a glance at Tommy, seeing him nearly asleep. His hand reached to poke the younger awake but you swatted his hand away. Techno raised his eyebrow at you, to which you smiled and calmly told Tommy to stay awake for a little bit longer. In response Tommy huffed and cuddled closer, which was a bad idea on his part. Techno began tickling him, earning loud laughter and screams from Tommy.

Phil and Wilbur looked at each other at the same time, then quickly poking their heads out of the kitchen to see what was causing the disturbance. Wilbur sighed in relief at the sight of the three of you laughing, going back to the kitchen just as quick leaving Phil who stayed put a little longer. He couldn't stop the massive smile from spreading to his face and the warm feeling rising. Wilbur called out for Phil who, with one last glance, returned to the kitchen

Once Tommy calmed down from his hysteria Techno put on some Avatar, also slowly scooting closer to you. Upon noticing you smiled softly and put your arm lightly around his shoulders. Techno’s face heated up, not really used to this closeness. He could say he didn’t like it but he wasn’t really the one for lying.

After one episode Wilbur started setting the table, quickly eyeing the three of you, a mixture of shock and pride on his face. He didn’t know how his brother managed it, but he was impressed. “Dinner’s nearly ready.” he told them, getting nods in response. Tommy had fallen asleep after all, so you attempted to wake him up. Attempted being the key word, he was still half asleep when you took a seat at the dinner table. “Tommy, you know you can’t have dessert without eating dinner right?” Phil told him and Tommy quickly woke up, climbing off your lap to his own chair. The two other brothers and you were laughing but Phil quickly shushed all of you and told you what was for dinner, “Roast veggies, roast potatoes and steak!”

He gave everyone their portions, everyone also immediately digging in. You complimented him, it was really good. Phil thanked you, soon the room filled with conversation and laughs.

“Dessert time!!” Tommy exclaimed excitedly as everyone finished up their dinner and cleared off the table. You chuckled and walked to the kitchen with Phil. While he was boiling the water and grabbing the cups and plates, you took the container from the fridge and started placing them on little plates.

“Surprise!” Phil said as you two walked out of the kitchen, both holding a tray. All of the boys went quiet, excited and curious. You put your tray down, earning wow’s from Techno, Wilbur and Tommy. “Tech! Look, they’re like galaxies!” Tommy said and Techno laughed, “yeah they are. They look great (Y/N).” You smiled, really happy that Tommy recognized them. “You‘ve done a great job, these look incredible.” Wilbur said and you thanked him while handing out the plates with the cupcakes. Phil filled up the tea cups and soon new conversation was flowing. Wilbur asked a few questions, curious about the person his brother was in love with. You answered all of them happily, Techno butting in when the questions were school related.

It didn't take long before more embarrassing childhood stories were told, all of you laughing, Techno tallying the times Wilbur embarrassed him in his head for later payback. Tommy was telling you about how he told his best friend Tubbo about galaxies as well and that he loved them too. You tried not to physically melt and told him to invite him over so you could draw together. Tommy got so excited he jumped off his chair and started running around the house, the remaining at the table laughing again. You took a glance at the clock, caught off guard by the way time had flown by.

“I hate to be that person but I’m afraid I have to get going.” you said, getting understanding nods from everyone. Tommy abruptly stopped and dramatically huffed. He dragged himself back to his chair and sat down with a big pout. “Hey don’t worry bud, I’m sure (Y/N) will be back soon.” Phil said to him, making him look at you hopefully. “Yeah I will! Don’t worry about it too much, okay big man?” you smiled and he nodded, getting up and giving you a hug. Phil glanced at Techno, watching his expression change to pure and absolute adoration. It made Phil happy, even if he never knew what it truly felt like. The happy sparkles that Techno’s eyes held whenever you were there were enough.

Wilbur and Techno cleaned up the table, you had offered to help but your attempts were quickly shut down. You glared at the pair when they walked away, making Phil laugh. Your gaze shifted to Phil, now also glaring at him. He only laughed harder, making Tommy giggle as well. You tried your hardest not to break but when Tommy began laughing as well you broke and laughed along with them.

“Are you going to ask them out?” Wilbur asked Techno, catching the latter off guard. “What? Ask them out? Like to be my partner?” Techno replied and Wilbur nodded. “I-I don’t know. That’s a big step. What if they don't like me and I ruin our friendship? What if they don't want to be friends anymore because they’ll think it’s- I’m weird? What if-” Techno rambled before Wilbur cut him off. “Dude. Do you need new glasses? You two look at each other like you are each other’s world and were literally cuddling on the couch earlier. You said they made a playlist for you right?”, Techno nodded, “well there you have your answer. Trust me, they feel the same.” He was still processing what Wilbur said when he heard your laugh and automatically smiled. Wilbur noticed and chuckled, “you’re so whipped for them, I can’t believe it. What happened with the ‘I’m independent I don’t need anyone ever’ Techno?”

Techno quickly smacked the back of Wilbur’s head before he could get more words out, making Wilbur laugh. Techno rolled his eyes, put away the dishes and walked back to the kitchen table. You smiled at him, getting up to grab your bag and jacket. Meanwhile Wilbur also came back from the kitchen, with your container in hand. “Oh thank you, I completely forgot about that,” you chuckled, “also thanks for letting me stay over again.” “No problem (Y/N), truly. Thank you for the cupcakes, they were really good.” Phil said, “and really pretty!” Tommy added and you giggled, thanking them and saying your goodbyes.

Techno walked with you to the door, thinking about what Wilbur had said in the kitchen. “Thank you for inviting me, it was a lot of fun.” you told him, interrupting his train of thoughts. “Of course, you’re welcome here any time. I think Tommy likes you more than he likes his own brothers.” he said and you laughed, “impossible. I’m sure he would love watching Avatar with you as well.” He shrugged, “I do prefer watching it with you though.”

Your cheeks flushed red and a smile crept up on your face. “Well, let’s watch more together soon then.” you said to which he quickly agreed to. He couldn’t wait to have your arm around him again. His cheeks heated up and he quickly looked down.

“I really do have to go though, my parents will kill me if I come home too late.” you said and he nodded, eyes still on the ground. You leaned in to kiss his cheek, just as he looked up to say goodbye. Noticing it on time, you quickly stopped, eyes wide and cheeks flushed. It didn’t help much, both of your faces now inches apart. His face held the same reaction, his heart racing. He thought back to what Phil and Wilbur had said and decided, fuck it, as he leaned in to close the gap and kiss you. You stiffened for a second, you’d silently hope this would happen but were still surprised. Techno noticed and quickly pulled back, apologizing profusely. You tried to tell him it was more than okay, you were just caught off guard but he kept cutting you off with apologies. You shook your head, leaning in again and kissing him. He finally shut up and kissed back, his hands now on your waist and yours on his cheeks.

Techno pulled back again, looking into your eyes. You raised your eyebrow, wondering why he all of sudden stopped. “I- uhm, well,” he stuttered, your hands dropped to his cheek and he sighed, it was now or never. “Do you- Would you want to be my partner?” he asked quietly. Your eyes widened, shock taking over your expression. Was this real? The boy you’ve been loving since you could remember felt the same? You were brought back to reality by his hands leaving your waist and his mouth opening to apologize. “Yes. Yes I’d love to.” you quickly said, making the biggest smile ever cross Techno’s face. “Really?” he asked and you nodded while laughing, feeling all giddy and happy. He engulfed you in his arms, giving you the biggest hug ever. The two of you stayed like that for a few moments, before Techno let you go making you frown. He chuckled, “I know dear, but I don’t want your parents to kill either of us.” “Yeah I guess you’re right. I’ll text you when I get home.” you said before giving him a quick kiss and turning around to walk away. “Bye (Y/N), be careful!” Techno said while waving. “I will!” you told him and waved back with a smile. Holy shit.

Techno closed the door and leaned against it. Did that really just happen? His heart and stomach were doing backflips. He smiled to himself, you were his partner now.

His smile hadn’t toned down when he walked back to the rest of his family, who were impatiently waiting on him. “And?” “So?” Phil and Wilbur said at the same time, making Techno laugh. “We- I- We’re together now.” he told them, earning the loudest cheers he’s ever heard. “Congratulations man! I’m proud of you.” Phil told him and Techno thanked him, sitting down on the couch with them. “Did you ask them?” Wilbur asked and Techno nodded. “Dude! Congrats. What happened?” He asked and Techno told them everything that happened.

Tommy, who was supposed to be asleep in his bed, came downstairs after hearing the cheering. “What’s going on?” he asked sleepily and Techno chuckled, “(Y/N) and I are dating.” he answered and the blonde nodded, “does that mean they’ll come over more?” he asked. “I think so, yeah.” Techno told him and Tommy nodded again, walking over to his family and sitting next to Techno. “C’mon, let’s go upstairs. You need to sleep and I need to check if (Y/N) is home safely.” Techo said to Tommy after picking him up and saying to goodnight to his dad and older brother. “Can I say goodnight to them?” Tommy asked and Techno nodded, taking him to his room. He started up his computer, happy to see a message from you. He quickly typed a response before video calling you and putting his headset on Tommy.

You answered the call almost right away, aww’ing when you saw Tommy with the big headset on. “Hey big man, shouldn’t you be sleeping?” you said and he nodded, “yes but I woke up because they were all being loud and then Techno was going to talk to you and I wanted to say goodnight.” Techno smiled softly, kind of bummed he couldn’t hear your replies. “Awe that’s not good. Next time you just punch Techno lightly and he’ll be quiet.” you said to Tommy, making him giggle mischievously. Techno raised his eyebrow at both of you, that didn’t seem good. “I will. Goodnight (Y/N)!” Tommy said while waving. “Goodnight! Sleep well and sweet dreams.” you smiled and waved back. “I’ll be right back.” Techno said into the headset as he put it down and went to put Tommy in his bed.

After a few minutes he was back, “hey love.” he said as he put on his headset. “Gosh!” you sighed, making Techno laugh. “Please give me an announcement next time, I think I just lost 10 years of my life.” you said, Techno only laughing harder. “I will, I will, sorry.” he smiled. The two of you talked all night, switching to your phones when it became too late. You fell asleep first, Techno chuckling when he heard your soft snores. “Goodnight, (Y/N).” he whispered, before falling asleep himself.

#mcyt x reader #technoblade x reader #technoblade x you #sbi x reader #sbi au #SBI #sbi fanfic #toddler tommyinnit #dadza minecraft #big brother wilbur

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sizeshiftingdeath · 3 years ago

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Ends and Starts (MCYT G/T Exchange!)

Hello there sizeshiftingdeath! I received your prompts for the gift exchange, and while I tried to start pretty close to your prompt, my ideas kind of spiraled out of control, I hope you don't mind ^^' I can make something else with another prompt if it doesn't fit what you were hoping for, though! There's also a little bit of extra information down the bottom with some stuff I thought of about the au I accidentally made.

Prompt given: ‘A human caught in the rain finds a giant in the forest’

The world is pockmarked with evidence of the tragedies of the past. Of warped land that paints the horrors that befell things that came before. The living reminders of them continue to live on in perpetuity, as immortal creatures that were wreathed in the horrors that life on Earth had endured in the past.

Bask in their horrible might.

There is the Death from Burning and Fire and Falling from the Sky and Cold Choking Death, the End of the Cretaceous. A massive beast, the bloody end of an era of enormous fauna. A destruction made all the more powerful by how quickly it was achieved. It stalks the land and sea and, where it steps, the plants die of lack of sunlight and the ground turns to tar.

There is the Death from Ever Hunting and Chasing and Too Warm Too Bright - Tech, the man-shaped leviathan, death in the shape of something familiar to mankind, the Killer of the Pleistocene. The death of great megafauna in an icy world from the encroaching warmth of a new era, the sharp point of a spear. It hunts the world with spears and arrows of fire and, in the depths of its nest, all water has turned to vapor and the earth itself has become a wasteland.

There is the Death of Falling Frozen Seas, of a primordial sea strangled to death under a glacier lock, Her Lady of the primaeval oceans, the Death of the Ordovician. The tail-end of an explosion of life, stretched too far by their own hubris. And yet, despite being a beast with a hundred trilobite and eurypterid faces, one that has a herald in the form of a human by Her side, for reasons that have yet to become known. Maybe, just like every other esoteric thing that such beasts may do, it shall remain a mystery forever.

Look and see. A new immortal is emerging from its eggshell of tragedy. The unstoppable bomb and burning oilfield. The death through hubris and a slow choking unraveling of your very being. The death of man from crackling radiation and tainted iridescent-film water and ash filled smoke. The destruction of the Anthropocene.

Except. This is a creature who was born prematurely. Because man is not dead nor feeling its own final throes. It was not born wreathed in the screams of the damned, only the fears held in the hearts of the still-living. It is naïve and curious and did not yet have the star of a hundred million species’ souls to power it yet. It was stunted.

And that is why the first human the newest apocalypse met was so important.

…

The forests are deep and dark. Quiet yet shivering with life. Constantly moving and yet trapped in some space between time. Most of all, they expected nothing more from you than for your own two legs to be able to travel. Ranboo liked that.

It certainly was nicer than what he had to deal with outside of the forest at least. Here he could continue walking and listening and breathing for as long as he still could move forward. This forest in particular was a favorite, with a constant twilight quality to it that played into its timelessness.

He stumbled over a log, slipping slightly on the slick moss, and focused as strongly as he could on his surroundings. It was hard when he could so quickly slip into his thoughts. He needed to enjoy his surroundings. He needed to stay in the present and not phase out like fog.

Ironically, it was his attempts to ground himself that prevented him from noticing what was slowly growing more wrong in the forest around him. The scent of ash in the air. The lack of birdsong or rustle of leaves. The trees, growing darker and more burnt-looking, and the dead logs that were bristling with fungi.

But when he stepped out into a clearing with an enormous rock embedded into the middle of it, Ranboo really couldn’t help but realize all of the discrepancies. The illusion of an eternal twilight had been broken with the red light that streamed down. The ground was distressingly clear of ground cover, instead dusted with ash.

Forest fire? He hadn’t heard of any in the area but… What else would it be?

Ranboo looked up at the sun, which had meandered towards the west since he had entered the forest. There were dark clouds gathering above him in worrying amounts, and the air was a little hard to see through with the particles suspended in it. He frowned at it.

Something was wrong here, he could sense it in a deeply animalistic kind of way. As if there was something screaming in his hindbrain to run.

He didn’t run. This was the forest that he has walked a hundred times before, when did this happen? Why had this happened? He needed to find out.

Overhead, thunder rumbled. A droplet of curiously dark water fell on his face.

Ranboo stepped towards the other side of the forest clearing that should not have been there.

And that's when a living embodiment of a mass extinction came shambling out of the ashen trees.

Ranboo didn’t know which detail he noticed first about this rogue apocalypse beast. Was it the limp brown hair that was almost black with iridescent oil slick? Was it the enormous horns that curled jutting from its face and looked more like scrap metal than keratin? Was it the uranium-glass green stripes that criss-crossed like cracks in ceramic along it’s skin?

Or was it the fact that this one was shaped like a man?

The apocalypse beasts always most resembled the myriad that had died in their creation. The death of the Ice Age looks vaguely like a man, if squinted at, mostly because so many cousins to humanity had died in its formation. It was more like an enormous boar-beast on two legs that had the arms of a man, if anything. This one did not look remotely like the death of the Ice Age.

Ranboo took a flying leap from horror and realization to hysteria. This is the death of humans. The death by nuclear bombs and smoke and oil. The fabled next apocalypse beast, the bringer of the end of the world, was already here.

For a moment of absolute blinding terror he wondered if this meant that all other humans on Earth were dead now. That today was the day the entirety of humanity died, leaving just him wandering the forest endlessly. That nuclear armageddon occurred and he was out there worried about keeping himself grounded enough to admire the birds.

The beast - and he was never in doubt that this was an apocalypse beast, even if he had never seen any of the others in person before something shook like a leaf in his soul simply from being near it - loomed over him. It watched him like a bug under a glass with nuclear hazard yellow-and-black eyes, and the spell of frozen muscles snapped in Ranboo. He bolted towards the boulder in the middle of the clearing and pushed his way into a space between it and a smaller boulder at its base, scrambling to find a smaller crack to squeeze himself into to just get himself out of reach of the beast, of the black water, of everything.

He could hear a rasping, clicking-crackling sound. (A Geiger Counter.) He could see glowing green-striped fingers reach under the edges of the rock he had wedged himself under. Could see, in the sickly chartreuse light they cast, fingernails larger than his head catch the rock. Felt the weight of the boulder lift from his back.

Ranboo was left crouching and shaking, so scared he couldn't breathe (or maybe it was the ash or the slimy water that couldn’t be rain), as the apocalypse beast crouched down further. It crackled and clicked with a mouth that seemed all too human to be able to make those noises, and then it. Crooned? With a voice that was more like a siren shriek turned down, weirdly echoey as if speaking from far away, it clicked and whined and Ranboo was so confused he didn’t even see the hand reach down and pick him up by the back of his shirt.

He screamed and flailed, imagination jumping into overdrive about what horrifying things the beast could do, and just as quickly, he was dropped with a whoomph to the ground and the death of Mankind jerked back. Ranboo gasped and sputtered as half of face got thoroughly soaked with ash-water mud, and hoisted himself up again to get away from the apocalypse beast.

Who was crouching over him, luminous trefoil eyes barely a foot away from his own, still crooning that awful siren tone. From this close Ranboo could faintly see radiation burns pockmarking its skin, and a horrible scar of curled and ridged skin along its face, as if it was victim to a close-range bomb explosion.

It tilted its head, leaning a tiny bit closer, and Ranboo threw his arms up to cover his face. God, it itched where the ash water had splashed on him. Why was it itching so much?

The death of Mankind stopped again, looking up into the sky and then down at Ranboo again. It seemed to come to a conclusion, because it then slowly - oh so slowly, why was it being careful? - cupped its hands out in front of it and held them out to him.

It… Wanted him to climb on. Into the grasp of a literal specter of death specifically designed with the destruction of his own species in mind.

Ranboo, in a moment of blind panic and stupidity, climbed on. It looked polite, he reasoned. He was already going to die just from being close to this thing.

It continued to… yes, it definitely was cooing now, in that horrifying voice, and for a moment Ranboo wondered if maybe he misinterpreted. Maybe this thing wasn’t meant to represent the nuclear apocalypse.

His eye had started to itch where the water touched it. He rocked himself in the grasp of this giant, feeling footholds in the craggy radiation-worn skin, and felt the side of his face.

The moment e touched it, a white-hot flash of horrible burning pain hit him like a truck, knocking him into a stupor of yelling. It was as if his face was burning, was twisting and gnarling just as much as the apocalypse beast’s horns did. Under his hand, stiff with pain and unable to move away, he could feel skin slough off, could feel the cells themselves die off in droves, in response to whatever radiation or toxin was in the ash-water.

He couldn’t even register the sensation of fingers larger than his torso curling around him and holding him steady, of him being pressed up against a vast chest that beat unsteadily like a stuck clock, of the vast thumps of footfalls against a diseased forest floor.

All he could feel is pain, burning coiling tunneling pain that tried to tear out his face, his hands, his neck, burning him bright and radiant like a star.

…

The creature was screaming in its hands. It hadn’t stopped screaming for a long time.

It was small and writhing and melting. Creatures usually didn’t like melting.

The death of Humanity wasn’t sure how to make it stop. It had dashed out of the black-rain (that seemed to make the melting worse, maybe it’ll stop once it’s out of the rain?) to its home cave, hoping that perhaps it could figure something out in the comfort of its own home.

The creature’s screams had died down, though whether it was from its pain being alleviated or their voice giving out, the death of Humanity couldn’t tell. All it could tell was that it wasn’t getting up, wasn’t looking at it with those wide curious scared-but-interested eyes.

Most animals ran from the death of Humanity. Land-creatures would yell in fear and flee, birds would rise up into the sky in huge swarms only to be struck down by the black-rain. Even insects would twitch and die when they got near, which led so many to flee this part of the forest entirely. It was a lonely existence. But this human hadn’t run like the other animals had. It had hid, yes, but it had viewed the death of Humanity in all of its glory and it almost, almost, was ok with it being picked up.

And then something had happened and now the human was dying just like all of the other animals and the Nuclear Apocalypse didn’t know what to do.

Be well. Be alright. Be just like you were before, it thought, delicately laying the twitching human on the ground out of reach of the dripping black-water puddles, in a nest of dried grasses and leaves that had swept into the cave over the years. It prodded the human with a finger, whining softly when all it did was spasm like a dying insect. It wasn’t dying, right? It was just hurt? It couldn’t be hurt, the death of Humanity wouldn’t allow it. Not when it was so curious and didn’t flee like the others. Not when the death of Humanity had a chance to learn from it. Even now, writhing in its palm, it could feel the frantic beating of life and warmth, things it had so rarely seen before.

You will be well. You must be well. I will make you well.

...

When he came to, it was to complete darkness.

Well, no. Not totally. There was a faint glimmer of far away light somewhere to his left. A shuffling shadow, a faint sickly green glow.

His right was totally dark though, and he couldn’t quite open his eye. He almost brought his hand up to touch it before violently flinching as he remembered what had landed him here in the first place. Would it start burning and melting horribly like it did before? That he was even awake to wonder that is a miracle in of itself... Or the start of the second round of his torture.

Horrible curiosity pushed him to touch, as lightly as possible, the skin on his right cheek. It… He couldn’t feel it. Or rather, he could feel the sandpaper surface of extremely rough skin, but he couldn't feel the pressure, the burning bright pain. The entire area was dead to the touch.

Ranboo threw himself as upright as he could make himself, which ended up only being a half kneel before falling back over into a sit. His breath hitched and he felt his face more firmly, the rough scratchy surface of skin that splattered like paint over the right side of his face, over his eye, down his neck and onto his arm. The muted tingling where it met smoother skin along his shoulder and the bridge of his nose. In an act of desperation he even poked at his eyelid, trying to pry it open to see if he could ever see from that eye again.

His hand passed in front of his working eye in that moment, and at this point his focus had sharpened enough to make out vague colors in the dim light. His hand… It was a black far darker than any human could naturally produce, with a grey-green cast that made him look sickly.

I feel sickly, he reasoned to himself. What is going on? He waved his hand a little frantically, as if the new midnight shade was something that was just stuck to his skin. Desperately he held up his other (totally numb to the touch) hand, hoping it hadn’t changed too.

Well, good news - it wasn’t midnight black.

Bad news - it was a shade so pale that it looked totally devoid of blood. And the raspy surface he could feel didn’t look any prettier to the eye. It didn’t have that same grey-green tint to it though, which was nice, because it would’ve shown up really well on this pure white canvas.

Why was he even thinking about looks right now? He was in the den of an Apocalypse Beast Ranboo get your head together! This was absolutely not the right time to space out - he needed to stay in the moment!

His hands were shaking uncontrollably as he tried to get himself upright. He had only just gotten himself steady when he felt the rattle of large footsteps shake through the ground. Before Ranboo could even think to run though, the shadows out of the corner of his eyes resolved into the beast, which made its way all too quickly towards him.

He couldn’t run if he wanted to. And besides, the damage done to him would probably kill him. He was on borrowed time as is. What did he have left to do but to see what the beast did?

It slowed as it came closer, reaching out a vast clawed hand towards him. Despite his resignation towards his fate, Ranboo flinched back as it came way too close way too fast. A movement that the beast obviously didn't notice or interpret or care about, because he was scooped up into its palm without a moment's hesitation.

“No!” He yelled, wriggling and pushing away from the cage of fingers around him. The beast paused in bringing him up to its face, and if Ranboo was being generous he could call the look on its face a frown.

In less than a blink the face of the beast was so close way too close and he almost punched it (for all the help that would do) out of reflex. It blinked at him with those lucent yellow-black eyes, laser sharp in their focus upon him. He felt for all the world like an ant being peered at through a magnifying glass. Maybe he’ll be fried like one too.

“What do you want with me?” He asked, voice cracking in fear. “What is it you want?”

It didn’t answer in that siren tone again, but instead shifted its weight to the side and turned its palms so that Ranboo was standing squarely in one of them. The other was drawn up and one sharp-clawed finger was pointed at Ranboo. Or, well. The side of Ranboo’s face that he couldn’t see from just yet.

He trembled with the anticipation of the jagged nail at the end of the beast’s outstretched finger spearing forward. But all it did was touch, very gently, under the damaged eye. The beast frowned even more.

Then it jabbed at him, hard enough to bruise but not much else, directly into Ranboo’s damaged eye. He yelped and jumped away, tumbling off his feet in the cup of the beast’s fingers and slapped a numb hand over numb face. Even if he couldn’t feel the area, it still surprised him enough to believe for a moment he could sense it again. Except… was that still his imagination? The eye under his pale skin was starting to itch and water, the first sensation he felt from it since he had woken up, and with a gasp he was able to open his eye.

Fuzz. That’s all he could see from that eye. The beast leaned forward and poked at his face again, softer this time, and when he opened his eye again the world had snapped into focus, tinged with red around the edges. He blinked a few times, and felt a trail of something wet leak from that eye onto his cheek.

What had happened? “You… You healed me?” He asked up at it. It was still frowning even as he had two working eyes again, and muttered softly in a voice that sounded like something crumbling into splinters. Then it poked him for a third time, this time on the shoulder, and Ranboo held back a yell of pain as the area lit up in a blaze of sensation that felt like liquid fire. As he watched, the black skin around the edges of the wound cracked and veins of bright green glowed beneath.

Just… Like… The beast…

Oh no.

The pain of his nerves coming back to life was nothing when compared to the cold horror that had bubbled into his stomach. There was a single case of a human managing to gain immortality as a result of an apocalypse beast. One of the first beasts, Her Lady of the Primordial Sea, the beast of the Ordivician extinction, had taken pity upon an ancient human who was trapped in the glacial ices that herald her path across the Earth, and had gifted it with immortality and a pair of wings that made him as beastly as the Lady he served.

Nobody knew exactly why the Angel of the Deaths had been spared, and why not a single human had ever had that happen before or since. All that was really known about him was his violence, and that he had an uncanny ability to be where an apocalypse beast would be travelling to next. He was just as inhuman and alien as the beasts themselves, if in a smaller form.

It had only ever happened once. Until now, obviously.

Ranboo stared at his white hand, prickling with waking nerves under the surface and twisting with green strands that trailed under his skin like angry snakes, and knew that he was a monster now. Somehow, it was freeing. Like he finally got an answer to a question he had asked over and over. Why him, why now, why is he still alive, why is he not afraid enough…

He stared back up at the apocalypse beast and it blinked down at him. It was no longer frowning, only looking thoughtfully now. “You’re not going to hurt me.” It wasn’t a question.

It reached a hand back up, maybe to poke him again, but this time rubbed his hair very lightly. He did not flinch this time, steeling up his willpower to allow this touch (It won’t hurt him. He needs to keep repeating it until it is true. It won’t hurt him. He was its now it wouldn’t hurt him).

It made that soft crooning noise again, like it had before lifting the rock he had been hiding under, and despite it being underlaid with sounds specifically designed to inspire fear in humans, he could find himself getting used to it. (Would have to. He’s an abomination now after all. The second angel.)

“You’re not so bad, are you…” He slowly pushed himself to his feet, flexing his newly sensated hand carefully. “I still don’t know what you are or why you are here now but…”

The beast tipped its head curiously and warbled exactly the same words back at Ranboo. He froze, because it was so much like his own voice except under deep layers of static, before shaking his head. Best get introductions out of the way - this creature was obviously smart. It was the death of Humanity after all.

He pointed to his chest. “Ranboo.” He gave it a few pokes for emphasis, and the beast poked him too before mimicking his name. He wasn’t entirely sure it actually got what that meant but, well. Baby steps.

Then he pointed at it. It blinked a few times (and Ranboo really couldn’t help but anthropomorphize its reactions - this thing was just too uncannily human to not) and chirped out another ‘Ranboo.’ He gestured more firmly, pointing at the beast.

It continued to look with (probably) bafflement for a few moments, before letting loose a cacophony of sounds that sent Ranboo’s hands slapping over his ears. It was all of the sounds of falling trees, of squawking birds, of the blazing sun and frigid cold and most of all the explosive fire and cold falling ash-water and death from sickness. It was everything and more that wrapped up the death of Humanity in a nutshell.

Ranboo blinked. That might take a while to learn how to pronounce.

He decided to call it Tubbo for short.

<End> There we have it! I hope that you enjoyed this - I hope it didn't betray too much how much stuff like this interests me and that this was potentially also 3000 words of me nerding out about mass extinctions.

Anyways, here's some details I had added but had no way of explaining naturally within the story that i was a little proud of ^^'

The Anthropocene apocalypse beast is also called the unstoppable bomb and burning oilfield. Shortened to TUBBO. Ha.

There’s 7, now 8 apocalypse beasts (Great Oxidation Event, Ordovician, Devonian, Permian, Triassic, Cretaceous, Pleistocene, and now Anthropocene). I originally intended there to just be 5 (for the big five mass extinctions) and then a 6th Anthropocene apocalypse beast, but then I thought I really should add in the great oxidation event that almost caused extinction of all non-oxygen breathing creatures on a very early earth, and the death of most megafauna in the Pleistocene era.

Society is way different with these living eldritch abominations just shambling across the globe, causing a trail of destruction behind them. A lot less large cities, for one.

The Ordovician apocalypse beast is Kristin, yes. She’s uplifted Phil into something similar to what Ranboo is now. I kinda want to think more about her and her story with Phil.

The Pleistocene apocalypse beast is Techno. Idk why I chose to do that but it seemed to fit. Especially since the leading theory on Pleistocene megafauna death is humans hunting them, which I think fits Techno pretty well

The rain is black rain - rain full of radioactive fallout. Bad Stuff, definitely not what you should seek out if you want to keep your body in working order.

I kept referring to sirens in Tubbo’s speech. Just imagine every emergency warning broadcast sound except even more terrifying

So Ranboo’s skin is majorly fucked up. For one, he’s suffered major radiation damage to the side that is now white (healed over brand new skin). The black half is much more interesting though. Did you know there are types of fungi that can feed off of nuclear radiation? They protect themselves from the effects by secreting a LOAD of melanin, making them extremely dark. Anything that wasn’t newly healed on Ranboo had now become akin to those fungi now. Feeding rather than harmed by the nuclear radiation Tubbo naturally puts off. Perfect for a newborn Angel of the deaths.

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Thank you so much for this story submission!! I really love this idea and how well you wrote it! this is so amazing! ❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤

#submission #mcyt g/t exchange event #mcyt #g/t

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goldencorecrunches · 4 years ago

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@chenqingssuibian part 3 of this nebulous dream because for some reason I still had words today (Part I) (Part II)

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Tomorrow, the shape of the world will change. Nie Mingjue has left to walk into a trap with a contingent of his cultivators, all of them given the chance to bow out and none of them taking it. The fervor of loyalty that Chifeng-zun inspires is strange to Wen Qing, who has knelt among puppets to beg for her brother’s life: she is derisive, and she is envious. She wishes she knew how to do such a thing, or how to give in to it. He is very tall. Maybe that’s why. It’s the nerves making her dip into hysteria, Wen Qing knows. She wraps her cloak around herself and gazes out into waning darkness, the first watery edges of dawn present in the way she realizes, slowly, she can see her hand in front of her face, or the corner of her robe on the ground. It is cold. Wen Qing shivers, and pretends that is the reason. Footfalls behind her: Wen Qing turns, and Jiang Yanli is there. She is holding a dried apple, and she smiles as she proffers it, and Wen Qing cannot look away. “You haven’t eaten,” she says. In her chest, Wen Qing’s heart pauses, and sighs. It’s always been too big, for her own good: she pretends it is withered as that apple, but peeled out of her skin she’d bleed like the first autumn bite. She has a feeling Jiang Yanli can tell. It is terrifying. Not as much as it should be. She takes the apple. It’s a bit sour. But then, so is she. As she eats Jiang Yanli edges closer, until she’s tucked right up against Wen Qing’s side, so close Wen Qing can feel her body heat. For a brief, wild moment Wen Qing considers spreading her cloak over them both, before mashing the thought to pieces as firmly as she is able. She concentrates on eating her apple, and on not letting on how she suddenly buzzing from the top of her head to the soles of her feet. Jiang Yanli’s sleeve brushes the skirt pulled taut over Wen Qing’s thigh. She nearly bites through her own tongue. “I worry for them,” Jiang Yanli says, after some endless time of quiet contemplation. Now it is light enough to make out the slope of her nose, the crease under her mouth. There is no place to put the apple core: Wen Qing tosses it to the ground, quickly, and scrubs her hands on her robes so she can reach out. Automatically she checks the backs of Jiang Yanli’s knuckles; they are better now, no longer cracked, but still drier than Wen Qing would like. She frowns. (It is not that Wen Qing is not worried. It is—if this Sunshot loses, she and her brother will be killed: she knows this. If it wins, they will be put on trial, and then perhaps killed as well. She will argue for A-Ning, and she will fight for herself because she does not know how to do otherwise, but it is hard to be scared when she has spent every waking and sleeping moment of her life in fear.) “Look at me?” Jiang Yanli asks. Helpless, Wen Qing does. The sharp blade of the rising sun is behind Jiang Yanli, and it makes Wen Qing squint, the ache in her temples from being awake for too long spiking. She has not let go of her hands. Jiang Yanli kisses her. Her lips are cold, but warm quickly against Wen Qing’s own. She feels her fingers tighten, and then loosens them in a panic, shy of worsening Jiang Yanli’s constant pain; Jiang Yanli makes a small noise, fond seeming, and shifts closer. Wen Qing is not as practiced at kissing as some and her head is somewhere in the dust behind them, but she opens her mouth and tries to follow Jiang Yanli’s lead. It is sweet, sweet, sweet. Wen Qing could sink into her and drown. “Come with me to feed the soldiers,” Jiang Yanli whispers, and Wen Qing can taste the shape of the words. She chases them; halts. Jiang Yanli meets her where she stopped herself and kisses the embarrassment away. “Okay,” Wen Qing says. She is mindless, and cannot say anything else. In her hands, Jiang Yanli turns her own, so she can fit her fingers between Wen Qing’s and squeeze.

#mdzs #cql #the untamed #yanqing #jiang yanli #wen qing #my fics #I JUST FELT LIKE THE LAST ONE ENDED KINDA SAD and this is alsokinda sad BUT #it has a smooch in it #(wen qing strolling back into camp on jiang yanli's arm and heart all aflutter:#huh wow jin zixuan imagine giving up This woman???? i've just kissed her so sucks to suck for yOU)#fic: yanqing hand goop

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miyuskye · 4 years ago

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Today I stumbled on old posts from people reacting to the sk8 finale. I want to make a premise and say that I also felt mixed emotions after it and I was sure that there was something wrong with it. After two months and a half I can say with certainty that the only thing that felt wrong was the lack of episode time, but oh well. Thinking back about sk8, I feel that the writers and the director did the best they could with the time they had.

I think that the main source of confusion stemmed from people misunderstanding the point of the plot. I'm putting myself also among these people because I was so sad that Tadashi forfeited his match vs Langa, but after thinking calmly about that I realized that I just wanted to see Tadashi skate because I am this whipped for him XD and, in reality, even if he had a match with Langa, it would have probably ended the same way -- with Tadashi forfeiting the race midway and letting Langa win (since it's hinted that he's a skating god and Langa beat Adam because he was lucky). This is coherent with the small number of available episodes and Tadashi's arc.

Back to the general public confusion. I'm sure a lot of people were blinded by Renga and totally missed the point the staff wanted to make. It was confirmed in an interview that "sk8 is the story of Adam's search for his Eve", whatever this means (it could be Adam finding his Eve in either Tadashi or Langa, i.e. finding his Eve through the concept that skating is fun). The point is that the focus is on Adam and always has been on Adam. The fandom gave into a collective thinking that Adam was a pedophile and an abuser, but that's clearly not how the staff wanted to portray him. He is obsessed with Langa because he finds in him a worthy and, most importantly, equal partner, he adores Langa and given how loudly he expresses his feelings (i.e. painting a pierced heart over red chrysanthemum to shout out his feelings for Tadashi) his attitude toward him is just the embodiment of that. He isn't interested in Langa because of the power imbalance between them (again, he sees Langa as his equal); he just doesn't want to be alone.

And, yes, the final episodes clearly fit into the narrative of "skating should be fun" because Langa understands (through Reki) that skating with friends is fun and makes Adam remember that (meanwhile he realizes that Tadashi, his friend, was by his side all of this time). Langa, at the beginning, thought that skating was all about the thrill and the adrenaline. He didn't understand that it was fun and amazing to do it with friends/ the people you care about (paralleling to how he didn't realize why he stopped snowboarding when his father died). That's why from ep 7 to 10 he doesn't feel anything. It's because it was all about being with someone you care about, both in skating and snowboarding. He understands that through his relationship with Reki, but my point (and prolly the point a lot of people missed) is that it's general and it doesn't limit itself to Reki and Reki only. I don't want to invalidate Renga, of course not, I like the pairing and the ending makes it clear that Langa's happiness is skating with Reki especially. But the fun experience that comes from skating is a general thing and him going against Adam is just a consequence of that. He wants to make Adam understand that you should have fun while skating, and he wants to have fun with him because he admires him. He was never scared of Adam, and he generally looked pretty chill even when he smashed Cherry with his board. The only thing that mattered to him before his race against Adam was 'why did he start skating?' and 'he looks like he's not having fun' instead of 'i'm going to make this guy pay for his imaginary crimes with my board'. It was like a argument but between friends, the one that gets you in a fight (idk like Rin taking Haru by his collar in Free lmao) because you both want to stand your ground but still care about the other. Also, Utsumi also confirmed that she wanted them to fight with fists in the last ep XD

So, yeah, sk8's ending falls perfectly in the 'skating should be fun' trope. Moving on, let's talk about Kamata. She's, once again, a target for the fandom collective hysteria and she became like this because they projected their hate for Adam into her. Or into Tadashi sometimes, again completely missing the point that the show is about Adam. A lot of people wanted the police to raid S, but that couldn't be realistically attainable because Adam made sure to take off S from the patrol route again and I'm p sure he took additional measures so it wasn't believable for those measures to be shattered in less than a week (when S has been up and running for 7 years). Let's pretend she somehow managed to search Shindo's house. What would she have found? Nothing accusing Adam of Takano's crime. I understand that Takano's crime wasn't very well detailed but I'm thinking that it was something on the line of being bribed to making a certain kind of contract (when he talks about receiving illegal fundings it's the only thing that came to mind). And, on another note, Adam was the one leaking info to the police in the first place XD first, because he wanted to raise to the top of his party (and just standing in Takano's shade isn't his way to roll) and he wanted to have a leverage on the police, so that he could use that leverage to hide his borderline illegal skateboarding races. But they are two different crimes. Kamata wouldn't have found anything useful for the Takano investigation and, even if she managed to find proofs of S (and that's a big if because I'm sure that Adam and Tadashi go out of their way to hide the S screens also from aunties and the household staff), what can she do with those? They're not related to the investigation at hand and can't be used in that specific trial (which is about Takano receiving illegal fundings). A new trial should have been made and Adam wouldn't surely go to prison in one day XD furthermore, it's clear that Kamata belonged to a subplot and that she was a supporting character. She was never meant to be something more than that. I have a long history of elevating supporting character to something they're clearly not so I'm used not to feel 'betrayed' when this doesn't happen, but probably other people don't.

I don't know if I want to talk about Tadaai AGAIN because I feel like we said plenty about them. TL;DR the relationship is not abusive so the point doesn't stand. Tadashi has agency, and chooses to stay by Adam's side because he wants to (and not because he has... Stockholm syndrome... I cringed while writing that XD)

The last point should be the fact that people felt betrayed that Renga wasn't more canon. which I think stemmed from the fact that Utsumi can't decide what to ship XD she had the same problem in Free because she was torn between MakoHaru and RinHaru, but here?? I'm so sure she ships Renga and Tadaai but she definitely likes Eden too. (She wouldn't have had a whole ass theme song for them if she didn't 😊) and so she couldn't decide what route to take and she ended up taking all of them. Bless her, i love a multi shipping queen 🙏

On this note, I saw also some posts about Adam being a homophobic example of queer villain except for the fact that he's not. The authors have made it clear that they love him to no ends. He's not supposed to be Evil and Unredeemable. I don't know why people are so bent on labelling him with things he's not. My roommate told me that he gave off the creepy vibe at the beginning but she confirmed me that after ep 4 it's clear that he's not meant to be dangerous like the other villains he's compared to. I don't personally like people comparing Adam to Hisoka, for example, because I feel that there are very different intentions behind them. Also, I have a feeling people have never watched a media representation of actual grooming (or something that is closely related to this). There's no grooming in sk8. There are fanfics when people describe Adam this way (and while it's interesting to read them, I feel that he's/very/ OOC there), but he's not like this in the original canon.

Thank you for reading this 🙏

#sk8 the infinity #ainosuke shindo #sk8 adam #edenshipping #tadaai #shindo ainosuke #i also find absurd that there are tw and cw for adam like idk #touch some grass

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i-will-physically-fight-you · 4 years ago

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Tightrope Fanfic

Title: Tightrope

Summary: Virgil feels lost. It’s not a foreign feeling, especially when one is the embodiment of Anxiety. But it feels like one as he stares down at a sniffling Roman in his arms. He doesn’t know what has happened. One moment, the others are having their spat about the wedding. The next, Roman barges into his room mid-breakdown and hasn’t left since.

Pairings: platonic prinixety

Word-Count: 2.9k

Warnings: Crying, Anger, Panic, Discussion of POF, Hurt/Comfort

This is a companion fic to Safety Net, but you don’t have to read that one to understand the context of this one <3

Virgil feels lost. It’s not a foreign feeling, especially when one is the embodiment of Anxiety. But it feels like one as he stares down at a sniffling Roman in his arms. He doesn’t know what has happened. One moment, the others are having their spat about the wedding. The next, Roman barges into his room mid-breakdown and hasn’t left since.

He keeps expecting the rug to be pulled out from under him. That perhaps this is some delayed April’s Fool joke. A ploy by Remus or one of the Others to fuck with him. His mind crafts a thousand possibilities, a thousand explanations for why this can’t be reality.

Because Virgil doesn’t know how to handle a Roman who fell from a great height and shattered completely. What if he cannot put the pieces back together again? What if he messes up and makes things worse? What if he’s the one to cause this in the first place?

No, he refuses to go down that spiraling thought pattern. Because if he unravels now, then he’ll be completely useless to Roman. He compartmentalizes the fear, stuffing it away to haunt him at a later date.

Roman’s cries have died down to a few hiccuping gasps of air. The ever-poised, ever-presentable Prince of Passion is anything but. He lays in Virgil’s arms, as limp and lifeless as a doll. His white princely jacket wrinkly and half-undone, red sash hanging loosely. Virgil cannot see his eyes from underneath his rumpled, messy hair but he’s willing to bet they’re bloodshot. Virgil bits his lips as he notes the dark ichor running down Roman’s cheeks like smeared mascara.

Roman has been in his room for far too long. Especially for someone who was already in a fragile emotional state upon showing up. Virgil shouldn’t have allowed him to stay. But he couldn’t find in himself to deny Roman, not when he’d looked at Virgil with a helpless terror in his eyes. So he had chosen instead to hold onto a sobbing Roman while trying to figure out what the hell happened.

The clock in his room is hardly reliable, but he’s certain at least an hour has passed and he’s still nowhere closer than he’d been at the start. Which is that it involves the stupid wedding, Patton and Deceit. The latter of which, apparently told them his actual name. He won’t know more unless Roman divulges more. And in the swirling storm of hysteria that is his room, the chances of that happening is slim.

Before he can let doubt rake its claws into him, he pulls Roman closer to his chest and syncs out. Roman realizes a moment too late what’s happening. He lets out a startled gasp, tries pushing away, but it’s too late. With a loud crackle, they appear in the gloomy fog of a dead forest.

Roman looks around, eyebrows bunched up together. If this was any other situation, Virgil might’ve smirked.

“It’s the imagination,” Virgil says, answering the question behind Roman’s bewildered gaze, “Or at least my little pocket of it. No one will find us here.”

Well maybe except Remus, the one responsible for its creation. Virgil is hoping that today will not be the day he decides to return here for the first time in years.

Roman opens his mouth to speak, yet hesitates halfway through. He turns his head away from Virgil, shrugging. Virgil’s cold dead heart plummets at this. Roman isn’t supposed to be this defeated. He’s supposed to be stubborn, obstinate, argumentative. Virgil knows how to handle that. He knows how to bait Roman into banter, to get him to admit the root of his problems. But this? He doesn’t know how to deal with a Roman this apathetic. And that scares him.

Virgil should apologize, he thinks. After everything that happened, he hunkered down in his room. He stayed away thinking his presence would only be detrimental than beneficial. He was Anxiety after all, flight or fight. In this case, he chose flight. But obviously, like everything else in his existence, that’d been the wrong choice yet again.

He inhales deeply, his breath hitching at the last moment, the words refusing to come out. They remain stuck in clumps inside his throat, refusing to solidify into verbal spoken words. The ghostly howl of the wind is the only sound between the two.

Then Roman laughs. It sounds more like a cat hacking up a hairball than his usual melodious chuckles. It’s loud, harsh and absolutely dripping with pain. Halfway through he ends up in a coughing fit. Virgil watches, unsure how to respond.

“You were right.” Roman croaks at last, sagging heavily against a tree.

Those words aren't what Virgil likes to hear. It’s never good when he, Anxiety, is right. He’d much prefer to be proven wrong. Even if that meant Roman lording it over his head for weeks on end. It’s annoying as hell and he never thought he’d miss that until now.

Virgil swallows, pushing the sudden ache in his chest aside. He doesn’t need confirmation to know what he was right about.

Still, his heart thudding heavily in his chest, he asks anyways, “About Janus?”

Roman nods, grimacing.

“Ro, what happened?” Virgil asks, unable to hold that question within himself any longer.

The fanciful side doesn’t respond at first. His hand traces the grooves of the bark on the tree he’s leaned against. His lips twist and contort, as if fighting to find the words to say. Virgil isn’t sure if he’s ever seen Roman ever at a loss for words until now.

“I thought it was a villainous trick at first. Just another ploy to get us to trust him. I made fun of it, even. It wasn’t until the way you reacted when I mentioned it to you that I thought otherwise,” Roman says, breaking in mid-conscious thought. Something that is very Roman-like, forgetting other people can’t read his mind. There must be something in Virgil’s face because he clarifies, “Deceit’s name I mean.”

“I mean, I don’t blame you,” Virgil says slowly, toying with his hoodie strings, “He never told any of the Others.”

“But he told you?”

Now it’s Virgil’s turn to stare at the ground. The ache in his chest returns, except it’s different. It’s like a fire-pit at a summer camp-out. It’s warm and comfortable to linger next to, but stay too long and you’ll be sweltering in the unbearable suffocating heat. The same goes for thinking about the past. That’s why he hates getting nostalgic. It’s hard to reminisce about the good times without remembering why they ended.

The old him that hasn’t been extinguished yet, the one that called himself Janus’ friend, is indignant that Roman apparently made fun of Janus’ name. However the newer him that calls himself Virgil and wears the purple hoodie, isn’t. Good, he thinks, he deserves it. And he isn’t too ashamed of feeling that way. Not after the raging forest fire that burnt down their friendship in the first place.

“Yeah.” Virgil breaths out with stifled lungs. He can feel Roman’s eyes burning a hole in his head. He thinks he’d find an unspoken question in them if he looks up. He doesn’t elaborate. He isn’t in the mood for scorching his tongue on the ashes of a cremated friendship. Especially when it’d shift the focus onto him and not Roman. Something he’s certain Roman wants despite it being so rare for him to flinch away from the spotlight.

For all their vast, stark differences, they aren’t really that different when it comes down to several things, one being that neither of them like showing weakness. They are also incredibly stubborn. It just so happens Virgil has the stronger resolve at this moment.

“I trusted him,” Roman says, continuing where he’d left off, “I trusted him, I thought he’d knew best and I just wanted--”

A huff cuts off Roman’s words as he flings his arms towards the sky. He paces in front of Virgil, muttering bits and pieces too quick for him to understand. Perhaps he does need to share a little. Just to help Roman know and understand he isn’t alone.

“Listen, I get it,” Virgil says, “I also trusted Janus once too--”

“No, it wasn’t Janus--well, yes, but--” Roman yanks at his hair, “I meant Patton!”

Patton? Virgil feels as if he'd been riding on the flying magic rug from Aladdin. Only the magic rug has been ripped from underneath him and now he’s freefalling into a waterfall full of sharp pointy rocks at the bottom.

He’d thought he knew where this conversation was heading except now he’s lost more than ever before. He needs a minute to breathe, to process what’s happening. Roman doesn’t give him that. He pushes on, shaking his head like a riled-up mistreated stallion from a horse girl movie.

“I wanted to do what was right for Thomas and--and Patton has always known what’s right, right?”

He gazes desperately at Virgil, searching for reassurance, for affirmation. Virgil’s heart sinks. He can't honestly give that to Roman, though he'd love to give Roman whatever his heart desires to stop his pain.

Patton tries his best, he really does. But even he is wrong sometimes. He has made mistakes, ones that have hurt Virgil himself both past and present. And although Virgil has forgiven him, it doesn’t change the fact that even their softest puffball isn’t always right.

He can tell Roman realizes that by the way his scowl grows bigger.

“Am I too dimwitted?” Roman growls, “Was I the only one foolish enough to believe that? Just like believing that I could truly be--be--”

He lets out a tormented scream, slumping down against a tree. Head bowed, knees drawn close, arms pulled tightly around himself. Virgil stands a few feet away, still so far from understanding as he was when Roman first appeared in his room. Only that apparently he needed to kick both Janus’ and Patton’s collective asses.

Virgil withholds a sigh as he crouches down next to Roman.

A gloomy fog hardly provides the best lighting. It’s better than the dark murkiness of his room, however, and it’s here that he notices something. A blueish-purple splotch of something. Just barely poking out of Roman’s collar. It’s then, Virgil remembers that a metaphoric “bruised ego” is anything but metaphoric for one metaphysical entity such as Roman, Creativity and Ego in one.

“Princey,” Virgil says, his voice unusually level, “did you get hurt by what happened earlier?”

Roman doesn’t answer his question. Not directly at least. “Lee and Mary Lee hardly spoke to Thomas at the wedding, did you know that?”

“Yeah,” Virgil bites his lips, “I knew that.”

It’s a rhetorical question. Of course Virgil knows--he’s a part of Thomas. He’d been with Thomas during the wedding. The leg bouncing up and down in an anxious jitter. Directing the eyes away from the merriment of the wedding and towards that pointless moronic mobile game. The clenching feeling in Thomas’ throat during the brief interaction with Lee and Mary Lee. He hadn’t even been able to say hello because of Virgil.

He’d tried so hard to hold back, to not torment Thomas with his decision anymore than his host had already endured. It didn’t really matter in the end. As Thomas finally slipped away from the wedding, so had Virgil slipped into his room. He ignored the muffled noises of the debate erupting outside the mindscape. Why show his face when Thomas already knew what his input would be? Or knowing what he’d once been, for that matter? Or at least, that had been his justifications at the time.

“Which hardly seems fair! After what I--Thomas sacrificed to be there for them. B-but it’d been the right decision, right?” Roman laughs, shaking his head. He doesn’t wait for an answer as he pushes on, “Was it too selfish to expect more? To think that making the right decision would result in an award?”

Virgil stays silent. Morality isn’t his forte; sure as Anxiety he often cautioned Thomas to follow societal rules. It’s often easier to go with the current rather than fight against it. So he’s hardly the most reliable source of it.

And as for his role, both the wedding and the call-back offered the same amount of dread. After all, he’s Anxiety. It’s literally his job to nitpick and point out every single thing a situation could go wrong, no matter how improbable or absurd. Unlike Roman, he’d be lying if he said he was surprised by the outcome of the wedding. It’s not far off from what he had predicted.

On the flipside, he could offer a million ways of how the audition could’ve ended poorly. A tear in Thomas’ pants mid-audition. Thomas blanking out on a crucial line. A meteor falling from the atmosphere and effectively crushing Thomas to death. Okay, that last one is highly improbable but it could still happen! You never know!

Regardless, he doubted any of that is what Roman needed to hear.

“I trusted him. He’d said it’d been the right decision when I made it. And I believed him.” Roman scoffs.

Virgil frowns, cautiously sitting a few feet away from Roman. He chooses not to look him in the eye, treating him as if he’s an easily-startled wild creature.

“Y’know, he and I are going through a bit of a rough patch. He’s trying his best, I know he is. But take it from me--sometimes someone’s best isn’t always good enough. And I think it’s okay if it...takes time for you to forgive Patton.”

“No!”

“No?”

“I mean,” Roman lets out a frustrated scream, “I don’t know! Before, there was a script, a stage, parts to play. Ones I had intimately memorized! But it’s as if it’s before the curtain rises before the opening show and the director has thrown out the script completely. He expects me after years of practice to perform something I’ve never seen--that even he has no concept of what it looks like and h-how is any actor expected to perform in such conditions?”

A light-bulb finally goes off in Virgil’s head.

“You’re...angry at Thomas, aren’t you?”

Roman flinches as he’d been struck, throwing his body backwards harshly against the tree. He looks hardly affected by it as he scrambles quickly to his feet.

“Wh-what? No! That’s absurd!” Roman protests, “I’m not angry at Thomas--”

“But you are,” Virgil interrupts, rising to his feet, “You’re angry at both Patton and Janus, yeah, but they’re just targets to throw your misplaced anger at. Because you don’t want to admit it’s actually Thomas--”

“Yes, because you’re wrong, Mary Mary Q-quite Misconstrued!” Roman puffs up his chest, trying to keep his head high, “I--I’d never, I can’t hate Thomas--”

“Whoa, I didn’t say you hated him,” Virgil says, gently tugging Roman’s hands into his own, “there’s a difference between being mad at someone for something, and hating them.”

Roman looks at him with almost a wild gaze to his eyes, so close to almost hyperventilating. Virgil can almost see the invisible cracks in Roman’s skin, his multitude of facades peeling away before Virgil’s eyes. He looks at Roman and sees himself.

“I used to think they were the same thing,” Virgil begins, “But they’re not. Hate is when you abhor ill will towards someone, when you wish them dead or worse. Anger...anger is just a form of fear. And it’s okay to feel and experience that anger, you don’t have to repress it.”

“I’m not scared of Thomas,” Roman scoffs, his gaze drawn to the forest floor rather than Virgil.

“But you are afraid that if Thomas can accept Janus and possibly Remus, then he could just as easily change his mind regarding you, right?” Virgil questions, “You’re afraid because all you've ever done has been in Thomas’ best interest and suddenly now you’re being told all it’s done is hurt him. You’re afraid but you don’t want to admit it, so you turn to anger instead because that’s better than being scared, right?”

“I’m not…” Roman trails off, clenching his jaw. Virgil is fully expecting to get punched by the way his body tenses up. Roman does lunge towards him just then, arms flailing out. Virgil doesn’t even have a chance to raise his arms up in defense before he gets an armful of blubbering prince once more.

“I’m supposed to be Thomas’ hero, he told me I was, but what if I’m not? W-what if I never was? And--and I have to be good, Virgil, I can’t be evil--”

Roman lets it all go then. It’s a tidal wave of anxiety and fears, of self-doubt and self-deprecation. Almost any other person would become overwhelmed by how much perturbation Roman’s kept hidden all these years. But Virgil is Anxiety, his realm is terror and trepidation. He’s experienced every fear-induced thought and more under the sun. He understands it better than perhaps anyone else ever could.

He knows Roman will most likely clam up after today. That later on, they’ll need to address these things in detail and take care of the bruises mottling his skin. Roman will need encouragement to rebuild his confidence and to turn away from self-destructive habits. Both of which are things that Virgil struggles with all too well. He knows it to feel as impossible as walking across a tightrope blindfolded. Right now, however, all Roman needs is for someone to listen.

And so listen Virgil does.

#thomas sanders #sanders sides #virgil sanders #roman sanders #prinixety #kat writes

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mutilatedmadonna · 4 years ago

Text

A Heart To Heart Conversation (Not Literally Jesus Christ Where Did You Even Get That)

YOOOOOO made it with one hour to spare but ya girl still has her submission for the @secret-shifters gift exchange! This is for the lovely and talented @hiddendreamer67 who I was so fucking excited to write for! Also side note, I started a fic before this one but it was taking too long for my taste so I popped out this sucker instead. That being said like............why waste a perfectly good fic.............why not finish it eventually...........and still gift it to her since it’s techinically her prompt lmaoooo

I will go back and edit this post to include the AO3 link when I publish it :3c

Anyways

Warnings: Mild depictions of gore, fearplay; obviously, it’s all I know how to write whoops

Some people are great talkers, others are fantastic listeners. Some listen so well, in fact, they’re willing to destroy a government lab for you.

“Stop, please, I don’t want to hurt you!”

As if Derrick stood a fucking chance against the massive creature that was currently inching closer to him, crouched low to fit within the compound’s hallways. The alarm ringing was making his head pound, an unfortunate addition to his dizziness he’d been overcome with as soon as he saw the first body. Well, bodies. It had wiped out nearly every scientist and researcher in that sector as soon as it was freed from its cage, growling and hissing all the while as it dug its teeth and nails into the panicking humans. How it escaped at all was still a mystery and probably forever would be. As soon as it clawed its way through the protective lockdown doors into gen pop, all hell really broke loose. Guards tried and failed to take it down, hoping to wound the monster at best so that it could be recontained, but even as more backup arrived with heavier artillery, they never stood a chance. It was fast, it was strong, it was pissed, and it seemed to have a taste for blood and bones.

He didn’t know if it had any sort of plan beyond escaping the observational cage it had been trapped in for years, seemingly going into halls and sectors at random to slaughter the hapless scientists seeking refuge. The only reason Derrick had survived this long was simply because he ran and he continued to run. There was no use trying to hide, it was too good at tracking, so instead he did his damnedest to stay ahead of it. It had been working pretty well until he was stopped by the door at the last hall, a dead end to safety potentially. The only problem being his fucking keycard wasn’t high enough clearance to open it. He could hear it getting closer, hear the screams and crunch of bodies and deep growls that echoed all around. His breathing became more ragged the louder the sounds grew, knowing it was just one final turn away from being at the far end of the hall with a straight shot right to Derrick. No, no, no, he didn’t want to die like this. Not at the hands of this beast, not at the hands of...shit, what he thought was almost his friend.

It was his job to observe the creature in its confinement at night and take excruciating notes about every sigh and twitch it might make. It was truly as boring as it sounded, especially when the creature was awake a majority of his shift but only laid on the floor, quiet and still. It looked depressed and Derrick didn’t blame it. It had long since been locked away before he had even started at the organization, subjected to trials and tests day in and day out for hours so that the scientists could jot down these amazing discoveries. He had no idea what they planned on doing with all this data they were collecting given that this whole place was top secret, the creature certainly never meant to see the light of day. Or rather, people were never meant to see the creature. It’d cause mass hysteria. So, one evening, a few hours into the terribly dull silence he started talking aloud. Not to anyone in particular and not about anything exciting, just idle chit chat with the wall, really.

He never expected the creature to perk up at the sound of his voice, eyeing him curiously as he continued on. He certainly never expected to turn his head back towards the massive bay window to see it sitting much closer than before. Still watching him with wide, yellow eyes and tilting its head when he quickly shut his mouth. It had never moved so close before, hell it never even showed interest in him before beyond a few glances when he’d first enter the small overhanging room. At the same time, it didn’t appear aggressive or annoyed with his mindless ramblings. In fact, when he had stayed quiet for a minute during their staring contest, it chirped at him. Like it was...encouraging him to talk again. So he did, nervously at first before getting back into the flow of whatever random thought he had at the moment. And every time the creature would just sit and listen, its full attention on Derrick, with the occasional dozing off in the midst of his longer topics. He wasn’t sure how much it actually understood him. After all, it never listened to any directions it was given during another trial, but then again that could have just been out of spite and defiance. It didn’t speak English to his knowledge as it had never once given him a reply, but that didn’t mean it didn’t know it.

It never really responded, but there were quite a few times it would react to whatever he was saying. He theorized it was basing most of its assumptions off of whatever emotion he was portraying in his speeches. When he was visibly upset about some incident with Travis down in aquatics, it would whine. When he was excited about some great news he was dying to share with someone, it would chirp. When he was exhausted for one reason or another, unable to keep his eyes open or his stories coherent, it would purr. Almost as if it was trying to lull him to sleep, which it succeeded in every time with its soft white noise. If he were to be honest, he genuinely looked forward to his evening shift just about every day. Derrick could get so much shit out of his head and off his chest without having to worry about what the creature would think about him later. Maybe this was just a trick of the mind, but...it almost seemed just as happy to see him as soon as he would appear in that bay window, immediately twitching its ears up and moving closer.

Clearly, the mutual bond was not reciprocated.

Stupid, stupid, stupid, why the fuck would the creature like him? He was just another human that stared at him for science and soon enough he’d be just another human ground under its palm until his organs burst. Perhaps it just liked hearing the sound of his voice, anything being better than the silence it was constantly surrounded in, or maybe it had always been sizing him up for a snack. He had never written any of these emotional reactions down. He didn’t...well, it was hard to put in the right words, but he just didn’t want his superiors to have that knowledge that could understand feelings for the most part. That it appeared to like him. That it could be docile. Almost like he was trying to protect it from more severe and psychological tests they would surely run. He wondered if things would be different if he actually did report his findings, like if they could have prevented whatever triggered its rage strong enough to rip down doors and walls.

It was creeping closer now, claws clicking along the concrete floor. It was absolutely soaked in blood, especially around its mouth and hands. The way its tail jerked side to side reminded him of an irritated cat, which he didn’t take as a good sign. It wasn’t like Derrick actually had something to protect himself with like he so claimed. His bluff was called in an instant and it made a throaty rumble in response to his threat. It had been difficult to see at a distance with the flashing, red light acting almost as a cheap strobe, but now that it was only a few yards away, he could very clearly tell there was something hanging from its mouth. Something large and dripping and red and oh Christ it was a body. He hoped the poor bastard wasn’t alive anymore for mercy’s sake, firmly clamped between its jaws and impaled on its fangs. Was that a sign of things to come for him? He pressed as much as he could against the lock door in a vain attempt to somehow phase through to the other side and reach safety. With no such luck, he slid down to sit on the floor instead and covered his head with his arms curling in tightly on himself. He was shaking something terrible and tears still managed to find a way to escape his shut eyes. This was never how he imagined he’d meet his end, but either way he didn’t want to see it coming. Maybe if it did like him just a smidge, it would grant him a quick and painless death. He doubted it, though. It sounded like it enjoyed the struggles of its prey far too much.

Derrick could tell when it was hovering right above him. Its shadow engulfed him, blood dripped steadily into a puddle in front of him, spreading out across the floor until it actually touched his shoes. Fuck, he couldn’t help the sob that escaped him. He was scared. Strangely enough, it didn’t...do anything to him as seconds ticked by agonizingly slow. Staring at him, he presumed? Just how it would when there was a safety window between them. Something heavy landed in front of him with a disgusting squish, splattering more blood onto him. When the silence stretched on again, he hesitantly cracked open an eye to see what was supposedly laying at his feet and immediately wished he didn’t.

It was fucking Travis. Or what was left of him, anyways, torn to shreds and missing a few vital chunks from his body. Derrick wanted to throw up, but his throat was already choked up with more panicked cries. He looked away from the corpse, not wanting to take in anymore of the gory details and instead looked at the face of the creature. It didn’t look upset in the slightest, not like how angered it had been dismembering every other unlucky human in its path. Instead, it just stared back at him with those same wide, yellow eyes, tilting its head at Derrick’s lack of reaction. It leaned down to nudge the body closer to him with its nose, pushing it against his legs and rumbling curiously. No, no, no, get it off, get it off!

“S-stop! I don’t fucking w-want it!” He cried, kicking his legs out to shove the remains away from him. What was he supposed to do with it anyways!? Why was it showing off its latest kill, like it was seeking his approval, like it--

...like it did it for him.

The night before last, he and Travis got into it again in the break room. He was already pissed about being transferred to the division the creature was in and leaving his previous work behind. It could have been because Derrick happened to be the only one there or because he was one of the younger hires, the asshole decided to take his frustration out on him instead. Snide comments turned into full on insults and all Derrick wanted was some goddamn coffee before he clocked out. Waiting for the machine to finish brewing wasn’t worth it at this point, he could pick up a cup somewhere else on the way home. He tried to leave, but Travis blocked the doorway and he, not being in the fucking mood, tried to shoulder past him instead. It was very much not appreciated as the next thing he knew he was being pinned against the wall, the lapels of his coat clenched in his fist. He was absolutely ready to throw hands with this guy before he backed off suddenly, another coworker entering the break room with a cheery greeting and total obliviousness.

Maybe he should have told his superiors about the incident, but he chose instead to vent about it to the creature the next night. As soon as he mentioned when it got physical, its ears flatten back and it growled, though Derrick was too consumed by his own emotions to really care about its apparent threat display. After that was when it had clawed its way to freedom and started its rampage. That...that couldn’t have been what set it off though, right? There had to be other catalysts surely. However, it didn’t change the fact how eagerly it was presenting the mauled corpse of his aggressor, almost as if to say look! For you!

Did that mean...it really did understand him? It understood enough that Travis had tried to attack him and he was not his biggest fan right now. He had been really worked up during that little rant, too, probably making it sound worse than it actually was. Either way, it didn’t like that and took matters into its own hands. Or, mouth rather. This must be its interpretation of protecting him, killing the threat before it could strike again. Good thing he wasn’t one to usually bad mouth coworkers or the creature possibly could have had its massacre sparked by Derrick being mildly annoyed that Sarah always forgot to clean out the coffee filter when she was done.

The creature looked at the body as it was kicked back towards it, whining slightly. Was it upset that he didn’t accept its gracious tribute? That wouldn’t start another fit of anger, would it? He thought it just might when he scoot forward those remaining few injuries to press its face against Derrick’s trembling body. Its bloody mouth transferred an unfortunate amount of gore onto his clothing, but he had other things to worry about, like how close its fucking mouth full of fangs was to his more important organs. The nose buried into his chest rubbed gently, trailing up his neck and to the side of his head. Purrs rumbled with each quiet breath, taking care not to accidentally deafen him. He still cried out when the creature invaded his personal space, though he didn’t have much room to struggle as he was pinned between the door and the face. He whimpered regardless, trying to turn his head to avoid being nuzzled and ultimately failing.

If he thought the impromptu cuddling was bad, he was in for a worse shock when the creature pulled back just a hair, foolishly thinking that it finally had its fill of smelling him or scenting him or what the fuck ever. Of course it wouldn’t be that easy, not when a black tongue darted out from smiling lips to lick him from his stomach to the crown of his head in one, quick swipe. Now that made him actually scream out some sort of pathetic, strangled sound, squirming about as he was lapped again and again and again.

“N-no, don’t, p-please!” He begged uselessly, “D-don’t kill m-me, please, p-please, don’t e-eat me!”

Much to his surprise, the creature actually pulled away from him after that last remark, tilting its head questioningly again. While Derrick was in the middle of his panic attack, doing his damnedest to keep his cries from becoming too harsh, it crossed its arms and rested its head on them, watching as he tried to collect himself to no avail. When it seemed like he was starting to slip deeper into his episode, it started to purr. Quiet and soft, a nice noise to help drown out that increasingly annoying siren. And the worst part was that he really was actually starting to calm down. Not that he liked being so scared he couldn’t breathe, but it was the sheer fact that it was the creature bringing him comfort when it was the one who terrified him in the first place. His sobs quieted down after a few minutes and when they were ragged breaths instead, it started to chitter. Little chirps and purrs and throaty noises he could only assume were directed at him since that’s where it was staring so intently, though the sounds meant nothing to him. Was that how it felt when he used to talk to it for hours on end?

Was it trying to talk to him to soothe him, because him talking to it made it feel relaxed?

He supposed their time together was a much needed break from being poked and prodded and tested and it started to associate Derrick with that mini luxury. The talking probably gave it a sense of company considering he had no fucking clue if and where other members of its species resided. Maybe this friendship wasn’t as one sided as he thought. Maybe it cared so much about the stupid little human that would blather his entire shift that it was willing to rip the facility inside out just to get rid of his bully. One by one his muscles started to uncoil their tension until he was sagging against the door. His breathing was still labored, but he could at least get a steady breath through his nose rather than his gasping mouth. A minute tremor in his hands was all that was left of his previous quivering and his headache was now replaced with a cloudy exhaustion. The creature was still making its imitation noises, only tapering off when Derrick managed to raise his head up and look at it.

“You won’t hurt me...will you?” His voice was so small and weak, it was a good thing the creature had fairly strong hearing.

It responded by bumping its nose into his chest again, smiling all the while. Affection. It liked him. Hesitantly, he raised a hand and gingerly placed it on the creature’s cheek, giving it a tiny pat.

“...you...you know we’re fucked when the army comes...right?” They were a last resort when all other failsafes went south and had yet to be deactivated. It wasn’t their job to find and help survivors, it was their job to make sure nothing about this event was leaked into the public. Be it the experiment itself or scientists who could potentially blackmail the directors.

It shifted to push itself back into a crouched position, lowering towards him with its mouth open. He flinched and turned away which seemed to be exactly what it wanted, clamping down on the back of his shirt and jacket and narrowly missing giving his back a nasty scrape. Derrick all but squeaked in surprise when he felt himself be lifted up, dangling a few dozen feet in the air. It was like he had the same POV as the creature, watching its hands paw at the locked door until claws were able to scratch through the metal in large gouges. Wiring and mechanics were exposed as a result and with a little more tearing and pulling, it opened the entry wide enough for it to slip through, Derrick in tow. Huh. Guess keycards we’re always a necessity.

He hadn’t the faintest idea where they were headed, but it seemed like the creature had a general sense of direction and so far it was taking the correct route to the surface, to outside. For the moment, he didn’t have a single thing to say and simply let himself sway with the creature’s gait. Its intentions with him after they escaped into the world above were pretty vague at best, but he couldn’t really find the energy to care right now. As long as the military hadn’t beaten them to the exit, they’d be fine.

They could talk later about their really unconventional future later.

#secret shifters 2020 #g/t #gaint/tiny #fearplay #macro/micro #g/t fearplay #my fics #oh my god i hope you like it #im sorry if the paragraphs are kind clunky???#google docs and tumblr and ao3 all format them differently otz #also my beta is asleep so guess what hasn't been proofread because this girl has no reading comprehension #MEEEEEEEEE #but also like for real i hope you like it #and if not #i give you permission to curse me

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ickle-ronniekins · 5 years ago

Text

tongue tied

request from anon: Asgfaafhjlkfsdgj I loved your George x reader where they’re shy and flustered it’s so cute!!!! Could you write one with a similar shy reader but with Fred? Accept Fred’s just extra loud and funny when around her to impress her?

pairing: fred x gryffindor fem!reader

word count: 4.9k yikes

A/N: I LOVE FRED AND GEORGE WITH FLUSTERED READERS, GAAAAD, i’m sort of emotional, if you can’t already tell—also, i’m allowed to make fun of choir geeks because i, too, am a choir geek and know precisely just how dorky it is

tag list: @mintlibri @seppys-return-to-madness @how-do-life-does @fopdoodledane @fredd-weasley @iprobablyshipit91 @semmelsemi @bobduncanlover @cottageoflove @laneygthememequeen @snakesonaplane-7 @lupinsx @keoghans @helloallthethingsilove | message me if you’d like to be added my loves

Fred Weasley normally doesn’t even try this hard to impress someone—or anyone, for that matter.

But as of late, he’s been racking his brain and planning some over-the-top prank only to catch your attention—the shy, sweet Gryffindor girl who seems to have caught his eye when he found you, late one evening, sneaking out of the portrait hole in the common room.

“Where’re you off too this late?” he asked cheekily. “Shouldn’t you be asleep?”

You thought about this, not sure if you should respond, but then decided it’d be best to just tell him the truth—guys like him would do their best to find out, anyway. His heart soared when he realized that you already knew a bit about him, “You’re not the only one who sneaks to the kitchens to grab a late night snack.”

He’d always found you pretty; perhaps, maybe you were the prettiest girl Gryffindor had even seen. And now, knowing that the pretty girl in Gryffindor tower also tends to break the rules from time to time, he finds himself head over heels.

Since that moment, he’s been focused on one thing and one thing only—get you to notice him. Or, at least, get you two talking.

But why is it, he asks himself, that the one time he wants to impress you with some type of outrageous ordeal, it’s the one he gets caught doing? Although, he admits to his twin later that evening, replacing some classroom entrances with biting doorknobs in the hopes that Malfoy or one of his cronies gets their fingers sliced off was probably going a little bit too far—especially when Filch is on the receiving end of it. Even George can agree on that.

McGonagall grabs a fistful of Fred’s robes and pushes him toward the stairs with George on her other side. “You’ve given me no choice, Mr. Weasley. My office, Saturday morning—detention.”

“C’mon, Professor—” Fred says, craning his neck over the crowd to try and find you, “We were just having a laugh—we would’ve stopped someone anyway before it got too far, promise!”

The Headmistress cocks her head to the side and folds her arms across her chest. “Saturday, the both of you.”

The crowd begins to roar with raucous laughter as Fred and George bask in all their glory on the staircase, fellow Gryffindors and students from other houses cheering for them despite their upcoming weekend in detention. And then he sees you—pressed against the wall near the entrance of the Great Hall, standing beside some statue, trying not to be noticed, but watching the both of them with—is it admiration, or confusion, perhaps? He just hopes it isn’t disgust. Fred can’t read your expression over the crowd, and it’s killing him. The students begin to disperse, and when he finally makes his way through the sea of people to where you’re standing, you’re already gone.

He finds himself worried now, which is, to say the least, very unlike him. Fred Weasley? Worried? The word isn’t even in his day to day vernacular. But has this very funny—albeit, sort of stupid—prank gone over the top? Was it a bit too much? Has he scared away the shy girl he was trying so desperately to pursue, and he didn’t stop to think about his actions?

He follows his twin begrudgingly back to class.

“You two really could’ve caused severe damage,” Hermione tells them later at the feast, “people have gone to St. Mungo’s for treatment after being on the receiving end of a biting doorknob! You’re lucky McGonagall only gave you—”

“Oi, give it a rest, Hermione,” Ron says and she turns a bright shade of pink, “they were only having a laugh, weren’t they?”

Fred slumps back in his seat, picking at the food on his plate. “Who’s idea was this, anyway?” Ginny pipes up.

George, Ron, and Harry all turn to look at Fred, who grins at them cheekily and says, “Yeah, yeah—not one of my brighter ideas,”

Ginny smacks Fred playfully with her book. “What on earth—”

“He’s got a crush to impress.”

Fred shoots a look at his twin, who’s cackling in between bites of a cauldron cake, when Ron, Ginny, Harry, and Hermione all peer at Fred quizzically. George nods in the direction of you, sitting at the end of the Gryffindor table with a few fellow friends, laughing slightly over something in someone’s notebook.

“No way,” Ron laughs haughtily, coughing a bit on a piece of half-chewed tart, “Y/N? She’s the exact complete opposite of you.”

Fred digests this. “Meaning?”

“Well, for starters, she’s not a complete git—”

When the boys fall into a fit, Fred flicks some food at the three of them, casually placing his hands behind his head, as if this is going to help relax him. It doesn’t. “Well opposites attract, don’t they, Ronniekins?”

Skittishly, Ron steals a glance at Hermione, who has seemingly chosen to ignore the conversation, as she is now immersed in her spellbook in front of her. Ron falls very silent and turns a bright shade of red, resembling that of a tomato, as he sinks into his seat.

“Besides,” Fred tells the group, taking a long sip of his pumpkin juice, “we’ve got more in common than you think.”

Harry laughs when George says, “Do tell us.”

“Y/N likes to cause a stir now and again. Bend the rules a bit.”

“And how,” Ginny begins inquiringly, trying her best to hide her interest, “d’you know this?”

Fred pauses and considers this for a moment. He reckons that you probably won’t be the most happy to know that there are other Gryffindors besides him that have learned of your late night sneak outs to the kitchens. He decides to keep it to himself. “I have my ways.”

“Well, good luck, mate,” Ron says, color flooding his face, “because the likeliness of you two snogging in a corner somewhere is about as likely as you and George becoming Prefects.”

The table roars with laughter, and Fred notices you turn your head, along with other students, to see, again, what all the ruckus is about. As his friends continue to cackle maniacally, Fred’s eyes meet yours, and he freezes. It’s a very fleeting moment before your eyes are darting toward the food in front of you, trying to avoid any and all eye contact. But when you look up again, Fred’s still peering at you. You furrow your brow slightly, and then send him a soft smile from across the way.

His heart is hammering in his chest, but he sends a smile back, as well.

Okay, so he hasn’t completely lost his chances—not yet, anyway. You’re not completely repulsed by the boy who lands himself in detention more often than not, even if his latest prank was one of the most reckless he’s ever pulled. Fred snaps back to reality when George is teasingly pinching his cheeks, and Harry’s shaking his shoulders. “Oh shove off, you lot,” he replies as the hysteria finally dies down. He swears he sees you glance over at him again.

The steps up to the Owlery are slippery because of the light snow dusting Hogwarts awoke too, but it doesn’t stop Fred from flying up there to send a letter to his brother in Romania.

To his surprise, though, he catches you at the top, hastily writing a name on a bit of parchment, and it’s probably the thickest letter he’s ever seen.

“Oh,” he says, taken aback by your presence, “sorry—didn’t realize anyone else was up here,”

“No worry,” you reply with a shy smile, handing the letter to your owl and patting him softly before he takes off, blending in with the snow covered grounds.

With the realization that his friends are far away in the castle and would have no chance to tease him about his flushed face when he sees you, Fred seizes this opportunity of alone time together. “Quite a long letter you’ve written.”

You turn to look at him as you swing your bag over your shoulder, kind of shocked that he’d noticed the length of a letter not meant for him. “Oh—erm—yes, I do tend to ramble on quite a bit when writing to loved ones,”

Fred feels his insides tighten, and why his mind immediately goes to boyfriend, he doesn’t know—but he hates it. You continue before he can ask anything, “I’m Muggleborn, you see.”

Fred did not know this. His eyes pop open in admiration, and he’s excited that he’s finally learning more about you.

“I’m sure your family has lots of questions.”

“My mum, yes,” you reply, nodding your head in agreement, “she just likes weekly updates, you know, to make sure classes are going well, I’m staying safe—that I haven’t been.. eaten by a dragon, or anything.”

Fred laughs at this, taking you by surprise. He runs a hand through his hair and tells you, “Something all Muggle parents should worry about, of course.”

“Of course,” you bite your lip, pausing to consider the conversation. After a moment, you continue, “However—if you’re going to go, getting eaten by a dragon is probably the most wicked, d’you reckon?”

When he wandered up to the Owlery that afternoon and spotted you, discussing being eaten alive by dragons was not exactly how he expected the conversation to go. But he took it. He was talking to you, anyway. He replies, “I mean—can’t be any less exciting than being pummeled by the Whomping Willow,”

A laugh escapes your lips, and it’s sweet as sugar, as far as Fred is concerned. He can feel his entire body go numb at the sound of it.

You nervously tuck a piece of hair behind your ear and say to him, “Hope McGonagall isn’t giving you and your brother that hard of a time in detention.”

Fred feels his face flush red, but—it’s not like the entire bloody school hadn’t seen them get scolded, right? But hearing you say it, recognize it—it makes his entire body tense up.

“Oh, you—you saw that, did you?”

“Think the entire school did, I’m afraid.” You both pause, taking this in, and Fred laughs nervously. “But, hey—it’s not like anyone got hurt, right?”

“Right,” he replies, finally remembering the letter he needs to send. He places it into the beak of a barn owl, who hoots appreciatively and flies off into the sky. “I suppose we’re used to it, and I reckon McGonagall is, too.”

You peer down at your shoes, doing your best to try and suppress quite a large grin, and Fred notices this. You both make your way down from the Owlery, not speaking, but the silence is comfortable, and Fred graciously offers you his hand when you nearly slip on the way down. Gratefully, you take it, and he’s pretty sure his heart stops beating for a moment. When you both enter the castle, he has to stop himself from melting in front of you when you remove your hat and gloves, noticing the pinky-gold color of the tips of your ears and nose. He’s brought back to reality when he hears a cackle from the Great Hall.

“Well,” you tell him, removing your coat and slinging it over your shoulder, “was nice chatting with you,”

Fred is sad your time together for the day is coming to an end, but he reckons it’s enough to get him through until you undoubtedly bump into one another later in the common room, “Yeah, it was—maybe next time you can tell me some other things Muggle parents worry about when it comes to the Wizarding world.”

Without skipping a beat, you reply, “Like getting fingers bitten off by a biting doorknob,”

He furrows his brow and laughs slightly, unable to read your expression until you, too, giggle sweetly. He swallows thickly before you say, “Well—have a g’night, Fred.”

“You, too.”

He doesn’t even care if you catch him watching you—he can’t help but keep his eyes on you as you walk swiftly up the steps, until you disappear from his sight completely.

His heart is still hammering in his chest when he thinks of your hand wrapped inside of his, and he can hardly focus on all of the questions coming his way from his siblings. Physically, he’s seated in the Great Hall, his chin resting on his hand, a slight glaze over his eyes—but his heart and mind have followed you all the way back to the Gryffindor common room.

Fred is absolutely loving all of the free periods he’s getting this term as he watches all of the younger students speed off hurriedly to their next glasses. He and George stand together, nothing but free time in front of them, when Ron comes trudging down the corridor with a glazed look on his face, Harry and Hermione on either side of him. No doubt coming straight from Divination.

Hermione waves quickly before heading off in a different direction, when Ron and Harry bump into the twins and lean against the wall. “Bloody hell, that woman drains me,”

“Your choice to take Divination, mate,” George says and pats his younger brother on the shoulder, “could’ve told you you’re out of your bloody mind.”

“Where’re you two off to, then?” Harry asks.

“Free period,” the twins chorus together, and both Ron and Harry grunt miserably. Fred continues, “Have some plans up our sleeves—reckon a bit of mischief this afternoon would do us some good, eh, Georgie?”

But before George can answer, Harry elbows Fred a little bit harder than expected, and before Fred can yell out in pain, Ron nods toward the other end of the corridor. Fred turns around, and the pain in his ribcage is flooded by nerves—he’s not sure which he’d rather have, to be honest—but he spots you, chatting up a Ravenclaw, a pile of books in your hands. All pain seems to subside at the sight of your toothy smile.

“On second thought..” Fred says to nobody in particular, leaving the boys behind as he hastily makes his way through the crowd, running on not much other than coffee and adrenaline. “Hey, Y/N!”

You turn toward him, surprised to see him clambering his way through fellow students in order to get to you. “Hi, Fred,” you say brightly, reaching out to fix his askew tie, and he’s pretty sure that the entire world can hear his heart pounding. You realize what you’re doing, and quickly retreat, looking around the corridors as if the sheer fact of you brushing your hands against Fred Weasley’s clothes will kill you with embarrassment. He can’t help but grin goofily at your nervous state.

“How are you? No dragons today?”

You bite down a smile, and Fred knows he’s said the right thing. “No—not today. Though I daresay I narrowly escaped one in the girls lavatory before.”

“So that’s where they’re hidden,” he replies, elated beyond belief to hear that laugh of yours again. The unmistakable sound of mock laughter from his friends bounces off the walls as they walk past you both—albeit, rather lethargically.

Fred rolls his eyes before sticking a hand out, as if he’s displaying them, “My lovely brothers,”

George, Ron, and Harry all introduce themselves to you before George begins, much to Fred’s dismay, “Might I just say, Y/N, that the effect you have on him is wonderfully entertaining, if not comical—”

He’s cut off by a sharp blow to his shin, but he laughs through gritted teeth. You grin inquiringly, “And.. what kind of effect is this exactly?” you ask Fred, who opens his mouth to speak, but sputters.

“Oh—erm—nothing? I mean—they’re just having a bit of a.. a laugh,” he tells you, suddenly feeling incredibly uncomfortable in his own skin, and this annoys him beyond belief. Maybe it’s because he’s worried his twin will spill his guts, or maybe it’s due to the fact that Ron and Harry are now admiring your beauty too, or maybe it’s because he’s afraid the mere expression on his face will tell you everything you need to know.

“Now you’ve got him tongue tied!” Ron calls to you from the end of the corridor, where the boys are now disappearing. “Fred Weasley.. tongue tied.. the bloke who can never shut the hell up, who’d’ve thought it?” Their voices float for a moment between you both, until the bustling sounds of other students drowns it out.

Fred kicks at the ground, nerves engulfing him, as you wait with baited breath for whatever he’s about to say. “Sorry about them,” he tells you as he slams his hands into his pockets, “they’re a bunch of gits..” Looking to change the subject as quickly as possible, he asks you, “So—you free for a stroll?”

Thankfully, it seems to Fred as though you’ve forgotten all about his brothers’ snide comments. To his dismay, however, you reply begrudgingly with a twinge of guilt to your voice, “Oh, I’m sorry, Fred, unfortunately—have got double Transfiguration—but I’m now second guessing my choices of why I signed up for this in the first place..” Your voice drifts off and Fred feels as though he’s forcing himself to hear more, he wants to hear your voice more, “See you soon? Stay out of trouble.”

You raise a hand to him and continue down the emptying corridor, and he watches you enter McGonagall’s classroom. The Deputy Head is standing on the opposite side of the hall, chatting animatedly with Professor Flitwick before heading inside to begin her lesson. Suddenly, a weird feeling floods through Fred’s body—is he actually thinking—? No, he couldn’t be, he has a free period now, and why would he give that up?

Yet, he finds his legs carrying him across the hall and his mouth is sputtering out words to McGonagall before he can barely even register what he’s doing.

“You look like death.”

Fred slumps into an armchair in the common room, barely able to keep his eyes open, and chucks a throw pillow at Ron. “Thanks, mate,”

George sits down beside his twin. “Where’ve you been? You ran off and we haven’t seen you since!”

“Double Transfiguration,” Fred says sleepily, resting his head on the side of the chair, and not opening his eyes.

“Double Transfiguration?” Harry and Ron say together. “Since when d’you take Double Transfiguration?”

When Fred opens his eyes, he can already tell they probably look incredibly bloodshot. Next to him, George is grinning at him cheekily.

“Look at you,” George begins mockingly, his eyes narrow slits due to his suppressed laughter, “taking up extra classes just to spend time with this girl.”

The unmistakable sound of Harry snorting bounces off of the walls. “Blimey, there’s not enough gold in the world—you’re off your rocker, Fred.”

“Have you two even kissed yet?”

“No, Ronald,” Fred replies a bit angrily, “we haven’t. Not that it’s any of your business, but—‘m taking my time. Don’t want to push her into anything. I’m still trying to feel it out. This isn’t something you can rush into, lads. Reckon I’ll get her in the end.”

“In your dreams,” Ron says quietly through gritted teeth, and he’s stunned when he receives a thick whack! to his head from his older brother.

But Fred doesn’t care what they think. Even in his delirious state, all he can remember is the twinkle in your eye when he slid in the seat next to yours after McGonagall gave him the go ahead to enroll in her afternoon classes. All he can think about is the confused, flustered smile you gave him when he said, ‘Hi there, darling,’ as he opened his textbook and McGonagall began her lesson. And all that’s flooding through his head, now, as you climb through the portrait hole looking incredibly elated, is the amount of times he caught you, not paying attention to the lesson in front of you, but instead peering at him with dazed eyes and a lazy grin.

It’s strange to see the Great Hall so empty, with the exception of just a few students. He’s going to be so easily caught if he’s found. Fred is already sort of regretting this plan.

Until he spots you, that is.

When you walk into the Great Hall, he’s thrown off by seeing you in jeans and a blouse instead of your school robes—something he’s never noticed before, since you normally spend your weekends in quiet sanctuaries, and he’s off creating some sort of chaotic mischief.

“Hey,” he says brightly, bumping gently into you.

You shoot glances in every direction. “Fred,” you whisper, confused, eyes shifty, “what are you doing here?”

“Just joining you for the afternoon.”

He’s feeling confident today. The norm. You fold your arms across your chest and ask him, “Oh really?”

“Yeah, really.”

“And what part do you sing?”

Fred hadn’t really thought this through. When he found out you were a member of the choir, his first thought was that choir is pretty much the dorkiest thing anyone could be a part of, and then he thought—if your singing voice is as beautiful as your laugh, he was in for quite an adventure.

“Erm—you know,” he trips over his words, slamming his hands into his pockets, “the—alto.. tenor—been singing since I was little.”

You nod sarcastically and bite your lip and make your way toward the front, where the rest of the choir is now congregating. The other members eye him conspicuously.

“Um, Y/N,” a Slytherin girl calls over to you, looking rather peeved off, “what’s he doing here?”

You fidget uncomfortably in your seat. “He’s—just—joking, it’s alright, Lena, lay off,”

Fred snorts embarrassingly and peers over your shoulder at your sheet music.

When Professor Flitwick walks in, Fred scrunches next to you, trying not to let his very tall frame and bright red hair stand out. So far, so good. He bites down a grin when he notices the nervous twitch of your eyes. It’s just about the cutest thing he’s ever seen. Then you turn toward him and whisper through gritted teeth, “Just what do you think you’re doing?”

“Just want to spend some more time with you,”

“And Double Transfiguration isn’t enough of a fill for you?”

“Can’t help myself.”

“You’re ridiculous, you are.”

“Don’t act like you don’t love my company.”

“Well—you certainly don’t make it very bloody difficult, do you?”

You look back down at your sheet music, fighting a smile, and Fred notices your cheeks turn a bright shade of pink.

Professor Flitwick taps his baton on his music stand and fixes his glasses before raising his hands to conduct. His squeaky voice echoes throughout the nearly empty Great Hall, “Let’s start with some warmups, shall we?”

And Fred’s right—your soft soprano range nearly has him melting into a puddle right next to you. He opens his mouth to belt out some obnoxious, offkey note, but is taken fully by surprise—you’ve actually left him silent. He can’t seem to find the words.

You turn toward him, furrowing your brow and stopping your vocal runs at once. Tentatively, you ask him, “What?”

Fred can feel his insides tighten at your gaze; Flitwick is saying something, but he doesn’t listen—he’s drowning in your eyes, your soft silky voice washing over him like a cool tide. He blinks. “N-nothing,” he begins sheepishly, clearing his throat, “—you’re going to leave me speechless, you are.”

“Weasley!”

Both of you jump at the sound of his name; Fred’s hand immediately grabs at your knee, and before he can even process what’s happening, he’s standing up amidst the students, still silent and sort of, well, flustered.

“What’re you doing here? You’re not in the choir.”

“Sorry, Professor,” Fred says as he removes himself from the congregated group, bouncing toward Flitwick. He places a hand on the back of his neck and says awkwardly, “Just had to come and see the most beautiful girl.”

The choir coos, and Fred is delighted to see that you’re still grinning like mad despite all of the eyes on you. You shake your head slowly, peering up at him over the top of your sheet music. Professor Flitwick squeaks, “Ah—yes, yes, we all adore a good love story, Mr. Weasley, but if you don’t mind, we’ve got a rehearsal to get to!”

“Yes, sir,” Fred replies, saluting his professor before making his way toward the exit of the Great Hall. And then, in a loud, sing-songy proclamation, a “Yes, siiir!” escapes his lips in an off key, pitchy, albeit—weirdly adorable—note.

And once more before he leaves completely, he spins around, instantly spotting you in the mess of the choir, not at all able to focus on the vocal runs Professor Flitwick has asked you to practice as a warmup. You’re still trying your best not to meet his gaze, but the tension is rising and eventually you lift your head, your eyes meeting with his, and he winks before vanishing in the corridor.

Fred is very, very nervous. Not only is the team playing Slytherin today, but you’re also in the stands. Watching. Spectating. Expecting something great, he presumes.

He knows this because of your prior conversation the two of you held in Transfiguration the day before.

“We’ve got it in the bag.”

“Slytherin’s got a good lineup this year.”

“Yeah, but Gryffindor’s better.”

That smile. Your damn smile. “Okay—impress me, then.”

He’s feeling particularly less confident than he ever has before, and he’s busy bouncing his feet up and down on the carpet as he tosses his broomstick between his hands. He didn’t eat breakfast. He’s running purely on caffeine and nerves alone.

The rest of the team meets up in the common room before heading down to the pitch. Ron, Hermione, and Ginny are all there, as well.

“What’s the matter with you?” Ginny asks him.

George slings an arm around his twin and answers for him, “Nerves.”

“Nerves?” Ron and Hermione chorus together. “Can you even properly feel nervous—you? Is that even.. possible?”

Fred shrugs his brother off of him as they begin to chuckle lightly. Then Ginny prods, “Cat got your tongue, Fred?”

He shrugs and kicks at the carpet.

It’s the first time in, well, forever, that Fred Weasley cannot seem to find the words to say.

“Merlin’s beard,” Ron says suddenly, a lightbulb going off in his head, “she’s left you.. speechless.”

“Has Freddie finally found a girl that actually makes him anxious?”

Their teasing and jokes don’t do anything to help him, and he’s finding it hard to sit still. Finally, Angelina leads the way to the pitch, and the cheers erupting from the stands send chills down Fred’s spine—you’re there, you have to be, right? Angelina elbows him curiously, “Dunno what’s going on with you and this girl—” she raises her eyebrows mockingly, “—but please, for Merlin’s sake, don’t let it affect your playing today, yeah?”

Great, thanks, no pressure at all, he thinks as he runs a hand nervously through his hair. To his left, he sees George, who rolls his eyes as if to say, Ignore her, and this helps Fred regain a little bit of his confidence.

During warmups, though, as the team flies aimlessly around the pitch and tosses the quaffle back and forth, Fred looks absolutely wrecked, and cannot seem to focus on anything except you—seated in between his sister and other fellow Gryffindors, your scarf wrapped tightly around your neck, your hands absentmindedly tapping against your knees, waiting for the match to begin.

All the players are hovering in the air, Fred can feel his teeth chittering, Malfoy is making some stupid joke about Harry, and Madam Hooch is walking out toward the middle of the pitch, just moments before the match is to finally begin.

But Fred, thoughts elsewhere, just needs to do it already, he reckons. He flies toward the Gryffindor section, his sister and teammates eyeing him suspiciously, and lands in the middle of the crowd—desperately searching the sea of eyes before him, but not finding the familiar pair he’s looking for.

And then he finds you.

And he’s fighting his way through spectators left and right, while the rest of his team calls to him from the pitch to hurry up, the match is about to begin, when he finally gets to you and places his hands on your shoulders.

It seems as though you’re saying this to him for the millionth time, but he doesn’t care. Your eyes flutter back and forth between him and the pitch, “Fred,” you begin softly, “what’re you doing?”

“Something I should’ve done a long time ago,” he replies breathlessly.

And he cups your chin in his hands and pulls you closer toward him, pressing his lips gently to yours. And there it is. Fireworks.

He can feel your shock against him, and he’s finding it hard to not smile completely against your lips. It’s slow and easy and warm, the way the tide feels after having swam all day—muscles de-tensing, body limp. He can feel your eyelashes brush against his cheekbones, your fingertips brush his hips. And slowly, very slowly, he pulls away, hovering for a moment before breaking completely.

This time, you’re the one who’s left speechless.

You know, the funny thing, Fred wants to tell everyone, is that when a kiss comes at the right time from the right girl, it can lighten the entire mood of the atmosphere, change your outlook on life—things of the like. It sounds dramatic in his mind, but he doesn’t care.

Interrupting the stillness between you both is a quick whack! to his head from the Quidditch referee, obviously annoyed at the delay in the beginning of the match. Fred rubs his head in the spot where it’s stinging and glances at you before erupting into laughter—there’s that nervousness again, the skittishness, your shy self shining through with rosy cheeks.

“Wait for me,” his lips brush against your ear.

You swallow thickly over a lump in your throat, listening intently. “What d’you mean?”

“Next time you sneak out,” he smiles at you, remembering that late night in the common room all those months ago, confidence now engulfing him yet again. “I reckon we’d have a bit of fun if I accompany you, yeah?”

#fred weasley #george weasley #fred and george weasley #weasley twins #weasley twins imagine #weasley twins fanfiction #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley reader insert #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley fanfic #fred weasley fanfiction #hp imagine #hp fanfiction #hp fanfic #ron weasley #ginny weasley #hermione granger #harry potter

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tay-is-writing · 4 years ago

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The Ferris Wheel — Mammon x Reader

Loosely based off of lesson 26-1 | Part of the Fair Dates Series Word Count: 1.3k Synopsis: Mammon drags you onto a Ferris wheel and you suddenly remember your fear of them Warnings: Description of a mild panic attack

“Heh, heh, heh. Nice… We managed to lose that little brat.” Mammon’s snarky laugh made you smile as the ride attendant closed the door to the passenger car. You were leaned against him, hands still stuck together, not that either of you were complaining.

“Don’t be so mean to him. He’s just a little demon. He’s actually kinda cute.”

“Cute!? That tiny menace is far from cute!” He let out a huff and shook his head. The neon lights from the ride did well to distort the color of his face, but you still detected a hint of a blush dusted over his cheeks. Your free hand couldn’t help but find itself pinching one of them.

“Hey! What’d you do that for ya jerk!?” A soft laugh escaped your mouth. You began to assure him that he was, in fact, the cutest person you knew when the ride jerked, and you began your ascent. Everything around you began to shrink as the two of you got closer and closer to the top. At least, you assumed, but after getting a few feet above the loading deck your eyes went straight to your shoes, and your grip on Mammon’s hand tightened. Of course, the poor boy remained blissfully oblivious to the situation at hand. The white-haired demon was simply excited you were holding his hand tighter. That had to mean you liked him, right? It wasn’t until the Ferris wheel stopped again to load more people, and your car sat at the top, swinging back and forth that he realized something was up.

“Check it out, MC! What a great view of Devildom at night. Just look at those lights…” He glanced over to see your body hunched over, shivering. Your eyes wouldn’t leave the spot of dirt that rested near the tip of your shoe. “MC, are you okay?” You were not okay. Frankly, you were terrified. Ferris wheels scared the shit out of you; they were practically giant death traps disguised as an enjoyable ride for couples and children. And yet here you were, swaying at the very top of one. The car let out small squeaks as the hinges rubbed together. This was it. This was the end. Not wanting to come off as pathetic, you let your vision be clouded as you desperately tried to not spill tears. Despite your best attempts, hot tears flooded forth. Oh god, what you’d give to be in any other situation than this. Not only were you sobbing from riding something designed for infants, but you were doing it in front of Mammon too. He hadn’t said anything through all of this, probably regretting being stuck with you at the moment. As if being a simple human couldn’t be the worst thing about you. Your chest tightened through your meltdown, and your sobs turned into heavy wheezes. A heavy pressure pushed into your back, warm and comforting.

“Hey, hey, just breathe for me, okay? You’re okay, you’re with me. I won’t let anything happen to you, promise.” You finally separated your eyes from the floor and met Mammon’s instead. He held your gaze as his free hand made its way to cup your face, thumb sweetly wiping away leftover tears hanging onto your eyes. “Just keep your eyes on me for now, okay? I’ve got you, and I’m not letting you go.” His voice was soft, a stark contrast to his regular loud and brash self. He patiently waited for your breathing to steady before speaking again, simply rubbing your face with his thumb to keep your attention on him. “What happened?”

You hesitated before answering, as part of you didn’t know how to respond to the question. “I- uh,” you stuttered out. Great, now you were a blubbering mess to top it all off. You could feel your head pounding from trying not to cry again and knew that you had snot pouring out of your nose. Still, his golden eyes were locked on yours, his hand still squeezed yours tight, and his free one held your face like it was the most precious thing in the world. And then, a laugh escaped your mouth. Not a cute little giggle, but what could only be described as the ugliest cackle that could exist. So many different emotions crowded you at once, and you couldn't quite figure out how your laughter managed to help you cope with them. Through your fit of hysteria, you had failed to realize the ride had finally come to an end. Mammon gave your hand a small tug and helped you out of the car, and you still hadn’t stopped laughing. He eventually led you to a bench and convinced you to sit down and catch your breath. Once the last fit of giggles died down, the two of you sat in silence, observing the fair-goers around you. Little kids dragged their older siblings through the crowds to get to the next ride, couples tried their best to carry that giant stuffed animal they had just won, and friends gathered at tables sharing a box of overpriced fries.

“God, I’m so sorry for that mess of a ride.” You had finally gained enough courage to speak up and break the silence. “I’m just terrified of Ferris wheels, and I was so caught up in the moment, and by the time it finally hit me, we were already closed in. I didn’t want to ruin your fun since you seemed really excited about it, and I made you go on that rollercoaster, and I really thought I could do it….” You shifted your sight from the crowd to Mammon, trying to gauge his reaction. He shook his head and let out a sigh, something you took as a bad sign.

“Everything is so much more fun when you’re around. You’d be the last to ruin it. I was just excited because I finally got you all to myself, just how I want you. The Devildom is just boring without you, MC.” He looked into your eyes expectantly, eagerly awaiting your response. You thought about how Mammon was the first demon in Devildom you genuinely felt safe around, about all the time you spent together hiding from Lucifer in your room, about how empty you felt when you returned to the human realm, about how when Solomon suggested going back, the first person to pop into your mind was Mammon.

“I feel the same way about you, Mammon. I don’t care what we do, just being with you is enough.” The neon lights illuminated the mischievous glint in his eyes. A look you knew and loved far too well; however, you couldn't stand to part with.

“Why not just stay here? Don’t go back. No need to worry about comin’ up with an excuse. I’ll think one up for you.” The way his smile lit up talking to you like this, it was almost humorous seeing how one of the most powerful demons was bounded to you through his love. “So, what do ya say? Come on, MC… Lemme hear a ‘yes.’”

Your free hand slid through his hair to cup the back of his head, slowly drawing him into you. Quickly understanding your movements, Mammon wrapped his arm around your waist, helping the two of you connect faster. His eyes shut and lips parted before yours, and you did all you could to capture this image of pure devotion in your mind before it passed away. Your lips softly brushed against each other, a light tease before fully making contact. If you could taste only one thing for the rest of your life it would be Mammon’s lips as they melted into yours. This was where you were meant to be; pressed close to him, practically one and the same. You pulled away too soon for your own liking, the fuzzy feeling still dancing on your lips. You hadn’t done that since you had said goodbye to him, but this time meant that you weren’t going to be saying goodbye again.

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btssunnyboy · 4 years ago

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— Guardian - YandereGuardian Angel! Jungkook

His mission on earth was to protect you in the purest way, but how did mere protection turn in dangerous obsession?

Word Count 3.7k

Warning - Yandere! Themes, Murder, attempted murder, and all around possessiveness, and obsession. ALSO I WANT TO DO A YANDERE SERIES WITH ALL THE BOYS, LIKE JUNGKOOK IS A GUARDIAN ANGEL WHAT SHOULD THE OTHER BOYS BE?

BTS - NCT - ATEEZ - Requests open for all groups!

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The guardian angel had one very specific job when he came down to earth. Simply protect his human from harm, but in the most humane way possible. That means no extreme measures should be took, the main priority should be to get the human out of the situation, without harm coming to anyone involved. He followed that rule throughly, well to be more clear, he followed it throughly when he was first starting out. Making sure the precious mortal was fine after a scrap was skidded across their knees to a small mishap in the kitchen that lead to a burnt palm. Everything he done was innocent, no ill intentions were behind any of his doings. In fact when he was first starting out he made sure things were handled in a graceful way. After all that was the main rule he had to follow.

He’d be the little angel on your shoulder that was whispering how the situation should be handled. The thought of violence occurring, around him truly terrified him to the core. Being one of the younger angels, he hasn’t had time to properly live out his immortal life. All he’s ever seen is peaceful, and happy people up in the heaven above, violence was a whole new ball park for him. So he made sure that it was avoided at all cost. This strategy was effective for the most part, but he used this when he first got to earth. When he didn’t know you as well as he does now. And not knowing you well enough played a much bigger role in his personality then you thought.

When he first started watching over you, distance was a big thing he cared about. Making sure he’s not your second shadow, making sure he’s not clinging onto you after every step. He didn’t want to be suffocating like some of the other angels he’s seen, because he’s seen their humans completely turn against them for that reason. But he didn’t want that to happen to you, he couldn’t exactly pinpoint the reason within him, but the thought of you turning against him made him ill. It made his stomach fill with dread, it made his palms grow sweaty every second, it made his mind race with other possibilities of you getting hurt or worse on his watch. For the sake of keeping you on his side he kept his distance, for as long as he deemed necessary.

But as time went on, many things around you started to change. Your college professors were piling work load upon work load onto you every night, the same retail job you were working at is almost close to bankruptcy, and you’re not getting a lot of sleep. Put all of those things together and you get a person who is stressed and not all there. This was the first time he felt his platonic feelings morph into something else. Something more along the lines of protection, and worry, but with a sinister twist added into the mix. But like the responsible angel he is, he kept those feelings inside. Letting the bottle up for as long as he could.

As you know keeping things bottled inside is never the right way to go. Letting all of these feelings mush and mold into one another to the point that you’re filled up with extreme amounts of anger and insecurities it takes things to a whole other level. The final straw for him was seeing you walk through the door with puffy eyes,soaked clothes, and your hair matted to your forehead. He could feel the feathers on his wings tense up, and his hands immediately clutched themselves into tight fists. Without missing a beat he made himself noticeable, and wrapped his arms around your waist, and his wings soon followed suit as they tucked themselves around your shaking body.

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into staying at the house today. Are you hurt, do you need me to heal anything? Do you wanna tell me who did this?” He mumbled frantically into your hair, as he guided you to the bedroom. If he didn’t get you out of these wet and dirty clothes and into a warm shower soon, you’d probably catch a cold. And he wasn’t going to have his baby sick, not when he can prevent it.

“It was just a bad day a work, besides...” You stopped a little ways into your sentence to wiped the muddy hair from your forehead. The scene replaying itself on a loop inside of your head, and you hated it. It made a feeling of helpless coat your body like a wet blanket, and it was starting to become suffocating in a terrible way. Their faces were etched into your brain as they purposely served right into the puddle beside of you. They were familiar, but those girls were honestly just the typically drunk, mean girls looking for a cheap laugh and you despised them for it.

“Besides what, Y/n?” Jungkook sternly spoke as he raised an eyebrow at you. Why were you stopping in the middle of sentence when there was clearly a problem at hand, most importantly why were you trying to keep secrets from the one that is destined to protect you? He didn’t move from his stance as his gaze bored into the side of your head. All he wanted was answers, and he was going to get them one way or another. Violence may have been a taboo thing to him earlier on in his training, but now he doesn’t have a problem with creating chaos around those who dare harm you. “I’m not gonna give this up, y/n, and you know that. You can either tell me what I want to know or I’ll tap into your memories myself.”

The feeling of helplessness long gone, as you clicked your tongue in an annoyed manner. Trying not to pay him any mind, you scampered around the room trying to find suitable clothes for the night. What kind of entitled prick does he think he is, trying to scare you by saying he’ll tap into your memories himself. It was a mistake that a few drunk girls made, but even so, you still worried about what he might do to them. A small puddle of water never killed anybody, besides the pure angel you once knew has changed his way of dealing with things, and you didn’t like it. Letting him tap into any memories would result is mass hysteria.

He stared it utter disbelief, you were never disobedient when he asked things like that. You never scoffed or turned your head in any matter, and the small action seemed to anger him even more then your current state. After everything that’s happened today, from your crying fit to being covered in muddy water, and you still won’t let him help. Why were protecting people who caused you harm, unless you held a much deeper relationship with them. But you’d tell him if you were, you always told him if someone new in comes into your life, but he never tells you how he makes sure their life becomes a living hell the moment he sees them. No matter how deranged and psychotic it sounded, he needed you to say yes to letting him float through your memories! After all he’s just doing this to protect you, but who do you really need protection from. Everyone else or do you need protection from him?

You had to get away from the crazed look in his eyes, it was driving you insane. He, himself, was driving you insane, and you didn’t know how much longer you could take it. No one deserved to have their life controlled by someone who other people can’t see, it makes you look like a crazy person when you’re talking to yourself in the middle of class. The steaming water was a distraction for the harsh, coldness that was starting to exude from Jungkook. It was disturbing to say the least, and you just needed five mere minutes away from that chaos that was supposed to be your pure guardian angel.

“I’m truly sorry, y/n, I really am.” No he wasn’t, but you didn’t need to know that. He just needed you to think that he was sorry for his outburst, that he was sorry about being so overprotective. Because he needed you to let all of your guard down, that way tapping into those pesky memories would be an even easier job. His ear was pressed against the bathroom silently praying he’d hear the lock make it signature click, and you’d walk out with a sad smile plastered to your face. But when he didn’t hear that click, or the soft patter of your feet hitting the wooden floor he knew this was going to take a lot more work. “I’ll leave you be.”

He knew that his original plan was down to the drain, so now all he as to do is wait till you’re sound asleep. Because whoever made your day bad, will pay. He’ll make them burn like the raging fires in hell for what they did, and he couldn’t stop thinking about it. Thinking about how amazing their mangled bodies would look like strung up in horrific accidents. But most importantly he couldn’t stop thinking about how happy and appreciative you’d be, once you found out what he had done for you! All your praises and glory would be bestowed upon him, and he couldn’t wait. If he wanted any of his dreams to come true he had to wait till you were finally sleeping peacefully.

“Just please leave me alone for tonight, and don’t you dare tap into my memories.” You warned as you shoved past him. Making a b - line for soft comforter that sat messily on your bed, and tucking yourself in. Jungkook watched with admiration written in his eyes, as he marveled at how you could make a simple task look so delicate and beautiful. But you were someone he’s grown to love, through his eyes everything you did was simply elegant and lovely. He had to make sure you stayed that way, and if getting rid of these people would preserve that then he’d do anything.

He watched and waited for hours until he knew for a fact that you were in a deep sleep. Taking two fingers he pressed them to your temple, as he felt your memories connect with his. All the pain you had felt throughout the day overtaking his body in quick, repeated pulses. They attacked every nerve that was available, they flooded his mind like a tsunami, taking his entire body hostage. At first all he felt was the pain, and sadness you had gone through, but the picture was starting to become much clearer. From the rude customers at the drive through, to the supposedly drunk girls that rain into a puddle and drenched you from head to toe. But he could tell from their evil eyes that they meant to swerve into that puddle. Simply by doing that he now knows that this means war.

When he finally saw them, he knew their punishment couldn’t be gentle. It couldn’t be over within the snap of a finger, he needed the pain to linger in their bones so they get the full experience. He wants them to feel the same amount of pain you felt, but he wants it amplified by one - hundred percent. Because at the end of the day they deserved this! If they wanted to deal our immense pain, then surely they’re strong enough to handle it when it’s forced back on them, right? But judging by the way the girl was clutching and clawing at her throat in agony, and gasping to get an ounce of fresh air in her lungs, in this case she couldn’t handle the pain. And he was soaking in the glory as he watched her fumbled around on the floor, dragging her nails into the carpet in an attempt to get to her phone, that was merely a few inches away.

Jungkook released the mental hold on her, and then proceeded to step lightly on her hand, making sure that only a small percentage of weight was being put on. First, it was the back of his heel, and soon the tip of his foot was touching the tips of her fingers. At this moment he wanted to hear her scream for mercy so loudly that her throat bled, like it was being cut by shards of class, but sadly he couldn’t have that. The more people that witness this mass hysteria, the more people he’ll have to get rid of. And you may not forgive him if he hurts people that weren’t involved in the original problem. While resting his body on her weak hand, he kneeled down to make eye contact, he wanted her to see the face of her killer.

“Why are you...” The poor girl couldn’t hold eye contact, as her head was growing too heavy for her neck to support. Soon, all of the pain was starting to take over her whole body. She felt herself slipping away into unconsciousness. But the angel was still feeling playful, and he was going to keep playing with his prey until he was completely satisfied with his revenge.

“You really wanna know why I’m doing this? Because you hurt her, you hurt someone who I care deeply about. Now they’re too nice to want revenge on a pathetic mortal like yourself, but I don’t give two shits who you are. Because at the end of the day no one hurts the one I love.” He didn’t notice,but she sure did. She notice how his once clear eyes were fading into a black hole of nothing less. His halo floating above his head, was starting to tilt, as if it was close to the brim of falling off. And everyone knows once an angel looses it halo, horns start to grow in its place.

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For the next couple of weeks, he was giddy. His giggle was toned up an octave higher, his touch was lingering a bit longer then usual, and to no one’s surprise he started showing more of signs of obsession. You on the other hand, were complete different. Your feelings were on opposite sides of the spectrum, fear soared through every inch in your body, you plastered the biggest smile on your face, praying that he would buy it. All of seemed fabricated, because you truly didn’t want to believe that he had killed her. A funny joke to someone, costed them their life. Now you were scared to even glance at someone for too long, thinking that a Jungkook might see them as threat.

“Hey, Y/n, are you feeling alright?” Jisung tilted his head, as he started to rub comforting circles on your back. The small action taking you out of your trance like state, and putting you back into reality. A place you’d much rather be without. His eyebrow was raised in suspicion when you noticed your gaze stayed connected to his shoes. To lighten the mood, he jokingly asked, “Come on I know they’re dirty, but do you really have to stare?”

You eyes averted back up to his within a second, guilt coating your face. The thought of accidentally offending him, make you heart clench in guilt. He was the one person who surprisingly stayed, throughout all the controversy that was starting to bubble up around you. “Han! I didn’t mean it like that, I’m just having an off day.”

His arm glided over your shoulders, it felt so nice and natural. It felt safe, and this wasn’t something you felt a whole lot. And you wanted to cherish every moment of it, but a nagging voice in head was scolding you. Forcing you to think about the obsessive angel that was watching your every move. You subtly tried to pull your body away from Jisung, but you didn’t want to be disrespectful. You needed to catch the bus back to your apartment in a decent time.

“Hey, before you go I was wondering, do you wanna grab a bite to eat? I’ll pay.” Jisung smile brightly, as his cheeks puffed out ever so slightly. The small action making you grin, you always loved his full cheeks. Even thought he complains about them half the time, you think they make him cuter. He noticed you hesitation, and immediately started to cower away. “I just realized, you probably don’t like me like that. So I’ll be on my way.”

You body reacted before your mind could even process what was exactly happening. A small tug delivered to his left hand, made his entire body holt. A hopeful smile taking over his cheeks, as you laced you fingers with his. You really should have listened to the angel on your shoulder, but you liked Jisung. That’s why the next words that came out of your mouth gave him hope. “A quick bit never hurt anyone. So, where should we go?”

It physically felt like a spark of joy shot through his eyes at your statement. The coolness of the rings, on his hand, when they collided with yours felt serene. You’ve been surrounded by smothering hot, hatred and obsessiveness for too long. And this was finally the break you needed, this was finally the break you deserved. When his fingered laced with yours, you truly felt at home.

“There’s this quiet little diner, on WellRose drive. It’s maybe a ten minute walk. Is that okay?” Jisung asked with a soft tone. Stroking the back of your hand with his thumb, as he gently swayed your arm.

“It’s perfect.” You smiled as you felt yourself grip his hand a little tighter. Almost as if to make sure this wasn’t a dream, to make sure this wasn’t an illusion Jungkook had made to test your loyalty. As if right now you could truly breath for a second, and not worry about the guardian angel.

While you were were out living the best life you can live, as well as living it up with another boy, Jungkook was a mess. His breath was becoming ragged, his palms were growing sweaty, his heart was pounding so hard in his chest, he was afraid his entire chest would burst wide open. The clock said a quarter past four, and usually you’re home at exactly four o’clock. Questions were racing through his mind, did someone hurt you, did the bus crash, did you forget about him? He should his head rapidly, disappointment filling his body at the thought of that, of course you didn’t forget about him, you love him! Thinking quickly on his feet he raced towards your bedroom, he can make the angel and mortal bond stronger by having a personal item. A small chain necklace, with a beautiful red butterfly pendent was definitely a personal item.

He clutched that pendent like his life depended on, and right now it does. Without you he has no one to protect, without you he has no one to love, without he has no purpose! Finding you now is his main mission, and he needs to be successful. A quick vision flashed through his eyes of you sitting quietly in a diner booth, hands delicately holding up a tattered menu. He felt his heart slow down, you simply getting something to eat and he absolutely couldn’t be mad at you over that. But as the vision went on, he noticed the brown haired boy sitting across from you. And he knew he could raise hell over that. Within a minute he had teleported from your bedroom to the back door of the small diner.

He could see in through the windows, and noticed just how cozy the two do you were getting. The small hand touches across the table, to the lingering gazed this stupid boy was giving you. All of it was making his blood boil, and his vision was going straight to red. A quick shuffle made him force his wings to tuck themselves together, making it appear as if he had none. All of the scenarios in his heads were brutal and graphic, as he pictured multiple ways that this boy could suffer. And as a cruel joke, or punishment, he was going to make you watch every single second of it. But for now he needed to wait to make his move. Right as the boy was excusing himself, he quickly dashed towards the front door, and he was almost hurt when you didn’t glance up to see who it was.

Your eyes stayed glued to the menu, as you softly spoke about you day. The sound of your voice was like heaven in his ears, he could listen to you talking all day. But right now he needed you home. He took your hand, and found amusement in your terrified expression as you tried to jerk your hand away as well. “Now listen my love, I don’t want to sound rushed, but we don’t have a lot of time. You have two options, leave with me now and no one will get hurt, and I’ll dismiss this whole acting out thing, this time. But if you choose to stay I’ll reek absolute havoc on this diner, and your precious little boyfriend.”

“Jungkook! This is outrageous! You’re a guardian angel, you’re supposed to provide peace, not threaten people with danger.” You sputtered frantically, and your eyes darted towards the bathroom.

“Doesn’t matter, Tic,Tok my love, your window of time is getting quite small. And I just want you to keep in mind I was brutal with that girl, imagine how brutal I’ll be with someone who’s trying to take you away.”

The freeing, coolness you felt with Jisung is now gone for good, and is replaced with the familiar smothering, and sweltering heat of Jungkook’s obsession. You gripped his heavy hand across the table, and forcibly pulled his body out of the booth.

“I knew my baby loved me more! But keep in mind I still have to get rid of the competition.”

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one-boring-person · 4 years ago

Note

Hey I was wondering if you could maybe write something where David meets his just turned vampire mate, after she gets hurt, scared and chased by the Frogs or some other hunters? I'm really in the mood for some angsty stuff😂 💕💕💕

Gotta love some good old angst! Thank you for requesting, I hope this is satisfactory!💛❤

Goddamn Hunters.

David (The Lost Boys) x reader

Warnings: violence, blood imagery, vague mentions of death

Masterlist.

A sharp yelp escapes me as my knees connect with the pavement yet again, a familiar pain spiking up through the thoroughly abused muscles of my legs, a sensation which still surprises me, seeing as I should be able to heal in no time. Breathing harshly, I scramble back to my feet, ignoring the protest of my legs and lungs, focusing on the adrenaline racing through my system as I sprint along the deserted road, newly enhanced eyes searching for a place to hide, sensitive ears picking up the sound of my pursuers behind me, their taunting voices mingling with the other, more distracting noises of the night, music from the Boardwalk somehow audible to me, even though I'm a good twenty minutes away. All of this, combined with the vibrant scents and putrid stenches of the town around me disorients me, sending my head into yet another spin, my terror and panic not doing anything to help with this, only adding to the hysteria going on inside me.

I have no idea who the two older men who are chasing me are, but the two younger ones? Those two I know very well - Edgar and Alan Frog, my ex-friends. They'd found me roaming the Boardwalk, scratching at my ears and eyes, overwhelmed by the barrage of strong smells and loud sounds, as well as the overbearing need to feed, completely thrown off and unsuspecting when they lured me away from the crowd, back to their new friends, who promptly started trying to pin me up against a wall, stakes brandished under my chin. None of them expected me to fight, and honestly, neither did I, but my instincts kicked in and I was able to wriggle my way free, allowing me to run off, away from the danger. Their voices are harsh and gloating, aware that I'm not as old as they might've originally thought, this idea giving them an incentive to let the hunt last longer than it should, keeping their eyes on me as I continue to hurtle along the streets, trying to remember how I'd managed to make myself fly the night before.

I turn a corner, skidding on the tarmac as my shoes struggle to get a grip, nearly sending me flying into a cluster of bins a couple of metres away, my hands flinging out to catch myself before that can happen, grazes appearing on the soft skin there as I use them to push me upright again, only to stop suddenly when I realise that the road I've entered is a dead end, my heart dropping in my chest, panic and despair flooding me, their voices and footsteps coming ever closer. Clenching my fists, I turn back to the corner I turned round, breathing heavily through my parted lips, the cool air feeling odd against my sensitive gums, my fangs threatening to push through them again, it I try to repress this urge, remembering the pain that accompanied them last time, my eyes fixed on the road, blood starting to well up in my palms from where my nails are digging into my flesh. Terror courses through me, my breath hitching as I see my pursuers finally round the corner, wide grins forming on their faces as the spot me, their pace slowing into cocky strides.

"Well, well. Look what we have here." One of the older men, a scarred man with long, oily black hair and only one eye, comments, whistling lowly at my appearance.

"You get the wrong turn, leech?" The other, a broad, muscular guy with gelled dirty blonde hair, taunts me, raking his eyes up and down my body with no subtlety whatsoever.

I remain silent, my eyes wide as I try to figure out how to get out of this mess, only coming up with one idea. Taking a breath, I rush forwards, intending to leap over them, seeing as I have some sort of supernatural power now, only to be hit with a small, plastic device, which promptly explodes into a mist of stinging liquid, a shriek of agony erupting from my throat as i fall to the floor, clutching at the bloodied, burnt skin of my face and hands, tears threatening to spill as the pain continues to harass me, my body shaking violently. Smirking, the older hunters stroll over to me, muttering something about "holy water grenades", one of them toeing at my body, trying to roll me onto my back, only to cry out in surprise when I grab hold of it in a fit of rage, pulling the limb to my face where I bite into the tough flesh. Instantly, my face contorts into the horrifying features that have plagued me for days, bloodlust clouding my vision as I growl into the leg, only to yelp when the guy lands a solid kick straight to my face, breaking my nose as I reel back, screaming in pain.

"You two, pass me those stakes we made earlier." The black haired hunter commands the Frog brothers, holding out a hand for the two kids to fill with carved wooden spikes. Grinning cruelly at me, he kneels beside me and pushes me onto my back, straddling my chest with his knees pinning my arms down, the other hunter coming over to hold down my legs as I struggle and writhe beneath them.

"I think someone needs to be taught a lesson in etiquette." Black Hair hisses at me, taking my right hand and stretching it away from my body, splaying my fingers as much as he can, "Most people shake hands when they first meet, but you didn't, so that is something that needs to be corrected."

As he speaks, I can only watch in terror as he angles a stake over the centre of my palm, smirking before he drives it down, straight down into the soft skin that protects the bones of my hand, blood spilling from the wound even as screams of agony spill from my lips. Disabled, my hand lies there simply, the wooden weapon stuck through it, not quite holding it in place, but left there to continue making me feel pain, the hunter swiftly doing the same to my other hand. Gasps and whimpers of pain leave me, my fingers curling and clawing at the crude spikes, something about them making my blood feel as if it is made of acid.

"And now for the finale." The hunter informs me, holding yet another stake over my chest, panic giving me some energy as I scream for help, hoping someone will hear me, only to be stopped by a hand pressing tightly over my mouth. Slowly, ever so slowly, the weapon is forced into my skin, shrieks of agony being muffled by the guy's hand, tears coating my cheeks as I realise how hopeless the situation is.

A sudden gasp for air snaps the hunter's attention away from me, his head turning to look over his shoulder, a curse leaving him as he notices something: his partner is no longer there. To my left, the Frog brothers look equally as confused, though they also look absolutely terrified, a horrified scream tearing itself from them as a body suddenly drops from the sky, the alluring scent of blood making my fangs push out of my gums, my own blood spilling down my chin as their razor-sharp points slice into my lower lip.

Startled, the first hunter pushes himself up, glancing around himself quickly, eyes wide and expression uneasy, hand reaching for the gun at his belt, only to be violently pulled into the sky by some cloaked creature, a strangled scream following this a second later, the body joining the first after a minute or two. Shrieking in pure fear, the two Frogs take off, dropping their stakes and waterpistols on the floor with a clatter, leaving me incapacitated on the floor, two stakes shoved into my hands. From my position, I try to push myself upright again, only to squeal in agony as a wave of pain washes over me, my sharp eyesight only just picking out the sight of someone walking up the road towards me as my ears pick up a frustrated "goddamn hunters". As soon as I lay my eyes on them, something sparks to life inside me, an odd feeling I can't understand, though I do keep my eyes on the rapidly approaching figure, in hopes of recognising them and figuring out why this sensation has made itself known.

Stepping into view, my rescuer instantly stops in his tracks, icy blue eyes widening as he sees me. He is ridiculously good looking, platinum blonde hair styled into a mullet, long black coat hiding his muscular body from view, skin pale yet stained with blood in the dim light. For a few seconds, we just stare, until the fear kicks in again and I start trying to edge away from him, wincing in pain, my eyes widening in worry as he starts to near me, only to stop when I hear his voice.

"Hey, I'm not going to hurt you! I just want to help." His voice is like honey, rich and smooth, and very pleasant to listen to, a longing sensation welling up in me, as if my body is willing me to go to him.

He steps further forwards, kneeling beside me with a concerned look in his eyes, hands instantly going to the stake in my left palm.

"This is gonna hurt, but it will heal quickly enough." He warns me, before yanking the weapon out of my skin, grimacing at the sight of the blood that rushes out afterwards, his eyes flashing yellow momentarily as I scream in agony, pulling my hand into my chest. However, an odd feeling starts to encompass the burning circles of pain, the skin looking as if it is knitting itself together again, even though I've done nothing to aid it.

"Ok, one more. You're doing really well, kitten. Stay with me." The guy reassures me, briefly smoothing a hand over my cheek before he tears the other stake from my right hand, soothing me as I sob out loud. At his touch, I manage to register what feels like an electric spark, my body instinctively leaning into his in response.

"Wh-who are you?" I force out, breathing heavily once more.

"I'm David. What's your name?" The guy replies, scooping me up into my arms with ease, cradling me against his chest. Instinctually, I bury my head into the soft fabric of his shirt, breathing in the reassuring scents of cigarette smoke, motor oil, dust and a strange metallic smell, which I instantly recognise - blood.

"I'm (Y/n)." I inform him, before continuing a little quieter, "Thank you for saving me."

"Don't mention it." He smiles down at me, the sight of it making butterflies in stomach cause havoc, "You got anywhere to stay?'

"Err, no. Why?" I frown a bit, still enjoying the proximity.

"You wanna come stay with me? I have plenty of room at home, and I'm sure you'd fit in." He confirms, rubbing soothing circles into my back.

"Fit in?"

"Yeah, I live with three other people, but they're all good guys, so you don't have to worry about them. We can help you with the transition if you want?"

"The transition?"

"You're a newly tuned vampire, aren't you? You'll need help transitioning." The platinum blonde points out, speaking as if I know what he's talking about.

"Ok, sure. If it's not too difficult for you."

"It isn't. I'm glad you accepted." He smiles at me, walking off with me still clutched in his arms, easy to spend the rest of eternity with me.

Part Two

#the lost boys #joel schumacher #vampire #david(thelostboys)#kiefer sutherland #paul(the lost boys)#dwayne(the lost boys)#marko(the lost boys)#santa carla #star(the lost boys)#request #answer #ask

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scoooby · 4 years ago

Text

The Reason to Live (is to Die For This)

Read on AO3

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Beta: @tenderlyannoyinglight

Word count: 6.3k

Trigger warning: descriptions of pain, death and violence.

Relationship: Merlin/Arthur *if you don't like merthur it can be taken as gen if you skip the last hundred words

Summary:

"I don't want to leave him. He thinks. I can't.

It shouldn't be the first thing he thinks of. He should be thinking of his mother, Gaius, Gwen. He should be thinking of how Kilgharrah had said he was an immortal, but Kilgharrah is also a big lying liar who lies, so he shouldn't have believed him. But he doesn't think of any of those things, after ten years of sacrificing, his brain is wired to think of Arthur, only of him."

In which Merlin is stabbed instead of Arthur. Oops.

Merlin doesn't know where the blood came from, flowing down and not stopping. There's so much of it staining the ground and his clothes, forming a puddle, he feels dizzy and nauseous looking at it. It's been almost ten years, but the sight of injury still repulses him. It scares him even more because he can't find its source. No, it terrifies him. Whose blood is it? Where is he, exactly? But he tries not to dwell on it and wonders where Arthur is. Wasn't he just here? Silly Arthur, always disappearing.

He giggles, then sobers up. He has more important things to worry about. Like the blood. Blood is so red. Like strawberries. He wishes he could make strawberries right now, Freya likes them. Speaking of which, he should probably talk to her soon.

He touches his hand to his abdomen, startled when he feels something wet and sticky. Oh.

Oh.

It's his blood. He's been maimed. He's the one dying.

I don't want to leave him. He thinks. I can't .

It shouldn't be the first thing he thinks of, and he should be thinking of his mother, Gaius, Gwen. He should be thinking of how Kilgharrah had said he was an immortal, but Kilgharrah is also a big lying liar who lies, so he shouldn't have believed him. But he doesn't think of any of those things, after ten years of sacrificing, his brain is wired to think of Arthur, only of him.

It shouldn’t be. He should be more carefree and alive and happy, like he is now. And he’s so happy.

He distantly hears a thud behind him, as if something heavy, clad in metal, had fallen. Swords are made of metal. So is armour. Stupid armour. It takes so fucking long to put armour on Arthur.

He feels hysteria rise up in his throat, he feels like laughing, He doesn��t know why. He’s been stabbed, he should care more. But those thoughts don’t even hit him. He wants to run, to jump. He could fly, like Kilgharrah. Or Aithusa. Can Aithusa fly? He would have to ask Morgana.

But Morgana doesn’t like him.

Maybe Balinor would know when dragons start to fly. He knows a lot, right?

Oh, but he can’t. Balinor is dead. Balinor is extremely dead and rotting. Hunith would be sad if she found out, he doesn’t want her to be sad. She deserves the world. He won’t tell her.

“Don’t worry,” he coos, even though there’s no one there. “I won’t tell.”

He tries to get up, but his knees are weak. He doesn't know why his ears have started to ring. Hhhhh. Hhh. That’s all he hears. It sounds weird. Weird. Weirdweirdweirdweirdweird. What a word, All words should be like it.

Everything is just a blob of grey and black. All he sees is a spinning world and green spots in the corner of his vision. He doesn’t mind, he likes green. He tries to say something, to scream maybe, yet all that comes out is a small, meagre groan.

He feels his eyes closing- And that's it. That's all there is-numbness, and then nothing.

Arthur is not ashamed to admit that he killed Mordred. The knight almost killed Merlin and dared to smile after doing so. Arthur couldn't just let him get away with it, no matter how much it pained him. Guilt doesn’t even come to mind. Mordred isn’t worth it - he tells himself as he walks, knees shaking, towards his manservant's body laying still on the ground.

He's bleeding at an alarming rate. His eyes are closed; his face deathly pale. Arthur doesn't bother with modesty as he rips the stupid brown jacket off (one would think he would come into battle wearing proper armor, at least). He had imagined doing it many times before, in entirely different circumstances, maybe with a bed underneath them.

Merlin torso is littered with scars as wood is with lines. Most of them are healed, so that only white lines are painting Merlin’s pale skin, while others are red, but still no cause for intervention. An enormous hole inflicted near his lungs, however does. Arthur’s not new to blood or injuries, but looking at this one does make him wanna vomit.

He stops, unsure of what to do. His hands hover over the body. What can he do, dammit? He knows first aid, Gaius taught him some when he was little. Nothing has ever come close or as grave as to this. He has been taught to call for the help of nurses, never to do it himself. He has to stop the bleeding, but how ? He's supposed to tie something around it; he remembers that much at least. He looks towards Merlin's face, exhausted and un-moving, a red cloth loosely tied around his neck. All he has to do to stop the blood temporarily, until he delivers Merlin to safe, more medically trained hands, is to tie the stupid red neckerchief around and hope for it to be the right thing.

He prays as he puts it around the gash. He's not entirely sure who he's praying to. It’s an unconscious reflex to beg for health. To be able to say it is someone else's fault, because he knows it's his. He should never have let Merlin come in front of him; let the sword pierce him. Damn him; damn Merlin; damn Mordred; damn the War; damn Morgana; damn everything.

It sickens him, all of it. This cave, this life. The air is dirty. The metallic smell of blood engulfing everything and making it its own. Throwing up would sound like a good idea if Arthur didn’t have more pressing matter at hand.

The air also smells of disappointment. What is he even doing? He's just two years into his reign, the army is practically gone. So many knights are dying in his name, right now, with their belief in him. And now Merlin is going to die too.

No. Merlin can't die, I won't allow it. His resolve hardens as he picks him up in his arms, Merlin’s head on his shoulder, back bent so gravity can keep the blood inside. and carries him through the mass of dead bodies. Arthur places him on the horse and climbs on behind him, arms on the reins and still supporting Merlin’s head.

It's a long ride home. You have to make it. For him. Is the only thought he clings to.

The aftermath of the war lingers everywhere. Bodies within quarter of a mile of another, their sunken eyes staring at them as the ride past.

No one stops them, too busy focusing on their own injured. Arthur's head is down to not see them. They probably hate him. With all of his being, he agrees.

Morgana, from an early age, showed to be better fitted for the crown. Might have even made Camelot a better place, once upon a time, in a time long gone.

Now they're both just as terrible and ill-fitted for his home.

He tries not to think of her, it’s too painful. So, he focuses on saving Merlin again. Merlin. His best friend, who he had always hoped would become something more. His rock, the only one he could trust. Something he has proved over and over again, but something he had realised only during his father's funeral.

Uther’s death is a recent memory. Arthur had cried until there were no tears left to shed over anyone else after. Not out of love or grievance. His father’s love for him was long gone before he himself was. But because the moment Uther’s life ended, Arthur’s reign began and the feeling of no support or companionship with it. Morgana was gone. Ygraine had never been there to begin with, and the overwhelming responsibility hit him- hard . He had felt so alone. There was no one there for him. No one cared.

Then Merlin had placed a hand on his shoulder, whispered to him, told him he was going to be a great king and that he was sorry. As if Merlin was at fault. As if he wasn't the only reason Arthur was still standing.

It made him see more clearly that he might not ruin the kingdom- his kingdom. A spark of heat, mixed with joy and sorrow ignited like wildfire spread all over his chest, then back, arms and legs followed soon, and finally his face; he returned Merlin’s sentiment with a warm smile.

Maybe that's when he had fallen in love, or when he had realized that Merlin was the only one he could trust. He's still not sure which one it was, maybe the love had come slowly, or maybe, and just the seed had been planted back then, or maybe it had come fact and crashing.

And now he was going to be gone too. Arthur sighs, his eyes drooping from a week of no sleep. Everyone leaves. They always leave. Maybe he still had some tears left.

The dark is disorienting. Is he sleeping? Is he even alive? He has to be, he has to make sure Arthur gets back home.

"Emrys," he hears someone say. No, not someone- Morgana. Her voice is unmistakable, ragged and sickly sweet at the same time. She had always been like that, even before, a dizzying array of opposites.

"Witch," he whispers. "Why have you brought me here?"

The smugness in her voice is apparent, "That's very hypocritical of you, isn't it? After all, you're magical too. More than me, even." She didn't answer his question. "All alone now, aren’t you? No one to save you." He shakes his head; how did he manage to get here? The last thing he was doing was shouting at Arthur to bring him along ("I always thought you were the bravest man I knew." “That’s not fair.") Arthur's face had been so disappointed, and it had broken Merlin's heart. But if the war was still going on, then no one would be coming for him. He will have to get out of this by himself.

"What. Do. You. Want." He grits out, he doesn't have the patience, nor the time for this, he has to help them. The knights are strong, but even the strongest of human kind wouln’t last long against an immortal army. He has to be there with them, to help them, to keep them alive. No matter how much his words hurt, Merlin will still save them, because that is what he does.

She laughs. " You."

"I don't have time for games, leave me be."- turning his head around trying to locate Morgana’s voice; the darkness, the nothingness, hasn’t changed.

"Oh, but why would I do that?" Her cold hands are taking hold of his chin, nails digging into his face. She's right in front of him. Her silky dress pooling onto his feet, the edges of her dirty hair grazing his arms. "I have you right where I want you, no one is going to come to save you. I only need one thing from you." She pauses, her fingers snap; there are fires surrounding them in a circle. He struggles against the bonds of rope he didn't realize were tied onto him, but it's of no use.

She’s clearer now, seen better days too. Bags under her crazed eyes, a ragged and torn black gown, a cloak is gracing her hunched back. Frankly, it looks like she hasn’t taken a bath in months. She doesn’t even resemble the Morgana he used to know, the compassionate and cunning one.

This is his creation; he is the reason she is like this. He never should have listened to the fucking dragon, he should have told her about his magic, maybe things would be different then.

"I won't do anything for you,” he hisses. “I would rather die.”

“Oh, you will.” She says it like it’s a fact as if it’s inevitable that he will die soon, and a tremor goes from his head to his toes in a matter of a second. He’s supposed to be immortal, supposed to live for a long, long time. He’s not scared of dying, he supposes. He’s scared of what will happen afterwards. “And it will hurt, I can tell you that, it will hurt so much.” She inches even closer, impossibly so. “But that won’t be the worst part, no. The worst part will be that no one will care . Arthur won’t care. No matter what you have done for him, he won’t even notice you’re gone.”

He’s silent as her words sink in. Sow themselves into his brain, into his heart, tries to convince himself it’s not true.

“Arthur won’t rescue you. You need his help, but he doesn’t have your back. He’s not even looking for you. If you’re drowning, if you’re about to crack, will he even care?” Something on his face makes her look smug like she’s already won. “Face it, Merlin.” That’s the first time she’s called him Merlin and not Emrys since she found out. “You don’t matter to him. He thinks you’re disposable, But I know better.”

Merlin looks up at her. "You're sick," he spits, although it sounds small, unsure. "He would look for me. I know he would." The statement is more for himself than her.

She gives a small, cruel smile as if to convey to him how pathetic he is. “All I need you to do,” she continues, “is to tell me where you are once this ends.”

He's about to ask her what she means, when the fires go out and it all turns dark again.

He stops in the forest, to rest, though he's not sure if Merlin will even survive by the end of it. He lays him down against a rock and lights a fire. He has to make something to feed them, or they'll die of starvation before Morgana's knights get to them. He surveys the clearing they're in, and he's about to walk towards what he is almost sure is an edible plant (emphasis on the almost, kings don't always learn about herbs), when he hears Merlin whispers. He snaps back, his eyes are open, a once tantalizing clear blue now murky and grey.

"Arthur" he murmurs. "Art- I-"

He holds up a hand "I'm here Merlin," he says. "I'm here but don't speak, you need to preserve your energy."

He doesn't listen. "I-I need to tell you something and," he gasps, trying to breathe, "and I need you to listen without interrupting."

Arthur wants to tell him whatever he needs to say probably isn't as important as his life, but the look on his face tells him that it might be.

Merlin shudders, clearly exhausted. "I ha-have magic," he rasps. Arthur's mind goes blank. It's a joke, it has to be. Merlin can't have betrayed him too. He takes a step toward him, to reach out maybe, but thinks better of it.

"Stop being silly," he commands, but it comes out shaky.

Merlin eyes seem wet. When he opens his mouth to speak, all that comes out is a bare whisper, "I ne-needed to tell you. In, in case, I-I, uh, die."

"You can't die." He clasps Merlin shoulder this time, leaning down. "But stop delusioning yourself Merlin. You don't have magic, I would know." It's not real, he would've been able to tell. This can't be true, it can't.

"And I use it for you," he continues, seeing his expression. "Only-only for you."

"Shut up," Arthur whispers. Merlin flinches back. "Shut up, shut up, shut up."

"I-," he starts, but he cuts him off.

"Do not speak to me."

Arthur looks at him, something rising in his throat. He thought it would be bile, but it's laughter. Of course, of course, the only person he trusts has magic.

He stands up and walks away, until he's sure Merlin won't be able to see him.

Merlin’s heart sinks as he stares at Arthur’s back, she was right. He told him about his magic, and now he was leaving him to die in a forest, never mind the reason he was dying was that he had taken a sword for Arthur. Never mind that he had spent a decade protecting him, trying to stop hundreds of people from killing someone he himself hadn’t particularly cared for at the beginning. Never mind the fact that he had sacrificed so much, just so he could be comfortable living in a castle built on the sins of his father and the corpses of magic users. Ten years, all down the drain. Merlin wants to laugh, of course, it comes done to this. To Arthur abandoning him because he told him something he didn’t want to hear. Fuck him, fuck the pendragons. Couldn’t let him die in peace.

He stews in it for a while, too tired to cry. Too sick of everything to even care anymore. He won’t tell her though; couldn’t let it all go to waste. She’ll find out anyway, he knows, she has her sources.

Yet, he has more important things to focus on, Arthur will either come back, or he won’t. But his wound stays. The giddiness is gone, replaced with something else. Something warm, like a fire in his stomach.

He presses down on his abdomen. as he sighs sharply through his nose, it helps with the increasing pain, stabbing his bone and overtaking his senses.

His lungs struggle to breathe, it feels as if they’re filling with water as he drowns; his whole body burns as his back arches and writhes. It’s like there’s thousands of needles being pushed into him from everywhere, as if the needles had been pulled out from a fire before being inserted into him- red hot and painful, so painful. He wants to stand up, to run and jump into a lake, but his legs feel like jelly, he can’t move. It hurts so much. He hears distant echoes of screams; they’re probably coming from him. And just like that, it starts to ebb. The needles being pulled out hurts more, but the small burns they leave behind are definitely better than it was before. He slumps down against a tree, numb.

He feels his eyes droop. His pain is still shooting through his body, but at least he has some time before he has to feel it again.

He wakes up again in some time, not sure when. It doesn't hurt as much as it did before. He’s just tired. He lays there for what feels like hours, but the sun hasn’t even set, so it was probably a few minutes.

To his immense surprise, he comes back. Arthur… comes back.

"Come back to finish the job, huh?" Merlin snarls, refusing to believe that maybe he came back to help him because he cared for him. It's too good to be true. Arthur is compassionate and he is kind, but not to magic users. "One stab wound wasn't enough for you?"

Arthur's already been saved from the imminent death of his which has been prophesied for a few centuries already, Merlin no longer has to worry, and he doesn't want to either. If this is his reward, to be called a coward, to be ignored and hut out, what everything had been leading up to, he might as well have died years ago. He used to wake up with only Arthur in mind, He loved him, still does. He’s not going to go out any other way.

He was the reason he lived, and he is the reason Merlin is going to die.

Arthur recoils in shock, his mouth is hanging open a little.

Good , Merlin thinks, he needs a wake-up call.

"What?" He asks.

Merlin hopes his expression can convey his feelings and how unamused he is because his throat is clogged up and he's too exhausted to say a word more. He may be a warlock, but it doesn’t change the fact that he is in unbearable pain.

Arthur looks at him as if he's grown a second head. "You- you thought I was going to kill you?"

There's no reply. Arthur comes forward, stops when he sees how scared the other man becomes. He sits down onto the cold, hard ground. "Merlin," he says softly, "I, I'm angry at you, I'm not going to lie, but I would never, never kill you. I- how could you even-" he trails off, he kicks some dirt glumly. "Just, we’ll talk about this when we're back home, okay? When you're better."

Arthur doesn't know how Merlin could think that. He would never- he didn’t even imagine doing anything other than demoting him, at most. He feels betrayed, and he feels let down. But this is Merlin. If he practiced magic, there must have been a good reason.

Fuck. Has he been that bad of a friend? Has he been so distant that Merlin thought Arthur was going to kill him? He knows he should be angrier, and just a few hours ago, he was. He was ready to yell and to scream and to rage, but then he thought of Morgana. About how he used to love her, and how she changed when he turned her away, He doesn’t want the same to happen to Merlin, doesn’t want him to change too. If Merlin dies because Arthur abandons him, he will never forgive himself.

So, as he snuffs out the fire and tries to cover up his tracks, because he knows Morgana will be looking for them, he doesn’t say anything. When he picks Merlin up and places him on the horse, he tries to be as gentle as he can. When he squeezes Merlin's hand in what he hopes is comforting, he just hopes Merlin doesn’t hate him completely.

Merlin floats in and out of consciousness for what he thinks is a day, but he can’t be sure. When he first wakes up, he’s trotting along on a horse, Arthur behind him, and then he’s in front of a fire, sitting on the ground, then the horse again. Once, he wakes up to strangled screams, but he’s not sure what was going on. He’s too scared to ask. The fifth time he wakes up, however, it’s different. It’s not a coincidence, it’s on purpose, Arthur is shaking him awake. He makes out that they are next to the lake, where he has sent away so many corpses already.

It's calm and serene, obvious to all that is happening around it.

“Wha-” he starts to say blearily, he knows they haven’t reached Camelot yet, so what is going on?

Arthur silences him by placing a hand on his mouth. “We’ve got company,” he whispers. Merlin stiffens up, never a good thing. Not when you’re trekking through the woods, your companion and you both in bad conditions, both starving, one run through with a sword. Not when your companion is the ruler of kingdom which has war being waged against it.

“Arthur,” he says, his voice still sounding heavy and drowsy.

“What?” His mouth feels swollen, and he is incredibly tired, but he can tell he’s agitated, so he doesn't beat around. “Use the sword."

He looks surprised, the expression he hates. The one he uses whenever he realises that he underestimates everyone around him. "I think I know how to use a sword better than you do, Mer lin."

Prat.

"I mean, don't use your old sword, use Excalibur. It can kill anything. " Saying even this much feels like he just ran from Ealdor to Camelot without break, but he manages.

He opens his mouth to reply, but then his eyes widen. "Did you hear that?" His voice is low but urgent. Merlin blinks, he didn't hear anything other than the wind and- oh, he hears it now. There's distant screaming, coming from a woman from what it sounds like. It's barely noticeable, but the sounds of footsteps and something heavy being dragged on the forest floor towards them is much, much louder.

They exchange glances, only for a second. Merlin gestures towards the sword and Arthur nods, not questioning him for once.

Merlin tries to speak, he wants to help, but his throat is becoming clogged, and his vision is becoming blurry and- I am not going to survive. He thinks, before his eyes roll back into his head, and he passes out once more.

Arthur does not dare to say anything, or to do anything, other than stay frozen in his spot, sword in hand.

The noises are coming closer and closer. The screams have subsided now, but the steps have not. He knows he should highball out of there, but he has a feeling that whatever is coming their way cannot be outrun, and 50% of his lessons in swordplay focuses only on telling him to follow his gut.

"Emrys," says a voice. He inhales sharply, he recognizes that voice; knows it better than he has any right too.

"Morgana," he breathes.

She pouts, looking disappointed. "Seems like our Emrys isn't awake. Shame, I wanted him to see you die." She says it casually, as if she tells her once-brother that she’s going to kill him every day.

He reminds himself - this is not his sister, not the woman he grew up with. If he doesn’t kill her, she will kill him. And she will take his kingdom.

But he never meant for them to get caught up in this, he had to control himself. He can’t rush to hug her or stab her. He can see a flicker of what she used to be, the brave, young woman. He needs her to hold onto that. If she doesn’t, he will have to do it. And he really, really doesn’t want to.

But as she lunges at him, the flicker ebbs out. She has slipped through his hands, and she has changed. She has been carried away by the waves of sorcery, and it has ruined her. He remembers her being his hero when they were young, when they used to sneak out of the castle to look at the stars. Her arguing with Uther over whether it was right to commit genocide, the irony of which has stuck with him. Her teaching him to use the sword, having already mastered it herself. Her forcing him to make friends with Gwen, who grew to become his ex-lover and best friend and surrogate queen. The memories keep on coming, and they don't stop. But she, like everyone else, changed. No matter what time, she is different now. It will never come back. He wants to go back, when they were innocent and naive, when everything was left for them to discover.

But he can’t.

So he fights back instead.

It's all he can do to make his hands steady as his blade sinks into her stomach, as he buries it deeper and deeper until it comes out on the other side. She looks surprised, then grim. She'll be alive for a few days, at most, a few minutes, at best.

But he can't bear to leave her suffering, alive but dying, tortured. So, he stabs her again, this time aiming for the heart, and again. And again. And again. When he is sure that she's dead, he stops, sliding onto his knees. He glares at the sword in contempt. He killed her; he killed his sister.

No .

He killed the woman who wanted to burn his kingdom to the ground. He had no other choice.

But what sort of person is he? He's killed both his knight and his former sister on the same day, with the same sword.

He grips it harder, then looks at the lake. He needs to get rid of it, that's what he needs to do. No one can find out what happened today, he can't let them. He raises it and throws it in. He had thought it would land on the banks, considering how heavy it is, but it doesn't. Instead, the sword flies out of his grip, and cuts through the air, towards the lake. He swears he can see a hand reaching out of the water to catch it, but it's probably a trick of the light.

He turns to her body laid on the ground, eyes open and unblinking, mouth looking as if gasping for breath, cloak sprawled around her like wings. She's dead.

Somehow, he knows if he had used the other sword, she would not be; he knows enough about magic to realise that the high priestess cannot be taken down by a normal weapon.

But Excalibur was not normal, was it? Just another thing to add to his list of questions.

It takes him thirty more minutes to dispose of her body in the lake, staring as it sinks deeper into the water. He doesn't look away, no. He deserves this. He has to remember, and he will.

He doesn't move for a long, long time. Only goes so when he realizes that, although she is dead, Merlin is not yet. Arthur intends to keep it that way. He turns his back on her. Every step drains him, but he does it.

He can't be left alone again.

It takes them two more days to arrive in Camelot. All of it passes in awkward silence, with Merlin getting paler and paler with every passing second. Arthur doesn’t say anything out loud, but his mind is racing. He doesn’t think of them. He can’t. So he focuses on magic instead. He’s not sure if he trusts magic fully, even now, but maybe he should be more open-minded. Maybe he should give it a chance. Maybe it'll be different than it was with Morga- her.

When he arrives, it is completely different to what he had expected. There are mourners, of course. People in white, downcast expressions, closed windows, doors painted black. But there are also red banners hanging everywhere, citizens cheering as he rides past, ignoring Merlin behind him. Cries of "she is dead" and "the war is over". People are grieving, and there are those celebrating. He doesn't ask how they know of her death, he doesn't want to know. They tell him anyway. Apparently, the army stopped attacking, all of a sudden. They had cried, and shouted, and had turned back. It is unclear why, but Arthur knows he is the reason. Morgana dying at his hands is the reason.

Some help him get to Gaius', seeing how unamused he looks. They clear out the road, offer them water. Arthur is grateful for them, glad that at least some of his people acknowledged the dying man and had tried to help.

The physician is busy when he throws the door open, Merlin in tow. There are many, many people here. All with varying degrees of injuries. Arthur can’t bear to look at them. It’s his fault. It’s all his fault. So he ignores them, marches up to him.

“He’s- he’s been stabbed,” he chokes out.

Gaius’ eyes widen, and he rushes to follow Arthur. He lays Merlin out on one of the few empty beds, his body sprawls out on it. It’s sickening to look at as if he’s dead already.

He sets to work immediately, ordering Arthur to fetch herbs and vials and all sorts of things he doesn’t know the uses of. The people around them stare at him blankly, as if they know he’s the king, but they don’t fully recognise him.

He knows when he is not needed anymore, and backs away to watch. It's odd, and it feels so wrong. It's wrong to watch as Merlin is cut open and healed. Like he's invading his privacy. Merlin deserves better than to be put on a show in front of so many people.

He does try to help. Tries to tell as many people as he can to move to the castle, where he is sure more doctors would be willing to help, but some are in too bad of a condition to be moved as they are tended to by nurses. So he elects to focus on his friend instead.

Gaius' hands have always been steady, for as long had Arthur had known him. He cuts open bodies without worry, without even flinching. Which is not the case today, he notices. No, his hands are shaking. Not much as to be obvious, but he's known the man for far too long to not be able to tell when he's scared.

He thinks Merlin is going to die .

Arthur recoils violently. He doesn't know where the thought came from, because it's not true. It can’t be.

Merlin is going to survive. He tells himself.

Merlin. Is. Going. To. Survive.

Merlinisgoingtosurvive

MerlinisgoingtosurviveMerlinisgoingtosurvuveMerlinisgoingtosurvive

He repeats under his breath, rocking himself back and forth on his heels until he almost believes it. He has to.

He's not sure where the time has passed, because Gaius is in front of him all of a sudden but Arthur remembers him standing over the table just seconds ago.

Gaius shakes his head and it takes a few minutes for it to register in his mind. Arthur can't be looking at him, and his heartbreaking face. Just like him, Gaius' only support was Merlin. Was. Not is, was. Merlin is barely dead, and Arthur is already starting to think of him as a memory.

The physician knows what it feels like, but Arthur doesn't care.

"You should've done better," he hisses. He doesn't regret it. Doesn’t regret causing the shock he’s caused Gaius. But it's his fault too. He's the one Merlin took a sword for. But he needs to blame someone else. Because he doesn't want to think of the implications of Merlin dying at his hands. Gaius looks at him as if he is about to break, so Arthur walks away. From him, towards the corpse. He can't bear to face another person he's hurt.

It can't be true. There's got to be something he can do, something. He can't die, he can’t fucking die. Not when there's not much left to say. Not when they've just won. It's supposed to be a thing to celebrate, a war ending, he can't mourn. He can't give a speech to his kingdom which wasn't written by his best friend. Can't lose him. He doesn't think he'll be able to live without him.

He doesn't want to. He won't.

Merlin looks too much at peace, content in a way Arthur hasn't seen him in a long time. His long lashes casting shadows onto his freckled skin, his lips are twisted into a scowl, but he is at peace. He still looks the same, though. Beautiful and striking. Arthur's rock.

And dead.

Arthur’s hands move at their own accord, to stroke the side of his face. A sob escapes him before he can stop it, pushing through his throat. His people need assurance, and him crying like a bloody fool won't help. But that's the last thing on his mind. All he knows is Merlin is dead.

He isn’t able to stop staring, can't help wondering what he will do now. Whether the body will be burned or buried. He will be given a hero's funeral, it's no less than he deserves. He will be clothed in Camelot’s colours, or maybe his Ealdor's. Hunith would know better.

Oh lord, Hunith. She will have to find out through a letter. No. Arthur will have to go to tell her. He can't let her go through it alone.

He's about to turn away, to tell someone to help him move the body when his lips move.

Merlin's mouth opens, just a little bit, but enough to tell that he's alive.

Arthur feels a shock go through him. It was just an illusion.

Right?

"Merlin?" he asks. It can't be true, no matter how much he wants it to be. It was probably a trick of the light, but that can't be right. Because Merlin's eyes are opening and he's staring at him and some colour is returning to his cheeks and oh-

This the man he loves. And he waking up.

"Ar- Arth," he begins but Arthur shushes him. He’s alive, he’s speaking. He doesn’t know how, but it’s real. It’s actually real.

"I'm here," he assures him "I'm here." He shocks even himself as he leans down to kiss him. He's even more surprised when Merlin kisses him back. It only lasts a second before he pulls back, but he just kissed Merlin. It was rough, it wasn't perfect. But he's breathing. They're both here. He can't ask for more.

"Wha- what was," he exhales through his nose, as if speaking taxes him, "that for?"

"I wanted to," he says, shrugging, still not over the euphoria. He just lost him, he’s never going to again. The least he can do is not hide from the truth. "And, I, I also kind of love you. Like, I’m in love with you."

His eyes widen a fraction, but Arthur can tell he’s too tired to question it further.

He wants to say more, he has so many questions as to how he's still breathing, when he started practicing magic, why, but he doesn’t. He has time, they have all the time in the world.

He turns his back, yelling for Gaius. The physician shows up immediately, face lighting up when he takes in the sight of his son very much not-dead.

"We'll figure it out," he says, though he's not sure he heard him over the noise. "We'll figure it out." He grins. Yeah, they'll figure it out.

He swears, Merlin is beaming right back at him.

51 notes · View notes